Curveball (31 page)

Where
are you, Junior?

She dialed his number.

“This is Junior. Leave a message at the beep.”

She groaned. If he wasn’t going to answer his phone, the least Junior could do is
spice up his droll message. Benji was constantly changing his. The latest,
Benji’s answering machine is broken. This is his refrigerator. Please speak very slowly,
and I’ll stick your message to myself with one of these magnets
, had left her laughing too hard for coherent speech.

“Damn it.” She jammed the end button with a forceful index finger.

Her elevator companion was staring at her, his eyes were as wide as the glasses he
wore and filled with uneasy concern.

She gave him a quick smile.

The elevator opened at the sixth floor and he gestured for her to exit first. She
gave him one more closed-lip smile, hurrying out to their room. She let the door slam
shut, already en route for a change of clothes and her purse. She unzipped the velour
jacket on the way to the closet and threw it on the floor. Slipping off the matching
pants, she grabbed the first thing she saw in the closet—Paige’s orange Gucci maxi
dress. She took a second to appreciate the way the long, lush chiffon accentuated
her curves and another second to gloat that the dress fit so well. She knew Paige
wasn’t a size two, no matter what she had claimed to the saleswoman at Prada.

She eyeballed the only pair of shoes Paige had left behind—chocolate Jimmy Choo peep
toes—but decided against them. She had a long day ahead of her and it wasn’t the time
to be breaking in five inches of Italian leather. She slipped on her own wedged espadrilles
and grabbed her wallet and cell phone, hurrying back to the elevator. The doors opened
automatically; she’d moved so quickly that it had probably been waiting there since
her last trip.

She tried Junior once more on the way down to the lobby.

No answer.

Luckily, taxis weren’t hard to come by. The hotel was on a busy road and the yellow
compacts patrolled up and down quite frequently. She hailed the first one she saw
and slid into the backseat.

“
Apartamentos de Bella Vista, por favor
.”

The cab dropped her off in front of a new, seven-floor mirrored building with terraces
protruding out each floor. She handed the cabbie a bill with the Palacio Nacional
on the front and stepped out, walking toward the center of the building. The glass
door was locked and next to it was a directory of each unit. She scanned it, happy
to see DeLeon was the second name listed. She pressed the tiny black button next to
his name.

Nothing happened for the next minute. She brought her hand up to push it again. Before
she could, his voice barked through the speaker.

“Cat?”

Her head whirled around. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Up higher.”

She looked up. A rectangular camera jutted out from the corner of the entranceway.
“Oh.” She waved. “Hi.”

“You woke me up.”

“Sorry, it’s important. Can I come up?”

“Uh, yeah. Take the elevators on the left all the way up to the seventh floor.”

The door made a loud click and she pulled the handle. It opened with ease. Only one
thought slipped in her mind on the ride up to the seventh floor.

I
hope he doesn’t sleep in the nude
.

Cat smiled. It didn’t even sound convincing in her subconscious.

Junior waited in his doorway. The right half of his short hair was matted down to
his head. He wore only a baggy pair of black gym shorts with the orange Soldiers’
logo on the bottom left corner. His shoulders rounded over his tan chest as one bursting
bicep held the door open and the other leaned against the frame. His chest was paler
than the rest of him, but bulged just the same as its bronzed counterparts. She fought
the urge to trail her fingertips across to see if it was as firm as it looked. She
brought her eyes up before they could wander any farther down his flat stomach.

“Good morning.”

She tore her eyes off of his physique and barged in, pushing past the muscled arm.
For a moment, she was stunned. Judging from the exterior, she expected every apartment
in the building to be ostentatious. Just like his physique, Junior’s apartment went
above and beyond its peers. This bachelor paradise could provide enough material for
a two-part special on MTV Cribs. The doorway flooded into a floor of white marble.
A gold silk sectional curved from one wall to the other. Two flat screens hung from
each wall with a stereo tower protruding from the corner. On the opposite side of
the room, a black granite wet bar flanked a mahogany pool table.

The door closed behind her and she tore her eyes away from the scene of Martha Stewart’s
nightmare, placing them back on Junior.

