by Manolo Mario
***
In the first class section of the train, several of the buying agents were gathered in the passageway confused about the experience they had the last two days. Each of them told the same story; there were no novillos for sale and that one guy owned them all. They were coming back to La Habana without the prime beef demanded. All wondered what their leader, Matos had been able to manage. Would Matos come down hard on them? What could they do? Yes, there were a couple of ranchers who hesitated when the buyer upped the price to five pesos; but they passed and referred the buyer to Bartolo. Who the hell was this Bartolo? They hoped Matos would have the answer.
In his cabin, Matos sat with a cold compress on his forehead sipping a Campari and soda. Camilo Ortiz sat across from him nodding his head from side to side. Matos communicated his exchange with Bartolo and that he opted to walk away. He couldn’t make a deal. Ortiz pointed out this was not good and the trustee would throw a fit. That was a strange observation since Ortiz had never seen or dealt with the trustee, solely Matos. Despite this fact, Matos knew the trustee would have means of expressing his displeasure, and it wouldn’t be a ‘thrown fit.’
“What about the men, Alberto?” Ortiz pointed at the closed door. “They are shitting in their pants scared. You have to tell them something.”
Matos rubbed his forehead with the cold washcloth and took a long sip of the drink. Ortiz stood a tad less jittery than he had been earlier that morning.
“Yes, I know, I know. That kid, Perez, has been excitable for two days. He thinks his job is lost. I’m sure the other guys feel somewhat the same. They have never run into this situation. Hell, I haven’t run into anything like this. We’re going to have to get creative.”
He pulled the washcloth off and eventually looked at Ortiz. “Camilo, tell the men to go to the dining car and get a later dinner. When they finish, have them find an excuse to linger around the bar for drinks. I’ll eat here in the cabin and will come join them at around ten. Make sure we have enough privacy to get a plan together. I’ll be there around nine forty-five. By then, most passengers retire to get a few hours of sleep before arriving in La Habana.”
***
Frank ate his dinner while reading his paper. What he read did not make his meal appetizing. Most of the stories surrounded the on goings of the war. Thousands of young men on both sides were dying daily. They were fighting in muddy trenches and it seemed that one side would gain an advantage in territory only to give it back the following week; sometimes the following day. There was gas being used. The article described the effects and it turned Frank’s stomach. He had to drink water before continuing.
The dining car got crowded and noisy. A young couple stood, waiting to be seated. Frank noticed and called the attendant to settle his bill so he could vacate the table. The attendant was grateful. He asked Frank for his location on the train and agreed to bring him the bill later. Frank rose with his newspaper in hand and returned to his seat.
***
Matos’ men did as Ortiz instructed. They sporadically ate dinner as the dining car tables became available and took their time. It was approaching nine thirty and one table remained busy. Several of the men were at the bar making light conversation with the tenders and having their turn with the rum. The waiter finished bussing one of the last tables and presenting the tab to the one remaining. He reached in his coat pocket for a pencil to give the patron and pulled out another piece of paper. He looked at it and remembered it was for the nice gentleman that gave up his table earlier. He needed to give him the bill in the second-class car.
The remaining couple finished abruptly. The lusty look on their faces announced their intentions to make use of the train’s gait. As quickly as the waiter could present it, they signed the bill and headed out. A helper came to bus and the waiter left the car in the opposite direction to find Frank.
From the other side of the dining car, where the first-class cabins resided, Matos and Ortiz walked in. Matos seemed to have recovered finally and came in smiling much to the surprise of the men, who all fell silent. Ortiz walked the length of the dining car looking right and left. He looked back at Matos and gave an all-clear sign.
“Good, it’s just us in here. Bartender, another round all the way around. Let’s get a drink so we can talk.”
