by Don Bruns
Angel started the engine. “Spot up by the ditch has a gravel bed like a pullover. When they were digging it out I suppose they put the heavy equipment and dump trucks there. We can see Denny’s pretty well from there.” He pulled out of the parking lot and down the narrow road pulling into the gravel. He turned the Jeep around and we faced the back parking lot of the eatery.
“It’s going to be dark soon.” James leaned forward, staring intently ahead.
“Those lot lights stay on pretty late,” I said.
We sat there, at least one of us feeling pretty stupid. We were way out of our league, playing James Bond and not having a clue what we’d do if we did stumble on a hiding place. My gut reaction was that Vic was dead. The last time they found us stalking them, they warned us. This time they could do much worse.
“If we don’t do this, they may kill us.” James sounded like a continuation of my thoughts. “I mean, we all agree, right? The object is to find out if Vic Maitlin is alive or dead. Once we know, we’ll have to report this whole thing.” Pretty serious comment from a guy who hated the authorities.
“If we report it now, and Vic is alive, they may kill him. We know they’ve threatened to send more body parts to Fuentes.” I was embarrassed at how we were trying to justify this escapade. We were nervous and scared, but I believe all three of us were raring to go. We finally had some adventure in our lives, something a little out of the norm.
“Hell, we should have just walked away from the whole thing.” James lit up a cigarette.
“Five thousand dollars for a little stakeout, James. Remember? A simple little job. Sure, Mr. Fuentes, we can do that.”
He blew a stream of smoke at my head. “And Vic, Mr. Fuentes’s son, saved your life, pardner. Correct me if I’m wrong.”
Angel didn’t react, but reached across me and opened the glove compartment. He pulled out a black leather case and opened it. “Binoculars.”
The man had thought of everything.
“You said you wanted the complete package.”
James tapped an ash out the window. “It’s almost like you’ve done this before, amigo.”
Angel put the glasses to his eyes and surveyed the area. Windows down, there was no breeze.
A hot, sticky, humid Miami night. My T-shirt was already sticking to my skin and I hoped we’d be moving soon. Anything to get the air circulating.
A white Cadillac swung around the back and pulled up to the trash can.
“Here we go, boys. He’s getting out.” Angel kept his gaze fixed on the car. “He’s going up to it, standing there, looking both ways.. .” he paused.
We could see the guy on the far side of the car, but we couldn’t make out what he was doing.
Angel kept the glasses steady, the long seconds stretching out.
“… and he’s dumping an ashtray or something into it, and,” he paused, “now he’s pulling away.”
I let out a long breath.
We were quiet for a minute or more.
“Do you ever think about death, Angel?” James spoke softly, as if afraid the insects buzzing outside might hear.
“Death?”
“Yeah. Do you ever wonder when you’ll go. Or how? Skip and I have talked about it, and it never has really registered. My dad died at a relatively young age, and it took me a while to get over it, but my own demise just never computed. I always assumed I’d live forever, or damned close to it.” He let it hang out there.
Finally, Angel said, “And?”
“All of a sudden we’re in a situation where our lives are being threatened. I’m starting to wonder when it’s going to happen.”
“You miss your father?”
“I do. There is so much I wish I’d asked him.”
Angel stroked the steering wheel. “I never knew my father. And my mother walked out on my sister and me when I was fifteen. I’ve seen a lot of bad things. I’ve seen people die in a number of strange ways, and I’ve contemplated my own death. I have.”
I picked up a strange feeling. “Angel, have you ever killed anyone?”
He was quiet and I felt I’d gone too far.
“Not unless they needed to be killed.”
“I’m sorry I asked.”
James jumped on it. “Does it bother you?”
“No. Old and young, we are all on our last cruise.”
I finally had something to live for. Hell of a time to start contemplating death. I tried to avoid thinking about Angel killing people or my last cruise.
What looked like a black Ford Focus crept through the parking lot and Angel picked up his binoculars once again. The car slowed down and one of the kitchen help opened a rear door and walked out, her silhouette outlined by the light from the doorway. She appeared to lean down to the window of the car and converse with the driver for about thirty seconds. Finally she went back in and the car pulled out with a burst of speed and a squeal of tires. You could hear it from where we sat.
I could sense the tension in the Wrangler drop.
“Emily, the girl I met earlier, she’s your girlfriend?” Angel watched my face, maybe for confirmation.
“Yeah. Sort of. It’s a strange relationship.”
“I believe they all are.”
James tossed his cigarette out onto the gravel in a bright burst of spark and ash. “When this is over, I’m going to call Jackie again.”
“Oh, really? I thought she said she wasn’t interested.”
“She never said that, pardner. She said her lawyer told her not to get interested. She thought I was cute.”
“Yeah, well-oh, by the way, did you get the drift of the phone conversation I had with Fuentes?”
“I heard your half of it. Why?”
“He said something strange. He said that if Jackie had opened his mail, she would have found the finger, and we would have been off the hook.”
“What’s so strange about that. It’s true.”
“For a brief moment he sounded like he was pissed off she didn’t open his mail. He actually asked her to open it and call him if there was something important. She didn’t.”
