Bird Brained (27 page)

My stomach churned. I was pretty well full-up when it came to receiving lessons. But one good turn deserved another.

“I think Bambi Weed has hold of an illegal Cuban Amazon,” I blithely announced.

We both knew what that information amounted to. It was about as helpful as knowing there was a group of fanatics target-practicing out in the Everglades.

Carlos looked disdainfully at Willy’s three passports, and the hyacinth feather. “So, that’s it then? This is all you’ve managed to get on this big case of yours so far?” He waved a dismissive hand across the meager evidence, scornful of the space it was taking up.

“It’s more than enough to start with,” I jumped to my defense.

“Sure, if I want to let you lead us on a wild-goose chase again,” Carlos shot back.

It was at times like this that I commiserated with fed-up postal workers who bypassed Hallmark Cards when expressing their feelings. “But you said yourself that you believed me about this one!” There was no way in hell I would let Carlos compare this to the sixty-egg fiasco.

Carlos matched my glare. “Listen, Porter. There’s nothing earth-shattering about what you’ve told me so far. Let me sum it up for you.” He picked up the passport closest to him and stood it on the table. “Dominguez was pipelining in hyacinths and Cuban Amazons.” He scooped up the second passport, waved it at me, and set it upright next to the first. “Dominguez was killed.” Carlos reached for the final passport and placed it next to its two companions. “But you think some of his Cuban partners might still be carrying on the trade.”

His index finger pushed lightly against the first passport in a game of all-fall-down.

“That’s what you’ve got, Porter. Nothing but a worthless house of cards. You think I don’t know things like that are going on? Here in Miami, they’re a dime a dozen. So what?”

Maybe I was wrong, but I seemed to be missing something here. “Does that mean you simply ignore them?”

“What that means is that without rock-solid proof to go on, all we’re doing is running around looking like a bunch of imbeciles,” Carlos lashed out. “This is the last time I’ll say this: I came to Miami to clean up this office, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you make me the laughingstock of this agency. And while we’re on the subject, don’t let me hear about you poking around in the activities of Cuban exiles, either.”

Carlos pointed a finger in my direction, giving me fair warning that his temper was alive and kicking. I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and turned on what charm I could.

“I’m certain there’s a case here, Carlos. And if we make it, you’re the one who’s going to come out the hero. Just let me have a little more time to nose around. That’s all I’m asking.”

That ought to do it—humble, yet determined, with Carlos cast as the victor.

“And if you don’t make the case,
I’m
the one who comes out looking like an idiot for letting you run rampant.” The ends of his mustache jerked in a skittish dance. “I’m touched by your concern for my career, but if you don’t mind, I’ll make the decisions around here, Porter.”

Carlos raised his arm like a glowering Moses, with a cigar in his hand instead of a staff. “You see that pile of paperwork in there on your desk? I suggest you get to work on it, because another batch is on its way. Translated into English, that means I don’t care if you have to live here twenty-four hours a day. I want every one of those documents entered into the computer. After that, you can set up a filing system and post past documents in it, as well.”

The way I translated it, Carlos was doing his damnedest to turn my job into that of a glorified secretary. “Then should I assume you don’t plan on looking into the case?” I asked in a parting shot.

Carlos mashed his cigar butt out on the sole of his shoe. “You want to play? Fine. But do it on your own time. Not on mine.” He leaned in closer. “We work for the government here. Like it or not, we’re part of the bureaucracy. And if I have to tie you to your desk with red tape in order to control you, believe me, I will. I don’t need some female running amok in the Hispanic community, causing me nothing but trouble.”

There—that was it. Silly me. The missing piece of the puzzle.

I lined up my twin baby-blue barrels. “This is all because I’m a woman, isn’t it? That’s the bottom line.” I waited for a response, but there was none. “If Phil made the request, you’d have your badge and your gun strapped on, more than happy to work on the case.”

Carlos busied himself at his desk, refusing to meet my gaze. I turned and began to walk out.

“
El mejor lugar de una mujer es en la casa.”

I hadn’t let Carlos know that for the past six months, I’d been learning Spanish. This seemed the perfect moment to demonstrate my progress. “So, the best place for the woman is in the house, huh?”

