XX
Sometime during the summer after the political turmoil over the Ochoa affair had subsided, Roberto and Maura decided to move in together, and found a small apartment near his parents’ The move was a disappointment to her grandmother, and a difficult thing for Maura to do, but she knew if she was going to leave with Roberto, she had to put some emotional distance between her and her grandmother.
It was early the following spring when Pedro finally telephoned Roberto to tell him he had completed the installation of the more powerful motor in the La Rosita and was waiting for Roberto to come to Cojimar for the sea trial. The work had taken Pedro much longer than expected, which was always the case in Cuba, because replacement parts, especially mechanical ones, were impossible to find, and required everyone to have the ability to fabricate parts they couldn’t buy.
Roberto agreed to meet Pedro on a day when the weather would be favorable and the wind light. On a flat ocean they would be able to run the La Rosita at full speed, knowing that if something was going to fail in the motor, there was a better chance it would happen when she was at full throttle.
Roberto and Maura went together to Cojimar the day of the sea trial. She had never been on the ocean and he wanted her to get a feel for what it would be like. Even though the wind was light and the sea would be calm, he needed to know how she would react to being in deep water, too far out to swim ashore if something went wrong.
When they arrived in Pedro had readied the boat and was waiting under the cabana. It was overcast and the air was still, the breeze had fallen out to a dead calm after a brief early morning shower. With no movement in the damp humid air, it made life easy for the sand flies.
“The nippers are thick this morning. If you’d been much longer, I believe they’d have carried me into the bush and finished me off,” laughed Pedro, while brushing the outside of his legs with his hands in a futile effort to rid them of the tiny insects.
said Roberto.
“I’ve already taken everything to the boat in the buggy. You can put your drinks in the cooler,” said Pedro.
Pedro, hopping aboard first, turned around and took the two cloth bags with the food and drinks Roberto had brought. The tide had come up, bringing the boat’s washboard even with the dock, making it easier for Maura, who had never been in a boat, to step on board.
“You plan on fishing today, Pedrito?” asked Roberto, noticing the four fishing rods Pedro had already rigged and placed, one each, in the boat’s four rod holders. Pedro had outfitted the boat with two gunnel mount outriggers, that when turned outward, made it possible to troll four baits at once.
“The wahoo have been thick, and since we’re going out I thought we’d troll the ledge and see if we can pick up a couple. Besides, if we look like we’re fishing the Coast Guard should leave us alone. You need to troll a little faster if you want a wahoo to bite. This way we can see how she does at a higher speed for a couple hours,” said Pedro.
“I don’t understand, why does the Coast Guard care what we’re doing?” asked Maura.
“If they see you going fast, they get suspicious,” said Pedro. “I’m not worried if they stop us. I have all my paperwork—fishing license, boat license, everything—onboard.”
Pedro and Roberto untied the dock lines, one from the bow and one from the stern, before Pedro eased her out into the middle of the river. The tide had just turned and was beginning to fall, increasing the speed of the current, making it possible to run at a fast idle most of the way to the ocean.
“She runs smooth, Pedrito, and quiet,” observed Roberto.
“For a boat that’s more than thirty years old she’s solid as you want,” said Pedro.
Slowly, they motored downriver, eventually turning north with the river, past El When they had cleared the reef that narrowed the channel at the mouth of the river where it met the ocean, Pedro motioned for Maura to hold on before increasing the speed and putting the La Rosita on a plane.
The sky was overcast, and with no wind the surface of the ocean was oil calm, except where the current rips formed from the deep-water eddies that spun off the Gulf Stream pushed against the ledge that ran along the northern edge of the island. The fishermen called the eddies, “boils,” and on calm days when the conditions were best for drift fishing the bar, the sound made by the water “boiling” to the top could be heard at a great distance.
Pedro slowly increased the speed, encouraging the bow of the La Rosita to settle into the ocean. As she passed easily over the low smooth swells, the stream of water thrown from the spray rail, hitting the surface of the ocean, sounded like a pulsing windblown shower of rain.
