Interludes: Miami
(1990)
David Prado
The flight had been a long one; and due to the nature of his
work he hadn’t slept on either of the connecting flights that had gotten him
from Marseilles to Miami by way of London. Michael was relieved to feel the 747
touch down briskly at Miami International Airport. Just another hour to sort
out the customs declarations and he would be at the hotel enjoying a hot shower
and then some bed.
As he got up from his seat and gathered his things he smiled
at Paris and made his way out. She would be on the return flight to London for
their normal service. Michael had been on the job nonstop the past four months
and had neglected his accrued vacation time. While common in Japan to forego a
holiday for your employer, some habits die hard. Michael’s love of paid time
off was one of those things he hadn’t been able to quite let go. As soon as he
felt the thick, Miami air, he knew he was in a different environment.
In his days at the RHKPD, Miami vice, would often be playing
in the background at police headquarters; translated into Cantonese of course.
Reality is often disappointing was a phrase often muttered by the guys on their
way out for a patrol. The closest thing to a house boat any of them could
afford on a cop’s salary in Hong Kong was likely a a piece of driftwood with an
umbrella spiked into it. Regardless of the realities, it wasn’t a surprise that
most of them had fantasized of taking out the bad guys on Ocean Drive.
Michael called a taxi and smiled at the refreshing change of
pace. It is always a chore to find the local consulate vehicle in the garage,
or worse yet, have a driver assigned to pick you up. The silence inside the cab
was golden. Perhaps exaggerated a bit by the lack of a common shared language
Michael had with his driver. He had picked up a bit of Spanish as needed in his
travels; but a fluent speaker he was not. The cab was a box caprice. Michael
had always loved the box Chevy's and was rather satisfied with the cab ride as
he smiled to himself. The caprice pulled onto Collins ave and 14th
st and stopped at the hotel Parisian. It was a small, deco inspired hotel he
had been recommended by one of Paris’ friends who worked out of the Miami Hub.
The place was quaint and definitely gave off Miami vibes. The clerk at the
register greeted Michael as he walked in.
“Sorry we don’t have anyone to take your bags at the moment;
he quit yesterday.” Michael couldn’t
help but laugh out loud at the directness of the statement. He thought to
himself, I'm sure she’s latin, and approached the front desk with a slowed gate.
“Ah, no worries Michelle, I don’t need all the formalities.
We spoke on the phone yesterday about room 111? The corner suite overlooking
Collins. I was told it has one of the best views in the city.”
“Yes, Mr. Chang, we were able to make sure we reserved that
for you. Your diplomatic attaché arrived yesterday, we kept it locked up
overnight, I personally brought it to your room no more than 30 minutes ago.
Quite a heavy bag for a diplomat…”
Michael brushed off the casual curiosity as just that,
“Well, you know, I like to leave work behind, but I cant ever quite seem to
escape it.”
Michelle smiled and moved quickly to change the topic of
conversation. “The Parisian is honored to host a diplomat’s personal vacation.”
“Yes, Quite.” Michael motioned over to an empty bar at the
other end of the lobby. “I’m assuming the bartender resigned recently as well?”
Michelle laughed “actually I’m also the bartender, part
time. But all we have is wine and whiskey, so not really much of a bar.”
“Does a bar really need anything else?” Michael smiled
already making his way to see what whiskey’s they had lying around. He swung
his arm around the bar and felt the tops of the bottles. He pulled up a bottle
of Jameson’s and asked Michelle to charge it to his room.
“I don’t sleep much on flights so I’m gonna head up and
rest.”
He chose to take the stairs
as it was only on the second floor. He walked into the room and put his things
down at the foot of the bed, from the corner of his eye, he could see the
Diplomatic bag and brushed it off. Why they always insist on you taking your
tools on vacation was a mystery to him. It seemed to him needless and
unnecessary, but he also noted to himself, he is not Japanese. A few hours of sleep can really improve
things. Michael smiled to himself as he was not not subject to anyone’s
timeframe. He thought for a moment, and against his better judgement, decided
to call and check in with the Tokyo office. He picked up the phone and made the
requisite call to advise of his location and status, he left the room number
should the need to send him anything. Because for Michael Chang, even a
vacation is not a vacation. He washed up and put on the requisite tourist
clothing and made his way down to the empty bar.
