Dos Cabos looked its usual tranquil self to Todd Hartman as he guided his father’s fishing yacht through the deepwater channel separating the island’s interior harbor from the open sea. Todd was glad to be back. Venezuela had been a good time, but it was always better at home, especially on Dos Cabos, back in Wilson City, the island’s only town.

A few hundred feet from the dock, he cut back on the engine, letting the big boat slowly roll in.  Steering skillfully, he swung it around and brought it alongside the dock with a soft bump. Shutting the engine off, he then tied and secured the ropes to the dock.

With the boat settled in, Todd went below to get his things. As he was stuffing a laundry bag with soiled clothes, he thought he heard some noise above deck. He looked out a port window but could see nothing. Tossing the dirty clothes bag in a corner, he then went to an aft closet and pulled out a big three-quarters full plastic trash bag. Dragging it to the middle of the room he heard sounds again. He was sure somebody was messing around up top now. Grabbing a large flashlight for a weapon, he headed towards the stairs. Suddenly there was a loud rustling and several armed men burst in.

“What the . . . ,” Todd began, but his words were cut short by a rifle butt blow to the solar plexus. 

Todd went flying backwards, gasping for air. He landed flat on his back beside the big trash bag, the flashlight – knocked loose from his hand – crashed against the back wall into a dozen pieces.

“Get up,” a thick, square-jawed man pointing an M-16 rifle at him said, “on your feet.”

“This looks like it’s probably it,” another of the men, a tall, skinny one, said. He tugged on the strings of the trash bag until it opened.

Pulling himself upright, Todd watched in horror as the tall man reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of what looked like weeds or alfalfa.

“Bingo,” the man laughed, “jackpot.”

Todd closed his eyes and wished he were somewhere else. Venezuela. Anywhere. He couldn’t believe this had happened. He didn’t know what to do. He was scared to death.

“You’re under arrest, son,” the burly man said, flashing a police ID. “This is the end of the line. Your papa will have to work to get you out of this one, that’s for sure.” Some of the other men laughed.

Todd held his head in his hands and stared at the floor. The tall man read him his rights while the rest of the cops ransacked the boat. They found nothing else. Then they handcuffed Todd and led him off the boat. A small crowd watched as the arresting force, their suspect and contraband in hand, marched off the dock and to their cars for the brief ride to Wilson City’s tiny, uncomfortable jail.

*                  *                   *

“Buenas tardes,” Todd called into the Benitez home. “Is Gloria home?”

Mrs. Benitez opened the door to Todd, her face an impassive mask. A boy, about twelve, tried to shove in beside her. She frowned at him.

“Hola, Todd,” the boy said happily.

“Hola, ‘Fredo,” Todd smiled.

“Alfredo!” Mrs. Benitez snapped, “get out of the way.” She pushed the boy back.

“Adios, Todd,” he said, disappearing into the darkness of the house.

“Bye, ‘Fredo,” Todd said. “See you later.”

He looked up to see an even darker frown on Mrs. Benitez’ face than the one she had had for little ‘Fredo.

“Please, Señora,” he said to Mrs. Benitez, “I need to see Gloria.”

“No,” she said flatly. “No.” She started to shut the door.

“Mrs. Benitez,” Todd pleaded, “please.”

“No, she does not want to see you.”

“Doesn’t want to see me?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Mrs. Benitez, just for a moment.”

“No,” she said, “goodbye.”

“Mrs. B . . . .”

“I’m sorry, no.” 

Mrs. Benitez shut the door firmly. Todd went around to the side of the house, making sure she couldn’t see him. He reached Gloria’s room and looked in the window. She was talking to little Alfredo and didn’t see him. Todd tapped lightly on the window. He watched Gloria stop Alfredo from running to him. She pointed and Alfredo, head down, obediently left the room. When he was gone, Gloria came to the window and opened it.

“You’ve got to stop coming,” she whispered, “if my father or Frankie see you, we’ll both be sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Gloria,” Todd said, “I had to see you. You and ‘Fredo are all I have left.  Everyone else treats me like dirt now.”

“You did wrong.”

“But not to anyone here on the island.”

“That’s not how they think. What you did was wrong. You’re bad.”

“Is that how you feel too?” Todd asked. “I’m bad?”

“No,” Gloria said, softening. “But you did wrong.”

Todd came closer to the window. He reached up and took Gloria by the arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I made a mistake, but I still care for you. That doesn’t have to change does it?”

Gloria put her hand on his cheek. He reached for her. She bent down and they kissed.

“Forgive me?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.  They kissed again. “I just want things to be as they were. Before.”

“They will be,” he assured her. “You’ll see. I’m going to make it so. Tomorrow I’m going to play on the baseball team again. I don’t care what the others say, I’m going to play. This is my home, too. My friends.”

“No, no, Todd,” Gloria pleaded, “don’t. Please. Francisco said if he sees you near me or at the games he’ll beat you up.”

“Me and Frankie fight? We’re like brothers.”

