by John Molloy
Henry was up and ready at seven to serve the dining saloon for breakfast. There was no sign of Gary and he was becoming a little worried. Then he heard the door open and there appeared the lad no worse looking for his night ashore.
“At least you’re safe and well,” said Henry, fixing his black tie in place.
“Yeah, I’ll tell you later.”
He was hurriedly undressing to change into his work uniform. Henry went to the pantry and served breakfast. He listened to the talk among the officers about their time ashore. A junior engineer was accosted by a group of Cuban youths and when they realized he was from a ship they let him go unmolested.
The captain listening to the chatter gave his serious opinion, “they were probably looking for people who served in the police and army. You know that Castro’s forces are near at hand and the Batista government is defeated. It may not be safe around the streets of Havana for a while until some law and order is restored. If you young men do decide to go ashore, go in company of twos and threes, and don’t wear your uniforms or you could be mistaken for a member of the government forces. Try and take identification if you have any, like a letter addressed to the ship.”
The chief officer walked briskly in and said a cheery good morning to all at his table, especially the captain, who he wished a happy new year.
“Yes, it’s the first day of 1959,” said the chief engineer with a tone of resignation.
Henry moved swiftly back and forth to the pantry keeping the service fast and brisk. He surprised himself on how good a waiter he had become. His thoughts were all the time on Alicia and would she deliver his letter and return with a reply.
Over breakfast Gary was relating his adventures ashore to Henry and the second cook when he was interrupted by the menacing Tukola. He stood at the end of their table, his good eye staring and the other a filigree of white and green puss. His bare torso rippled with muscle as he towered over the seated men. He banged the table and the plates lifted and the cutlery rattled.
“Be very careful ashore it is very dangerous here, especially for you,” he snarled, glaring at Henry.
Henry grabbed his fork and spoke with non-restrained venom.
“If I meet you ashore you have no idea how dangerous it’ll be for you.”
He stood up quickly pushing back his chair and held the fork in his outstretched hand pointing it at Tukola’s chest.
“You get out of here before you give me an excuse to use this.”
Tukola spat on the floor, turned and walked out.
The chief cook came in when he heard the raised voices. “What’s happening?” The second cook told him about Tukola.
“The news about the ordinary seaman has just come in from the radio room. He passed away this morning without gaining consciousness. The poor kid.”
The second cook stood up from the table.
“You know why that bastard was acting up, he knows now the ordinary seaman can’t say who pushed him.” Henry was philosophical in his tone.
The chief cook rubbed his hands in his white apron, “That evil bastard will come to a bad end; he’ll never see the rest of this trip out.”
Deep in thought, Henry took his mug of tea and left the room. The feeling against Tukola is running high; if he stays on board he’ll be thrown over the side as sure as hell before we reach home. He surely knows this. I wonder if he’ll jump ship here if he’s not arrested, which now doesn’t look likely.
Gary caught up with him in the alleyway. “That was some show, he hates us. You especially Henry. He wouldn’t think twice about stabbing us or killing us whatever way he could.”
“You better believe it and watch your every step. Carry that knife especially when ashore, or get a better one in some shop when you’re next in town.”
“Yes, I’m going to get myself a good knife with a proper sheath.”
The ship’s agent was on board for lunch and the news he had filtered down the ranks. The top ranking officials in the Batista government were fleeing the country. Batista had resigned and handed over power to one of his relatives. He had fled to the Dominican Republic earlier that morning. There was unrest and mobs were looting some of the big shops. The police were gone and law and order was non-existent. He told the captain that in the interests of safety for his crew to advise them to stay on board until some semblance of law returned.
Henry wondered as four o’clock approached how safe was it to venture ashore. He said nothing to Gary but after doing the smoko, he headed off at three thirty. The streets were quiet and a glorious sun shone on people chatting in their doorways and walking the streets as normal. Who could believe there was a revolution going on here? He sat on the carved stone seat in the Plaza. The weather was pleasantly warm. Alicia appeared across the paved plaza standing, looking over to where he was sitting; a more beautiful sight he had never seen. She walked across the tiled plaza, her smile could cause a riot or invoke sainthood, he thought. She moved with the grace of a gazelle, her curvature perfect. Henry stood to meet her and had to use all of his restraints to refrain from holding and kissing her. As she held his hand, he felt like a child when a mother holds a hand and guides you to someplace nice and comforting.
“We sit here, Henry. You get back ship ok?”
“Yes Alicia.”
He wanted to keep saying her name; to his ears it sounded so melodic and so sexy.
“I have your letter. I have to wait long time for them to give me this for you.”
She handed him an official letter with the British Embassy’s stamp on it.
“Thank you Alicia, do you mind if I read it?”
“You read Henry, not letter from girl, I would be jealous!”
Henry laughed, “how you could think of that you beautiful vixen.”
“What is a vixen?”
He turned to her and tipped her lovely nose with his finger, “a beautiful furry animal that is very clever.”
“I like you very much Henry.”
