Matanzas

by Garry Ryan

  John stayed. He sat alone for a minute, then got up, walked over and asked, “Mind if I join you?”

  Lane shrugged. “Not at all.”

  John sat down. He looked at Daniel and Christine, then at Indiana. “The kids are having fun. I wish my daughter could have been here.”

  Lane waited while Indiana flexed his fingers.

  “She works for an American company and they frown on anyone who goes to Cuba even now that the embargo’s been lifted.”

  “Would you like a drink?” Lane asked as the waiter approached.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He turned to the waiter. “Mojito.” The waiter nodded and turned to Lane.

  “Same for me, please.” Lane watched the dancing and listened to Deylis as she sang another Spanish song. She has a beautiful sultry voice.

  John reached over and cupped Indiana’s head with his hand. “Okay if I hold him?”

  Lane nodded and began to lean forward. John did the same; then his phone rang. He held up one finger and reached for his cell. He looked at the screen, then said, “Yes?”

  Lane recognized Lola’s voice on the other end.

  John nodded once and frowned. He took the phone away from his ear, pressed end and slid the phone into his jacket pocket. “I have to go.” He got up, went to his son and daughter-in-law and hugged them both. Then he left.

  Lane watched Daniel’s shoulders sag. I wonder what it was like for you growing up, Daniel?

  Christine hugged Dan and brought him over. “We wanted to thank you for the music. They’re wonderful.”

  This is one of those times when everything just comes together. “It was a surprise to me just as it was to you.”

  Christine turned to watch the band, then turned back to Lane. “She did this because you helped her out?”

  Lane shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her.”

  FRIDAY, JUNE 21

  chapter 7

  “It was fantastique.” Sylvie, a round-featured, dark-haired French woman, talked with her hands as Lane and Arthur sipped drinks at the outdoor bar near the fountain. Lane wore a Blue Jays ball cap, a long-sleeved shirt and shorts. Arthur wore much the same, except for the cap. His bald head was coffee-bean brown thanks to his Mediterranean ancestors.

  Arthur looked at Lane. “Let’s go swim with the dolphins. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “You will remember it for the rest of your life! Their skin feels like —” Sylvie looked around her, then rubbed her hand over the wet surface of the table where their cold drinks sweated onto glass “— like this.”

  “Can we go today?” Arthur asked.

  Sylvie rubbed her fingertips on the V at the base of her throat. “You just rub a little chum right here and the dolphins come to you.”

  “Chum?” Arthur looked sideways at Sylvie.

  Lane smiled while she frowned back. Sylvie said, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Fish guts,” Lane said.

  Arthur shook his head. “Maybe I’ll just touch the dolphins.”

  Lane and Arthur headed for the Dolphinario an hour later in a blue-and-white 1955 Chev driven by Vlad, who appeared to be fluent in Spanish and English as well as an expert on baseball. Vlad opened the door, then offered, “I’ll give you a free ride for the ball cap.”

  Lane shook his head, lifted the cap and said, “Keeps me from getting sunburned.” Then he and Arthur climbed in the back seat, which was covered with some kind of vinyl. The springs sagged and groaned in much the same way the car did as it rolled down the highway, a loose assortment of parts all headed in the same direction.

  They arrived at the Dolphinario and Arthur handed Vlad fifteen pesos. He smiled at the four-peso tip and held their door open. Three more tourists piled in and Vlad’s smile broadened.

  Inside the park they heard the clang of hammers against the metal framework supporting the stands facing the inlet. The water was lined by mangroves and fenced at intervals to hold and sort the dolphins. A welder worked at the base of the stands. Lane lifted his right hand to protect his eyes from the intense electric arc.

  Arthur stood at the edge of the water and leaned on the railing as dolphins swam by. He was transfixed. Lane smiled and sat on the first bench. He looked out at the blue dock to the right side of the stands and the hoops suspended out over the water on the left. The stands began to fill up with families who mostly spoke Spanish. The clothing was different from what he saw at the resort. Most wore long pants, colourful sandals and shirts in various shades. Must be the local people. This is kind of fascinating. I feel like I’m finally getting a glimpse at the people who actually live here. He turned to watch his partner. Arthur is like a child. He’s mesmerized by the dolphins. He spotted a flash of white out of his right eye. A man with a camera, telephoto lens and white golf shirt stretched over a generous spare-tire belly handed an envelope to another man. He wore a ponytail, a black ball cap and a shorty wet suit. Ponytail unzipped his wet suit and tucked the envelope up against his heart before pulling the zipper closed. What did Angella say? Oh yes. Almost anything can be bought under the table in Cuba.

