by Dave Daren
“I think that can be arranged,” I said with a smile. “Thanks in advance for your help.”
“Of course,” the reporter said. “This story is going to get me to an anchor’s desk… I can feel it.”
“I hope so,” I chuckled. “I’ll see you in half an hour?”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Eloa said. “The place is called the Anchor. It’s over by the docks.”
“Okay,” I said. “Call me if you decide you want me to pick you up.”
“Will do,” the chipper woman said before she hung up.
I shook my head as I set my cell phone down and began to pack up all of my stuff. I tossed the water, empty paper coffee cup, and the plastic container from my wrap into the trash, and then stretched one more time.
“You heading out, man?” the barista asked as I clicked my briefcase closed.
“Yeah,” I said with a wave. “Good luck on your exam.”
“Thanks,” the college student said with a grin so bright it almost blinded me. “See you next time.”
The goon rose from his seat, gave a respectful nod to the barista, and turned his attention to me.
“Was that your girlfriend at a club?” he asked with a glance at the cell phone in my hand.
“No,” I said as I walked out into the night. “It was the reporter that’s helping me with the juvie center.”
The thick, muggy Miami air clung to my skin the second I left the cafe, but at least it was a few degrees cooler than the daytime highs. A gentle breeze wound through the buildings to wrap me in the smell of the ocean as well, and I almost felt human.
“She sounded cute,” my human shadow said with a motion to his car.
“She is,” I said with a shrug.
“Are you going to hook up with her?” he asked with a sly grin as we climbed into his black car.
“I’m going to a work meeting,” I responded.
“No reason it can’t be both,” the goon shrugged. “I’ll try to give you some distance. You know… just in case.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
It took him less than a minute to drive me to my car, and I gave him a small wave as I switched vehicles. I pulled out my phone to look for the address, but the place was so small that it took a few seconds for Google Maps to find it. After trying to send me to a similarly named bar in Portland, Oregon, it finally came up with a route to the one near the Miami docks.
The night air was cool enough that I rolled my windows down a little, not enough that it would make my hair a mess, but enough that I could have some fresh air. I could smell the salt and brine of the ocean as I drove toward the shipyards as well as the scent of fish that hung permanently in the area. I saw a few fishermen on their way to their boats and others who were just returning from a long night on the water.
I turned down a street that ran behind the docks and shipping companies, and as I passed Fuentes Shipping, I glanced toward the loading yard. There was a large crew unloading a massive cargo ship stacked high with metal shipping containers while another group organized the arrival of several semis.
“Your destination is on your left,” the soothing feminine voice of my GPS announced.
My attention swivelled away from the shipyard to the buildings on my left. All but one of them was dark, and the one that was open was squeezed in between two looming warehouses. The windows that looked out over the street were so dingy that it was hard to see inside, but a small amount of buttery light managed to cut through the dirt to show a parking spot right out front.
I parked, grabbed my briefcase, and then climbed out while I looked around to see if Eloa was outside. The beautiful reporter was nowhere to be seen, though Osvaldo’s hired goon had parked nearby and was on his phone. He gave me a quick nod to let me know he’d seen me, and in the eerie streetlight, I was glad that I wasn’t alone.
The heavy wooden door swung outwards before I could grab the handle, and two drunken sailors stumbled out. They held each other up as they laughed and hiccuped. Neither one paid much attention to me, just a cursory glance, and a frown that made it apparent that I wasn’t the kind of person they were used to seeing at the tiny bar.
I caught the door before it closed, looked around one last time to see if I could spot Eloa, and then scooted by the two men who still stood just outside the swing of the doorway.
The inside of the bar was not much cleaner than its windows. The smell of beer permeated every surface, and I was surprised that it didn’t have a cloud of smoke from the sailors that gathered around tables or pool tables with cigarettes and cigars in hand. Every wall was covered in pictures of big catches, old fishing nets, and news articles about some of the storms that had hit Miami over the years.
An old, grizzly bartender leaned against the pine bar with a rag in his hand and a toothpick in his mouth. He lifted an eyebrow at me when our eyes met, and then he glanced over to the two men in front of him who had caught sight of me. They said something that I couldn’t hear and then chuckled to themselves as the bartender stood up straight and tossed his rag onto the counter.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a voice made gruff from years of smoking.
The old bartender had short cropped gray hair that was tucked underneath a hat with fishing lures and holes, and a dark-green, longsleeved plaid shirt over a grungy black t-shirt. He had a scattering of scruffy gray hair over his square jaw, and a small scar on his right cheek.
“He’s meeting me here, Drew,” Eloa said as she swept in from the area marked as the bathroom.
“With you?” the grizzly man asked as he gave me another once over.
“We’re working on a story together,” the reporter explained with a wink at me. “Can we get two rum and cokes?”
“Sure thing, Eloa,” the bartender said while he grabbed two glasses. “If the pretty boy gives you any trouble, you just give me a shout.”
“Pretty boy?” I muttered as I took the two drinks that he put on the bar for us.
