by Jose Latour
“Silencio,” the stranger said.
Elena gave him a quick, acquiescent nod.
“¿Dónde está?” Truman asked.
“¿Dónde està qué?” Elena said, just to gain time. She had realized what the stranger was trying to get his hands on. Her father came to her mind. Hide, Dad, trying to be telepathic.
“Habla o te mataré,” Truman said in Spanish. Talk or I’ll kill you.
Elena identified panic worming its way out through her brain cells, squeezing her bladder. Who was this bull of a man who had brought Sean to her place at gunpoint? Where was Marina? What the hell was going on? She was speechless for a few seconds. “¿Qué quiere saber?” What do you want to know? she finally managed to ask.
Truman had reached the limit of his Spanish vocabulary, a few phrases picked up in Central America. He was frustrated; anger boiled inside him. “Tell the bitch I’ll kill her if she doesn’t come clean,” he ordered Sean.
“Be sensible,” Sean said, trying to placate the man. “I told you she doesn’t speak English. That was why I brought the Latin broad with me. There’s nothing here. We found nothing, goddammit. Now, Ernie, let’s be reasonable … stop this …”
“Don’t fucking ‘Ernie’ me, Lawson. I’m not stupid. I heard you hammering away somewhere in this apartment. You said it was a soap dish in the bathroom.”
“That’s correct,” Sean admitted, hoping to gain a few more minutes.
“Let’s go see,” Truman ordered, pointing to the hallway with his gun and pushing Sean. Having understood the word bathroom, Elena mustered enough courage to turn and lead the way. Had Sean told him that the diamonds were in the bathroom? As she went past the swinging door to the kitchen, out of the corner of her eye she tried to see if her father was visible. He wasn’t. She figured he had heard the brief exchange, realized something was wrong, and hid behind the door she never closed. Don’t come out, Dad, please. She stopped at the entrance to the bathroom.
“Go in,” Truman said.
She did. The men followed.
“It was supposed to be there,” Sean said, pointing to the cavity. “There was nothing.”
Elena knew the meaning of nothing. Sean had denied finding the diamonds.
Truman eyed the gap briefly, moved his eyes to the tools, then addressed Sean again. “What did you do here the next two or three hours if you found nothing?”
Simple terms that Elena translated in her mind.
Again, Sean shrugged. “We discussed what could have happened. Maybe the old man made it up, maybe my friend didn’t understand the directions he gave. We sat in the kitchen and she made espresso and we …”
Too complicated for Elena; they lost her. Sean’s big mistake was to admit the possibility that his friend had misunderstood his dying father’s directions. Truman squinted in suspicion. “Is there any other bathroom here?” he interrupted.
“No.”
“I want to check that.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Ernie. You think I didn’t make sure?”
Truman was losing the little patience he had left. “Shut up. Move.”
He steered his prisoners toward the back of the apartment. Following the signs made by the pointing gun, Elena passed her own bedroom to delay the discovery of her diamonds for as long as possible. She took them to the third bedroom first, the one which had been hers before her mother moved to Zulueta. Truman scanned it, ordered Sean to open the closet, then returned to the hallway. Next came the servant’s bedroom, where they found a tiny bathroom with a shower, a toilet, and a sink. Under the shower’s two taps, an intact soap dish was recessed in the wall, level with the tiles.
“Sonofabitch,” Truman growled in anger and triumph, deep loathing in his eyes.
Sean remained silent, frantically searching in his mind for a way out.
“You found them. If you hadn’t, you would’ve looked behind this one. Where are they?”
“She has them.”
“Her?”
“Yeah. We were going to pick them up around noon today.”
“¿Dónde están?” a glaring Truman snarled at Elena, again turning his full attention to her.
