Punta Cana

"The girl said with a nice burst of charm: “I have a wonderful idea, darling. Why don’t we just take a cab to your place and get your convertible out? It’s such a wonderful night for a run up the coast to Montecito. I know some people there who are throwing a dance around the pool."  – Raymond Chandler, from The Long Goodbye








A nice vacation spot like the Paradisus needs another tough walking around in uniform like it needs seven more sunny days a week. I wanted little of anything on these few days but a tumbler of the state pilsner, Presidente, a smile when it was handed to me, a dose of sunshine, and a slow and easy to follow walk along the jogging path back to the room at the Reserve. The set-up was all in place. Miguel, for whatever reason, had been watching me from around twenty feet for the last half hour. He was a fair sized gentleman, but not too big to scare tourists. They keep the big guys off premise. The fellows in green suits walking around with machetes to use on the palm trees are plenty to make sure we tourists walk around the plant with caution and sincerity. I had seen Miguel from the night before, at Fuegos, a nice Latin fusion spot off the lobby, and the girls and I, although we left well fed, all knew that this fellow knew something more than he should have, and followed us out across the moonlit, outdoor lobby, at a nice pace. As a civilian, especially on vacation, I always say to each his own. If someone is on the beat and watching someone else for no reason other their own curiosity, I say that is what I do for a living myself, and I do hope, no matter the circumstance, the gent I'm following doesn't randomly turn around, blow my cover, and we're all out a salary. Here down in the Dominican I'm working for myself though. The sun was ripe as an orange. I was on President three, easy lagers, no big deal, and the finally the color of my fair skin was changing from stark pate white into the higher hues of pink and even brown. Things were goin fine. My three daughters were on their own because they were smart and knew how to walk around a beach and have fun without trouble. They always knew where I was, and if something happened, I was watching, sure as the very sun that landed here on this fine island, and we handled it all together. Back to Miguel. He had a bead on me and I wasn't too sure why. My last case was little, there was no carry-over on this one, clean, paid, the young woman, rightly so, found justice and I was a part of it. That is what I do. I go out and look a little harder than the next guy to find justice, I suppose. Once I tracked the husband who was once a week performing the injustice, both my client and I recognized right away that this was not the end of the world. He was a nice. A quiet man, but who got caught up with a little too much unsolicited confidence from some other younger gals who liked the looks of free drinks back in Madison, Wisconsin, the place from which I grew my pasty white complexion, and from which Miguel, just this moment, was acting far too jittery at twenty feet. If it had something to do my three daughters, the poor fellow could consider himself in a long night. I hoped this wasn't the case...I was on vacation. "Sandra, I'd take one more small cold cup of Presidente if they are still pouring," I said. I had gotten to know the tenders fairly well in the past three days. This is where you got the towels and the pilsner. Sandra was sharp as a tack. She got to know me. I was alone this trip with the girls. The mother, bless her, a better person than I, was back in the midwest working. We had been separated for a year, and it was going, frankly, just fine. I took the girls on weekends, she got the youngest during the week. "One more Presidente?," Sandra said, a beautiful young woman, a good bartender, and luckily for me a stand-in mother, which I liked. I pulled her in a little closer. "Who's the tall one in the background over there, under the tree?" I pointed. She knew. The large cabana tables were stationed in rows under tall palms and the sand was as smooth as cappacino cream "Oh, yes, that is Miguel." I nodded. "I know that much. Why would a bright young man like be following me since last night?" Sandra would tell me the truth. I found that out the night before, after the pool light show, when she pulled me aside and gave me the heads up on where to station the girls for the next day. She had three of her own and worked as many jobs. Once she was done tending bar to hordes of white folks from around the Mediterranean and America, she went off the next, then the next. The young woman was immediately a hero of mine; I think she liked the fact that I had three daughters and watched them, like a bartender, from afar, always thinking. "I would stay away from that one," she said, but didn't offer much else. I took a sip of the President. It didn't hurt me much. "I'll be right back," I said, sitting it back down, half full, making a little click as I dropped it, so Miguel would know what was happening next.