Carlos’s eyes met mine, startled by my response.

“I did get that right, didn’t I?” I asked, flinging daggers of sarcasm straight for his heart.

Carlos held my eyes without flinching as he stood up and grabbed his badge and his gun. I was sure that this was it: he’d finally come round to accept me.

“Real women get married and have children, Porter. Why is it that you never have?”

That bastard! “Does the term ‘gender discrimination’ mean anything to you, Carlos?” I hollered as he stormed out of the office, grumbling about females playing at being agents.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon behind my desk using every curse word I could think of, and placing them in sentences that included the name Carlos. Then I came up with a few more.

My fingers slogged through the papers, entering each dreary detail into the computer. Four cups of badly brewed
caf
é
Cubano
from the local Quik Pik had my nerves doing somersaults. Unfortunately, the caffeine did little for my eyes, which were glazed over from sheer boredom. I’d just begun to make a dent in the paperwork when my fingers slipped and hit a wrong key. I watched helplessly as a black hole swallowed all my newly entered data.

That was it! I didn’t care if Carlos chose to hogtie, quarter, or fire me. I was out of here. I was damned if I’d been assigned to the most notorious port in the country just to sit back and cool my heels.

I peeked into the cubicle that doubled as Phil’s office. He lay with his head on his arms, snoozing away. It being common knowledge that Phil would rather do anything than go out in the field, I filled my arms up with papers, and left them in a nice, neat pile sitting next to him.

Then I split.

“What a putz!” Bonkers screeched as I walked in the door. He hopped onto my shoulder and pulled my ear for good measure. There was no doubt about it, the bird was hanging around with Sophie too much. I was even beginning to detect a slight New York accent.

“I’m a horny boy!” Bonkers squawked, as he ran up and down my arm.

“Great. A lot of good that does me,” I muttered.

I pulled out a spray bottle and misted him lightly with water, and Bonkers trilled with delight, hitting operatic high notes. He spread his wings and bobbed his head up and down in rhythm to whatever music was jiving in his brain, his stubby legs teetering back and forth like a pigeon-toed tightrope artist.

From there, our games became progressively more raucous. Bored with being pushed around on the floor, Bonkers insisted on more creative levels of entertainment. We’d lately struck on a game where he’d steal away to sneak under the sheets of my bed, and I’d pretend to search for him. I’d call his name, drawing closer and closer. Then, lifting the sheet, I’d let out a roar.
There you are, Bonkers! You crazy bird!

Bonkers would rush out giggling like a lunatic, to grab at my hair and dash back beneath the covers.

But his favorite game these days was “Old MacDonald.” I’d sing the song, complete with moos, neighs, quacks, and baas, and Bonkers would join in, shrieking his head off. We had just launched into the chorus of “with a quack, quack here” when Terri walked in. He was clad in his favorite red kimono, and the pompommed slippers that resembled Pekingese dogs with a bad dye job. Bonkers immediately charged Terri’s feet. Terri tried to shake him off, but the bird was intent on his mission.

“For God sake! Call your attack bird off before he plucks Liz and Dick clean!” Terri commanded.

I scooped Bonkers up, pulled a few red feathers out of his beak, and placed him on his perch with a slice of papaya.

“Bad bird!” I said, knowing if I were him, I would have done the same thing.

Terri gave me a peck on the cheek. “Taylor and Burton thank you immensely.” He looked over at Bonkers and shook his stylish curls. “I love you, Rach, but trust me on this one: you’ve really got to get yourself a more rewarding life.”

“I thought I already had one,” I said defensively.

“Well, tonight it’s going to get even better: Sophie’s taking us all out to celebrate the start of our yarmulke business. So dress yourself in something hot and spicy, my dear. We’re going to the Havana Club for drinks, dinner, and dancing. Just pop on over whenever you’re ready. You’ve got plenty of time.” Terri snapped his fingers, his feet tapping to the silent strains of a flamenco beat. “I’m going to be busy working on Sophie’s and Lucinda’s makeup for a while.”

He clip-clopped back down the path.