He opened the envelope and read the hand-written reply from the Ambassador himself. In it he apologized for not being able to assist him in such a serious and criminal situation. He sympathized with him for his great loss and had already been briefed from Whitehall about the ship and the murders on board. The letter stated that Batista had resigned and fled the country, leaving behind lawlessness and chaos and all our active agents have been ordered to leave the country. He wished him the best of British luck, and ordered him on peril of contravening the Official Secrets Act, to burn the correspondence.
He tucked the letter into his back pocket and checked the time. It was coming up to quarter to five and he had to be back on duty at five. Alicia pre-empted him with a smile.
“You have go back to ship now, but later I see you here, what time?”
“I will meet you at eight o’clock, here by the seat.”
She kissed him lightly on the lips her breath was sweet and languorous, her voice slightly husky.
“Good bye my dear Henry.”
He looked back and the last sight of her; she was sitting on the stone seat gazing up at the cathedral.
The captain had gotten a reply from the Ambassador without a mention of Henry’s involvement in the case. The situation was outlined on the same lines and the Ambassador hoped they would have no more trouble before they reached the UK. He also apologized for not being of more assistance to him.
Henry got to the lavatory with just enough time to dispose of the letter before he went on duty. He burned the letter and flushed it down the lavatory bowl. He was going to have to keep closer tabs on Tukola; if he did decide to jump ship that would probably be the last they would ever see of him again. There were a thousand places on the Caribbean Islands a fugitive could work and hide himself.
He got himself dressed for shore, remembering to pack his knife. Gary left with the second cook and Henry waited along the foredeck out of sight of would-be shore goers, and watched the lads ignoring the warnings of the captain a
nd heading up town. It was nearly dark, he looked at his watch; it was ten minutes to eight! He was devastated; it meant he couldn’t keep his appointment with Alicia now even if he ran all the way. He stepped out of the accommodation and stood at the top of the gangway, dressed in charcoal flannel slacks and gray shirt, his dark clothing made him inconspicuous in the fading light. He looked around searching the quay for any sign of life, there was none. He walked silently down onto the quay stopping and looking around like a prowling leopard. The bastard, thought Henry, is suspecting someone to follow him he’s the prey now, but could easily turn hunter. He felt a nervous churning in his stomach as he spotted Tukola leaving the ship. Moving into the shadows, Henry waited until Tukola had passed him before trailing him from safe distance. Tukola was walking briskly about fifty yards ahead, just visible in the darkened street. Tukola didn’t go near the Plaza, instead he headed to the Prado, and the lights were on in this area. He stood on this beautiful walk lined by trees and seemed to be looking for some direction. Two young girls came up and spoke to him. They were dressed in short skirts and were flaunting their sex liberally. He turned without even acknowledging their presence and walked on down towards the Malecon. There were shots fired down a side street. Henry kept on his trail. He saw a gang of youths carrying boxes and others with clothes having looted shops farther back up the Prado. Tukola turned onto the seafront and crossed over to the sea wall, Henry kept to the side where the houses were and hoped he wouldn’t be seen. There were lots of American cars, huge Buicks and Cadillac, driving up and down the seafront road. Many were full of youths who had obviously stolen them; they had the radios on full volume and were leaning out the windows shouting and cheering: “Viva Castro.”
Further along the road the lights were out and darkness pervaded. It was an area of faded Spanish colonial buildings where people stood on balconies talking and youths roamed round corners in gangs, some had guns and others had captives they were dragging along. Henry could still see Tukola outlined against the Caribbean sky, walking slowly, occasionally stopping to look around. He carried on walking, glancing across the road from time to time as if looking for someplace he knew. The tall and imposing edifice of The Hotel Nacional loomed ahead. The hotel must have had its own generators because most of the windows were illuminated. There were a cluster of high rise buildings in the area – mostly other hotels.
Tukola crossed the road, so Henry stood back in the shadows as he was now only about twenty yards behind him. Tukola was barely visible as he merged into a dark recess where he stood watching as people were leaving the hotels, being chauffeured away in their extravagant American cars. He then walked on past the Hotel Nacional and stopped in the parking area of the Hotel Capri, standing in the dark under a grove of palm trees. There were people coming out carrying bags and suitcases - the exodus was in full swing. Then the lights went out and the whole area was thrown into darkness. A woman came running out of the back entrance of the hotel and went to a white Cadillac coupe near to where Tukola was standing. She was fumbling in the dark with the keys trying to open the door. She had an attaché case which she dropped. Then a big heavy man broke away from the gang he was with and came running over and struck her across the face, knocking her to the ground.
“You fucking thieving bitch.”
He pulled out a hand gun and pointed it at her, a car swung round and the headlights blinded him.
“Don’t kill me,” she screamed.
Tukola pounced like a panther; the knife slit the big Cuban’s throat, almost severing his head as blood shot out over the woman lying on the ground. He pulled her to her feet and picked up the case. Then he took the gun out of the hand of the twitching body and tucked it into his waistband and ran after the woman who was heading for the cover of some trees. Henry stayed in the shadows, not sure which way to move. Two men came running over to the car and saw their fellow gang member lying in a pool of his own blood. A third walking slowly, caught up with them at the car and stood looking at the lifeless body.