“I want to run her a little out in front here before we start fishing. She sounds good but we need to be sure before we get too far from Cojimar,” said Pedro to Roberto, above the noise of the engine. “We’re only going to fish two rods Roberto.”
“Why only two?” he asked.
“Like I said, we need to troll fast, at least ten knots and the outrigger clips won’t hold at that speed,” said Pedro. “We’ll fish a naked ballyhoo with a weight in front on each rod. Let me know if you see any breaking fish.”
“What’s a breaking fish?” asked Maura.
“It’s when you see a splash from a fish breaking the surface of the water,” said Roberto.
“You mean like those splashes over there?” asked Maura, pointing to a school of skipjack tuna that had just surfaced and were beating two hundred yards off the port stern beyond where the indigo blue water of the Gulf Stream came in to meet the dark green water flowing out from the river.
Roberto and Pedro had been looking in the opposite direction and had not seen the school of small tuna surface. Roberto was impressed with how quickly Maura seemed to catch on to what he had told her. Pedro, however, was embarrassed, because Maura, who had never been fishing, or been on the ocean, had seen them first.
“Aren’t you going to try for them?” she asked, when Pedro did not slow down.
“Too small. I’ll wait until we find some bigger ones,” he said, not looking in Maura’s direction.
Maura smiled at Roberto. She wasn’t bothered by Pedro’s response, knowing his ego, like that of most men, and fishermen in particular, didn’t allow him to acknowledge that she had seen the school of small tuna first.
Several hundred yards before Pedro reached the area where he planned to start fishing, he slowed the boat and dropped the two baits overboard along with the lead cigar trolling weights that kept them at a depth of fifteen feet, one off each side of the stern. Then, he gradually brought the boat back up to a speed of ten knots.
Pedro knew fishing in and out of the current, where the rips were forming on the surface, concentrated the bait fish above the ledge and would give him the best chance of catching a wahoo.
The flying fish had been plentiful in recent months and had been joined by good numbers of small squid that when startled by the noise from the engine would launch themselves free of the water, in groups of ten and twenty, by means of a water jet at the base of their mantel. As they ran out of water stored inside the mantel for propulsion, and before reaching the apex of their flight, they would flare the fins at the top of their mantel along with their tentacles, helping them to gain additional height above surface, making it possible to cover a distance of up to thirty meters in the air before collapsing their fins and tentacles to minimize the impact upon reentering the water.
It wasn’t long before the starboard rod bounced once, then bent over and quickly began to dump line, followed by the port rod.
“Roberto, you take the fish on the starboard rod, but not before I tell you to. I’ll fight the other one once we slow down,” yelled Pedro. “Put on a belt. These are both good-size fish.”
Pedro wanted to make sure the fish were solidly hooked and kept the line tight by going ahead before easing off on the throttle.
Maura, surprised by the sudden force of the strikes, along with Pedro’s somewhat manic reaction, had moved to the forward end of the cockpit just inside the cabin in an effort to stay out of the way, deciding to watch from a seat on the cooler.
“Ease off on the drag a little before you take it out of the rod holder and then push it back up to where it was, once you have it in the belt,” instructed Pedro. “Don’t try and horse him. These fish have plenty power.”
Roberto followed Pedro’s instructions carefully and once he had the rod set firmly in the gimbal belt, he slowly began to lift the rod with his left hand while alternately winding with his right as he lowered the rod back down toward the water’s surface.
“Don’t lift too high. That old Lee bamboo is brittle and the fish is a big one. The higher you lift the more pressure you put on the tip and it could break. Keep the tip low and use the butt to lift,” said Pedro.
“Feels like he wants to run, Pedrito,” said Roberto loudly.
“Then let him go then. We have all day,” replied Pedro.
“All right, I feel like I have him stopped now,” said Roberto. “I can feel him shaking his head.”
“They’ll do that to try and cut the line. They have teeth like razors. They can’t cut that heavy wire though. Just keep the pressure on him,” he said.
