Arrived (Book One)

Chapter 9: Abuela

Just as I opened my eyes, I gasped Dad remained unharmed: the bullet had never touched his chest. Dad let out a small laugh while brushing the dust on his clothes. "Long time no see, Abuela." he greeted.

A huge beaming smile appeared on her face as the old woman dropped her rifle and hugged him very tightly. While they were smirking at each other, I stood there completely helpless.

"Honey," the old woman crooned, holding my hand. "I will never hurt your father, he is like a second son to me, unlike Pedro. All of a sudden, a teenaged boy came down the stairs with a half-sleepy look on his face.

He had black hair cut into a curly mowhawk, he wore a red t-shirt and black pants. "There's the Sleeping Beauty," the old woman huffed. The boy wiped the crusts around his eyes then blinked down at Dad and me.

"Since when did we have guests?" he asked. "I am going to make a meal for them," Abuela explained, ignoring her grandson's question. "While I am cooking, you show them around the house."

Abuela gave us a beaming smile before disappearing into the kitchen. When the boy came downstairs, he gave us a few pointers around the living room: the floor is covered in a thick layer of white carpet. Wooden walls were full of old pictures.

A battered green couch sat in front of an old television set. The lights flickered on and off as if they were fireflies. The boy scratched his mowhawk and gazed at my father's eyes.

"You must be Mr. Hamilton, right?" he asked. Dad nodded his head very slowly then pointed his finger at me. "This is my daughter, Cleo Hamilton," he introduced. "Cleo and I are taking a vacation for a couple of weeks."

The boy looked at me for a moment then all of a sudden, his entire face turned red. "Hello," I greeted. He tried to play it cool, flashing me a nervous smile. "Hey," he greeted back. "My name is Pedro Martinez."

"Are you going to start the tour?" I asked politely. The boy nodded very quickly then lead us upstairs. The same brown carpet flooded the entire hallway floor. To his right, he pointed two doors that looked like they have been caked with dust.

"Are these the rooms that we have been staying?" Dad guessed. Pedro nodded as he turned knob of the first door. The bedroom had baby pink paint covering the walls, pink carpet stretched on the floor, and a small pink bed stood in front of the window, shrouded in a pink curtain.

I am guessing that I will be staying here. Dragging my suitcase, I entered the room and heaved the bag on the floor right beside my bed. "This will be Cleo's room," Pedro explained. "And where will Dad be staying?" I asked politely.

"He will be staying in the room right beside you," Pedro stated as if it was a stupid question. I sighed as I joined the boys and closing the door behind me.

Pedro later showed us the small bathroom, the backyard, the attic, basement, and finally, the kitchen where Abuela is putting the finishing touches on a meal.

When she looked at us, she clapped her hands together. "About time!" she exclaimed. "Sit down and relax, my guests." We both smiled and sat down in the wooden chairs. While she served the rice, Pedro Martinez sheepishly sat besides me and asked me a couple of questions.

"So," he began. "Is this your first time in Cuba?" I nodded politely. "To be honest, I never imagined that my father knew a few people there," I admitted.

Pedro scooped a portion of rice with his spoon and took a bite out of it. "What grade are you in?" he asked. "Currently, I am in

As I turned to my father, I gave him a curious look. "How long have you known Senior Goodman-" Abuela gave me a shocking look before setting the rice on Dad's plate. "Senior Goodman?!" Abuela shrieked. "That scoundrel is still breathing?"

Pedro rolled his eyes as if this wasn't the first time his grandmother mentioned him. "You knew Goodman?" I asked in wonder. "How long?" "Way longer than you think," Abuela answered with a sneer. "That crook has been living the good life: fancy cars, fancy clothes, and money."

"How did he get so rich?" I asked. "He worked as a banker for El Dorado," Dad answered, sipping his drink. I have heard of the bank, it was said to be one of the wealthiest banks in all of Cuba.

"Even though he is a banker," Pedro continued. "He is also a charity worker." "Even though Goodman is a good man, he is a monster when it comes to promises." "What do you mean?" I asked suddenly. Abuela gave me a smug look.

"Ask your father," she chuckled. "He knows Goodman more than I do." Sighing, I turned to face my father again. "What have you learned about Goodman?" I asked. Dad lowered his grimy spoon on a plate then swallowed the rice down his throat.

"There were some rumors regarding to Goodman," Dad explained. "Before you were born, your mother and I were requested by our organizations to go to Cuba an investigate something."

"Like what?" I asked hopefully. Abuela and Pedro finished their plates then walked out of the kitchen. "Some sort of trafficking ring," he answered with a sigh. "We suspected that Goodman in charge of it."

"Whoa," I breathed. "What else happened?" "Your mother and I went undercover: she became the prostitute while I became his right hand man. Just as soon as we caught him in the act, he was thrown in jail and the girls went back to their families."

I frowned at this as Dad sipped his mug. "What's wrong?" he asked. "How long did Goodman served in jail?" I asked. He thought about it for a moment. "He served four years, but suspiciously he got bailed out."