Snapshots: Cardigan and the Cuban Miss Crisis

damn.

my investigation was going nowhere fast, like a chess club president at a cheerleader convention.  i had been hired by a cuban refugee in miami to find his 21-year old daughter, yelina garcia.  she left her father a note saying sayonara, papa.  or maybe it was adios.  at any rate, she left for san francisco two months ago and hadn't been heard from since.  he wanted to know that she was safe, and wanted her to come home.

i asked if he had contacted the police; he dodged the question.  since there was no need to dodge the answer, i told him my fee and instructed him to send it to my paypal account.

three days into the investigation and i had zilch.  bupkis.  nulo.  ms. garcia had not entered the bay area by bus, train, or plane, and her father said she didn't have a car.  long-distance inquiries back to miami had not uncovered a friend who was also missing.  so, either she never arrived, or arrived under another name, or arrived with an as yet unknown acquaintance.  or walked.  or swam.   to make matters worse, she had emptied her bank account before leaving miami.

the information age made finding missing persons easier than ever, but people who used cash and left no paper trail were the bane of my profession.

bastards.  don't they know i have bills to pay?

i was running out of time on this case.  if i didn't uncover something soon, señor garcia was going to stop subsidizing my lavish lifestyle.  there wasn't a large cuban population in the city, but there was a cuban club in the mission district called Club Ernesto that served a mean mojito.  the first rule in private detection was go with your gut, especially if it leads you to alcohol.

Club Ernesto was an homage to hemingway's time in cuba.  straw hats, cigars, and classic american cars were celebrated in photos on the wall while sluggish ceiling fans circled overhead.  it was hot and steamy inside.  it sure as hell didn't feel like northern california in here.  rivulets of sweat were racing down my back, but i didn't care about the winner.  i went to the bar and ordered a mojito. 

a few minutes later, i took my second mojito and sat down at a table on the far side of the club, where i could see everything.  there was a small dance floor, crowded with couples, triples, and even singles swaying sensuously to a smoky song called guateque campesino. 

"enjoying the view?" 

i turned to my right.  her neckline was as low as her voice, and just as enticing.

"i am now," i told her.  "it would be much improved if you had a drink in your hand, though."

she signaled for a waitress as she took the chair across from me.

"mojito.  and he'll need another one, too."

the waitress nodded and left us in silent study of one another's attributes.  

"so, handsome.  do you dance?"

i shook my head.  "my body isn't very supple, i'm afraid."

"i'm sure it's good for something else, then," she said as the waitress delivered their drinks.  "what brings you here if not the dancing?"

"i'm looking for a girl."

she clinked her glass against mine.  "congratulations.  you found one."

i certainly had, and a fine specimen at that.  however, i was on the clock and had to spoil the moment.  "a specific girl, actually.  yelina garcia, recently of miami.  do you know her?"

she took a leisurely sip from her drink.  too leisurely.  "what do you want with yelina?"

jackpot.  she knew her.  hell, maybe she even was her.  was my luck that good?

"nobody has heard from her since she left miami and her father is worried.  is she safe?"

she spun the gold and silver bangles around her lovely brown wrist, refusing now to meet my eyes.  that made me sad.  i could have happily stared into those coca-cola eyes all night.

"you a cop?"

"nope.  private investigator."  i tapped my finger on the table.  "is yelina in trouble?"

"not in san francisco, she isn't.  you can tell her father that she is safe, but she's not coming home."

my job was done.  i had earned my money and could walk away now, find some air conditioning, and think about how to spend it.  i kept going, though.

"is there trouble in miami?  i found her pretty easily, without even a photo to go on.  her father, at the very least, knows that she's in san francisco.  others probably do, too."

"the only person yelina has trouble with is her father, and he knows she can cause him more trouble than he can cause her.  tell him she'll stay out of his life if he stays out of hers."

i nodded.  "okay, then.  business is over, let's get back to pleasure."

she stood.  "no, i don't think so." 

i watched her walk away.  as a consolation prize, it wasn't bad.  the lady knew how to walk.  still, it was only a consolation prize.

damn.