Naked In Havana (Naked Series Book 1)

by Colin Falconer

“Please.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  He grabbed my wrist and threw the curtain aside. He pulled me away down the corridor toward the stairs, away from the cheers and catcalls from inside the theatre encouraging Superman’s performance. I had never been so terrified, not even in the barrio with Reyes. I just wanted to get out of there.

  “You’re hurting me,” I said when we got outside and pulled myself free.

  Some cab drivers saw us tussle and started cat-calling.

  “I thought you’d like it,” Angel shouted at me. “You said you wanted to see the night life!”

  “Not that.”

  “I wouldn’t have brought you if I’d known you’d embarrass me.” He walked ahead of me to the car, his hands in his pockets, a sulky little boy. He jumped into the Pontiac and started the engine. I thought he might even drive off and leave me. I jumped in beside him, struggling with the heavy passenger door.

  I realized what a fool I was. For the first time I realized I didn’t love Angel and probably never had. He was just a spoiled little rich boy out for a good time and he didn’t give a damn about me. I had broken my papi’s trust in me for one night of rebellion and what had I gotten out of it?

  I just wanted to get home and hide in my room and lock the door. I wondered what Reyes would say when he found out about it, as he was bound to do. He seemed to know everything that went on in Havana.

  “Oh, princess,” I imagined him saying, “when are you ever going to learn?”

  Chapter 25

  The worst of the storm had passed, leaving the city drenched and steaming. Warehouses and apartments blocked out the sky as Angel drove the Pontiac through the narrow, flooded streets. We turned onto Calle Cuchillo, Knife Street. He was driving too fast and his face looked ugly in the dashboard light. I asked him to slow down but he ignored me. He still hadn’t spoken to me since we got into the car.

  Something made me look over my shoulder. I saw a black, unmarked sedan behind us, its headlights off.

  “There’s a car following us,” I said.

  Angel glanced in the mirror. “No, he’s not,” he said, but he made a hard right onto San Nicolas anyway. He rechecked his mirror. The sedan was still there.

  Suddenly it roared up alongside us, hemming us into the kerb. Angel swore and slammed on the brakes to avoid a collision. Another car came up behind us, so close that Angel couldn’t back up.

  Three men got out of the first car and strode towards us.

  “Drive, Angel!” I shouted at him. “Go up on the footpath. Drive!”

  But he just sat there, frozen. Blocked in like that in such a narrow street there was probably not much he could have done anyway.

  “It’s the fucking police,” he said, threw open the door and ran.

  I sat there, stunned. I was still sure he’d come back for me, but he didn’t. I heard him run off down a cobbled lane that led off the calle. The men ignored him. I realised it was me they wanted.

  They were wearing dark suits and narrow ties, their hair already plastered over their skulls by the rain. They surrounded the car and then one of them opened my door. I tried to get around the other side and jump out, but by then the men from the other car were right there waiting for me. An iron hand clutched my arm and dragged me across the street. I tried to twist away, fell and scraped my shin.

  I just could not believe this was happening.

  They forced my hands behind my back and put handcuffs on me. Then two more men picked me up and carried me to one of the cars. I screamed “Don’t touch me!” at one of them, for all the good it did me.

  I looked up into their faces, one of them was a boy, not much older than me, with a wispy moustache on his upper lip. He looked terrified, too. Perhaps it was his first job. He relaxed his grip a little and I pulled free; the older man swore at him and grabbed me with his other hand in a death grip that cut off all the circulation to my arm.

  The car’s door was open and the motor running. The driver was already behind the wheel. “Get in and get on the floor,” he said. “Move!”

  He pushed me into the back, grabbed my neck and forced my head down, then he threw a jacket over me. I heard the other men get in, one climbed in next to the driver, in front of the seat where I was lying, the other sat right on top of me, his feet on my shoulders and on my head, keeping me down there. He had on those heavy shoes the security police all wore for kicking people. I screamed, but that just made him press down harder.

  I heard the thud of the doors and then we sped away. I lay there, unable to move. The worst thing was the stink of that jacket, it reeked of sweat, and my head was pressed against the worn carpet and I could barely breathe. I heard the crackle of a two way radio and the driver saying: we have her. That was it.

  Every time the car hit a pothole it sent a shock wave through my body. There was nothing I could do but lie there and pray that it would be over soon.

  Meanwhile I tried to work out what was happening. If this was Batista’s police, what did they want with me? I thought: my papi will come and get me out of this. But Papi was in Miami, and he didn’t know I was out in the barrio, past midnight. This time I had really messed up.

  I couldn’t believe that Angel had abandoned me. I was sure he would call his father, or call Salvatore, he’d get me out of this somehow.

  I was hurting, lying there curled up like that, and I wriggled around to try and get into a more comfortable position but then one of them grabbed me by the hair. “Don’t move,” he said. “We’re not going to hurt you so just settle down.” It sounded reassuring but I knew it was a lie. They just wanted to make it easier for themselves.