***
It didn’t take long for the waiter to locate Frank in the second-class car. He was in the window seat reading. The lady in the aisle seat slept. Quietly, the waiter drew Frank’s attention and holding the paper up, reminded Frank he needed a signature. Frank reached for the bill and looked at it. The waiter stood there smiling quietly. Frank, satisfied with the numbers, looked back to the waiter and made a sign with his hand that he needed something to write with. The waiter made a surprised look and dug into his jacket for a pencil, but there was none. He must have left it with the last table. He raised a hand, saying ‘one moment’ and turned to go get a pencil. Frank folded his newspaper and did his best not to disturb the lady, as he got out of his seat and followed the waiter.
***
The tenders worked quickly to get the men served. Matos toasted salud and everyone drank. He cleared his throat before beginning, “Gentlemen, I know this trip has been more complicated than anticipated.” He looked around at each of the men.
Several mutterings of ‘you’re not kidding’ and ‘that’s an understatement’ moved about the car.
“Sometimes unexpected situations arise and we simply have to do our best. I am particularly proud that none of you panicked and didn’t force a stupid deal.”
One of the experienced buyers muttered, “Force a deal? There was no deal to make.” More chatter broke out among the men.
***
Frank walked ten steps behind the waiter. He was being careful not to disturb the majority of passengers who were sleeping or trying to sleep. The waiter reached the door at the end of the car and slid it open raising the level of noise. He stepped through and the door began to slide back, but Frank caught it. The waiter moved passed the connection deck and had a hand on the dining car door when he reached with his left hand into the other pocket of his coat and brought up a pencil. He turned rapidly to return to Frank’s seat and almost bulled Frank over.
“Oh, sir, I’m sorry. Please, forgive me, I had another pencil and didn’t look in my other pocket.” He spoke while handing the pencil to Frank. Frank took the pencil, and signed the bill, resting the paper against the window of the dining car. Through the window he caught a glimpse of a man pacing a bit while seemingly addressing others. He moved aside and handed the bill to the waiter, who offered his thanks and slid the door to the dining car open.
~~~
Matos stopped speaking the instant he heard the noise level go up signifying the door had opened at the far end of the dining car. Ortiz jumped off his chair and came around the bar to look and saw the waiter, paper in hand hurrying back through the passageway. He took a breath and looked back at Matos. “It’s all right. The waiter walked into the kitchen.”
Matos also took a breath before continuing. “As I was saying, gentlemen, you are right. There was no deal to make. And I can assure you I wasn’t going to let us down either. Together we are going to teach that Bartolo midget what we are all about. First, we are not going to come back and negotiate again before the holidays.”
The agents moved in their seats and looked at one another. This would effect their commissions as well. Matos continued irrespectively. “That’s right, we are not coming back before December. These ranchers are going to have to make due with whatever cash they have. The earliest we will return is in January.”
A few of them were getting the picture and nodded in the affirmative, but were building to the question in their mind.
“Second, Ortiz and a couple of you will take the next train from La Habana over to Pinar Del Rio and secure whatever novillos you can. The rest of you will sit tight until I send for you. We will have a more comprehensive strategy by that
time. In the meanwhile, you will be paid for your commissions on the steers purchased and in anticipation of the novillos. There will be no penalties for the lack of novillos on this trip.”
This last part was what the men were waiting for. They changed their gloomy and nervous demeanor to one of relief. Handshakes were exchanged and another round of drinks were ordered. The men stayed another half hour bragging about their afterhours exploits in Camagüey. Eventually, they exited the door of the dining car towards the first-class section.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the dining car, Frank peeked around the wall separating the kitchen from the rest of the Pullman to see the other door slowly slide to close. It was the same slow slide that had allowed him to step in after the waiter, where he stood behind the kitchen wall to listen.
***
The train pulled in an hour late in La Habana. There had been some delay with a line and preferential passage was granted to another train. It was four in the morning and most of the passengers were groggy leaving the station. Work crews busily hurried as the train would have normally started the return trip at this hour and now would be running late until the traffic managers allowed it to make up time.
