People kept coming up to the bar, but he ignored them. Sometimes they glanced at him curiously, especially the women, but no one spoke to him. He had been in the bar several times during the week, and the habitues began to wonder who he was.
Manuel, the barman, had tried to discover who he was without success. Not that he wasn’t talkative, but that he steered the conversation away from any personal topic.
During a lull, Manuel came down the long bar towards him. He began polishing glasses. “Not much about tonight,” he said casually.
The tall, thin man agreed. “Why do you think that is?” he asked.
Manuel shrugged. “You can’t tell these days,” he said; “there is too much entertainment going on. People get too much amusement. They don’t know where to go next.”
“Personally, I find things very dull.”
Manuel looked at him sharply. “It depends,” he said. “It depends on what you want. Now, there’s a fine show at the ‘Hot-Spot’. You ought to see that. I went last night. Mind you, I’ve seen a lot of that kind of stuff, but this is the tops. You can have my word for it, you didn’t ought to miss it.”
The tall, thin man tapped the ash of his cigarette. “I’ve seen it,” he said briefly. “It’s not bad. No, I’d say it’s not bad at all.”
Manuel selected another glass. “That dame with the chest,” he said, rolling his eyes a little. “You know the one I mean.”
“Did you find her amusing?”
“Amusing?” Manuel paused. “That ain’t quite the word, is it? Amusing? No, I wouldn’t call it that. That’s the kind of a dame that spoils married life. Comes a trifle flat to get home after seeing a dame like that.”
The tall, thin man winced. He finished up his whisky and ordered another.
Manuel went on: “When you see a hot number like her, it makes you wonder what sort of a life she leads off the stage. Maybe she’s married. She might have a flock of kids. She might sleep with anyone. You don’t know, do you?”
“It’s a great mistake to enquire into that kind of a person’s life. They’re making money because the people who pay to see them regard them as something totally unlike themselves. They are the escape valve of the public.”
Manuel nodded. “Yeah, that’s right, but I don’t kid myself.” He had to go away to serve two elderly women, and when he got back again he said: “There’s a good fight on tonight. I can let you have a ticket if you fancied it.”
The tall, thin man shook his head. “Not tonight. I’m waiting for someone. Maybe some other night. I like a good fight.”
“Yeah?” Manuel’s face brightened. “So do I. I like a good fight too. There has been some pretty bum shows recently. Did you see McCoy give up in the sixth?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he do that, do you think?”
“They say he was scared, but it wasn’t that. He had something on his mind. It must be tough going into the ring with something bad on your mind. The public don’t care. All they want to see is a fight. It doesn’t matter how much trouble you’ve got, you’ve got to leave it outside. Well, I guess McCoy took it in with him.”
Manuel regarded the tall, thin man thoughtfully. “You reckon that’s what the trouble was, do you?” he said.
“Of course. It couldn’t have been anything else. McCoy isn’t yellow. He wasn’t getting the breaks.”
Manuel, who didn’t miss anything, said: “You’ll pardon me, but are you waiting for a lady?”
The tall, thin man played with his glass, his eyes went frosty. “Curiosity?” he said.
Manuel put down the glass he was polishing. He jerked his head. “Some lady’s lookin’ for someone,” he said. “I thought maybe it was you.”
The tall, thin man looked over his shoulder. “You’re quite remarkable,” he said, and beckoned to the girl who stood just inside the doorway.
She came across slowly. Manuel watched her, without appearing to. During his stay at the ‘Roney Plaza’ he had seen so many women that his standard of what was good had become exceedingly high. This girl was interesting. She was interesting in a ripe sort of a way. She had a lazy, sensuous walk, and her big blue eyes looked sleepy. Her mouth was wide and very red. She wore a black dress that emphasized her breasts and hips without being tight on her body. Manuel thought she looked like a very beautiful genteel whore.
She said to the tall, thin man, “Hello, Harry.”
