Suspicion of Rage Read Online Free PDF

it's late, and my wife is probably wondering where I am." Ignoring the congressman, he turned toward the desk, where Ernesto Pedrosa leaned on crossed arms.  
    The old man was tired; his skin sagged into shadows and lines. "Tell your sister for me that she's welcome in this house."
    Anthony said, "Buenas noches, abuelo."
    "Ten cuidado, m'ijo."
    He walked into the hall with his grandfather's words in his ear: Be careful, my son.
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    Gail said it would take only an hour or so to finish packing, and no, she didn't need any help, but thank you anyway. Anthony headed for the shower, and Gail went to her daughter's room to say good night.
    Karen, in an oversized Miami Hurricanes T-shirt, sat at her computer. The desk lamp outlined her profile and made a nimbus of light around her long hair.
    "Hey, sweetie pie. Shouldn't you be in bed?" She came in and shut the door.
    "In a minute, okay?" Karen clicked the mouse as the cursor moved down the screen. "I'm downloading some games."
    Gail saw the cable running from the computer to Karen's PDA. "Oh, Karen. You're not taking that with you."
    "In case I get bored."
    "Bored?" Gail sat on the end of the bed. "Be serious. We're going to Havana tomorrow. Havana. Don't tell me you plan to stay indoors playing Tetris."
    The monitor light flickered on Karen's face. "Who am I supposed to hang out with? They're all older than me. Plus, does anybody speak English?"
    "Well, if they don't, you can practice your Spanish."
    Large blue eyes rolled upward for an instant, then fixed once more on the screen.
    "Come on, Karen, turn it off. You're going to be exhausted tomorrow."
    "Wait, wait, just let me get this one. That's all, I swear."
    "You've got sixty seconds." Gail picked up two large pillows in their bright shams and stacked them on a chair, leaving the old, thin pillow that Karen had slept with since she was four. The Little Mermaid pillowcase was threadbare and faded, but Karen refused to give it up. Gail let her do her room the way she wanted, though it hardly matched the upscale decor of this top-floor, fully furnished, four-grand-a month Coconut Grove apartment. Anthony was paying for it; he liked the view.
    To turn down the comforter, Gail had to move Karen's backpack out of the way. The strap slipped from her fingers. "What've you got in here, bricks?"
    Karen glanced over. "Nothing. Just stuff I'm taking with me."
    "Mind if I see?"
    "It's just magazines and stuff."
    Gail unzipped the backpack and looked inside, finding Karen's iPod, headphones, and several DVDs in their plastic cases. And wrapped in an old T-shirt, a portable DVD player, which had been her father's overly extravagant Christmas present. "No way. You're not taking this." Over Karen's protests, Gail said, "It's too expensive, and I don't want it confiscated."
    "Is that like stolen?"
    "No, it's like when the customs agents take it away when you come into the country. Or they make you pay a huge tax on it. We're leaving it here. Sorry."
    Sighing, Karen crossed her arms on the back of the chair and let her chin sink onto them.
    Rummaging further into the backpack, Gail took out two dozen granola bars, boxes of fruit juice, some trail mix, a jar of peanut butter. "Karen... why are you taking food?"  
    "We might get hungry. People are starving in Cuba, but the police keep them out of sight so the tourists don't see."
    "Where did you hear that?"
    "Danny told me."
    She called him what Anthony's son preferred: his middle name, Daniel. Luis Daniel Quintana had grown up in suburban New Jersey, and he barely spoke Spanish. Gail said, "That is absolutely not true, and we're not going to insult Marta's family by bringing our own food. They have more than enough."
    "Are they rich?"
    "I don't think so. Cuba doesn't have rich people anymore. But I guess some people have more than others, like anywhere else."
    "Can I keep it for snacks?"
    "Snacks only. At dinner you'll eat what everyone else does." Gail