“I’m pissed off she didn’t,” James said. “We’d be back at the apartment, drinking a beer and eating Fritos, blissfully ignorant of this entire mess.”
“This guy, Fuentes, he’s been caught cheating on his wife. He moves into this condo with his little girlfriend and then asks his wife, Jackie, to open any mail that might mistakenly come her way? Why would he do that?”
“Mail never stops, Skip. I mean, my family moved one time and for two years people mailed stuff to the old address.”
“Yeah, yeah. But Fuentes was begging his pissed-off ex-wife to open his personal mail. And he made a point to tell me that.”
James pointed his finger at me. “You’re making this into a big deal, pard. It’s not.”
The night was quiet. The faint smell of greasy fried food mixed with the brackish odor coming from the ditch wafted in the air.
A cream-colored Lexus swung around the corner of the restaurant and pulled up to the trash container. Angel watched through the glasses.
“A white guy, he’s just stepped out. Polo shirt and khaki slacks, he’s headed toward the container.”
I couldn’t make him out. It was getting dark and the lights from the lot at that distance were dim.
“He’s talking to someone in the passenger side. Now the passenger is getting out. Can you see him?”
“I can see the passenger. Looks like he’s stretching.” Just a dim shadow. The binoculars would have made the picture much more clear.
James leaned forward staring through the windshield. “Are they waiting for someone? Looks like they’re surveying the surroundings.”
Angel kept the glasses trained on one spot. “Don’t think so. He’s struggling with something on the far side, I can’t quite make out-there it is. He’s got the garbage bag, he’s looking into it. Now he’s pulling the envelope out and-” I wished to hell I’d had better
eyesight or else I had the glasses.
“The trunk is opening and he’s laid the envelope inside. He’s back in the car-” Angel lay the binoculars on my lap and started the engine. “Gentlemen, we’re about to take a ride. Hang on tight. Let’s see if we can stay with these guys.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I HAVE TO ADMIT I WAS SURPRISED. I thought we’d be pitting ourselves against the two Cubans in a blue Buick. Instead, we were following what appeared to be two new guys in an expensive luxury sedan. Everything was black and white, except the bad guys were in white and we were in black. And maybe that was good, because black makes a great disguise at night.
“I was a caddy at a country club when I was young.” Angel kept both hands on the wheel, staying well behind the Lexus as it cruised at a safe speed toward the highway.
“You?” James seemed surprised.
“Yes. I was quite good.”
“So you know the game.” I’d played golf before but I didn’t have the patience for it.
“I don’t play. But there are two basic rules when you caddy. Understand the lay of the land and keep your eye on the ball.”
“And your point is?” James leaned forward.
Angel looked over his shoulder. “Watch where we are going and keep your eye on the Lexus.”
“Ah.”
It wasn’t difficult. The Lexus rode the entrance ramp and thirty seconds later we followed.
“They’re heading toward Miami.” James was getting with the program.
I wondered how much Angel knew. “You agreed to get involved with this without knowing much about the situation, Angel.”
“It’s about Cuba.”
“Yeah. I don’t know how much you want to know, but it’s about arming soldiers to take Castro out.”
“My friend, it’s been tried many times before.” Angel looked pensive. “Do you know what Castro wants most of all,” Angel asked.
I knew. “He wants his brand of Communism to succeed. It’s been the entire focus of his revolution.”
Angel was quiet, watching the car ahead, but staying a respectable distance behind. “Castro gave up on his Communism long ago. When the Soviet Union folded, Castro understood that Communism would not work in his country. Fidel is building a new economy based on tourism. People from Europe, Canada, other Caribbean countries are all flocking to his country. They spend dollars, Cuba invests in new resorts, but the United States won’t allow its citizens to participate.”
“Wait a minute.” I couldn’t let him go unchallenged. “Are you suggesting that Castro is a capitalist?”
“No. I’m stating that fact. Granted, he makes it work for the party rather than for the people, but little by little the people are understanding how to make capitalism work for them.”
James chimed in. “So why get rid of him? His life is on the decline. Why not let nature take it’s course? He’s going to kick off soon. He’s in his late seventies, isn’t he?”
Angel nodded. “He’ll die soon. Old and young, we’re all on our last cruise.”
The Lexus did about seventy and Angel was about five car lengths behind. Occasionally he’d let a car get in front, then pass it a mile or so up the road. Just a normal guy trying to get to the city without attracting attention.
“Castro wants a legacy. Right now his revolution has failed. That is not the way he wants to be remembered. To be a hero, he must get the United States to repeal their embargo. Not to mention the billions of American dollars he will reap.”
It made sense. If Castro was able to open tourism to the United States, then he could also open trade. It would be his final victory and the Cuban people could point to his leadership as the beginning of a new Cuba.
“But Miami is a stumbling block. Los Historicos want two things. They want Castro to fail so that he will have no positive legacy. His history will be littered with failure. And they want their property back. They want their farms and factories and homes. As long as Fidel Castro is in power, neither of those things can happen. So, the good Cubans of Miami and South Florida keep the pressure on. They threaten elections here in the United States, they fund revolutionary groups who promise to take Cuba back, and for a small band of patriots, they cause a great deal of international turmoil. They will not let Castro be victorious.”
