by Manolo Mario
“I can tell you that any other man would have shit in his pants immediately, but this amoral waste of life didn’t even bat his eyes when I told him I couldn’t sell them to him.”
Galo’s mind came back into the room. “Wait a minute. Did you just say you told him you couldn’t sell the novillos?”
“Of course not.”
“Oh, so you did sell them?”
“No, no, of course I told him I couldn’t sell them. I told him the novillos belonged to you!”
Galo took a long sip of the lemonade and stood from his chair to match Quintero’s position in the room. “So what did he say?”
“Well, he asked who the owner was. I told him Galo Bartolo. He asked who Galo Bartolo was. I told him he was an enterprising young man whom I had taken a liking to and we made a deal. He didn’t ask anything else, but said we could revisit our deals in the future. If the war continued, they might have to conduct six or seven purchases next year and I would stand to make good money. With that, he left.”
Quintero smiled broadly in a self-satisfied manner. “Galo, I followed him out the door and saw him climb into the buggy. He looked back once, and I could see he wasn’t a very happy man. I waved and he simply turned around as the buggy left. I have never been so happy at not making a sale!”
Chapter 47
The door banged loudly and continuously. His name echoed through his brain. Matos shook himself awake and opened the door a bit to find Camilo Ortiz with his eyes red and bulging.
“I need to see you now!”
He pulled the door open to let Ortiz in and walked over to the night table to get a glass of water. The room was tossed around and a tipped over empty bottle of rum adorned the rug. His eyes were as red as Ortiz’, but as a result of the rum rather than the ire.
Ortiz vented, “I visited Rodriguez yesterday and he would not sell me novillos. He sold the animals to some Galo Bartolo. The damn animals were there at his ranch. When I questioned the fact, he simply said Bartolo kept them there. Can you believe that Rodriguez, the little girl inside a man’s body, had the audacity to tell me that? And his foreman, who usually does the negotiation with me because her highness finds it dirty, wouldn’t budge. The queen spoke and I was going to have to talk to this Bartolo guy. Alberto, what in the hell is going on? Are you aware of this? Do you care?”
By this time, Matos drank his water, scratched his head with one hand and rubbed his temple with the other. He sat on the side of his bed. Ortiz stared down at him. “First, I told you not to be seen with me and yet, here you are in my room. Second, I would appreciate it if you would stop yelling. The neighbors would avoid curiosity, and my head wouldn’t explode.”
Ortiz quieted down, but continued in an intense tone, “I don’t care right now. What I want to know is if you know and what the hell are you going to do about it?”
Matos held a finger up for Ortiz to wait and he wobbled to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. One could hear him relieve himself, water rushing in the sink, some gargling, and quiet. The door creaked open. Matos still held his temple. Ortiz was about to start again, when Matos caught him with a raised finger once more. He found the chair in his room and sat back down.
“Camilo, I know about the novillos and about Bartolo. My experience was similar with Quintero and Luna yesterday morning, and there was an encore with Sanchez in the afternoon.”
Ortiz breathed deeply and he took the other chair in the room. “So, you do know. Thank God. For a moment I thought I was going to take a bath on my side deal in La Habana. You know I got paid up front at a fixed price. If I have to buy the animals at a higher price than what I’m paying now, I will be destitute.” He built his tone by the time he finished the phrase, causing Matos to raise his finger once more and gesture for him to relax.
“I understand, Camilo, but I cannot be responsible for your side deals. I am responsible for making sure the trustee gets his cattle and the market is controlled in the process. So, we do need to do something. I learned Bartolo came to town over a month ago and somehow ingratiated himself with the cattlemen. I don’t know how or why. I mean, I can see anyone doing that with the small guajiros, but I would have never believed it could happen with the big guys. Anyway, by all accounts he is a businessman and I’m sure he will cut a deal, as all businessmen do.”
Ortiz sank further into his seat and the redness ebbed. He breathed easier. “All right, you need to negotiate a good deal that works for us. When are you going to see Bartolo?”
“It’s my understanding that he can be found at Ofelia’s café across the street from the train station. I will be there at three this afternoon. I don’t want you or any of the others anywhere near there. It will give me two hours to secure a deal, write him a draft, and get on the five o’clock train back to La Habana. But now I need to dress, eat and get a drink to kill this hangover. So please, leave carefully. Try not to be seen leaving from this room and we’ll talk again on the train.”
***
Frank Bartolo had the blacksmith working as quickly as possible to deliver two hundred and fifty thousand earring tags for Galo’s cattle. More material had been ordered, but with the war in Europe using up all types of metals, it was going to be difficult. They turned to alternative materials, but it wasn’t ideal, and Galo was pressed for a quick solution. Rebranding the cattle could not work. Most cattlemen would have declined the deal. Possession of the cattle with the ranches’ own brand served as ample security to allow Galo the credit required. Thus far, no cattleman had gone back on the deal. He knew this because he received a messenger at his apartment with a note to meet an Alberto Matos at Ofelia’s at three in the afternoon. He would finally meet the man behind the curtain who planted the seed he nurtured. This morning Galo was at the Cisneros Hardware needing Frank’s help.
