[Summer Contest Entry 2015] Miami Nights

I followed Whitestone to a motel parking lot on the edge of the city. By the time I had pulled in and parked the testrossa he had already checked into his room. The motel was two stories and each story had ten rooms. Each room had a shutter-shaded window that let you see into the parking lot from inside. Out of all the rooms only three still had their lights on. I sat patiently for about fifteen minutes until a woman appeared from the darkness. I couldn’t make her out through the darkness but she walked up to room eight; the only room on the first floor with its lights on. She made a subtle knock on the door. The door opened and Whitestone invited her in. I had found my mark.

I creeped out of the testarossa crawled up beside the window. Through the shutters I could see Whitestone wearing nothing but a cheap bathrobe. The woman he invited inside was one of the girls from Little Havana; the bottom of the barrel. Whitestone truly did have the worst taste. He gestured to her to take her clothes off. She unbuttoned her blouse and unzipped her skirt. I had never seen a naked woman in person before, it’s a lot different then what you see in magazines or at a Pussycat. The woman reached down to take off her heels. Whitestone smiled, “No, leave them on. But take that off your neck.” She mumbled something in Spanish and took off the silver crucifix she wore around her neck then tucked it away in her knock-off handbag.

The Bathroom door opened. Stepping out was Becky, wearing nothing but a towel. It felt like I had just run a marathon. My heart raced and my mouth became dry. I had never noticed how long her hair was. The only times I had seen her she had her hair up, but now her brown hair was reaching down passed her shoulders. Whitestone told her to come to him. She stood still for a moment as the Cuban girl got on the bed and made herself comfortable. Becky dropped her towel where she stood and walked over to Whitestone totally exposed.

At first I envied Whitestone as I watched him touch her body. But I could see Becky’s face and it was clear she didn’t want to be here. She looked hopeless, I saw her cringe each time he groped her privates.

As him and Becky got acquainted I noticed the Cuban girl reaching for something on the other side of the bed. I couldn’t tell what it was, however, Whitestone eventually noticed too. He pulled his lips off Becky for a moment, “What are you doing?” She didn’t say anything. It wasn’t the kind of silence you get from having a language barrier. It was a suspicious silence. Whitestone threw Becky off him and walked over. Apparently, the Cuban girl was digging through Whitestone’s wallet while he was distracted. He became furious. She pleaded in Spanish, she said a lot of words of which the only one I understood was †˜no!’

Whitestone had no self-control in any respect for the phrase. Their unintelligible back and forth went nowhere and Whitestone’s barking got louder with each growl. Suddenly, he swung. Becky’s scream pierced me. I had never seen someone that old act so violently. The girl was crying and bleeding from her nose.

There was nothing about that man to be envied. The only emotion I felt was anger and helplessness, because no matter what I did to him, no matter what I said or who I told he would be able to turn it back on me. I clenched my fist even though I knew it was pointless. My palms stung, I had forgotten about the blisters I had gotten from all the digging I did back on Bunker Point I remembered, I still had Michael’s shovel in the trunk of the testarossa. In that moment it was as if I took a step beside myself. Looking back I wondered, “Maybe this is what it’s like when people black out, but probably not.” I was aware of what was happening but I had no control. It was like watching a movie starring me as myself. Suddenly, I was back in control like I had just jumped back into my body. Blood shot through my veins quickly and everything felt cold; much colder then you’d expect from a summer night in Miami. I could hear the ringing like a metronome, on beat every time. I could feel the weight of the shovel in my hand. The face of the shovel had gone through the back windshield of Whitestone’s Camaro in only a single blow. I stood there in a daze, and all I could think at the time was “It only took one hit?” It seemed as if only a second had passed but I knew it had been more because the car siren had stopped automatically.

Finally, the door to room eight opened. Whitestone stepped out breathing heavily. “What! The fuck!” Even just looking at his face made me angry. I threw the shovel to the ground as if to make a statement. In a moment where emotion took over for sanity I shouted, “Come on!” I didn’t even know what I meant by it. Whitestone looked defeated, it was odd and unexpected. He was at a loss for words. It must have been that he had seen something in me he had never seen before; no one had ever stood to oppose him, no one was ever willing to take action and not let him get his way. For the first time someone was staring him down unwilling to budge and he didn’t know how to deal with it. He began clenching his left arm tightly and fell backwards into the room. I realized what was actually happening; he was having a heart attack.

I moved in towards the room to check on Becky. The Cuban girl pushed me aside as she fled the scene; her blouse half unbuttoned and her face covered in blood. Becky stepped out of the bathroom fully-dressed. “Casey, call an ambulance.” She pleaded. “I saw what he did to that girl, he deserves this.”

Becky ran out to the payphone on the corner. Against everything I thought I stood for I watched her do it. She called an ambulance and I sat there with her until the paramedic arrived. There police officers too, she explained “Mr. Whitestone and I had a date planned. After wards, we came back to his motel room. We heard something in the parking lot; it was a guy breaking into his car. The guy broke the back windshield and when Mr. Whitestone went out he attacked him. They wrestled back and forth until the guy just ran away.” One of the cops nodded, “So that was how Mr. Whitestone got the blood on his hand and scratches on his face?”
“Right.”
Becky walked over to me. I had been watching everything from the driver’s seat of the testarossa. I rolled down the window.
“They need me to come down to the station to ID the guy that smashed Robert’s car. You mind taking me?”
“You want me to drive myself to jail?”
“I told them it was a Cuban gang member, but I really wanted to talk to you.”

I unlocked the door to the passenger’s side and let her in. We began driving to the precinct; we were quiet. I didn’t know what to say.
“I was really hoping you would think I just stood you up and go home.” She muttered.
“I guess a night with him is more important to you than I am?”
Becky didn’t like hearing that. She became angry. “I told him †˜not tonight, I already have plans.’ I asked if we could do it another night, he said he has girls for every other night. So I made a decision, and it was a bad one. He said everyone does thing like this when they start, this is how you go places.” I could see her starting to cry again.

“Can I tell you something?” I began. “This isn’t my car.”
"Whose is it?” She asked.
“A friend of a friend’s. Someone I know almost nothing about. But he asked me to move it for him. In a moment I made a bad decision and took it for a test drive when he told me not to. Now some guys are trying to get me, I think they want to kill me and I don’t even know why.”
“What about your friend?”
“He’s gone. No can tell me where.”
We pulled up to the precinct.
“I want to see you again.” Becky whispered.
“I’d like that.”

Becky leaned in and kissed me before leaving the testarossa. I had to laugh to myself, “That was the roughest first date I had ever had.”