Read Online Playing for Keeps by Joan Lowery Nixon - Free Book Online

information, hoping to be rewarded.”
    He thought a moment, then said, “I followed directions. What could have gone wrong? I don’t know what to do next. I can’t go to Uncle Martín’s stateroom. That is the first place they will look. Then they’ll search all the places on the ship where someone could hide.”
    I glanced at my watch. “Glory’s going to come back to our stateroom soon. The bridge players will want to dress for dinner.” I sucked in a sharp breath as an idea popped into my mind. “If they search the ship and don’t find you, then they’ll decide they were wrong and you can’t be aboard. Right? So we’ll hide you—as least until after the ship sails. I think I know where you’ll be safe.”
    As I reached for the telephone, Ricky moved quickly, clamping a hand over mine. His eyes had narrowed, and his breath came in shallow bursts. “Who are you calling?” he demanded.
    “I know you’re afraid, but you came to me for help, and I’m going to help you,” I told him. “You’ll have to trust me.”
    For a moment Ricky didn’t move or speak. I didn’t either. I could only wait for what he would say. Finally he pulled his hand away, his chin jutting out stubbornly. “I am
not
afraid,” he said. “I just don’t know whom to trust.”
    “You can trust me,” I said again. I glanced at my watch again.
Don’t come yet, Glory,
I thought.
Give
us a few more minutes
. I quickly dialed Neil’s room number. As soon as he answered I said, “We’ve got a problem. I need your help right away.”
    “Where are you?” Neil asked.
    “In my stateroom.”
    “I’ll be right there,” he said.
    I hung up the phone, grateful to Neil for not wasting time asking questions.
    When he arrived a few minutes later, his hair still damp from his shower, I motioned him to the small sofa. Then I said to Ricky, “You can trust both of us. I promise. Tell Neil what you told me. He’s going to help you.”
    “I am?” Neil asked in surprise.
    “Just listen,” I said. I sat on the sofa next to him.
    “My name is Enrique Urbino,” Ricky said to Neil. “And you were right. My uncle is Martín Urbino, who was once a shortstop for the Havana Sugar Kings in Cuba. When he signed with the Cincinnati Reds in 1960, defecting to the United States, he was listed as a traitor to Cuba.”
    Neil leaned forward eagerly. “Your uncle was one of many baseball players who left Cuba to join teams in the United States. Like Bert Campanaris, Tony Perez, Francisco—”
    I put a hand on Neil’s arm. “Just listen,” I said. “We can talk baseball later.”
    But Ricky was carried away, probably glad to talk about something familiar and safe. He told Neil, “The game of baseball is Cuba’s passion. Fidel Castro has always supported the league with his presence. Children are watched for signs of talent and promise in the game, and some are chosen to be enrolled at the special baseball academies for elementary school students.”
    “Were you?” Neil interrupted.
    “Yes,” Ricky said. “I have played with youth teams and then the minor league. Last year I was assigned to the Habana Leones, the top team in the Cuban league.”
    Neil whistled. “What’s your position? Your batting average? Are you left-handed, like your uncle?”
    “Neil!” I demanded. “Let Ricky tell his story.”
    Voices rumbled in the passageway. For a moment they paused just outside the door and we all froze. We heard another stateroom door open, then close, and the voices moved on.
    Ricky let out the breath he’d been holding, then told Neil and me about his nighttime trip from Cuba to Haiti. He slumped, adding, “Recently, I was publicly honored by Fidel. To leave Cuba after receiving this honor is not only treason but—in Fidel’s opinion—a terrible personal insult, embarrassing him in the eyes of the world.”
    “Have you tried before to leave Cuba?” Neil asked.
    “No,” Ricky answered.
    “What about when your team played in