He joined her in the living room. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what are you
doing here?”

“Okay, well, don’t take this the wrong way, but why do you have a cell phone if you
aren’t going to answer it?”

His jaw dropped and he ran over to an end table, pulling his cell phone out of a black
cradle. “Oh man, I had it on silent during our little escapade last night and then
I came home and put it on the charger. I forgot all about it.” He ran his hand through
his hair. “I just woke up, obviously.”

“I called like eighty times.”

“Is everything—”

“I spoke with Chance last night and we’re back on. Are you free today?”

Junior waved her over to the couch and took a seat. “Wait, slow down. What’d he say?”

Cat remained standing. “I can’t slow down. He’s expecting me to have you—well, Leon—ready
to go to Florida in an hour.”

“Whoa. Today?”

“In an hour.”

He bounced off the couch. “Come with me. You can talk while I pack.”

She followed him past a gourmet kitchen. The marble tile extended into a hallway until
they reached a bedroom, where it met plush camel carpet.

“What should I bring?”

“What you’re wearing is fine.” She tore her eyes away from his bare chest. “Maybe
throw on a shirt and pack a couple tees and a pair of jeans.” She sharpened her tone.
“Nothing fancy.”

He nodded. “What about equipment? I’ve got a few bats here and—”

“He’ll have all the equipment, trust me.”

Junior walked over to his dresser and pulled out a couple of plain gray tees. “How
are these?”

“Perfect.”

He pulled a red duffel bag out of the closet and shoved them in.

“What about my cleats?”

“I guess that’d be okay if you’ve got them here. Trust me, you won’t be making this
team. You won’t even be staying overnight.”

“Then why am I packing a bag?”

“Because you’re not supposed to know that.”

He stopped. “What all did he tell you?”

She grabbed the bag and zipped it up, pointing at his sock-clad feet. “Grab some sneakers.
I’ll tell you everything on the way back to the hotel. You’ll have to drive. Paige
is halfway to
San Pedro de Macorís
with the Mustang.”

He pulled out an old, ratty pair of New Balance cross-trainers. “This is the oldest
pair I got. They look the part?”

“Great. Lace ’em up.”

He sat on the bed and slipped the shoes on. “Can we at least get some breakfast?”

“We’ll grab something at the hotel.” She slung the bag over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

He looked around the apartment and picked up a large Siamese cat from the ornate-carved
coffee table, cradling it in his muscular arms.

“You’re sure we’ll be back tonight? Because if not, I need to have my neighbor look
in on Dusty. She has an automatic feeder but if she doesn’t—”

“Trust me. We’ll get there, you’ll try out and Chance will tell you
adiós
. All he wants to do is unload the equipment bags.”

He gave Dusty a playful scratch on her angled head and set her on a towering carpeted
cat tree that overlooked his balcony window. He grabbed his keys off the hook and
opened the door. “What do you mean all he wants to do is unload the equipment bags?”

They walked toward his elevator, and she reached for the down button. “The players,
the training facility, it’s all a front just so he can smuggle Cuban cigars.”

The doors opened.

Junior stayed frozen in front of the elevator. “What?”

Cat pulled him in by the bottom of his t-shirt and pushed the lobby button. “Think
about it. Bringing the players to the training facility gives him a legitimate reason
into the country to clear customs.”

“I once heard about an agent smuggling Cuban players, but Cuban cigars?”

The elevators opened to the apartment foyer. The sun shone in full force now, streaming
through the glass door.

She started to head toward it and Junior hooked her arm. “This way, car’s in the parking
garage.”

They went out a steel door on the other side of the elevator. The Maserati wasn’t
as easy to spot in this lot, as Junior’s neighbors drove equally lavish rides. It
was wedged in between a silver Ferrari and a blue Lamborghini.

She whistled. “I guess in this town, you’re either dirt poor or filthy rich, huh?”

He hit his keyless entry remote and the doors clicked. “Seems like that sometimes.”

They both hopped in his car but Junior stopped with one leg still out of his open
door.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“My passport.”

“You left it upstairs?” Cat put her hand on the door handle, ready to sprint up seven
flights of stairs in espadrilles.