James asked from the backseat, “Do you know what’s happening with the mail that we’re chasing?”
“Maybe. Maybe the less I know, the better. But it would appear that you’ve gotten yourselves into a Cuban jam. If you are involved with radicals who want to take back the island, you may have bitten off more than you can chew.”
I stared straight ahead. I knew the lay of the land and watched the white Lexus as it signaled for an exit.
“Should we be for or against an invasion?”
“I think the United States should stay out of it. That’s what I think.”
“You’re in this almost as deep as we are, Angel. Do you want to get out?”
He smiled. “I live for this adventure.”
“We could all be putting our lives on the line.”
“I know. They threatened us with guns. I haven’t forgotten. Emerson wrote, ‘A good indignation brings out all one’s powers.’ I would think that all three of us should be indignant and, with our combined powers, we should be invincible.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
S O I KNEW NOTHING about world affairs. We all knew that Cubans living in South Florida had a strong lobby. And we all knew that when Castro finally abdicated the throne it could be a boon to all of us who were within a stone’s throw of the island. James and I had even discussed a restaurant in Havana. We were stoned or drunk at the time, but I remember talking about it. But now I’d been briefed by a genuine Caribbean, a Bahamian, someone who understood the politics of the region and I realized I didn’t know what I thought I knew. It had never affected my life before. Now, I wondered if it could affect my death.
The Lexus veered to the right and took an exit into downtown Miami. Angel smoothly followed, winding past palms and brush, and turning under the highway. There was no reason for the two men in the Lexus to be concerned. Three other vehicles pulled off at the same time.
“Do you know the area?” James obviously didn’t.
Angel’s face was grim. “Industrial. About twelve blocks up is the Miami River. Shipping, warehousing.”
We could see the car leading us in the next block. Now there was just the Jeep and the Lexus. We drove by boarded-up buildings and a commercial dry cleaning establishment. At this hour of the night there wasn’t much happening. Angel turned right and the Lexus went straight.
“Whoa!” James shouted from the backseat. “Angel, man, he’s going the other way.”
“I’m going to go up one block, then cut back in. Just in case he noticed us following him.”
I looked at the black guy with admiration. “You have done this before, haven’t you?”
He gave me a little smile. One block up he cut left to the main road, then right. Now the white car was two blocks up, but well in sight.
James clapped his hands. “Bravo, Mario Andretti. Your driving skills are to be admired.”
The buildings were now all concrete block or vinyl and metal siding. I could make out cranes and heavy construction equipment for almost an entire block, and I could smell the water. An iodine, rotting seaweed, and decaying fish odor mixed with an oily smell, the kind you associate with diesel engines.
We drove three more blocks and I could see the end of the street. The Lexus’s headlights bounced off a metal guardrail with diagonal red-striped tape and Angel pulled over and killed the lights.
“Too close. We’ll see if he goes right or left, then we’ll pick him up.”
He turned right.
The taillights had just cleared the corner when Angel pulled out from the curb. He flipped on the lights and raced to the dead end. As he eased out, we all three peered down the side street that ran along the water to t
he right. There was absolutely no sign of the Lexus.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
A NGEL INCHED DOWN THE STREET as we stared into the gloom, watching for driveways, entrances, or side streets. There was no Lexus in sight. Glancing to the left I saw the river, lights from the highway that ran above casting shimmering yellow and white snakes on the inky black surface. We could make out crumbling concrete curbs and a one-story stucco building with piles of weathered wooden lobster traps stacked next to it. On a warped piece of plywood someone had painted Miami River Lobster and Stone Crab. Dark clouds covered the moon and stars, and the entire atmosphere was claustrophobic.
“Maybe he noticed us and pulled off up ahead.” James was concerned.
“And maybe going down this street, we’re driving into an ambush.” Now there was something I never thought I’d say.
“Gentlemen, be patient. I feel certain the two men had no idea they were being followed. And I feel confident that if they’re here, we’ll find them.”
We were quiet, creeping through the deserted neighborhood, watching for some sign of activity. The moon broke through for a moment and I could see an old rusted fishing trawler rolling with the current. The Peggy Anne. Ghostly, gutted buildings on sagging frames threatened to collapse into the river at any moment, and dark shadows played along the bank.
Five minutes at ten miles an hour and we were beyond the warehouse district. It was obvious we’d lost them.
“Man, it would have been a great break.”
“James, think about it. The last time we staked out a building we were warned. Now we know these guys play rough.”
“I know, amigo, but remember, Angel brought the complete package.”
“Jesus, let’s not get into shooting people again. All we want to do is find Vic, report the story, and go home.”
Angel pulled into a drive, turned around, and we headed back the opposite way. “This Vic? He was a childhood friend?”
“Sort of. We didn’t know him that well. He was the kind of kid everybody looked up to. President of student council, big shot football player, good student, and looks to kill. His dad is Rick Fuentes.”