She gaped into the eyes of the marauding rhinoceros of a man and became immobilized by fear. Sean began lifting his cane inch by inch. Truman sensed the movement and turned. The cane hit him on his right forearm; the gun fell to the floor. Truman uttered a growl and lunged at Sean with a speed uncommon in six-foot-five, 285-pound men. Head lowered, arms outstretched, he tackled his opponent. Sean’s back and head hit the wall violently, and he collapsed onto the floor, unconscious. Truman performed the routine that by now he had mastered. Lifting the slack body by the armpits, he sat Sean on the floor, crouched behind him, grabbed his chin with his right hand, the back of the head with his left, then broke his neck. Truman released the body and it fell to the floor with a muffled thud. In fascination, speechless, terrified, Elena couldn’t lift her eyes from the hit man.
Truman was scrambling to his feet, eyes on the gun he wanted to recover, when the first powerful blow from a hammer crushed the back of his skull and sent a splinter into his brain. An instant later came a second brutal impact that propelled a fragment of his right temporal bone into the grey matter. A third, full-force blow landed an inch over his left ear, burying into the soft tissue a coin-like fragment from the left temple. The tall, overweight man collapsed over the cadaver of his employer, eyes dilated in utter bewilderment, life ebbing away from him in uncontrolled jerks.
Breathing heavily, Miranda stared at the man who kept convulsing. The wide-eyed Elena covered her mouth with her hands, suppressing the scream she wanted to release at the top of her lungs. Truman’s kicks became weaker, then stopped altogether. Miranda looked at his daughter.
“Are you okay?”
Elena nodded, then lowered her hands. Her bottom lip quivered. Tears started in her eyes. “Oh, Dad.”
Miranda dropped the hammer, reached Elena in three strides, held her tightly. She sobbed hysterically for a minute, then recovered, moved slowly away.
“Daddy, what did you do?”
Miranda handed her his handkerchief. “The only thing I could do, baby. The only thing I could do. Blow your nose.”
She obeyed. “But that man’s dead. You killed a man! Now … you … I mean, what are we going to do?”
“Think. First thing we’re going to do is think. Don’t panic. This was self-defence, but we’ve got to think up what we’re going to do next. Do you know him?”
Elena shook her head.
“And this other guy?”
“That’s Sean.”
“The guy who found the diamonds?”
Elena nodded.
“Okay. Come with me, let’s sit in the living room.”
A nauseated Elena nodded again. She wanted to get away from the flowing blood. She wanted to disappear from the face of the Earth. But her legs were not responding.
“Come with me, Elena,” he said, taking her by the arm. “You have nothing to fear. You didn’t do anything. You are the surviving victim here, understand? Come.”
In despair, a few minutes after eleven, Marina finished reflecting upon the difference between planning and improvisation. She was up against an experienced swindler who probably – no, not probably, certainly – had planned all of his moves well in advance and had anticipated her reaction as well. And of course, he had reckoned she would come to this airport searching for him. So he wouldn’t have come here; she was acting impetuously, wasting her time. Sean had booked a seat on a flight leaving from some other Cuban airport, maybe Varadero. The fucking iceman was so clever he might have flown to Santiago de Cuba by Cubana de Aviación, and from there to Quebec or Montreal. He wouldn’t return to Toronto, she felt sure. She would never again see him. She had lost; Carlos had lost. Defeated, she lifted her duffel bag, grabbed her carry-on, took the elevator to the ground floor, exited, and hailed a cab.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
> “Third A, between 24th and 26th, Miramar.”
It had been a lengthy discussion. Elena didn’t want to involve her father further and asked him to leave immediately. Miranda refused, arguing that, if he left her, she would be charged with manslaughter. Granted, she could claim it was in self-defence, but nothing would prevent her from going to jail until she stood trial. The cops would want to know why these men had come to her place. The minute she revealed the true purpose of their visit – and she’d have to, it was inevitable – she’d face a second charge of accessory to defrauding the Cuban state of a treasure hidden away by an embezzler. Even if she were found not guilty of manslaughter, she’d be sentenced for this other crime.
No, the right thing to do, Miranda reasoned, was to say these men had approached him, told him about the secreted diamonds, and asked his permission to search for them. He had consented in return for a third of the gems, and brought the men to his daughter’s this morning. She agreed to the search because her father asked her to. After finding the stones, the two strangers quarrelled over the split and the big guy broke the neck of his partner, then tried to kill him, so he defended himself. He still had ten years of his sentence to serve, so what did he care whether he was given a new prison sentence? He argued his case over and over for nearly half an hour, wanting her to give in, knowing that time was of the essence.