  Ponytail opened the gate and stepped out onto the dock followed by a pair of female assistants in wet suits; they carried a pair of red coolers. Ponytail blew his whistle and the heads of five grey–blue dolphins popped out of the water and moved to the edge of the dock. High-pitched squeals began a chorus of demands until the trainers dropped fish into the mouths of the dolphins.

  Arthur sat down next to Lane. There was a broad smile on Arthur’s face as he watched the show. The dolphins propelled one of the trainers right up to the entrance to the dock. They flipped through the air, raced around the lagoon, leapt through the hoops and launched a female trainer up into the air. She somersaulted and dove into the water.

  The show over, a small crowd gathered near the gate to the dock. The female trainers left with one of the coolers.

  The photographer moved to the gate, allowed one person at a time onto the dock and took photographs.

  Arthur was at the back of the line and needed a hand to make it across the gap between the dock and the gate. He walked over and knelt down next to Ponytail, who sat on the remaining red cooler. Arthur handed a five-peso note to the trainer, who blew his whistle. A dolphin rose up out of the water until he was nose to head with Arthur, who wrapped his arms around the creature and rubbed the top of the mammal’s head. Lane took a series of photographs. The shutter of the nearby photographer’s camera snapped, and then he gestured with his hand that Arthur’s time was up.

  Lane smiled as Arthur rubbed the head and the nose of the dolphin. Then the dolphin slipped back into the water and Arthur got to his feet. Arthur turned with a smile that reminded Lane of the intensity of the welder’s torch when heat met metal.

  Arthur’s smile continued to illuminate the inside of the cab on their return to the resort. He leaned in next to Lane, then said simply, “Thank you.”

  It’s been a long time since he’s been so excited that he’s at a loss for words. Cancer takes so much away. It’s good to get something back.

  The wind off the water tugged at Lane’s shirt and shorts and pushed the waves up onto the sand. One wave broke, rolled up the beach and washed over his calves as he and Arthur walked side by side.

  The water receded, and they looked into the distance where two women and two men walked toward them. Both women wore white shorts and white blouses over bikini tops. The men wore shirts and shorts. One of the men held a baby in the crook of his elbow.

  Lane felt Arthur tuck an arm inside his elbow when they recognized the approaching group. They were deep in conversation. Matt said something. The others laughed. The sound was carried away by the wind. Christine looked up, saw her uncles and waved. They came to within an arm’s length.

  Another perfect moment. Enjoy it, because it won’t last very long.

  Christine put one arm around Arthur and another around Lane. She smelled of perfume, sunscreen, lime and tequil
a. “Thank you for this.”

  Matt said, “We’re headed back for supper. Wanna join us?”

  Alexandra stared at Arthur. “What are you smiling about? Get lucky?”

  “He got to hug a dolphin.” Lane felt his face redden.

  “So he did get lucky!” Alexandra laughed.

  “Just not the way you think,” Arthur said.

  “Well, are we or aren’t we?” Christine asked.

  “Are we what?” Dan asked.

  “Going to get something to eat. I’m starved.” Christine hefted Indiana. “And he will need a bottle.” She began to walk back toward the resort. The rest followed as her long legs and natural grace attracted admiring glances from the men on the beach. The attention from the women varied from smiles to frowns.

  Lane and Arthur’s family walked up the beach, past the lifeguard and along the wooden walkway that tunnelled through the mangroves. They gathered around a column and washed their feet before following the sidewalk that wended its way between the clusters of buildings. They passed the pool, then reached the intersection in front of the hacienda-style buffet.

  “I’m getting out of this damned communist country!”

  They looked left.

  Lola was dressed in yellow chiffon from cleavage to gold anklets. The wind tugged at the flowing fabric of her gown. She pulled a single silver carryon bag on wheels. Behind her came John with a pair of matching four-wheeled silver cases that reached to his belt. Each of the silver monsters appeared to want to go in a separate direction. Lola looked straight ahead as she crossed in front of Lane and headed up the sidewalk to reception.

  “Was that a banana?” Alexandra asked.

