Curveball (17 page)

She turned back to see Junior’s impressed smile. He might have noticed her blush,
if not for the orange glow of the dance pit. “It’s a line from
Dante’s Inferno
. We had to read it in Professor Habing’s Comparative World Literature class. It was
one of my favorites.”

“Yeah … we didn’t have a whole lot of literature comparison in the kinesiology program.
Unless you count
Fit or Fat
.”

Cat ignored his grin and scanned the busy dance floor. “I don’t see Paige anywhere.”

Junior pointed up to the second level, which was gated off at the top of the stairs
with a velvet rope and a sign that read VIP. “She’s up there with that Very Important
Prick.”

Sure enough, Paige and Chance were pretzeled together on a scarlet crushed velvet
couch, surrounded by the suits from the ballpark and a few scantily-clad women.

Cat burst out laughing in spite of her concerns for Paige’s safety and her own impending
job offer—both of which would be at risk should the party girl wind up in the hospital
either getting her stomach pumped or being pumped with penicillin, either of which
seemed to be plausible outcomes at this point.

Cat shrugged. “At least we can keep an eye on her from here.”

The music came to a jarring halt as the DJ switched the techno beat to a Caribbean
tempo. The dancers on the floor responded to the steel drums by doubling their numbers.

Junior grabbed her hand. “Paige is fine. Let’s dance.”

She observed the busy dance floor of jiggling couples as he led her through the crowd.
She leaned over his shoulder, her voice raised almost to the point of yelling over
the loud music. “Is this the Merengue?”

Junior tilted his head back and hollered. “No, this is the Bachata.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, for starters ...” He turned around and reached for her other arm. With the
next beat, he tugged her tight up against his chest. He dropped his voice in her ear.

“We dance closer.”

His hands grazed down to the small of her back.

“Oh!”

His leg cradled hers and their hips circled. As the beat slowed, they maintained their
full body grip, their hips still locked together for a unison pop on the fourth beat.
Cat knew she should enforce some distance between them but she couldn’t tear herself
away from the sultry scent of his cologne. The thin cotton of his black tee began
to cling to his broad chest and accentuate every ridge of his abdomen. His other hand
crawled down her arm to clasp her hand. He twirled her twice, pulled her back into
his chest, and held her hand in the air as their hips continued to gyrate. The other
strong hand trailed down her side and rested on her stomach, while her hips shook
with every beat.

His breath tickled her ear and sent obliging chills down her sticky back with his
next comment: “You’re a natural.”

She smiled and spun her around to the front, pulling her even closer than before as
their torsos locked together again.

It was too much temptation. Cat stepped out of the tight squeeze.

“Uh, I need some air.”

She cast about for an easy exit, happy to see the illuminated signs across the room.
Before Junior could respond, she darted off the dance floor.

Buzzing through the dark hallway of embracing couples and women waiting for the restroom,
she reached an exit and pushed down the bar handle. It opened into the back alley.
She hopped out and let the door slam behind her, hitting the brick frame with a bang.

She slumped, disappointed that the muggy night air wasn’t the cold shower she had
hoped for. Thoughts raced through her mind, making a pit stop to chastise her before
continuing to the guilty finish line: Benji.

Benji.

The love of her life, and the man who would rather take an Exacto knife to the original
packaging of his
Star Trek
TOS Communicator than step one of his running sneakers on a dance floor.

“I love Benji.”

She spoke the proclamation aloud but all she could think about was Junior’s arms ...
and his hips.

Those hips.

She shook her head and paced in the alleyway.

Friends’
hips shouldn’t be able to move like that.
Friends’
hips should sit on bleachers, not gyrate on dance floors. And they certainly should
lock together with the other friend’s hips while gyrating.

“Shouldn’t!”

She cursed the Freudian slip and chalked it up to heat-induced dizziness. She pushed
the sweaty hair from her face, the lingering scent of Junior’s aquatic cologne wafting
off her fingers as she did so. She took a deep breath, relieved to feel her heartbeat
returning to normal.

Bang!