“Frank, I think the adjustments in material for the earring tags to work. I am not so hung up on the specific design as I am in tagging the animals quickly. There is another thing I need, if you feel the blacksmith can continue the process on his own?”
“Yes Galo, he can continue on his own. What do you need?”
“I need you to go to La Habana on this afternoon’s train. I am certain Quintero has bought the telegraph man and knows everyone’s goings on before they do. I have no reason to distrust him after meeting with him yesterday, but I don’t feel comfortable walking naked in front of him either. In any case, I need to get a message to Elio and establish a way for us to communicate outside of a telegram or letter for that matter. Can you go?”
“Yes, I can, but for how long?”
“I hate to say this, but for two days. You can take the five o’clock today, spend the day with Elio tomorrow and return the next day on the early morning train. You’ll be back the day after next, early in the afternoon.”
Frank nodded his assent and allowed Galo to continue.
“Also, when you are on the train, be careful who you talk to or what you say. I think some of the buyers that are here will be on the train. It may be best if you travel second class and adopt an alias. Frank, this trip will be quick, and it will also be tiring and uncomfortable. I’m sorry for that. Let me get some paper and pencil and write out the letter to Elio.”
***
At the hotel restaurant, a cleaned up Matos prepared his much-needed cure. The waiter stood by with his tray to remove the empty containers as Matos began with a tall highball glass in which he filled one third with chilled beef broth, and another third with tomato juice. He then added a good portion of salt and pepper and finished the last third with beer and gave it a stir. The foam came right to the top and before it boiled over, he slurped some of it. With a slight cough, he waved the waiter away, and sipped his concoction. After downing a third of the glass, he added more beer and drank again. He took a deep breath and dared to pick at his assortment of hams and cheeses. He would stay away from the coffee and from the milk this morning until he felt recovered.
After a few more bites o
f his food and a few more gulps of his drink, he started to feel better. His mind wandered to consider this precarious situation. Novillos provided most of the prime meats that were not veal. These animals commanded a higher price, because of the limited number, and the quality of the beef. They intended to purchase a certain amount needed by the slaughterhouses in La Habana. These houses were mostly owned through trusts and directed by a syndicate in Chicago. He didn’t know the people in the syndicate, but the trustee was demanding.
This afternoon he would meet the man responsible for the predicament and he counted on a good businessman to get a deal done. He would return to La Habana with a little more esteem from the trustee. His thoughts were broken when Alvaro Perez dropped on the seat in front of him. He spoke fast.
“Boss, I can’t get a novillo from anyone. They’ve all said the novillos belong to Bartolo!”
“You cretin, don’t call me boss and lower your voice.” A half whispering Matos yelled looking around the room at others. “I told you to stay away. I am aware about the novillos and we can talk on the train tonight. Now get lost!”
“All right, but should I pick up more steers?”
Matos grabbed his drink and gulped it down. He dabbed his lips with the serviette, cutting off the young man before he spoke again. “Stick to your order and get out of my sight!”
Perez got up and exited as Matos signaled the waiter to bring another.
***
Ofelia’s hosted its usual busy Wednesday midday crowd. Galo had been there for an hour securing more contracts from the guajiro ranchers. To his surprise, a few new ones sought him out for their own deals. He had never seen so many cattlemen happy to not sell their cattle. These men are usually not gamblers. Although the cattle business is one big gamble. These beasts get sick, mostly from the field lice and mosquitoes. First, the animal has to be born and it is a miracle in itself. A pregnant cow can have many complications during gestation. Assuming it made it through the nine months of pregnancy, so many more complications can develop at its delivery. And once delivered, the calf could be normal, sickly, or stillborn.
For ranchers like Quintero, Luna and Sanchez, it wasn’t a problem. They owned enough heifers to manage the complications. They also had good breeding programs that minimized a lot of the issues. For the guajiros with a few hundred animals, it was a problem. Not to mention their cash position and the need to feed their families. Despite these complexities, they gambled on this little guy with a lion’s roar. Galo lunched and took the contracts to Albergue. He would return for his three o’clock meeting.
***
The valet brought the bag to the waiting buggy at the driveway of the hotel. Matos settled his account and stepped onto the buggy. He could have walked to Ofelia’s across from the station, but he was still in recovery mode. He also thought he should project his power in his mode of transportation. He checked his pocket watch and saw he was going to be early and this was not acceptable. He needed to make Bartolo wait, so he asked the driver to go around town and view the scenery.
Galo thought heavily around his tactic, but predetermined there would not be a deal this meeting. He targeted the next time the agents would return. He needed to establish an even setting and this depended on the approach of the buyer. He anticipated the man would not be likable, based on the conversation with the cattlemen. He also felt he did not want to be early, just timely. At three precisely, Galo pulled Maximo up to the post on Republica, dismounted and walked around the corner and the three quarters of the block into Ofelia’s. He looked around, but did not see the man he was looking for. He stepped to the counter and ordered a coffee, patiently stood there and sipped it comfortably. At around a quarter after three, the door to Ofelia’s slammed open startling the patrons except for Galo, who stood with his back to the door sipping the last of his coffee.