Matos left quickly to get some rest before his meeting with the trustee. Ortiz and two of the men went directly to the ticket station to buy their tickets on the next train west. The other men didn’t mill around the station.
Frank got off the train and walked the several blocks to the slaughterhouse, Matadero El Sol, where the workday was beginning. A surprised Rico Sosa greeted him. Rico was a partner in the business. He asked about the little bastard of his brother and after other pleasantries let Frank speak. Frank learned Elio would be in by eight. He asked for a place he could sleep a couple of hours. Rico directed Frank to the office upstairs, where he promptly fell asleep on the couch.
***
“Frank! Wake up, wake up, what has happened?” Elio was agitated and shook him vigorously. Rico stood at the door contemplating Elio’s demeanor. Frank rubbed his eyes and gave a big yawn. He squinted at the sense of light coming from the window. Elio was about to go another round, but Frank pushed him back before answering.
He sat up and smiled. “Good morning, Elio, it’s good to see you too. Can I get some coffee and water, please?”
Elio looked back at Rico, who waved back, “I got it.”
“Let me try again. I’m surprised to see you. You look well. Now, has anything happened to Galo? Is everything all right? Why are you here?” The concern reverberated from Elio’s voice.
“No, nothing has happened to your precious Galo, but he asked me to come see you.” He took his time explaining the telegraph was compromised; not private any longer. Galo wanted to set up a courier system. He filled Elio in on Galo’s progress and made sure the slaughterhouse wouldn’t get hurt too badly if it didn’t have novillos. Elio shrugged, “if no one else is getting novillos, then we’re okay. It would be bad the other way.”
“Elio, he really put the squeeze on these guys. Before I left for the station, he told me he tripled the number. Would these numbers work?” He handed Elio the paper with Galo’s calculations. He took his time reading. From a beef, bone and fat perspective, the slaughterhouse would still be making one hundred and thirty pesos more per head than they were making before the deal with Ortiz. The note warned Ortiz could become a problem if he could not make money on his other sales. Those needed to be profitable in order to compensate for the loss he would have with Elio. Finally, Galo asked Elio to alert him if any novillos showed up in La Habana unexpectedly. Frank relayed what he overheard on the train.
“Very interesting. After you take your coffee, let’s get you to the house so Fiona can get you a good breakfast and you can rest properly. It will give me time to do some thinking and write a response back to Galo.”
***
“I am surprised and perturbed, Señor Matos.” John Howard spoke with authority, pouring himself a dram of Single Malt Scotch whisky despite the hour in the day. “We pay you a lot of money to find solutions, not to come back with problems. This situation with the novillos is unexpected and wholly unacceptable. What are you going to do about it?”
“Sir, I have already sent out my men to the west to purchase those available. I truly believe that with a little patience, the deals in Camagüey will break down and we will go back to our normal operations. It may not be until January, but they will break. One holiday season with a shortage of cash will work wonders.” Matos stood almost at military attention. He was a little nervous, but managed to hide the little quiver in his voice.
Howard sniffed his Scotch and took a sip, which he savored before swallowing. “Matos, I don’t work for patient men. See here in this glass. It is the finest Scotch whiskey one can find. It came from Europe, dodging and avoiding every German submarine attempting to deny us from this glass. The men I work for are resolute and demand performance. You better deliver.”
His speech pattern was deliberate, calm, but severe. The slight American accent added significance to Matos in what he said.
“Now I have to telegraph Chicago and let them know what we have. As opposed to this whiskey, bad news doesn’t get better with age. Any more bad news and you can go deliver it personally to Chicago. You would experience what it was like informing Nero or Caligula.”