He got off the stool and touched her fingers. There was a tense eager tightening of his face muscles.
“Come and have a drink,” he said. “Do you like these stools, or would you rather sit at a table?”
She gave her answer by climbing up and perching herself on the stool.
He said, “You’re looking very, very beautiful.”
“Every time we meet you tell me that. Is it for something to say, or do you feel so strongly about it?”
He climbed up on the stool beside her. “I want to talk to you.”
“Can’t I have something to drink? Is it so urgent that I can’t be asked what I should like?”
He looked at her, his eyes angry. “I’m sorry.” He nodded to Manuel, who came down to them, then he said, “What are you drinking?”
She turned her attention to Manuel. First, she gave him a very bright smile. It was a smile that unsettled Manuel’s calm. He felt an urge to reach forward and pull her across the bar towards him. This urge so startled him that he became very confused. He stood looking at her uneasily.
“What shall I drink?” she asked him. “Something that will set fire to my blood. Suggest something.”
Manuel turned to his bottles. “I have something for you,” he said. “You will not be disappointed.”
The tall, thin man she had called Harry said, “I wish you wouldn’t, it doesn’t suit you.”
“That’s only your opinion,” the girl said. She had very fine hands, slim and white and very beautiful. “We are starting well tonight. Soon we shall be quarrelling, and then we shall go away from each other. I think I shall like that.”
Harry offered her a cigarette. “You mustn’t talk like that. I don’t know what’s come over you lately. Have a cigarette. Look, Manuel is bringing you your drink.”
She took the cigarette and smiled very brightly again at Manuel as he put the glass down.
Manuel said, “You will like it. I have every confidence.”
She said: “I am sure I will. Look, I’ll taste it before I smoke.” She raised her hand to stop Harry from striking a match. When she had tasted the drink, she put it down with a little shudder. “God!” she said.
Manuel looked at her closely and then looked at Harry. “You like it?” he asked anxiously.
She said: “It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. I wouldn’t say I liked it, but it’s what I want.”
Manuel went away, his face a little sullen. He wasn’t sure what she meant.
Harry said softly, “You’ve hurt him.”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I hurt someone for a change? You don’t mind when I am hurt, why should you bother about a barman?”
He moved uneasily. “I wish you wouldn’t go on like this,” he said. “Really, it doesn’t do any good.”
“Very well, I won’t. Let us change the subject. Let us talk about something else. I’ll be very good. I promise I won’t be difficult any more. There, now I’ve promised.”
There was a pause, then she went on: “This morning I was very extravagant. I went out and bought a hat. It cost a lot of money, but I felt that I had to have something new. It made me feel very happy for a few minutes.”
“I’m glad. I wish you’d buy yourself what you want. You know you can have what you want.”
She shook her head. “No, no, I can’t. You think that your money will give me everything I want, but it can’t.”
He bit his lips, annoyed at giving her the obvious opening. She went on before he could say anything. “Your money can’t make me Mrs. Harry Garner, can it? By
the way, how is Mrs. Harry Garner, and how is your daughter?”
Harry finished up his whisky. “Didn’t we agree not to talk about that side of my life?” he said, trying to speak gently.
“Oh yes, I know. We agreed not to talk about them, but sometimes I get very curious. You can’t blame me, can you? I mean they are so important in your life, aren’t they? They are much more important to you than I am, aren’t they?”
“You know they’re not. Look, we’re getting on the wrong topics tonight. Let’s go somewhere and have dinner. Perhaps you’d like to see the show at the ‘Hot-Spot’.”
She laughed. “I’ll tell you something. I saw you take the Mrs. Harry Garner there the night before last. I couldn’t go after that. It wouldn’t be right.”
He clenched his fist. “You can be very hateful sometimes,” he said, and she could see that for the first time he was really angry.
“No, not hateful. I wouldn’t like you to call me that. Not after the nights I’ve given up to you. You can’t say that. It’s because it’s the truth and it annoys you. Be honest, isn’t that right?”