“No, I’ve got it with me.”

“So?”

“Cat, it’s
my
passport. Junior DeLeon? Not Leon Guerrero, Jr.”

“Oh, man.” She cradled her head in her hands before pushing her hair back. “I didn’t
even think of that. How much different does it look?

“You mean besides being an American passport and the wrong identity?” He reached in
the backseat and pulled out a toiletry kit from the side pocket of his duffel bag.
“It’s in here. You can see for yourself.”

She grabbed her cell phone and punched Dominican Republic passport in the search engine.

Junior handed her his U.S. passport, which she held against the image on the phone’s
screen.

He sighed. “At least they’re both navy blue.”

She scrunched her nose. “With gold, Times New
Roman-y fonts.”

That was where the similarities ended. The Dominican Republic passport, or pasaporte,
was in Spanish, said Republica Dominica where Junior’s said United States of America
and, probably the most noticeable, had the Dominican Coat of Arms, with its flags
wrapped around an open bible and cross, instead of the American Bald Eagle and E pluribus
unum that encompassed the Great Seal of the U.S.

“We’re screwed.”

Cat shook her head. “No. They’re the same color. You just keep it to yourself, English-side
down, and when we go through customs, make sure I’m between the two of you. I’ll keep
Chance distracted.”

Junior didn’t look convinced. “Cat—”

“It’s our only option. Come on, we don’t have much time left and he can’t see us pulling
into the parking lot in a blinging GranTurismo.”

They waited on a bench outside of the La Concha Gran Hotel, each with a cup of coffee
in one hand and a bagel in the other. Cat nibbled on the edge of her bagel and chased
it down with the lukewarm coffee. Her stomach twittered.

Junior’s knee bounced up and down as his foot tapped on the sidewalk. “Why are we
doing this again?”

“Vigilante justice?” She giggled nervously and took another sip of coffee. “Just like
we discussed. We’re going to find out what he’s up to.”

“You already got the scoop—
cigars
. Why don’t we just notify the police and go to the beach?”

“Chance is a jerk, but he’s not a fool. There’s no way he’d give me the full story
just because I found a few dirty little secrets. We need to get the scoop before we
involve anyone else.”

“Anyone else, like say, U.S. Customs?”

“We'll be fine. Chance has been running this scam for months and hasn’t gotten caught
yet. If he wasn’t good at it, he wouldn't have the kind of money he does.” Cat took
a deep breath, wishing she believed that.

“He also might be a patsy. Those guys he was with at the game and the club, I’ve seen
them around. They’re shady dudes and if they bothered to rough up Cristian, they’re
probably involved.”

“Only one way to find out. You can read all the scouting reports in the world but
you don’t know what a pitch is really like until you step into the box.” She checked
the time on her cell phone again. “Five after eight. He’s late. God, I hope he didn’t
change his mind!”

Junior tapped her knee. “Hey, over there. Didn’t you say it was a vintage red car?”

“That’s him.” She took a deep breath. “Play ball.”

Junior rubbed his hands together. “You ready?”

“No.” She stood up as the Iso Grifo turned in the parking lot. “You?”

“Nope.”

He pulled right in front of their bench. She waved.

“Good morning.”

Cat beamed back at him as he walked around the car. “Good morning. You remember Leon.”

“Of course.” He stuck his hand out. “Nice to see you again, kid. Looking forward to
seeing what you got.”

“Yes, sir.” Count Scarface was back.

“Well, if you two are ready, our plane’s scheduled to take off at ten.”

Cat nodded at Junior. “Let’s go.”

Junior hopped in the backseat and Cat took the passenger. Chance sped out of the parking
lot and headed straight for the DR-1.

Cat whirled her head around, pointing toward the rear windshield. “Uh, the airport’s
that way.”

“We use a private plane and thus, a private airport.” He looked at Junior’s pseudo-curious
expression in the rearview mirror and elaborated. “All the big teams do. You didn’t
think big time ballplayers have to fly Southwest, did ya?”

Cat had a feeling Southwest was Air Force One compared to what they were in for.