Steadily Roberto was able to gain line, sometimes having to stop for a few seconds when the fish would burst unexpectedly. Fortunately the two fish had gone in opposite directions when they began to run hard, eliminating the possibility of the lines crossing, which sometimes resulted in one line cutting through the other, losing one of the fish.
“I’m going to need the gaff in a second,” said Pedro. “Maura, can you hand me the gaff that’s underneath the washboard next to where you are sitting?”
“What’s a gaff?” she asked, slightly panicked.
“Look under the washboard, next to Roberto’s knees. The thing with the long wooden handle and the curved metal tip. That’s a gaff. Quickly,” said Pedro.
Pedro tightened the drag on his reel and set the rod in the forward rod holder, next to the one holding the port outrigger. The fish was on its side, held under the surface by the heavy trolling weight, just behind the stern, and the fight was out of him now.
Taking the gaff from Maura with his right hand, Pedro hooked the wire leader behind the weight with the metal hook on the end of the gaff and pulled it in where he could reach it with his left hand.
He could clearly see the neon blue vertical stripes, common to all pelagic game fish, spaced along the fish’s side, through the prop wash. The fish’s mouth was fully open and the hook was firmly lodged in the hinge of the jaw.
“Maura, I’m going to need your help,” said Pedro. “When I tell you, slowly pull down on the line toward the reel, and crank at the same time, until I tell you to stop.”
“Pedro, you want me to help?” asked Roberto.
“No, no, you stay on your fish and keep him coming,” yelled Pedro. “Maura can handle this.”
With each turn of the reel handle Maura made, Pedro was able to slide his hand down the line in the direction of the fish. Finally he was able to grab the weight and gain control of the fish.
“Damn it,” yelled Pedro. “You bastard.”
“What happened?” shouted Roberto, turning around to see.
“Big tiger,” answered Pedro. “He’s at least fourteen feet.”
In a single motion Pedro slid the meter and a half long fish up to the surface along the side of the boat and stuck the gaff deep into the thick shoulder meat behind the gill plate. Just before he was able to pull the fish from the water, the shark struck, taking most of the tail and a section of meat from the underside behind the caudal fin.
Before the shark could hit again Pedro dropped the weight, then gripped the gaff with both hands as near as he dared to the hook end of the gaff in order to gain more leverage, safely lifting the fish clear of the water onto the deck where it lay quivering, its’ mouth frozen open.
“Good job Maura, like a pro,” said Pedro. “Alright, let’s get this other fish in. Stay away from the fish’s mouth Maura. Remember what I said about the teeth.”
“Pedrito, my fish is on top,” said Roberto.
“That shark is probably on him too,” replied Pedro. “I’m going to swing the boat around and head toward the fish. You crank as fast as you can and don’t let any slack come in the line.”
“I see him now, Pedrito,” he yelled. “He’ll go a good fifty kilos!”
In no time Pedro had closed on the fish and made up most of the line still out on Roberto’s rod, and now had him less than ten meters from the boat. Roberto, although tired from the fight, continued to reel aggressively, knowing the big tiger could easily end things at any moment.
“Keep him coming, Roberto. Okay, step toward the bow and raise the rod a little,” said Pedro calmly, as he grabbed the line. “As soon as I gaff him you back off on the drag.”
Before Pedro finished giving Roberto the instructions they saw the great shark emerge from under the boat. It swam slowly a short distance directly away from the stern, then again picking up the scent of the struggling fish, made a quick turn back toward the wahoo, which Roberto now had alongside the boat.
“Stick him,” yelled Roberto.
At the precise moment Pedro sunk the gaff into the wahoo, the tiger struck, slamming Roberto’s fish into the side of the boat with enough force that it broke the wire leader.
“I don’t have him anymore, Pedrito,” yelled Roberto.
“Get the other gaff. It’s under the washboard on the port side,” said Pedro.