Matos took his tour, stopped at the station across the street and had his bag picked up by a porter. He then directed the driver to circle and pull up at Ofelia’s door. In case anyone looked, he had the driver come around and open the buggy door for him. In a loud commanding voice, but not yelling, he announced his arrival.
“I am looking for a man named Bartolo?”
There was no immediate answer. He looked in one direction and the other.
“Is there a Bartolo here?”
With silence dominating the room, Matos suddenly became edgy. He looked behind, towards the windows as if trying to identify somebody. He turned back. Galo stood three feet away. “I am Bartolo.”
The deep baritone emanating from a position at chest level made Matos jump back. The vibration of the statement ripped through the middle of his chest, echoing in his ears. His eyes were open and he blinked forcefully, part the effect of his ongoing recovery and part by the shock of seeing a small person with such a roar.
“Are you Matos?”
Matos, still a little startled, looked to the left and pointed to a table without answering. He sat and Galo joined him at the table.
“I am Alberto Matos, a representative for several slaughterhouses in La Habana.” He turned to the tender behind the counter. “I’ll have a rum and a glass of water.” He looked at Galo and held his hand out. “And for you?”
“Just the water.”
“What, you don’t drink?”
“I do, but not now. You sent me a note you wanted to see me. Here I am. What it is that you want?”
Matos looked across the table and at the man. He had a confused look as though he knew the man. Across from Matos, Galo did not feel so diminutive. He looked at Matos eye to eye, not like when they were standing.
“Bartolo, I was advised by my long-time customers that you are the owner of novillos, correct?”
“Yes, Matos, I own novillos.”
“Well, I won’t go into how you were able to come to own them, but I am here to purchase several thousand animals for our holiday order. Now the market is a little tight with the war and all,” Matos explained as he reached into his valise and pulled out a draft book. He flipped a few pages and with pencil in hand and holding it over the paper, he continued. “I am prepared to give you a sight draft paying you four pesos and fifty per hundred pounds weighed at our stockyard in La Habana. We want fifty thousand animals and assuming their weight is around fifteen hundred pounds, I can make the draft out for three million three hundred and seventy five thousand pesos. Of course, any adjustment with the weights will be settled later.”
Galo swung his right leg over the arm of the chair and let his left arm drop so that his hand hung on his crotch. He never wavered his look from Matos during the explanation. He let silence hang a bit along with Matos’ pencil over the draft book. “Matos, I don’t accept your offer. It is an inadequate price.”
Matos frowned a moment, but also produced a bit of a smirk.
“Well, it looks like you want to negotiate as a good businessman. What price did you have in mind?”
Galo remained in his position expecting that the man would want to negotiate. He smiled and casually said, “I would like three times that price and a contract for future deliveries covering a lot more than the number you are suggesting.”
Matos made a half laugh as the waters and the rum were delivered to the table. “Bartolo, you must be joking. The price I am offering is the market and besides the three million plus you will be receiving is probably more money than you have ever seen in your life.”
“First, Matos, the market is right here, right now, between you and me. I could care less what is happening elsewhere. Second, I aim to see a lot more money than you can draft on that book.”
Matos blinked again and downed the shot of rum. He looked like his head hurt again and the expression spoke his thought that Galo was crazy. He tried a different tactic. “Bartolo, I have within my authority to make an adjustment and simply because I like your boldness, I will up the price to five pesos. The draft can be made for three million seven hundred and fifty thousand.”
“We
ll it’s unfortunate your bosses took your cojones away before sending you here, but I am not selling novillos at that price and if you would excuse me I have to go to another appointment.” Galo stood and picked up his hat from the chair next to him. Matos turned red and glared, “All right. I’ll have to get novillos elsewhere at the market price. It’s a shame you will not be getting any cash before the holidays.”
Matos bent back down to put his book back in his valise. Galo bid farewell and left Ofelia’s. Matos laid money down on the table for his drink and watched Galo walking away. ‘Where do I know that son of a bitch? I’ll be dead first before he gets a nickel!’
Chapter 48
The train blew its last whistle and the conductor called for all passengers to be on board. On the platform there were still families saying their goodbyes. Couples were embracing and a few lingered in a romantic kiss. The steam rolled off the sides of the locomotive and the wheels began to roll. Irrespective of announcements, there would still be some guy running along side to jump on the steps. It allowed for the dramatic and one last bit of acted devotion to the woman remaining.
This train would travel through the night and arrive at La Habana station at three in the morning. Frank boarded early. In order to minimize any undue attention, he traveled without his huge hat and settled for a second-class ticket. In other words, he would not have a sleeping bunk. He would sit with fellow travelers and bounce around one shoulder to the other as the train made its way. He wore a simple traditional guayabera and regular shoes; no pointy boots either. A half-hour after leaving the station, he went to the dining car and sat alone at a table to order his dinner of palomilla47 with congrí48 and fried ripe plantains. He picked up the newspaper and began to read as other passengers took other tables and a few stood at the bar.