Cat jumped, as did her pulse—its momentary pardon long forgotten. She whipped around
and saw that the club door had banged open and smacked the brick wall. Scuffling sounds
from the hallway. A scrawny body catapulted backwards out of the doorway and onto
the ground.

Instinctively, she crouched behind the dumpster and peeked around the side of the
metal box.

Two beefy guys charged out next. The body on the ground moaned and attempted to get
up.

“¡Cerrá el pico!”

(“Shut up!”)

Cat wanted to shout for the idiot to keep down but stayed quiet, glued against the
side of the dark dumpster. She gagged at the stench of rotten garbage but didn’t dare
move. She cringed when a roach appeared along the edge, heading for the top. When
it stopped and twitched its antenna at her, she stiffened and braced herself; it had
done a one-eighty and was scurrying toward her fingers, which were tightly wrapped
around the corner.

“¡Hijo de la gran puta!”

(“Son of a bitch!”)

The shout tore her eyes off the bug and directed them toward the dumpster again. The
larger of two men pulled the helpless man to his feet, holding him while the other
one punched him in the stomach. His beaten body went limp as they let him drop to
the ground.

Her fingers trembled at the tickling of her skin. At the same time she lowered her
eyes to her hand, where the cockroach mounted her index finger and scurried up her
knuckle. A scream rose in her throat, cut off only by her clenched jaw. She stiffened
as the cockroach made his way to the end of her hand, pausing briefly to survey his
domain. He finally continued his crawl off her skin and back onto the metal dumpster.
She exhaled with relief and whipped her hand back, balancing only on her squatted
legs.

“¡Abajo mierda!”

(“Get down, you shit!”)

Both men headed for the door before the larger one turned back around.

“Please stay down. Please stay down.” She knew the victim couldn’t hear her tiny whispers,
but if there was ever a time to develop a sixth sense, it was now.

He did stay down, but that didn’t stop the ogre from giving him one final kick in
the ribs before leaving his crumpled body in the alley.

She muffled a gasp. When the door slammed behind them, Cat hurried to the body and
rolled him over.

He groaned.

She was relieved to find him conscious. That is, until she recognized his face.

“Cristian?”

He cradled himself in the fetal position.

“Where does it hurt?” She racked her brain. Her
bazillion
years of Spanish, as Paige put it, went out the window anytime she was flustered.
She took a deep breath. “¿
Donde te duele
?”

He rolled from side to side, still holding his stomach. “
Me duele el estómago
.”

Okay, in the stomach. “
Por favor, respira profundo
.” She demonstrated by breathing in deep and letting out a long exhale.

He began taking the deep breaths without discomfort.

She leaned over him. “Cristian, it’s me. Cat McDaniel from the Buffalo Soldiers. Are
you okay? Do I need to get help?”

His brown eyes flickered, stopping at squinted shards. “Cat? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” She placed her hand on his, which was still protecting his
stomach. “I’m not the one getting stampeded by a couple of well-dressed bulls in the
alleyway. What are you doing here?”

“I came here to talk to
him
.”

“Who?”

“It was all a big scam. They were using me.”

“What scam? Who did you come here to see? Chance?”

“Mi abuela.”

“Your grandma was scamming you? Or you came here to see her?”

Cat thought her own grams was hip but still couldn’t picture her at the downtown gothic
club.

“No.” He sat up and coughed. “My grandmother. She’s going to be so disappointed. She
depends on me for assistance. She’s my everything.” He coughed again. “I didn’t want
to have to struggle. I just wanted to make her proud.”

Cat smiled softly. “I can relate to that.”

“It is all gone now.”

She patted his shoulder. “No it isn’t. I can still have my scout take a look at you.”

“No. It is hopeless. Nobody my age gets signed from here.” He shook his head. “I think
my ribs are broken anyway.”

“Cristian, I want to help you but you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. If you do,
I can help you.”

“Nobody can help me. They are too powerful.”

“I’m a reporter for a big-league team.” It was halfway true, or rather, one third
true. “I may not be able to get you on the mound but I can damn sure make your story
heard.”

He wiped the blood off of his mouth and stared at it on his hands for a few seconds
before smearing it on the thigh of his jeans. “Okay.”

“Will you meet me tomorrow?”