I showered, lathering every inch of my hair and body until any sneaky, lingering germs that might have hitched a ride from Willy’s place had been thoroughly scrubbed off. Between my recent blowups with both Santou and Carlos, a cloud of gloom had been hovering over me. Well, that was about to change. I was determined to let loose and have nothing but pure fun tonight. I took extra pains with my makeup, and gathered my curls into a saucy arrangement on top of my head. Then I pulled out the slinky little blue dress I’d been brave enough to buy but too cowardly to wear, along with a pair of breakneck stilettos. When I checked out my reflection in the mirror, I was pleasantly surprised. My, my… not bad at all!

Then, I held on to every bush and twig I could as I minced over to Sophie’s. Was it possible that the feet of all the chichi South Beach babes I’d envied actually hurt this much?

“Well, you sure as hell aren’t gonna be the wallflower of our group tonight,” Sophie declared as I wobbled through the door. “Is it really you? Or has some alien with a flair for how to dress taken over your body?”

I didn’t say a word as I took in the vision that was Sophie. A gold-lamé dress, capable of lighting up New York during a blackout, clung to her frame. She drank in the attention as if I were a film crew for the eleven o’clock news, slowly twirling around and then extending her left leg to display the thigh-high slit.

Chunky rhinestone bracelets and dangling earrings added to the sparkle. Then I caught sight of her footwear. She was sporting a pair of sneakers that had been spray painted gold and covered with sequins.

“What’s with the shoes?” I asked.

“You’ve gotta be crazy to try and walk in those things you’re wearing,” she declared. “Don’t you know you could end up with bunions, hammertoes, and tendinitis, not to mention a charley horse or shooting pains in your lower back, from prancing around in those heels?”

Yeah. But the bottom line was that they made me look really terrific. I’d seen my silhouette in the mirror. What these heels did for the line of my butt and my breasts was nearly as good as having plastic surgery.

“They’re perfectly fine.” I smiled as I headed for the nearest chair. I suspected that by the end of the evening, though, I’d be wrestling Sophie to the ground for her sneakers.

She watched as I lowered myself with a sigh. “Good idea. Rest your tootsies while I check on how Lucinda and Terri are doing.”

I resisted the temptation to kick my shoes off, knowing I’d never be able to get them back on, and I focused my attention on my surroundings as a distraction.

I’d always known both women were major collectors, with the number of kitschy tchotchkes cluttering their place. There were the usual last minute souvenirs from airports, interspersed with rescued treasures from flea markets and garage sales. They even had a glass menagerie of critters. But I’d never taken notice of the flags that Terri had spoken of. Nearly hidden in the mix, they now seemed to pop up like bouquets of colorful flowers.

“So, what do you think?” asked a lilting Cuban voice.

Lucinda stood in the doorway looking like a twenty-five-year-old model. She was elegantly attired in a white, off-the-shoulder slip of a dress that accentuated her shape and played up her tan. I noticed that she had been smart enough to put on a pair of stylish yet comfortable sandals.

“You look amazing,” I said, and wholeheartedly meant it. Terri had done a bang-up job on both women’s makeup. They’d never looked better.

I got up and hobbled over to their collection of souvenirs. “So, where did you get all these flags?”

“Aren’t they unique?” Lucinda bubbled. “No one else that we know collects them.”

I plucked one out that bore the initials ED and gave it a swirl.

“I’m especially fond of that one,” Sophie commented, slipping her arm through Lucinda’s.

“What’s the ED stand for?” I asked.

Sophie gave me a wink. “Eccentric dyke,” she wisecracked.

Lying next to the flags was a pair of round-trip bus ticket stubs to Tallahassee, from one of their weekend jaunts out of town. Lucinda and Sophie caught me eyeballing them.

“Pro-abortion rally,” Lucinda explained.

“Gay rights march,” Sophie chirped at the same time.

I gave them a quizzical look. “So, which one was it?”

“It was one of those blowout, hit-em-where-it-hurts weekends,” Sophie replied.

“One rally was on Saturday and the other on Sunday,” Lucinda added.

Terri breezed into the room in a pair of flowing apricot pants and a matching billowy shirt. A tasteful pair of sunglasses covered his black-and-blue eye. “My God, Rach—so there really is a body under all those
shmattes
you usually wear. Congratulations!”

I arched an eyebrow. “Since when did you begin speaking Yiddish?”