“Yep.”
“I was hoping it was a dream.” He propped himself up on one elbow. “And Oscar Huevo?”
“Dead.” I had my shoes on and my bra in my hand. “I’m going to the bathroom and then I’m going downstairs. I smell coffee brewing. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
Ten minutes later, I was across from Hooker at Felicia’s kitchen table. I had a mug of coffee and a plate heaped with French toast and sausage. Felicia and her daughter were at the stove, cooking for what seemed like an endless supply of grandchildren and assorted other relatives.
“This is Sister Marie Elena,” Felicia said, introducing a bent little old lady dressed in black. “She come from the church on the corner when she hear H
ooker is visiting. She’s a big fan. And this guy behind her is my husband’s brother Luis.”
Hooker was shaking hands and signing autographs and trying to eat. A kid climbed onto Hooker’s lap and scarfed down one of Hooker’s sausages.
“Who are you?” Hooker asked.
“Billy.”
“My grandnephew,” Felicia said, putting four more sausages on Hooker’s plate. “Lily’s youngest boy. Lily is my sister’s middle child. They’re living with me while they look for a place. They just came here from Orlando. Lily’s husband got transferred.”
Everyone was talking at once, Beans was barking at Felicia’s cat, and the television was blaring from the kitchen counter.
“I have to go,” I shouted at Hooker. “I want to get to the car. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided to take a look. Just in case.”
Hooker stood up at the table. “I’ll go with you.”
“When Gobbles gets up, tell him to stay in the house,” I told Felicia. “Tell him we’ll be back later.”
“Dinner at six o’clock,” Felicia said. “I’m cooking special Cuban for you. And my friend Marjorie and her husband are coming. They want to meet you. They’re big fans.”
“Sure,” Hooker said.
“But then we have to leave,” I said to Felicia. “We need to get back to North Carolina.”
“I’m in no rush to get back to North Carolina,” Hooker said, grinning down at me. “Maybe we should stay another night.”
“Maybe you should take out more health insurance,” I said to Hooker.
FOUR
It was early morning and the sky over Miami was a brilliant azure. Not a cloud visible, and already the sun was heating things up. It was the first day of the workweek in a neighborhood of hardworking people. Clumps of Cuban immigrants and first-generation Americans stood waiting at bus stops. Not far off, in South Beach, the traffic was light and the gleaming and immaculate pricey cars of the rich and famous were cooling off in air-conditioned garages after a night on the town. In Little Havana, dusty trucks and workhorse family sedans hustled down streets, carrying kids to relatives’ houses for day care and adults to jobs citywide.
Hooker drove past the front of the warehouse and turned at the corner. He circled the block and we looked for cars occupied by cops, Huevo henchmen, or crazed fans. There were no occupied cars that we could see, and the traffic was minimal, so Hooker found a parking spot on the street and we unloaded Beans. Felicia had given us a key to the side door. We let ourselves in, switched the lights on, and closed and locked the door behind us.
Everything was just as we’d left it. I found a jumpsuit, pulled on a pair of gloves, and went to work on the car.
“What can I do?” Hooker asked.
“You can go through the hauler and make sure there aren’t any more dead people in there.”
Hooker prowled through the hauler and cleaned up after me as I methodically examined the car.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked.
“No. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t here. It just means I haven’t found it yet.”
Hooker looked inside the car. “I have to give Huevo credit. They take every opportunity to make the car better. Right down to the gearshift knob.”
“Yeah, I’m taking the knob with me. It’s aluminum and super light. They’ve even used a carved design to shave an ounce off it. I thought we might adapt it for your cars. Steal the concept but change the design.”