He drew a deep breath. “All right, it does more than annoy me, it hurts. For God’s sake, can’t we stop this awful bickering?”
“I’m sorry.” She finished the drink Manuel had given her. “Tell him to give me another. It’s terribly, terribly dangerous stuff, but I don’t care.”
Harry signed to Manuel, who smiled. If she wanted another, it must be all right.
They didn’t say anything to each other until Manuel had brought the drinks, and then, when he had gone away, Harry said: “He’s a genius for finding new drinks. Will you thank him very nicely when we go?”
She sipped the drink, pulling a little face. “Yes, I will thank him. I’ll be very, very nice to everyone you like, including your wife and your daughter. There, I can’t do more than that, can I?”
He felt the evening couldn’t go on any longer like this. It was absurd that she should dominate him. He was determined to get things back to normal.
“Listen,” he said, “are you going to say bitchy things all the evening?”
Her eyes opened a trifle. “Am I?”
“It’s no use going on like this. Tell me. Get it off your mind, then perhaps we can forget about it.”
“Forget about what? Mrs. Harry Garner and Miss Garner? They’d be very difficult to forget.”
“Four months ago you said they didn’t matter,” Harry said, determined to keep his temper. “You said you understood my position and you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind; I know you didn’t. Why this sudden change?”
She didn’t like this direct approach. “Harry, do you think if I fell in love with a woman I should be any happier?”
“No, you can’t side-track like that. You don’t mean anything by that. You’re just gaining time.”
“No, honestly. I’ve wondered. Women can be so much more understanding.”
Three people came up to the bar and ordered drinks. They stood close to Harry and the girl. One of them was a tall, flat-chested girl with a serious expression on her face. She wore heavy, horn-rim glasses. The other two were middle-aged men.
One of the men said, “Manuel, you’re looking pretty good tonight.”
Manuel pushed a bottle of Canadian Rye across the polished wood. He said: “Yes, sir, I’m feeling pretty good. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
The man turned to the serious-looking girl. “I like this place. They give you the bottle and let you get tight, fast or slow, just as you feel. There’s no waiting to be served.”
The serious-looking girl said: “That’s fine, because I want to get tight very fast tonight.”
Harry said: “Let’s go. I can’t talk to you here. Let’s go back to the apartment.”
She shook her head. “No, not tonight. I’m feeling nervy. We should only quarrel. Not tonight.”
He hid his disappointment. “Well, let’s go, anyway. I’ll see you home.”
He gave Manuel some money and she smiled at him. “Your drink’s been a big success. Mr. Garner says you’re a genius.”
Manuel showed his surprise. He said good night rather stiffly. He felt somehow that she had insulted him.
The two of them walked out into the bustle of the street. He noticed that she was just a little drunk; it gave him hope.
“Let me come back with you,” he said, “I have a lot to say to you.”
She shook her head. “Not tonight.” She sounded very final.
He raised his hand to signal a cab.
“No,” she said, “I’m much too tired. We’ll walk.”
THE GENERAL DIES IN BED
It all happened so quickly he hadn’t any chance of making plans. They had come to him and offered him three hundred dollars to give Pedro de Babar the heat. Three hundred dollars! They were crazy! Well, he’d got them up to five hundred and there they stuck. When he found they wouldn’t give any more, he agreed. He knew once he had given it to de Babar he’d have to get out of Cuba. That didn’t worry him. He was sick of Cuba, anyway.
In the afternoon he went up to de Babar’s bungalow with the intention of having a look round. It was a nice place, fitting for a General of the Cuban War Department to live in.
The big garden that surrounded the one-storied building flamed with colours. Palm trees bent graceful heads against the blue of the sky. The place was so nice that the boy was violently envious. He would have liked to have been a devastating god with powers to destroy by a wave of his hand.