Elena was crying silently, shaking her head, occasionally blowing her nose in her father’s now-soaked handkerchief. She realized that his version was full of holes. The police would identify the bodies, search Sean’s hotel room, find the remaining diamonds, take Marina’s deposition. She had visited the couple at the Copacabana, lunched with them at a public restaurant. Maybe yesterday some neighbours saw them coming in and leaving the building. It would all emerge. But she was moved by her father’s devotion, by the fact that today he had saved her life; now she felt sure the beefy guy would have killed her too. There was no escaping the fact she would go to prison.
The buzzer rang.
Elena jumped in her seat.
Miranda frowned and took a deep breath. “Ask who is it,” he whispered, rising to his feet.
Elena remained glued to her seat, eyes dilated in terror.
Miranda took her hands and forced her to stand up. “Get a grip. Ask who it is,” he said, pulling her to the door.
“Who is it?” Elena asked with a quaver in her voice.
“It’s me, Marina.”
“Oh, my God,” Elena murmured in panic.
“Who is she?” Miranda, hissing.
“Sean’s wife.”
“The wife of the guy with the limp?”
“Yes.”
Miranda looked at the floor for a moment, thinking.
“Let her in.”
“But, Dad …”
“Don’t argue with me. She has a right to know and we may all agree on what story to tell the police. Open up.”
Dragging her carry-on, duffel bag in her other hand, Marina came in with the flicker of a smile that a moment later transformed itself into a frown. Elena was staring at her with watery, bloodshot eyes. And she was so pale! Who was this short old guy closing the door?
“Oh, Marina.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Pleased to meet you, Marina. I’m Elena’s father.” Taking her by the arm, he steered her to the chesterfield. Bewildered, the woman sat heavily on its edge. “What happened?” she asked.
Elena came over, sat down beside Marina, embraced her, then started sobbing uncontrollably.
“Elena, what’s the matter?”
Miranda took over. “Marina, we have bad news.”
She froze. Gently, she pulled away from Elena’s embrace and turned to Miranda with a questioning look.
“Your husband,” he began.
She felt relieved. The sonofabitch. What had he done to these nice people? “What did he do?”
“He did nothing. He’s dead.”
No, impossible. Fucking icemen didn’t die, ever. He had somehow duped these gullible folks. “Are you sure?”
Miranda nodded gravely. Then wondered why she was treating it so lightly.
“How … how did you learn that he died?”
“Because … he was killed here.”
“WHAT?”
It was sinking in now, Miranda assumed. “Please, don’t shout.”
“What do you mean, don’t shout? You’re telling me that my hus – Oh, fuck. He was killed here, you said?”
“Yes.”
“You’re pulling my leg. Show me the body.”
So he stood and motioned Marina to follow him. Elena remained in the living room, biting the nail of her right thumb, waiting expectantly. A minute later, Marina ran to the living room and Miranda had two distraught women on his hands. They were sitting on the chesterfield, arms around each other. He had no time for this, but gave them one more minute.
“Now, listen to me, both of you.” Marina turned to him, sniffling back mucus, wiping tears from her face, her eyes bloodshot from crying.
“You said … the other man … broke his neck?” she managed between sobs.
“That’s right.”
“Who’s the other man?”
Miranda frowned. “You’re asking us who’s the other man?”
“I don’t know him!”
“He spoke English,” Elena butted in, controlling herself. “I thought he was an American, or a Canadian, I can’t tell the difference. He also knew a few words in Spanish.”
“But we came alone,” the mystified Marina elaborated, shrugging her shoulders as if to underline the fact that there was no need to bring anyone else. “I’ve never seen this man.” Turning to Miranda, incredulity in her eyes, “And you killed him?”
“In self-defence, yes, with the hammer you brought yesterday, after he had broken your husband’s neck, as he was getting ready to kill Elena.”