“He’s angry, Todd. He means it.”

“It’ll pass.”

“Maybe, but please don’t go tomorrow.”

Of a sudden, little Alfredo ran breathlessly into Gloria’s room.

“Mama . . . ,” was all the warning he could get out, “mama.”

 “Go,” Gloria said. “Go.”

She shut the window quickly and with a wave turned and hurried towards her bedroom door, Alfredo closely in tow. Todd watched as they went out of the bedroom and into the main part of the house. He stood there for awhile and then with a sigh headed back to his motorbike.

*                  *                   *

Todd’s old team was warming up alongside the ball field when he arrived. He saw Gloria and Alfredo in the stands but there was no sign of their parents. Todd was glad about that. He waved to Gloria and Alfredo with his glove. They waved back but Todd could see, even from a distance, the worried look on Gloria’s face.

“Mando. Teo.” Todd said, approaching some of his teammates playing catch. They nodded silently. “Seen Francisco?”

One of the men looked in the direction of a tin-roofed, makeshift dugout on the near, first base side of the field. Todd followed the man’s eyes. He saw Frankie neatly stacking a row of wooden bats. Just before Todd reached the gap in the fence giving access to the field, Frankie saw him. He ran towards Todd. In the stands, Gloria saw them and started down the bleachers towards the field. Frankie was quickly face to face with Todd.

“What do you want here?” he demanded.

“I’m the left fielder, remember?” Todd tried to smile.

“Not anymore,” Frankie said.

“What?” Todd said. “Come on, Frankie. What’s going on here? Why are you doing this to me? We’re friends.”

“I’m not doing anything to you,” Frankie said. “You’re off the team. That’s all.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“That’s between me and the courts, Frankie. I didn’t do anything to you or to anyone else.”

“That’s not how it is here,” Frankie said as Gloria, Alfredo, and several others formed a small group around the antagonists. “Dos Cabos is not like that. It’s not some drug port for rich Americans like you.”

“Lighten up,” Todd countered.

Frankie noticed Gloria and Alfredo standing nearby. Their presence seemed to incense him.

“And stay away from my sister and little brother,” he said, putting a thick forefinger against Todd’s chest, “I know you’ve been to my house. From now on, keep away.”

“Stop it, Francisco,” Gloria said, moving between her brother and Todd, “stop it this instant.”

Todd reached for Gloria to move her out of the way. Frankie exploded, grabbing Todd by the shirt and causing him to bump into Gloria. She cried out and little Alfredo ran to his sister’s side.

“Never,” Frankie snarled, shoving Todd backwards, away from Gloria, “touch my sister again.”

Todd pushed back and then Frankie hit him. The punch, a straight right, caught Todd flush on the chin and knocked him down. Gloria struck out at Frankie until he had to restrain her physically.

“Damn you,” she screamed at her brother, “what’s the matter with you, with all you people? You act like judge and jury on everyone’s life. You have no right.”

“We have the right,” Frankie said, as Todd stumbled to his feet. 

Todd held up a hand indicating he wanted no more fighting. Frankie cooled a little. Gloria went to Todd. Alfredo stood to one side, terrified.

“It’s best you stay away,” Frankie told Todd, “maybe better you should leave.”

Todd rubbed his aching jaw. He moved away from Gloria and Alfredo.

“You’re wrong, Frankie,” Todd said, his voice quavering, “all of you are. I made a mistake and I’m sorry. I can’t change it, but I didn’t mean to hurt anyone on Dos Cabos.”

“You know how it is here,” Frankie said, “you knew when you came here. You’re like all the other yanquis. You think you can do anything and get away with it. You think the judge should treat you better because you’re an Anglo. And he will. We’re proud people on Dos Cabos and we don’t want your kind around.”

Frankie picked up Todd’s glove where it had fallen in the dirt and tossed it to him.

“Goodbye,” he said, then turned and walked back to the dugout.

Todd stood watching him for a moment, then, without speaking to Gloria or Alfredo, he walked away, too.

Gloria and the boy followed, calling for Todd to wait. But he just kept going. At the edge of the dirt parking lot he passed a garbage can and, pausing, lifted the lid on the can and threw the glove in, spitting after it. He climbed on his motorbike angrily, kick started it and pulled away from the field, dust and rocks kicking up behind.

Gloria, the boy holding on to her waist, watched Todd ride off. She cried without sound, petting Alfredo’s soft brown hair.

“Damn these men,” she swore under her breath, “and their stupid, ignorant ways. Damn them.”

She looked down at Alfredo. He looked up at her with wet eyes.

“You won’t act like that,” she told her little brother, “not if I can help it.”

Behind them, the ball game had begun. There was the sound of wood on horsehide and the small crowd cheered. Gloria and the boy walked away, away from the game.

From his position in the field, Frankie saw them leaving. There was nothing he could do. He was in the middle of the game now; he couldn’t leave it. That wasn’t the way it worked. You had to go by the way things were. There was nothing else for it. Any man knew that.