“Those Cuban fuckers must have got her. There’s half a million bucks in that case and a fortune in diamonds.” He looked and saw one of her high heeled shoes on the ground, then scanned the park, listening with a cunning borne from years of Mafia training.
“They must have taken her with them,” he said, in a low resigned tone.
The smaller of the other two, heavy set with black oiled back hair, drawled. “Are we going to the yacht boss?”
“No, get the bags into the auto, we’re going to the airport, I need to get to a hospital.”
A car swung round in the park and Henry saw them in the headlights. A chauffeur threw their bags into a red Dodge and drove away. Henry then looked over to where the attack had taken place and saw the keys dangling out of the door of the car above the gory body. Keeping low, he ran over and grabbed them out of the lock. He retreated back into the dark and waited for Tukola to make a move. Tukola was holding the case lying on the ground alongside the woman. He had heard what the Mafia men had said to her.
“You’re one lucky woman. If it wasn’t for me you’d be dead meat. Who was that guy giving the orders?”
She was trembling, with the realization of how close she had come to dying.
“He’s Meyer Lansky, the Jewish son of Polish parents, born in New York and a powerful Mafia figure. He controls most of the casinos and night clubs in Havana.”
“What were you doing for him?”
“I was his secretary and part time girlfriend,” she hesitated, “sometimes.”
Tukola taunted her in a slow and vibrato tone, “you certainly seem to be out of favor right now. We better get out of here and what about this yacht he was on about, where’s she berthed?”
“She’s at the yacht club.”
“How many crew has she?”
“Only one the captain, and sometimes we might take on some Cubans for the cooking and as waiters, but there’s only Ernest on her now.”
“Ernest I presume is the captain?”
She sat up, straightened out her dress and was regaining a little more composure.
“Yes, he’s the captain.”
Tukola stood up and pulled her to her feet.
“What’s your name?”
“Just call me Lisa Sue, that’s what everybody calls me.”
He gave her beautiful face a serious look.
“Ok Lisa Sue, how far is it to the yacht club?”
She tried to take the case off him.
“I’ll carry this,” she breathed.
“No, I better look after it, a shame if it got lost.”
Taking her by the wrist, they went to the car and she looked around for the keys.
“They’re gone,” she exclaimed, using the light from the interior of the car with the door open to search the ground.
Tukola turned the body over and looked underneath it, but found nothing.
“Right then, how are we getting to this yacht club, can we walk?”
“Walk!” she protested, kicking off her remaining high shoe.
“The keys to that Buick there are at the hotel’s front desk. That’s one of the boss’s cars used by the boys as a run around. Stay here and I’ll go get the keys.”
“Hold it; you can’t go in there like that. You look like a butcher out of a slaughterhouse; you’ve blood all over your clothes.”
She looked down and could see the dark outline of blood on her lemon colored blouse. She saw the hotel was in darkness and ventured a last gasp effort to get away.
“They won’t see me in the dark and I’ll go to my room and change then get the key.”
“Right come on,” he put a hand around her waist. The lobby was in partial darkness except for a small oil lamp at the front desk. They walked on unnoticed to her room. While she was in the shower, he had a look around the room with the help of an emergency oil lamp. Hanging on the wall was a large photo of her in a bikini, lying on the deck of a yacht. The yacht’s lifebelt bore th
e name, “Marita Ann.” She came out drying her hair with a towel wrapped around her.
“Is that you he enquired, pointing to the photograph?”
“Yes, she purred and let the towel slip.”
She stood naked, her firm rounded breasts wobbled as she dried them, rubbing her dark nipples between her fingers. They were hard and the color of bruised grapes. She walked to the bed and lay back on the silk sheets, watching Tukola, who pulling his clothes off, couldn’t contain himself. She reached under the mattress and took out a small hand gun which she slipped under the pillow. She welcomed him onto her with open raised legs. Then she felt him rise above her, his strong hands closed on her throat. She gasped and reached under the pillow and took the gun. She pointed it at his head and as she pulled the trigger the pressure on her neck snuffed out her life. The bullet had only grazed Tukola’s right temple. He jumped off her and felt the blood dripping down his face. The fucking bitch! he screamed as he stuffed the bed sheet into her mouth. In a wild frenzy he got his knife and cut off a nipple and part of her genitals. He dressed quickly, put his hand in his back pocket and pulled out two fish hooks. He put one in her lip and the other in her nose. Bitch! he swore as he opened a drawer and pulled out a white linen handkerchief. He opened the case and took it over to the lamp to see what was in it. To his astonishment, the case was packed with bundles of crisp hundred dollar bills. He opened another small compartment in the case and a pouch fell out, it was tied with a string. His hands trembled as he opened it and tipped the contents out onto a small table. His eyes couldn’t believe what he saw, sparkling diamonds as big as peanuts. He replaced them and went back to the corps. He took three rings off her fingers and a pearl necklace and a gold watch. “You won’t need these. Where you’ve gone wealth doesn’t matter.”