American Tropic (15 page)

D
eep within the corridors of the massive Detention Center, in a dim isolation cell, Noah sits alone on a cot. He stares at the floor, lines of worry cut across his face. He is startled by the sudden scraping-metal sound of the thick steel cell door behind him swinging open. A shaft of light from outside probes the cell.

Luz appears in the doorway. “You’ve been freed on bail. There was a Bizango killing last night while you were locked in here.”

Noah looks up, bleary-eyed. “So they know I can’t be Bizango?”

“They are investigating if you might be his accomplice. The crime lab is getting results from the sweep of your boat and house in their search for anything incriminating. You’re still considered a suspect.”

“What about Rimbaud? They must be freeing him too?”

“No. Since he was apprehended at the scene of Pat’s murder, he’s still being held. A trial date has been set.”

Noah focuses his eyes hard on Luz. “You had a rifle aimed at me from that helicopter. Were you really going to shoot me?”

“Luckily, I didn’t have to decide.”

“You believe I’m mixed up in these murders?”

“As someone who knows you, definitely not. As a cop, I have to keep all options open.”

“I’m going to find Bizango myself. He used me to get his message out.”

“We’re dealing with a lethal killer. You’re already too involved. Back off or you might end up his next victim.” Luz reaches down and pulls Noah up from the cot. “Right now I need you to clean up, shave, and get yourself a new suit for Nina’s Quince party. My little girl is turning fifteen tomorrow. You must be there.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. But just one other thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Who made my bail?”

“You don’t need to know. It’s not important.”

Noah grips Luz’s shoulder. “It’s important to me.”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell you.”

“It’s not like I won’t find out anyway.”

“Okay, Joan. Your sister paid half the bail.”

“And?”

“What?”

“The other half. Who paid?”

“Zoe.”

N
oah steps out from the Detention Center through the front doors. He blinks in the intense sunlight after having been locked up in a windowless cell. On the expanse of asphalt parking lot TV vans with
satellite antennas atop their roofs are parked. Reporters and cameramen rush to gather around the Police Chief, recording his words.

“There is no reason for panic. We assure this community that all law-enforcement resources are being used to apprehend the perpetrator of these heinous crimes.”

A reporter shouts: “You say no reason to panic, but there have been a string of bizarre killings.”

“We had two suspects. One was let go for lack of hard evidence to hold him. We are still holding the other one.”

Another reporter yells angrily: “Those two suspects were locked up when the last murder occurred. That means there must be another killer out there. Maybe there’s even a team calling themselves Bizango.”

“Well, there’s at least one Bizango. Next question.”

“Is it true the cruise ship’s security cameras caught images of the captain’s killer?”

“It’s true. We have video of whom we believe to be the perpetrator. We also have other important information regarding this investigation that we’ll be releasing soon.”

“The Fantasy Parade? You going to cancel it now?”

“No. It would take a catastrophic category-five hurricane bearing down on this island before I would cancel the Fantasy Parade. Trust me, every precaution is being taken to keep people on this island safe. I have coordinated with the County Sheriff to put his one hundred fifty deputies on our streets to join with sixty Key West police. Florida Highway Patrol is bringing a canine unit, SWAT team, and one hundred officers. This is an unprecedented show of force.”

From behind the circle of reporters surrounding the Chief, Zoe makes her way toward the Detention Center.
She walks up the front steps to where Noah is standing, and stops.

Noah leans forward to give Zoe a kiss on the cheek, rushing her with his words. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t expect you to be here when they released me.”

Zoe pulls back from Noah’s attempted kiss. She lowers the sunglasses covering her eyes and stares over the top rims. “I didn’t come here for you. There are still some bail-bond documents I must sign, formalizing the financials of your release.”

“I’ll pay the money back. Don’t worry, I won’t jump bail and leave town.”

“That’s the least I expect from you. But you should know, it’s me who’s leaving Key West.”

Noah hides his surprise and keeps his words steady. “You’re leaving? When? You can’t go before Nina’s Quince. She’ll be crushed. She still considers you her aunt.”

“I’ll be here for Nina. Then, right after the Fantasy Parade, I’m out. Our divorce will be finalized then.”

“We’re still married. You know, it’s not over until it’s over.”

Zoe gives Noah a radiant smile. “No, it’s over.”