“With that hair?” Drew teased with a smirk and a flip of his hair.
“Fair enough,” I said with a shrug. “But I haven’t had any complaints.”
“And you won’t from me,” Eloa interrupted as she took one of the rum and cokes from me.
The grizzled bartender chuckled as the gorgeous woman sauntered toward a back table. Her hips swayed enticingly, and the light caught the red highlights in her long brown hair. She wore a pair of black, high-waisted shorts covered in sequins and a white, off-the-shoulder blouse that was nearly sheer. I could just pick out the shadow of the bra she wore beneath the flimsy fabric, and I had to force myself to look elsewhere.
She swayed a bit before she eased down into the booth where she had left her messenger bag. She shoved the bag over, scooted further in, and then patted the seat next to her. She flipped her hair over one shoulder with a huff so that she could braid it, and I watched in fascination as her hands flitted over the three thick strands until she was finished.
“Did you bring your research?” I asked as I shook myself out of my trance and slid into the booth next to her.
“Yep!” the beautiful reporter answered as she pulled out a small spiral notebook with sparkles and hearts and a white pen with a ball of fluff at the end.
“That’s… an interesting choice,” I said with a small smile as I pulled out my own notes and pen.
“Would you think that this has top-secret information in it?” she challenged with a lifted eyebrow.
“Maybe for middle school,” I laughed.
“Exactly,” the brilliant reporter said with a nod of her head. “It’s camouflaged.”
“Fair enough,” I shrugged. “So, what have you found?”
“You first,” she countered. “You’re the one that called me in the middle of the night.”
“True,” I said.
She was so close that I could feel the heat of her body. Her cheeks were flushed, and I suspected that she’d had more than one drink already. Despite tha
t, she still seemed coherent, so I decided to find out what her leads were before I saw her home safely.
“So?” she prodded after she took a sip from her rum and coke.
“I found a super PAC that receives most of its donation from the Everson Juvenile Detention Center,” I told her as I looked at my notes.
I quickly flipped to the section with the super PAC so that she wouldn’t see the judge’s name. She had missed the quick movement as she jotted down the new information in her notebook with her adorable pen.
“That follows what I found out so far, too,” she said as she looked back up, and for a moment I forgot to breathe as I stared into her honey-brown eyes.
“And what have you found out?” I asked as I forced myself to sit back so that I wouldn’t be as close to her perfect bow shaped lips.
“Well,” she said, completely unphased as she took another sip of her drink. “It seems like the center gives a lot to political campaigns like that super PAC. They also claim to be at full capacity almost constantly, though their expenditures on supplies seems on the lower end compared to the other facilities I’ve looked up.”
“My client did say that the food is a gray goo,” I told her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the extra money was finding its way into the company’s pockets.”
“Yes!” the Brazillian bombshell exclaimed as she turned in the booth to look at me fully. “Both of the owners belong to this really swanky country club for Miami socialites and politicians.”
“A country club?” I asked while I tried to ignore the warmth of the leg she had pressed against mine.
If the owners of Everson’s belonged to the same country club as the judge, then that could be another link in their relationship. It would be interesting to know who had nominated the judge for membership, since all of those places required a sponsor.
“It seems like it’s the favorite for all of the more influential families,” she responded before she polished off the rest of her rum and coke.
“And their financials show that they’ve donated to political campaigns?” I asked.
“Yes,” the reporter grinned. “I found their name on a few judicial campaigns from several years ago. And the mayor’s. But it’s been a while since they gave directly.”
“Because they realized it was better to give through the super PACs,” I added with a nod of my head. “They don’t have to worry about individual limits on campaign donations.”
“We’ve really found an amazing story,” Eloa said as she gave me a thousand kilowat smile.
“We have,” I agreed. “I think we have enough to take it to the DA.”
“Oh, my gosh!” she exclaimed as she clapped her hands together and bounced in her seat. “Yes. We should do that right away. Actually, you do that. I need to write up the story.”
“I’ll need a copy of your research,” I warned her.
“Obviously,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
She grabbed my forearm with both of her hands as she stared up at me with an intensity that made me wonder if she was going to kiss me. It would be tempting, but it was clear that she’d had a few drinks, and I wasn’t interested in pursuing anything unless she had a clear head.
“Yes?” I asked when she continued to watch me.
“This is the best news you ever could have given me,” she whispered before she turned to search through her bag.
“I’m glad I could make your night,” I said. “Does this mean I’m forgiven for the midnight phone call?”
“Definitely,” she said and then gave a little happy squeak as she found a black flash drive. “Here you go!”
“This is much more tame than I was expecting,” I teased as I took the USB and put it in my briefcase with my notes, pen, and laptop.
“Well, that one’s just for you,” she said. “Mine is shaped like a panda.”
“That makes more sense,” I said with a grin.
“So what should we do now?” she asked as she confiscated my rum and coke then took a long swig.
“I think I should get you home,” I chuckled when she finished the drink.