Pedro struggled to keep the limp body of the wahoo, which had been cut nearly in two at a point on the body below the dorsal fin, out of the water and away from the shark. The shark had let go after biting off and swallowing whole a two-foot-long section of belly meat and was coming again.
“Try and gaff the tail, Roberto. Quick!” shouted Pedro.
Again the massive, one ton tiger struck. This time from under the boat, tearing off the back half of the fish before Roberto could sink the gaff.
Pedro, his shoulders slumped, lifted what remained of the big wahoo over the washboard and let go of the gaff with his left hand as the fish thumped onto the deck, bloody and lifeless, next to the first fish, then sat down on the port washboard to catch his breath.
“Damn, Pedrito, I’m sorry,” said Roberto.
“It’s not your fault,” said Pedro. “We were lucky to get as much as we did. The bastard was big enough he could have eaten that wahoo whole if he’d come at it from either end. What do you say, Maura? You like fishing?” Pedro was smiling and could see Maura was still trying to process what had happened.
“I’m just happy to be in the boat and not in the water. I had no idea there’re creatures that big living down there,” she said.
“All the more reason to be sure she can make it across the Straits,” said Pedro, patting the side of the boat.
“I think the sea trial was a success, Pedrito!” said Roberto.
supuesto que Roberto,” replied Pedro. “I think we need to head back to the dock. The cooler isn’t big enough to hold them and I’d like to keep the meat as fresh as possible. We’ll run the twenty kilometers back to the river mouth. I’d like to see what she’ll do at top end. With these conditions we can run full throttle and still be comfortable.”
After cleaning the fish blood off the deck with buckets of sea water and stowing the two fishing rods, Pedro swung the bow of the La Rosita around and began heading west toward Cojimar.
There was a light breeze no more than five kilometers an hour from the southwest and Pedro could feel the Gulf Stream current, which flowed from the west, pushing against the bow of the boat as he increased the speed. Even though the current was not in their favor, if they could make fifteen knots or better, it meant they would reach the mouth of the Cojimar River in forty minutes.
It was when they reached the eastern point of land at the mouth of the river, across from the and began to slow the boat before entering the channel that they saw the boat from the Tropas Guardafronteras steaming toward them. Pedro saw them first and although he wasn’t worried, he couldn’t imagine why they would be approaching. He always kept his fishing license on board in case he was stopped by the Coast Guard and it would be obvious to them once they came along side and checked the boat that they had in fact been fishing.
“Pedro, you see them?” asked Roberto, pointing to the boat.
“I see them. I can’t imagine what they want but I have all my paperwork. I’ll do the talking. I know some of these guys and they know I fish,” said Pedro.
Pedro, easing up on the throttle, brought the boat to a stop, mid-channel just inside the Torreon, and waited. Not wanting to make the situation any worse, Pedro was careful to stay in the deeper water of the channel where the larger coast guard vessel would not hit bottom. As the boat approached they could see several military personnel standing on the bow looking at the La Rosita through binoculars.
When they neared the La the captain of the Coast Guard boat put the port engine in neutral and gave the starboard engine a little fuel, bringing her stern around to a position alongside and parallel with the smaller vessel.
“Captain,” yelled the commanding officer from Coast Guard vessel. “You seem to be in a hurry. Why?”
“I’m trying to get back to the dock as quickly as possible. As you can see, we have been fishing and I don’t want the meat to spoil,” said Pedro, pointing to the two wahoo laying on the deck.
“I’m going to have one of the men throw you a rope. Tie off your vessel and come aboard. Be sure to bring your papers with you,” said the officer.
“What do you think he wants?” whispered Roberto.
“I don’t know, but I can’t believe these sons of bitches don’t have anything more important to do than harass fishermen,” said Pedro, now clearly annoyed. “Roberto, would you pour some sea water on the fish while I find out what they want. Hopefully this won’t take too long.”
After retrieving the plastic bag from under the console beside the steering wheel that held his boat license, government identification, and fishing license, Pedro boarded the Coast Guard boat and disappeared into the wheelhouse with the commanding officer.