Finally, Michael was at
peace, he sat at the bar and looked out the lobby onto Collins avenue. The
lobby was quiet, there was some light piano music in the background, but it wasn’t
enough to mask Michelle’s frustrated ramblings at the front desk. He laughed to
himself “Vacations are hard work.” After he had finished the whiskey he served
himself, he left a tip at the bar, and walked out onto the street. The salty
air hit him right away, it reminded him of mornings in Hong Kong. He could
remember in every slightest detail, his last night in Hong Kong. He remembered
waking up that morning, and it was like any other, however, he never made it
home that night. Michael brushed away the memories before they began to sting
and looked up at the sky as he walked towards the sounds of the ocean. He was
centrally located and only a block away from the water. For a moment, he thought
of the attaché, and his newly ordered tool. A Wilson Combat custom 1911, it had
started life as an ordinary officer's ACP model. Michael had heard about Bill
Wilson in the competitive shooting circles and he had become known as a man who
built extremely reliable 1911’s. On vacation, as one should, he allowed his
mind to wander and it just settled on his new tool. He didn’t want to open the
attaché to look at it as it felt like cheating on your vacation. He walked
towards 10th street and headed east. The music and flavor of the
city was starting to whisper to him. More than anything, Michael’s best skill,
and the one that kept him alive the most was his ability to disappear anywhere,
and into any culture. And so he let the salsa music move him. He stopped at a
hat store and admired the Panama hats from the window. A few moments later he
walked out with his new hat and he decided to ditch the floral shirt for a
handmade Cuban guayabera. Now he definitely started to feel like part of the
city. As he continued his walk to the beach, he thought of how much of the
world he had seen, and how much he had to enjoy it while at the end of a loaded
gun. “Not this time.” He said allowed to himself.
Love and a Loaded
Gun
Michael Chang was sat in the
sand admiring the water. He was an exceptionally strong swimmer. A byproduct of
private swimming lessons his father had enrolled him in as a kid. His dad would
often tell him. “There’s a bit of Brit in you son, and we are sea peoples.”
Michael’s dad had a way with words and a flair for the dramatic. It was no
wonder he was able to win his mother over. Her family being a well respected
and successful lineage tracing their origins back centuries to the island of
Hong Kong.
At that moment, he noticed a man off in the
distance, the way he moved felt professional. Michael shrugged off his
paranoia and reminded himself that he’s on vacation. The man was taking the
long way to Michael’s whereabouts, he sighed and stood up. Better to be safe
than sorry. Michael made a straight line back to the street. He wasn’t armed,
why would he be, suddenly he remembered the attaché. The Japanese have their
ways, and at this moment he was grateful. He thought perhaps even on vacation,
he should carry his 1911. As Michael reached the street he took a quick look
over his shoulder and didn’t see the man anywhere behind him. “It is so hard to
have a vacation.”
Michael stopped by a florist
shop and made his way back to the Parisian. As he was getting close he could
see Michelle out side on a ladder. Apparently, she was also the maintenance
staff.
“I brought some flowers for
the front desk.” Michelle was busy
plastering some stucco, she looked down at him, mildly entertained by his
antics. “Thanks, our florist quit last week.”
Michael made his way into the lobby and as he placed the flowers on the
desk, he noticed through the mirror that same man from earlier. His curiosity
had now become attention. Michael made his way back up to his room. As soon as
he entered the room he made a bee line to the attaché. He unlocked the case and
pulled the 1911 out to inspect it; he also grabbed his smith and wesson .38 and
tucked it inside his waistband. He made his way towards the table and looked
outside onto Collins ave. He scanned the area and didn’t see any sign of the
man. “I think we’ll call him Jeff.” Michael said to himself as he field
stripped the Wilson Combat Custom. He looked down at the 1911 and inspected it’s
pieces, the quality of the craftsmanship was impressive. After it was reassembled,
he slipped the firearm back into it’s case. Michel noticed a business card in
the bag and pulled it out. There was a hand written message on the back that
said.
“Mr. Chang, it is our great
pleasure to have made this for you.” – Bill and Ken
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To Be Continued
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