L
uz sits alone on her living-room sofa. The bamboo window shades are drawn against the intense outside tropical light. In the darkened room, her solemn gaze is fixed on a family home movie playing on a
television screen. The images flickering across the screen show Luz’s living room ten years before, decorated with balloons and ribbons for Nina’s birthday party. On the screen, little Nina is a healthy five-year-old wearing a festive paper-cone hat. She leans over a birthday cake with five candles. The red letters on the white-frosted cake spell out
HAPPY BIRTHDAY NINA!
Nina shuts her eyes tight to make a wish. She blows out the five candles on the cake with a burst of air. She looks up with triumph. Surrounding Nina are Noah, Zoe, Joan, and Carmen, all ten years younger, wearing colorful paper party hats and singing loudly, “Happy birthday to you, dear Nina! Happy birthday to you!” Joan stops singing and speaks at the camera: “Honey, give me the camera. I want to film Nina with her proud mama.” The movie image goes out of focus, then refocuses with the image of Luz lifting Nina onto her shoulders. Mother and daughter joyously wave to the camera.

As Luz watches the television screen’s flickering images of her and Nina, the muscles of her jaw twitch. She holds back her emotion as Joan comes in and sits close to her. Luz takes Joan’s hand. They watch the screen as the five-year-old Nina excitedly opens birthday presents.

Joan’s throat tightens. She gets her words out without crying: “Seems like only yesterday. She was so healthy, so full of life.”

Luz holds Joan’s hand tighter. “Our daughter made it to today’s birthday. Every doctor said she wouldn’t.”

“Why did God do this to her?”

Luz puts her arm around Joan’s shoulders. She tries to hide the hurt in her voice. “We can’t blame God for Nina’s condition.”

“I hope we’re doing the right thing, having this Quince party.”

“We had a fancy hotel Quince for Carmen when she turned fifteen. Even if this one is in our backyard, it will mean the world to Nina.”

Joan brushes a tear from her eye. “You’re right. It’s a miracle she’s with us. We do have God to thank for that.”

“I count every day of her fifteen years as a blessing. I’ll go see how she’s holding up. The guests are coming in two hours.”

Joan gently touches Luz’s cheek. “Are you sure you are okay? Should I go with you?”

“No. I can do it. She’s waiting.”

Luz leaves Joan and walks down the hallway to Nina’s bedroom. The door is open. Inside, a frail Nina sits in her wheelchair, wearing a white Quince-party dress. On her head is a wig of cascading brown ringlets. At her feet is Chicken, curled up and snoring peacefully.

Luz steps into the bedroom. She slips a gift-wrapped box out from her guayabera shirt pocket. She holds the box behind her back as she kneels in front of Nina’s wheelchair.

Nina’s voice is weak, but her face is animated. “Mom, what’s that behind your back?”

“Something for the most special fifteen-year-old girl in the world.”

Nina’s thin lips turn up in an ironic smile. “I’m special, like the poster child for cancer.”

“I didn’t mean it that way, darling.”

“I know, Mom, I was just kidding. You always say, laughter is our secret weapon.”

“You and I, we have a lot of secret weapons.”

“So—what’s in the box? I bet it’s a wedding ring. I bet you’re going to show me the wedding ring you’re finally giving Joan after twelve years.”

“Well, that’s an interesting idea.”

“You know, you guys should just do it, tie the knot, go on an old-fashioned honeymoon to Niagara Falls.”

“You’ve got my wedding all figured out.”

“Carmen and I have it planned.”

“It’s something to look forward to, but what’s in the box is just for you.” Luz brings the box from behind her back and offers it to Nina.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t open it. My fingers aren’t working so well today. You help me with it.”

Luz peels off the gift wrapping, exposing a silk jewelry box. She snaps the box open; inside is a gleaming pearl necklace. “Happy fifteenth birthday, darling!”

Nina tries to reach for the pearl necklace, but her arms are too weak.

Luz slips the necklace around Nina’s neck and fastens it. The pearls glow in a soft pink halo against Nina’s white dress.

Nina beams with pride. “I’m the luckiest girl to have you as my mom.”

“It’s me who’s the lucky one.”

“Thank you for such a beautiful gift, and for giving me a party today.”

“Nothing could stop me from celebrating this day with you.”

Nina’s eyelids become heavy, almost closing; the light in her eyes dims. “Mom, can I lie down before the party? I’m so tired. Will you stay with me?”

“Of course—there’s time before the guests arrive.”

“Are Uncle Noah and Auntie Zoe coming?”

“They wouldn’t miss it.”

Luz lifts Nina up into her arms from the wheelchair. She lays her on the bed.

Nina’s dimming eyes look up. “My wig, Mom. Take my wig off, so it doesn’t get crushed before the party.”

Luz removes the wig, exposing Nina’s bald head. She places the wig carefully on the nightstand and sits on the bed. She caresses Nina’s bald head, her fingers stroking back and forth across the smooth skin.

Nina’s eyelids flutter. She struggles to keep her eyes open and focused on Luz. “Sing to me, Mom. Sing me your song.”

Luz sings in a haunting voice, her words drawn up from a deep well of emotion with melodious melancholy.

Nina’s breathing becomes slow and shallow. She sleeps.