“I have to work the lunch shift. The boss expects me to be there at ten o’clock.”

She stood up and held her hands out to help him up. “How about before? I can meet
you first thing in the morning, eight a.m.”

He hesitated. “Okay, but only you.” He took her hands and balanced unsteadily on shaky
legs. “Not the scout. Not your boyfriend. And definitely not the
princesa
.”

“Just me, you have my word. Where’s a safe place?”

“The Cathedral. I will meet you outside.”

She cocked her head. “Catedral Primada de América?”

“It is a tourist attraction, always busy. No one will notice us.” He wiped his mouth
again. “There is a statue of Cristóbal Colón, I will wait for you next to it.

“Got it. Eight a.m. at the Christopher Columbus statue.” She softly touched his forearm.
“Can you get home okay? My friend can give you a ride.”

He shook her off. “I do not live too far. Tomorrow, we will talk.” He took off down
the alleyway, staggering with each step.

She looked around to make sure they were still alone. “Cristian?”

He turned around, again holding his ribs.

“Be safe.”

He nodded.

Cat flung open the heavy door and beelined through the club. Junior was no longer
on the dance floor but had found a tall table near the front entrance. Paige sat on
one of the stools, her long legs dangling to the floor. Cat avoided Junior’s heavy
stare and focused on Paige instead.

“Good, you’re both here. It’s time to go.”

“McDee! The night’s just getting started.” She kicked her leg out and jabbed Cat’s
knee with it.

“In California.” She grabbed Paige’s arm to propel the girl to her feet. “Here in
Santo Domingo, our night is coming to a close.”

“Is everything okay?”

She finally met Junior’s stare. “Not exactly, but this isn’t the place to explain.
Can you help me get her home?”

Paige draped one limp arm around Cat’s shoulders and the other around Junior’s. They
headed for the door, steering Paige around the incoming partiers.

Paige’s heels dragged across the uneven gravel. “Wait.” She stopped, twisting her
foot and nearly falling.

Junior and Cat caught her.

“I never said goodbye to Chance.” She tried to turn around.

Cat took another step. “I already told him you were leaving. He said bye.”

“Oh good.” She continued her faltering pace.

Behind Paige’s back, Cat winked at Junior. They approached the Maserati and the young
man slipped out of Paige’s arm. The girl slumped against Cat, who stumbled back from
the extra weight. “Whoa there, Nelly.”

Paige straightened and placed each of her hands on Cat’s shoulders, squaring her up.
“You know what I like about you, Cat? Cat.
Cat
. What’s that short for anyway?”

Cat pulled her head back away from Paige’s breath, a hot mixture of sugar and liquor.
“How’s that door coming, Junior?”

He was scooting the passenger seat up, attempting to make as much room in the backseat
as possible. “I’m hurrying.”

“Cat … mandu?” Paige giggled herself into a hiccup. “Cat … alog? Like Sears, which
is probably where you got those shoes.”

Cat shifted her weight to the other side. “How about the trunk, Junior? Is the trunk
empty?”

He stood and pulled Paige off of her. “Okay, okay. Let’s get her back here.”

They helped Paige into the backseat. She fell over to the side and smashed her face
against the opposite mini-window. Cat gave the hem of her dress a tug in a fruitless
attempt to preserve her modesty.

Junior rubbed his forehead, his eyebrows crumpled beneath his hand. “Paige, I swear
to God, if you puke back there, I am going to break into your hotel room, steal all
of your shoes and put them through the pitching machine.”

Cat frowned at him. “Don’t even say the P word to the P word.”

Paige didn’t move.

He watched her warily. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t trust her.”

Junior and Cat hopped in the front and he took off, flooring it out of the parking
lot.

Cat took another peek in the backseat at the first stoplight. Paige was out cold.
“I don’t know, I kind of like drunken Paige.”

He checked her in his rearview mirror and grinned over at Cat. “She is easier to control.”

“I’m thinking about starting her off each morning with an Irish coffee and making
sure her mug stays full all day.”

He laughed. “Sure. I mean, she might need a new liver in a month, but by then you’ll
be in Buffalo, right?”