The heat of the afternoon sun had driven the guards to shelter. The boy could see no one as he made his way cautiously towards the bungalow. So he went on, until he came to a little path leading to the back of the building.
He moved soundlessly, beads of sweat running down his yellow-white skin. He was not frightened for himself, only that he might make some mistake that would prevent him from killing the General. He reached the bungalow and began walking slowly along the wall, glancing into the windows.
That was how it happened. He looked through the window and saw the woman and de Babar on the bed. He couldn’t see very much of the woman. She stared up at the dirty white ceiling, her eyes very wide. He could see she was chewing her bottom lip, and every now and then she would toss her head from side to side on the pillow. As he stood watching, she suddenly shut her eyes and began to drum on the bed with her heels.
He could only see the back of the General’s head and his bull neck, creasing into three great rolls of fat. He could see the sweat running down behind the big fleshy ears, and the slow movement of the gross body.
Without thinking, the boy pulled the blunt-nosed automatic from inside his coat. He did not hesitate. Perhaps such an opportunity would never come his way again. The General was helpless. There was no one to protect him, and he would have to take his chance of getting away.
He hooked his fingers under the window and pushed it up. As it went up, it made a little grating noise. The General heard it. He moved his head languidly and looked over his shoulder.
The boy smiled at him. He thought it was very, very funny to kill the General like this. He wondered if any other man had ever been killed doing what the General was doing. He leant a little way into the room and brought the automatic up.
The General looked at the automatic. He remained very still. The blood congestion of his face gradually faded, leaving the pock-marked flesh a greenish white.
The woman said urgently, “Go on—go on—why do you stop?”
The General didn’t say anything. He couldn’t do anything. He just stared with hot intent eyes at the gun. He was in a hell of a jam.
The woman opened her eyes. “What is it?” she said. Her voice was unsteady, as if she were out of breath. “What is it?” She looked across at the window.
The boy smiled at her too. The shock of seeing him there with the gun was so great that the blood even went away from her lips. She looked as if she were going to die.
The b
oy squeezed the trigger gently. He would have liked to delay the shooting longer, because these two did really look very ridiculous, but any moment the guards might come. The gun went off with a sharp crack just as the General began to move away from the woman. The heavy bullet smashed the side of his skull. He flopped on the woman, pinning her flat.
The boy leant further into the room. She had seen him. It wouldn’t be safe to leave her. She made no attempt to move. She lay still, the blood from the General’s wound running on to her cheek and neck. It was all so horrible for her that she wanted to die. There wasn’t much to aim at, but the boy didn’t have to fire a third time.
It was a great pity that he had to wait to kill the woman, because the guard, turning out on the first shot, saw him; and although the boy managed to get away, they knew who to look for and it made it very difficult for the boy to get down to the harbour where a boat waited to take him across the Straits.
By nightfall the search had intensified. They had no intentions of letting him get away. He had spent the evening hidden in a back room of an outlying farmhouse. The farmer asked no questions because revolution was constantly rearing its head, and General de Babar had deserved to die.
Under cover of darkness, the boy made his way down to the waterfront. He had still three hours before the boat that was coming for him would get in. The journey was very trying because of the heat and the soldiers who were looking for him. He was fortunate to see the soldiers first, but it meant crouching in dark shadows for a long time, and then running very hard when they went away.
So he was glad to sit down in a little cafe overlooking the waterfront, near the harbour. He sat at the table, very tense, and tried to control his laboured breathing. Such was his outward calmness, that no one, looking at him now, would believe that not five hours ago he had killed one of Cuba’s most important generals and politicians. He looked tired, certainly, and he looked hot and untidy, but he managed to control the shivering fear that possessed him, and the furtive feeling that at any moment the soldiers would burst in and shoot him.
A waiter came over to him and asked him what he wanted. The boy, fearing that the waiter might read the hunted look in his eyes, did not look up. He ordered beer.
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