Maura was sitting on the cooler, deliberately not making eye contact with the men still standing on the bow. “I don’t like the way those pigs are looking at me Roberto,” said Maura. “Can’t you do something?”
“Gentlemen,” said Roberto, addressing the men. “My girlfriend would appreciate it if you would stop staring at her.” Roberto crossed his arms and waited for a response.
“Tell your girlfriend if she would like to know what it’s like to be with a military man, I’d be happy to accommodate her,” yelled one of the men, laughing above the noise of the idling engines from the bigger boat.
Maura looked nervously at Roberto but said nothing. It was then that he remembered the military SS badge in his wallet. He had discovered it recently in his parents’ house, having accidentally left the badge there while on leave several years earlier and had not turned it in after being released from prison thinking perhaps someday it may be useful. It had proved invaluable once before, making it possible for Carlos and him to gain access to the restricted archives in the Jose Marti Library, when they were looking for information about Carlos Sobrino.
“I don’t believe my boss would appreciate your comments,” said Roberto casually.
“Yeah, and who is your boss?” asked the crewman, still laughing.
Roberto didn’t answer. In a deliberate motion, he reached for his wallet and pulled out the Secret Service badge, holding it in the sunlight where the man could see it clearly.
“Secret Service. Punto Maybe you are acquainted with the gentleman that lives there,” said Roberto as he slid the badge back into his wallet.
The crewmen stopped laughing and stared at Roberto in disbelief. Roberto briefly waited for one of the men to say something before turning toward Maura who was having trouble processing what was happening.
“Roberto, what are you doing?” she asked excitedly but in a voice low enough that the men onboard could not hear.
“Don’t say anything,” he whispered back. “I’ll explain when we get to the dock.”
Just then the commanding officer emerged from the wheelhouse with Pedro.
Before Pedro stepped back onto the La the officer returned the plastic bag of identification papers to Pedro and motioned for him to return to the La
Back onboard, Pedro quickly untied the rope connecting the two boats, threw it up to one of the servicemen and pushed the La Rosita away from the Coast Guard vessel, before starting the engine and putting her in gear.
“What the hell was that all about, Pedrito?” asked Roberto.
“You’re not going to believe this, Roberto,” said Pedro. “The commanding officer is telling me the boat is too fast.”
“What do you mean too fast?” Roberto asked.
“I told him I was having trouble with the old motor, which is true, and replaced it with one that has more power,” said Pedro.
“So what’s his problem?” asked Roberto, still not understanding.
“He said the boat is too fast and we have to put the old motor back in, and he will be stopping by the dock in two weeks to make sure we comply,” replied Pedro.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” said Roberto loudly.
“I wish I was,” said Pedro.
“The old motor isn’t going to get us to Florida, Pedro. You know that,” said Roberto, slightly panicked.
“I’m aware of that, Roberto,” replied Pedro.
As they made the turn into the lagoon, Pedro could see the tide had gone out and there was only enough water to make it to the outer end of the main pier in the center of the creek.
“We’ll tie up here and I can move her back to my finger pier when the tide comes in. I want to get the fish on ice,” said Pedro, as he threw out the stern anchor. “I’ll get the fish, Roberto, if you can grab the cooler. There is a large chest with ice, in the shed beside the cabana. We can put the fish in there and I’ll clean them later.”
Pedro, along with several of the other fishermen in Cojimar had built a small ramshackle building next to the cabana under the shade of a large almond tree, where they kept their fishing tackle and where they would store their catch on ice before selling it.
After Pedro had finished emptying the boat and had put away all the tackle he came out of the shed carrying a plastic bag with three bottles of beer he had put in one of the ice chests in the building before they had left the dock that morning.
“I need to sit down,” said Pedro as he walked underneath the cabana and sat down in one of the plastic chairs that surrounded a long wooden table. “Here, have one. They’re ice cold.”
“Maura, you having one?” asked Roberto.