“Marina, he was a beast,” Elena mumbled, swiftly running her hands through her hair. “He brought Sean here at gunpoint, wanted to know where the diamonds were. They talked in English and I didn’t understand a word, but it sounded as though he was trying to persuade this … horrible man that we hadn’t found the diamonds. Then he took us to the bathroom, saw the hole in the wall, began searching the house. In the servant’s room, for some reason I can’t begin to understand, he became very angry and insulted Sean. Sean hit him and they started fighting and … it was horrible, horrible.” Fresh tears flowed as she shook her head, closed her eyes, and hung her head.
There were a few moments of silence. Marina was trying hard to think, but the emotional hurricane she was immersed in made it difficult.
Miranda wanted to get things back on track. “It’s clear to me. Somehow this big guy learned about the treasure, kidnapped your husband and …”
“He wasn’t my husband.”
The disclosure dried Elena’s eyes. She raised her face and stared. “He wasn’t your husband?”
Miranda spotted a glimmer of hope.
“No, Elena. I’m sorry. It was part of the ruse. We figured we would appear more respectable to you if we said we were husband and wife. I met Sean a few months back. Actually, we were introduced by the son of the man who hid the diamonds here. Oh, shit!”
“What?” Miranda asked.
“Where’s the cane? Did Sean have a cane with him?”
“Yes. It’s in the servant’s bedroom, with the bodies.”
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God! Could you bring it here, please, sir?”
A minute later, with trembling hands, Marina turned the handle, slid the receptacle out, and pulled the stopper. Elena rushed to her room and came back with a pair of eyebrow tweezers. Marina pulled out the cotton wool and tipped the container slightly, and several stones rolled into her left palm. As she stared at them, guilt forced out two fat tears that rolled down her cheeks and fell on the diamonds.
“And I thought he had run away, left me stranded here. That was why I came now
. I went to the airport first. Oh, Sean, forgive me.”
Miranda’s glimmer of hope became a glorious dawn. He suppressed a smile.
“Okay. Now, Marina, I want you to think carefully about what has happened. My daughter believed in you, the two of you, and now she finds herself in the worst mess of her life. There’s no way we can cover this up. She told me you brought two passports, one for her, one for Pablo. Plane tickets also. She decided to stay in Cuba. But that decision was made before … what happened today. The only way Elena can remain a free woman is if she leaves Cuba with you.”
“But, Dad …”
“Shut up. You still have those passports?”
“Right here.”
“Let me see.”
Marina returned the diamonds to the lead container, capped it, then searched in her duffel bag for the passports. Elena kept quiet as her father examined them. She realized it was the best possible outcome. But what would happen to him? She shouldn’t let him take the rap for her. She was also discovering a new side to his personality: the cool-headed crisis manager, the fearless man, the general. Her father had become an amazing, ten-foot-tall hero.
“And you say these are not fakes?” asked Miranda, wanting to be sure.
“That’s what Sean said,” said Marina, disclaiming responsibility. “Ours are identical, and we came in and out in May, and back in this time without any problem.”
The ex-general grasped the implication. “So, you are not Canadian citizens.”
Marina lowered her head and stared at the floor. “No, sir. We are, were, I mean, Sean was American, I am American also, by naturalization.”
Elena was fighting the anger growing inside of her for having been so gullible as to be completely taken in by Sean and Marina. “What about the son of the landlord? The guy who needs the heart-and-lung transplant?” she asked.
Marina closed her eyes and with splayed fingers massaged her forehead as she took a deep breath. After a moment she locked eyes with Elena. “That’s partly a lie. He doesn’t need a transplant, but he’s blind. He lost his eyesight in Vietnam, a mine. And he’s poor.”
Miranda made a face. Now they were talking his language. But it was neither here nor there. “Okay. We’ll have to assume the passports are not fakes. Listen to me, Elena. You have to go. There’s no alternative. Act out this deaf and dumb shit if necessary. And limp too, to account for the cane. Wait a moment.” He stared at a wall. “They have X-ray machines at the airport.”