  We were caught in traffic. I could hear ambulance sirens; perhaps there had been another bombing. I tried to scream, thinking that help was so close by. If I’d been thinking straight I would have realised there was no help; I was already a prisoner of the police.

  The driver sounded irritated. “Shut her the fuck up,” he said, and I felt a numbing blow to the back of my head. I stopped screaming.

  I wondered where they were taking me.

  We drove on for another few minutes and then I heard one of them say: “This is it.”

  They pulled me out of the car and forced me to my feet. The jacket slipped off my head and I recognized the police headquarters on the Rampa. I was so close to home! There was a knot of women in shawls crouched by the door, waiting for their men. The streets were slick with rain.

  “Get her inside,” someone said, and they threw the jacket back over my head and pushed me through a door. All I could see was a stone floor under my feet. I was limping, I’d lost one of my shoes in the scuffle.

  I heard the banging of metal doors, someone was shouting somewhere close by. When they took off the jacket I found myself in a cell with bare walls and a mattress on the floor. A dim light bulb hung on a flex from the ceiling.

  One of the policemen tore the diamond necklace from my throat. “It’s to stop you harming yourself,” he said. “We’ll give it to you back later.” He went out, slamming the door behind him.

  They left me there. I squatted down on the mattress but I couldn’t get comfortable because of the handcuffs. Already I couldn’t feel my fingers.

  When my papi found out about this, someone would pay!

  Or would they? It was only men like Lansky and Salvatore who had friends in the government. Amancio Fuentes was just some old fashioned blueblood who wouldn’t play the game. Perhaps that was why this was happening. First the bombing, then this.

  Was this Lansky's way of teaching us a lesson? It seemed very brave standing up to a gangster until you were sitting in a prison cell without a friend in the world. Then you realised what power meant and what it was like not to have any.

  Chapter 26

  I lay with my head against the wall. A roach scuttled across the floor. I heard someone screaming further down the corridor, it sounded as if they were being beaten. Then someone turned a radio up very
loud to cover the screams: Johnny Mathis, “When I Fall in Love.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to block it all out but I kept replaying it over and over in my mind, seeing Angel jump out from behind the wheel and run off down the street. He didn’t look back once, my Romeo. The only man I could ever love! Well, so much for that. He had left me there like a dog and run.

  I don’t know how long I lay there. They had taken my wristwatch and there were no windows. I must have dozed for a moment.

  I woke to the rattle of keys. Two men kicked the door open and dragged me to my feet, hauled me down the corridor to another cell. They pushed open a metal door and pulled me inside.

  The room was empty except for a wooden desk and a metal chair. They forced me down onto the chair. I sat there, waiting. My whole body was shaking, I couldn’t control it. I wondered if they meant to torture me.

  Someone else came into the room, stood behind me. I could smell his cigarette. I tried to twist around to look at his face but one of the men slapped me hard across the cheek. “Sit still,” he said.

  I heard him grind out his cigarette on the cement floor with his heel.

  He walked around and stood in front of me. He looked like Clark Gable, he was wearing a white cowboy hat and soft leather boots, he even had a silver belt buckle in the style of a Texas cattleman. He perched on the edge of the metal desk and smiled.

  “Hola, chica,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He shook his head, saddened by this sorry state of affairs. “You don’t know? What a pity. My name is Colonel Masferer. What’s your name?”

  “You know my name,” I said, trying to be brave.

  He nodded to one of the other men. “Please, assist me,” he said. The man stepped forward and slapped me again. “The señor asked you a question.”

  “Magdalena Fuentes,” I said and put my head down, so that he couldn’t hit me again.

  He seemed satisfied with that.

  “Well, Magdalena Fuentes, shall I tell you why you are here?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you know a man by the name of Luis Delgado?”

  “He’s our family’s driver.”

  “That’s right. Did you know you were harbouring a subversive?”

  “Luis? He’s not subversive. He stole some jewellery once, but his family are very poor...”

  “Is that what he told you? His brothers are all rebelde, and Luis himself was captured tonight in the Colón, along with a number of other communists. We found equipment for making bombs.”

  “Impossible.”

  “You think so? I would bring him in here to tell you all about it himself but he died tonight while trying to escape from custody.”

  I felt sick. I wondered if that was who I heard screaming when they brought me in.

  He leaned over me, his hands on my shoulders. “Does your father love you very much?”

  I nodded.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your father’s a rich man, isn’t he?”

  “He owns a music club. He’s not rich.”

  “Not rich? Look where he lives, look at the car he drives. How many servants does he have?”

  Was it money they wanted? Was this what it was all about?

  “Did he not realise his chauffeur worked for the 26th of July movement?”

  “Of course not.”

  He nodded to one of his men, and they brought up another chair. He put it down in front of her and twisted it around so he could rest his arms on the back of it. He sat down. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “Thirsty. Would you like some water?”

  I nodded.

  “What about a cocktail?”

  His men thought that was funny.

  He raised one finger to a guard and the man went to a filthy sink in the corner and poured some brown stained water into a tin cup. He held it to my lips. I sipped some but it was foul.

  “Not exactly Cuba Libre,” he said and they all laughed again. What a good time they were all having. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

  “What do you want?”