“I can call a cab,” she said with a shrug. “I know you said you’d give me a ride, but I don’t want to be a bother.”
“I’d feel much better knowing you made it home safe,” I told her as I watched her pack up.
“You’re so sweet,” she said as she looped the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder. “I would prefer to get a ride from someone I know rather than a stranger.”
I resisted the urge to remind her she’d known me for a day, though I did wonder if she trusted everyone so easily. It seemed a little counterproductive for a reporter. But she’d also convinced someone to give her the financial history of the Everson Juvenile Detention Center in the span of one afternoon so she was clearly good at what she did.
“Shall we go, then?” I asked as I stood and offered her my hand.
“To home I go!” she exclaimed as she slapped her palm in mine and stood.
“Everything okay?” Drew asked when she wobbled on her heels, and I had to wrap an arm around her to steady her.
“Yeah,” the beautiful woman said as she straightened and took a step away. “You made those drinks strong.”
“You drank both of them?” the grizzly bartender asked with a lifted eyebrow as he turned his attention to me.
“She did,” I said with a one shoulder shrug. “I’m going to make sure she gets home safe.”
“She better be,” the tough man warned with a stare that would have melted the flesh off of my bones if I hadn’t already survived Osvaldo’s displeased scowl.
“I can take care of myself,” Eloa huffed at us before she flipped her hair and sauntered out into the night.
“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” I promised the bartender. “Have a good night.”
I followed after the Brazilian bombshell and found her right next to my ancient blue Honda.
“This is your car right?” she asked as she patted the passenger side door.
“It is,” I replied while I walked around to unlock the door for her and make sure she made it into the seat.
“I only live a few minutes away,” she informed me as I slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine.
“Great,” I said as I pulled up Google Maps and then handed it to her.
She put in her address, which was, as promised, only a few miles away, and I realized that it was probably one of the renovated buildings at the edge of the warehouse district that had been converted to lofts.
“I’m just going to close my eyes,” she said as she leaned her head back against the seat.
I didn’t bother to answer as I started toward her home. With only a few cars on the roads at that time of night, I was able to pull up in front of her building in a few minutes. It still had an old warehouse look to it, thanks to the red brick and iron staircases, but the overhead doors had been replaced with glass ones, and the old windows had been updated with modern storm windows. There were lights on in a few of the upper windows, and the lobby was still brightly lit as well.
“We’re here,” I said as I gently put my hand on her shoulder.
She jolted, looked around, then yawned while she put her hand over her mouth, and let out the most adorable squeak I’d ever heard in my life.
“Did I really fall asleep that fast?” she asked.
“You did,” I said with a smile.
“Ugh,” she said while she stretched out her neck. “I can’t believe I’m so tired. But it was a long day.”
“It was,” I agreed.
“Are you okay?” she questioned as she tilted her head to peer at me with bleary eyes.
“Yes,” I said with a reassuring grin. “I just can’t wait to get my client out of that place.”
“You’re a good man,” she said with a nod of her head before she opened her door.
I put the car in park, turned it off, and then walked around to offer her my ar
m.
“What floor do you live on?” I asked as I looked down at her kitten heels and wobbly stance.
“The top floor!” she declared while she pumped her hand in the air.
“Then I’ll help you up,” I chuckled.
“Sounds like a plan,” she mumbled as she searched her bag for her keys.
She pulled out a keychain on a lanyard and then marched toward her building with me right behind her. She led me over to an old lift elevator, and I braced myself as I stepped onto the rickety machine. It jolted and shook before it began to rise, but thankfully it reached the third floor without falling apart.
“Is this you?” I asked when she stopped in front of one of the doors and began to fumble with her keys.
“Yep,” she said with a smile and a roll of her eyes. “I’m not so drunk that I can’t find my own apartment.
“Just want to make sure,” I teased.
“I do appreciate that,” she told me as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. “I’m really glad I met you.”
“I’m glad I met you, too,” I said.
I was about to turn toward the rickety elevator, my job done since she was back home safe, when she threw herself into my arms and planted a kiss on my lips.
I was still processing what had happened when she shut the door in my face.
Chapter 14
“Wow,” I whispered to the closed door.
It wasn’t an articulate moment on my part, but my brain still hadn’t kick-started again after the beautiful Brazilian reporter had kissed me. My lips still tingled with the pressure from hers, and I vaguely remembered the pillow softness of her bow shaped mouth against mine.
I licked my lips as I started back to the slow elevators, and I tasted the sweetness of coke mixed with the spice and bite of a good rum. I grinned as I stepped onto the elevator as I thought about the fact that she had made the first move. As exciting as that was, I would need to see what she thought about it when she was a little more sober.
The drive back to my apartment was quick, and all too soon I had parked my ancient blue Honda into its usual spot. I waved at the young goon in his black car, and it occurred to me I hadn’t seen him around Eloa’s apartment complex. He’d made it back to my home before I did, probably to keep an eye out for me, though I was sure a full report would be made to Alvaro and Osvaldo, and I wondered how that would go.