“What I’d like is an explanation for what happened with those guys on the Coast Guard boat. And yes, I’ll take a beer,” she said, sitting down at one end of the table.
“Something happened when I was in the wheelhouse?” asked Pedro.
“You could have gotten us arrested, Roberto. What the hell were you thinking?” asked Maura.
Roberto took the wallet out of his left rear pocket and showed Pedro his Secret Service badge.
“And?” asked Pedro.
“You know the three guys standing on the bow? Well they were pricks, and were rude to Maura. So I told them I worked for Fidel, at Punto and I showed them my old badge. I figured that would shut them up,” said
“What did they say?” asked Pedro.
“Nothing. It shut them up,” he replied.
Roberto leaned forward in his chair and pressed the lip of the top to the beer bottle at a slight angle against the edge of the tabletop, then hit the top of the bottle with his right hand. After popping the top off, he leaned back hard in his chair and drank half the bottle before stopping.
“I wish you wouldn’t take chances with my liberty, Roberto,” said Maura.
“You asked me to do something. So I did,” he replied.
“That is not exactly what I had in mind,” she said.
“What are you going to do, Pedrito, about the motor?” asked Roberto.
“I’m going to put the old one back in. I have no choice,” he said.
“But the old motor will never take us across the Straits,” replied Roberto.
“Look, we know the new motor runs good. I’ll put the old one back in, and just before we plan to leave, I put the new one back in and we go. It’s not like the Coast Guard will be coming to Cojimar every few days to inspect the boat. I realize it’s a lot of work but I either do what they say or they confiscate the La said Pedro.
“You still interested in going with us, Maura?” asked Roberto.
“I trust what Pedro says, so yes, I’m still going,” she said.
“Pedrito, you know I don’t know much about boat motors, but I would be happy to help in any way,” said Roberto.
“I have two guys who helped me install the new motor and I will have to pay them again. You can help pay expenses,” said Pedro.
“I can do that,” said Roberto.
“Pedro, may we have some fish to take home?” asked Maura.
“I’ll clean some for you now. How much do you want?” he asked.
“Half of what is left of the big one will be plenty, Pedrito,” said Roberto. “If you steak the fillet, I can butterfly them before cooking.”
Pedro went to the shed and took the half fish they managed to save from the tiger shark out of the ice chest and laid it in the buggy headfirst along with a machete for cleaning and a large bucket to put the meat in.
“There’s plenty meat left here,” said Pedro.
“May I watch?” asked Maura.
“Of course,” said Pedro.
“I’m staying here in the cool,” said Roberto.
When Pedro finished filleting the wahoo he cut the skinless fillets into the size pieces Roberto had requested which filled the twenty-liter bucket to the top.
“We would have had more than two buckets full if the shark hadn’t taken the rest,” said Pedro to Maura as they walked back up the pier to the cabana.
“Do you see many tiger sharks when you are fishing?” she asked.
“Not many. Tigers are not common. Mostly we see el tiburon The bull shark is the dangerous one.” he said. “You must see sharks sometimes when you are swimming.”
“I never swim outside the reef so if I see one it’s always a small one,” she replied.
“Roberto. What do you think?” asked Pedro, as he ducked underneath the cabana and held the bucket in front of Roberto for him to see.
What I think is we are the luckiest damn fishermen in Cuba. I haven’t tasted wahoo in many years. We’ll eat well tonight, Maura. Like kings,” he said.
“You mean queens,” she replied.
“We should be going, Maura. Pedro, you let me know what happens with the Coast Guard.
“I will. We need to start planning,” he said. “It’s going to be tricky, even if we leave at night. These bastards are always patrolling.”
“Another reason to have as few people involved as possible,” said Roberto. “I don’t like being responsible for other people’s lives.”
“Pedrito, hasta la proxima said Roberto. “You be careful.”
It was growing dark when they left to drive back to Santos Stopping on the outskirts of Havana—when a squall of rain forced them to put the top up on the MG— Roberto noticed a car that had been following them since they left Cojimar, had also stopped several blocks away.