  He grinned. “The question is, what do you want, Magdalena Fuentes?”

  “I want to go home.”

  “Of course. But first you must answer some of my questions. What do you do?”

  “I go to school.”

  “And what do you learn, economics, politics, history?”

  “Drama.”

  “Drama. What does that mean?”

  “I am learning to be an actress.”

  He laughed. “An actress! You know, in the barrio, girls your age they have real jobs. They work in factories. They work in bars. They are dancers. They do something useful. They are not parasites like you. Though I have to admit, you are a very beautiful parasite.” His finger touched my knee. I jumped, as if he had touched me with an electric wire. He lifted the hem of my skirt, slid his fingers underneath. “You want to scream? Go ahead and scream. No one will care. Tell me what you know about Luis Delgado.”

  “I don’t know anything about him.”

  “He worked for you for how long?”

  “Since I was a child.”

  “All that time and you know nothing about him? Was he nothing to you?” His hand crept higher, along my thigh. “Are you a virgin, Magdalena Fuentes?”

  I wondered what answer would displease him the most. “What do you think?”

  “I think you are. I don’t think your rich boys have it in them to make a woman of you.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” I looked down at his crotch. “I imagine that’s a feeling you’re very familiar with.”

  What in the name of God made me say such a thing? Would I never learn? He put his hand inside my dress and his fingers slipped under my brassiere and fondled my breast. Then he found my nipple and pinched me hard until I screamed. He liked that.

  “You need bringing down to size.”

  “I’m sure it’s just the opposite for you,” I spat at him, and that got me another pinch and a slap in the mouth as well. He just wanted an excuse to hit me again, and like a fool I kept giving him reasons.

  A part of me wanted to beg: please don’t do this, if you hurt me, it will kill my papi. You don’t know about his heart. But what would this man--any of these men--care about my father, whether he lived or died? There was no point in bargaining.

  I imagined Papi’s face when they told him: Your daughter’s been taken by the secret police.

  Let’s just get this over with, I knew what he wanted. I wondered if it would be just him or if he would let his men at me afterwards as well.

  He had his hands up my dress now, pulled my panties halfway down to my knees. I just sat there. I would not let them see me cry, no matter what they did to me. I’ll just turn off, I thought, pretend I’m not here. How bad could it be? Would they do other things to me as well?

  I heard voices outside, someone was shouting my name in the corridor outside. He swore under his breath at this interruption. Someone was banging on the door. “You’ll keep” he whispered. “Keep your eyes on her,” he said to his men and went out.

  I sat there, head bowed, trying to make sense of what was happening, wondering whether this was my reprieve. I didn’t dare to hope.

  One of the guards stood in front of me, a cocky look on his face, his arms folded. There was a bulge in his crotch. He gave me a slow smile and sauntered over, leaned in close. “I’m next,” he whispered.

  Then I heard Reyes” voice.

  What was he doing here? He and Masferer were shouting at each other right outside the door. He burst in, shoving the guards out of the way. Masferer trailed behind him with another man in an army uniform. When Reyes saw me he lifted his jacket and reached for the revolver in the back of his pants. Everyone started shouting at once then and Masferer's cronies reached for their guns as well. The army man stepped forward, p
ut his arms around Reyes and whispered something to him to calm him down, talking in a slow, calm voice.

  Reyes gathered himself, put his arms back at his sides and gave her a sardonic smile. “Am I too late to save your virtue from these gentlemen?”

  I looked up at him, helpless and half naked. “Your timing is always perfect.”

  He took out one of his famous handkerchiefs, wet it with his tongue and wiped my lip where one of Masferer's goons had split it with the back of his hand. I winced.

  “This is none of his business,” Masferer said to the army officer. “She’s my prisoner.”

  “The colonel here is a very close friend of President Batista,” Reyes said. “Take it up with him.” He rattled the cuffs and held out his hands. Masferer hesitated, then nodded to his bullies and strode out. The keys were handed over and Reyes freed my hands.

  I gasped as the blood flowed back into them. It was agony.

  The men stamped out after their boss. The army colonel’s face was immobile. He jerked his head towards the door, it was time to go.

  Reyes stood me up and pulled up my underwear, smoothing down my skirt. “Well, I’ve never done that before,” he said.

  I tried to walk but my knees gave way under me. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me. I buried my face in his shoulder. I didn’t want to see Masferer’s men leering at me anymore.

  His Impala was parked in the street outside. He put me in the passenger seat. I finally looked around. The colonel was gone.

  “Where’s your friend?”

  A jeep roared past them, full of soldiers. I saw the colonel sitting in the back.

  “I wouldn’t call him a friend.”

  “Tonight I would. Can I have a cigarette?”

  “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “I do tonight.”

  “I only have these,” he said. He took out a silver cigar case and handed me a cheroot. I was shaking so hard I could barely hold it. He had to light it for me. It made me cough. “How did you know where I was?”

  “News travels fast in this town. Some friends of mine were at the Shanghai, and they saw what happened. They called me.”