* * *
47 Thin cut and maced round bottom steak.
48 White rice and black beans cooked together.
Chapter 49
Elio left Frank at his house and went back to the slaughterhouse. He spent most of the middle of the day re-running the calculations and checking on alternatives. There were good friends among the local butchers who he could provide notification if prime novillo beef became available and where it came from. He dotted his list of whom to approach. He also remembered a set of eyes at the stockyard would be helpful. In that case, he would need to employ Rico since he managed most of the pick-ups from the trains and often led the herd from the stockyard over to the slaughterhouse.
As to the numbers, maybe this would be a good way to get Alonso motivated. The poor man was at home with his leg in traction trying to heal from the second resetting. He had been laid up for the better part of six months and there was no end in sight. The doctors were unsure if things were going to work. After all that time, it would be a shame if he lost his leg anyway.
His arm healed, but it didn’t have half the mobility it once had. The doctor said there was nerve damage. Elena, his wife, would warm mutton lard and rub the balm all over his arm and elbow every night before he retired. Tradition said this remedy would bring back his mobility. Of course, the smell of the stuff would keep the devil away. Maybe it would scare the nerve into resuming its activity. Too make matters worse, the legal case against him had not been settled. Alonso was depressed with his situation. Having him work on the numbers and a visit from Frank may boost his morale. As to the courier, it was neither easy nor timely. He would have to select a trusted hand, which would not be noticed. He thought some more and wrote out a response to Galo.
***
Saturday midday, Matos found himself back at the train station waiting for the train from Pinar Del Rio, which carried Ortiz and his men. He tensed, as the train ran a half hour late. He had little sleep the last couple of days since his visit with the trustee. The tiredness did not help the anxiety. The train was actually forty-five minutes late when it finally pulled into the station. A crowd seemed to burst from the doors and the usual family and friendly greetings bloomed throughout the station. Matos spotted Ortiz and his lieutenants coming down from the first-class car and he rushed over to them. Ortiz saw Matos and said something to his men who headed off toward the exit.
“What is it, Camilo? How many were you able to buy?”
Camilo Ortiz looked down and brushed some dust from his pant leg. “Not one miserable animal, Alberto! Not one!” Ortiz smacked his leg once more for measure.
Matos bounced and faced his
agent sternly. “What the hell? Don’t tell me Bartolo owns those also?”
“No, he doesn’t own them. The novillos and steers are quarantined. Some bacteria of unknown origin has the place closed up and every damn rancher is keeping animals away from each other, from the water, and even from grass and hay. Hell, if they can put an oxygen tank on each beast, they would.”
“Coño, of all the forsaken things to happen. Camilo, we are in deep trouble!” Matos’ eyes were wide open. He looked around and grabbed Ortiz by his sleeve and lugged him away from the platform and into a corner of the station. He got real close and continued. “The trustee is not happy. He has pretty much said I need to solve the problem, something about his bosses not being patient men. I cannot return with bad news. I think it may be too risky to let this sit until January. We need to go back to Camagüey and break these agreements somehow. You need to help me!”
“All right, Alberto. Take it easy. I’ll go home, rest, and get ready to leave in the early morning. I’ll be ready.”
“It’ll be just you on the train Monday morning. I’ll tell you what to do.”
***
As planned, Frank returned to Camagüey on the Friday morning train, making the day and a half turn around. He once again sat in second class and slept the first four hours. The next six he sat through a gossip session of medical ills. He managed a seat facing in the direction of the train’s movement and a polite woman sat one seat over on the aisle. Across from them were two women and a man. Not long after he awoke and took coffee, one of the women moved to the seat next to him because she became nauseous traveling ‘backwards.’ This prompted a back and forth between the women about illnesses and procedures and family tragedies and miracles. Many of the comments were extremely personal and dealing with body parts that typically would not be spoken in public. This went on for six hours and Frank did not contribute one bit. When they pushed to ask him a question, he said he and his family were boring and had nothing happen to them. On the good side of things, he knew no one on the train. He figured any of the well-to-do families of Camagüey would be seated in first class. Frank realized that he needed to exit the station opposite the car and find Galo at Ofelia’s.