“Maura, don’t turn around,” said Roberto as he got back in the car.
“What?!” she exclaimed, looking in the side view mirror.
“See that black Chevy? They’ve been following us since we left Cojimar,” he said.
“It’s probably someone from the CDR. I’m telling you Roberto, this car is like catnip to those guys,” she said. “Please don’t do anything stupid with me in the car.”
“I think I’ll make a few extra turns and see what they do,” he said.
When they reached the Nuestra Senor de la Roberto turned right and headed toward the Tunel de la Habana and around the harbor in the direction of Old Havana. If the men in the car didn’t know where he and Maura were living, and continued following them, there was a chance he could lose them in one of the back streets of the old city and at least make it back home where he could hide the car in the alley behind their apartment.
“They turned off. Damn it!” he said.
“Roberto, let’s just go home,” said Maura frantically. She had seen many times in her old neighborhood how the government informants from the Comites de Defensa de la Revolucion operated and knew they had no chance of escaping.
“Let me see what happens when we get to the If they are still following us when we get there, I’ll turn around at the Gomez Monument and head back to Santos he said. “Shit, they’re coming up beside us.”
“You need to pull over, Roberto,” said Maura loudly.
“All right, all right. I’ll pull over,’ he replied.
They had just passed the Brazilian Embassy on the Tunel de la when Roberto slowed the car and turned off the road into a small roadside parking lot beside the harbor and waited for the car that was following them to pull up behind them.
“Whatever you do, don’t show them that SS badge,” said Maura.
“I’m giving it to you in case they arrest me. Here, hide it somewhere. Quickly,” he said. “I’m getting out.”
Roberto opened the door and stepped out of the car, closed the door, and waited for the officers to approach.
“CDR, you’re under arrest. Turn around and put your hands on top of the car,” said the officer.
“What the hell for?” asked Roberto.
“Do as you’re told!” barked the officer.
The two assisting officers had drawn their guns and walked to a position at either end of the car. Roberto turned around and looked through the open window at Maura, before putting his hands on the roof.
“Put your hands behind your back,” said the officer sharply.
“Can you tell me why I am being arrested?” asked Roberto.
“Where do you keep the money?” asked the officer.
“What are you talking about, I don’t have any money,” replied Roberto.
“Then how did you pay for this car? I see your girlfriend has nice clothes. They’re not cheap,” said the officer looking through the window at Maura. “You need to tell us where you hide the money.”
“I told you I don’t have any money. The car is my father’s. He lets me drive it,” said Roberto.
“Get out of the car, and stand over there,” he said to Maura, pointing to the seawall beside the parking lot. “Search the car.”
The arresting officer led Roberto over to where Maura was sitting and ordered him to sit down, then waited for the two other officers to search the car.
When the two officers were finished, one of them held the plastic bag containing the wahoo up for the officer in charge to see. “There’s nothing sir. Only some fish,” said one of the officers.
“Put the fish in the other car,” said the officer in charge.
“You normally make it a habit of stealing from ordinary citizens?” asked Roberto.
“Shut up, Ramos!” said the officer.
“How do you know my name?” he asked.
“We know everything about you,” he said. “Put him in the car.”
“Where are you taking him?” asked Maura loudly.
“El Combinado del he replied.
“What about me?” she asked.
“You’re free to go. Someone will come tomorrow for the car. You make sure it’s available, unless you’d like to join your boyfriend in prison,” the officer said.
“I told you, it’s my father’s car,” said Roberto from inside the car.
“He’ll have to take that up with the government,” said the officer as he opened the passenger side door.
“What a fucking government,” said Roberto under his breath.
“What did you say?” yelled the officer looking at Roberto from outside the car looking through the rear window.
“Roberto, I will tell your mother and father what happened,” said Maura, walking beside the car as it started toward the exit of the parking lot back onto the Tunel de la
“Tell my mother I love her,” were the last words he yelled to Maura through the car window before they sped off in the direction of the prison.