Page 4 of There Once was a Dancer
“These men were chasing your friend across the lot when I came out,” Rex replied, holding out his identification to show Roddy.
“FBI?” Roddy asked, looking at Rex with wide eyes. “Who called the FBI?” He glanced over at the men lying face down, bitching about being on the ground.
“No one called the FBI,” Rex reiterated. “It’s my night off. I was in the club. Like I said, I was just leavin’ when I heard Cachi callin’ for help. These three were chasin’ him.” He gestured at Terry and his panas.
Roddy nodded. “Oh, I see. Are you arresting them?”
Rex shook his head. “Night off. Just call the police and have ‘em come out. Let them know there are three suspects. They’regonna need more than one squad car to transport them off to jail.”
“Jail?” Terry protested. He glanced at his crying friend, screwing up his face in anger. “Stop crying, Bobby.” He turned and sent Rex and me a hateful glare. “What did we do?”
I held up my hand to show them my injury. “You tackle me.” I turned to Rex. “After he tackle me, he was so jumeta—um…drunk—he fell on his face. Look at him.”
Rex glanced at the guy before nodding. “He tackled you?”
I nodded vigorously. “Si, Rex, and he no play games.”
Rex’s expression darkened as he turned to the bouncer. “They assaulted Cachi. Tell that to the police officers when you get hold of ‘em.”
“Sure,” Roddy said.
Rex loosened his grip on me, holding me out at arm’s length as Roddy pulled out his cellphone and began to dial. “Do you need an ambulance, sugar? How badly are you hurt?” he asked, looking me up and down to assess the damage.
I glanced down at my hand. “I no think is broken. I just—” I searched for words, lapsing into Spanish like I did when I was upset or tired. “Hiperextendi,” I said, taking a deep breath as I remembered my English. “Hyperextended my thumb.”
Rex frowned deeply and glared at the frat boys who turned away. “You fuckers hurt this man?”
Terry turned his head and sneered at us. “Shoulda killed the whore.”
Bobby elbowed him in the side. “Shut up, idiot. Didn’t you hear him say he was from the FBI?”
“Didn’t do anything wrong, Bobby,” Terry grumbled, looking at his friend in disbelief.
“Si! Rex is from the FBI and he’s my friend,” I said, moving closer to Rex. His arms slid around me, pulling me back to tuck safely against his body. I probably shouldn’t have yelled, and I’d wouldn’t have been so brave if he hadn’t been standing so close. But I felt utterly invincible with Rex’s arms around me. I’d never felt so protected or so lucky to have escaped harm in my life. If the big cowboy hadn’t come out when he had, they might have caught up to me. Rex held onto me until two police cars pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later.
The three guys were still kissing pavement and cursing up a storm as Rex explained what happened to the officers. One of the cops came over to speak to me after he and his partner locked the three idiota in the back of the police cars.
“Do you need medical attention, sir?”
I shook my head before saying to Rex, “No. Is not broken,” I repeated, wincing as I held up my hand and slowly flexed my fingers. My wrist and thumb throbbed. “Is bruise but I think is only a sprain.”
“You should see a doctor to get an x-ray, just in case,” he replied.
“I can’t,” I said, checking my watch and seeing it was after one in the morning. “Mierda. Is really late.” I glanced back up at Rex. “I need to get home. Mi mamá…she stay awake when I work late. She’s going to kill me.”
“Let me take you home, Cachi. I’ll explain what happened,” he offered.
I felt my eyes widen as I shook my head. “Dios mio, Rex. You no do that. She flip out if she find out what happen.”
He smiled softly at me. I was starting to love that look on his handsome face. “Flip out?”
“We’re gonna need you to come down to the police station to give a report, sir,” the officer said, interrupting.
I read the Hispanic name on his shirt patch and switched to Spanish, telling him how badly my mamá would react if she learned that I’d nearly been the victim of an assault.
“Then you need to come back tomorrow to give a report,” the officer replied in English. “It’s important that we get a statement while the incident is fresh in your mind, Mr.—”
“Adams…Cachi Adams.” The officer smirked and I knew why. Though I spoke perfect Spanish and was still learning English, my name was very white. “I was born in Puerto Rico, living on the island until five years ago. Adams was my father’s name.”
