Lola Suarez, 1984 — Miami’s Heat
<p><strong><em>Vamos</em></strong>. I blink twice. Still alive. Mi amor, not quite. I pull the briefcase out from under the mattress and get his arm around my shoulder. We hobble out. Iron tucked in my belt. Pink Cadillac rests out front. We wake it up and floor it forward, zigzagging through traffic. The scene is heated. Deal gone wrong. Sirens in the background. My pulse races quicker than the engine. I never asked for this. <em>Puta</em> of a husband. I should polish him myself.</p>
<p>We make it two miles out of Miami. Then the helicopters.</p>
<p>Panic near peak. I burn a red light and a truck takes out our rear, spinning us to sleep and out the windows. I…</p>
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