  John wore grey shorts and a green shirt and was red faced when he pulled up next to Dan. John tried to smile at his son but failed, then said, “The wedding, your room, it’s all paid for.” His shoulders sagged and he looked at his wife, who plowed through a dozen new arrivals with their luggage. “We said we’d pay for the wedding and . . .”

  “John! We need to get to the airport!”

  John leaned over and kissed Indiana on the cheek. He looked again at his wife, who stood eyeing him while she planted one fist on her hip. Lane saw John’s pupils shrink into black holes. He hates her! Lane realized. John took a long breath, then pushed one bag forward and pulled the other along behind.

  Alexandra looked at Lane. “You might have another murder to investigate before the day’s over.”

  They walked up the steps to the red-roofed, cream-coloured building housing the buffet, went inside and found a table near the windows.

  When they were seated, the waiter asked, “Would anyone like wine?”

  Dan held up his glass. He looked out the window, shrugged, then reached for his son.

  Alexandra asked, “Got anything stronger?”

  MONDAY, JUNE 24

  chapter 8

  Lori looked over from behind her computer. Her hair was blonder and her face was tanned so the smile creases at her eyes seemed white. “Did you bring pictures?” she asked as she leaned back in her chair.

  Lane sat down in the chair next to her desk. His mind was fuzzy from yesterday’s return flight. “I forgot.”

  Lori leaned forward, stood up, looked around to see if anyone else was about and handed him a bag. “For Christine and Dan.”

  Lane took the bag and looked inside. A deep-blue background was dotted with other vibrant colours on a handmade quilt. “This is beautiful.” He reached to pull the quilt out.

  She touched his hand. “Quick. Go put it away. It’s a special gift for your family. Trying to keep a secret from a bunch of detectives can be easy as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

  Lane stood up, walked over and kissed her on the cheek. She smelled of suntan oil and strawberries.

  Lori blushed. “It’s a good thing you’re not in the RCMP or we’d both be in trouble.”

  Lane smiled and went into his office to tuck the package behind his desk. He came back out. “Can I get you a coffee?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Fifteen minutes later, she sat in Nigel’s chair sipping a cappuccino and Lane sat at his own desk slurping a moccaccino. Lori asked, “Lots of drama at the wedding?”

  Lane rolled his eyes and nodded.

  “Lola?” Lori crossed her left leg over her right and plucked at her ankle-length red skirt.

  “I guess we should have realized when Lola said she’d pay for the wedding with no strings attached, she really meant that the wedding would be all about her.”

  “You mean it wasn’t?” Lori smiled and set her cup down on Nigel’s desk.

  Lane swung his chair around to face her. He cradled his coffee in both hands. “Nope. Christine and Dan did get married after some drama. Indiana steals every show just by being Indiana. And then Dame Alexandra arrived.”

  “The southern belle made it, did she?” Lori nodded. “Lots more drama?”

  Lane looked at the ceiling. “You know, I’ve been to gay weddings and straight weddings and I think this one was the most dramatic by far. Maybe that’s why Arthur and I have never tied the knot — too much drama.”

  “Arthur can be pretty dramatic.”

  Lane looked at her and blushed.

  “So you two are not going to tie the knot because of your aversion to drama?”

  “Who’s got an aversion to drama?” Nigel stuck his head inside the office.

  Lori began to stand up. Nigel said, “Stay where you are.”

  Lane pointed at a cup on the corner of his desk. “That one’s for you.”

  Nigel stepped inside wearing a purple shirt, black pants and black shoes. He took the cup and sipped. “Thanks. Did you get the messages from your old partner?”

  Lane asked, “Harper or Keely?”

  Nigel wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand. “Keely. She was asking if I knew what you were up to in Cuba. Said they were getting reports you were into something with the local police and some Cuban officials were checking up on you.”

  Lori turned to Lane. “So Lola wasn’t the only one who was causing some drama.”

  Lane blushed. “It’s not like I went looking for trouble.”

  “Are you going to fill us in?” Nigel asked.

  “Actually I was going to ask for your help. A Brett Mara flew from Calgary to Varadero on WestJet. I need to know what you can find out about him.” Lane wiped away the moisture gathering along his hairline on his forehead. Why am I sweating?

  Lori stood up so Nigel could get at his computer. She moved to the chair tucked up against the wall. “Are you going to tell us or not?”

  Lane took ten minutes to fill them in about the murder of Mara’s wife Camille.

  “So you think Mara came back here?” Lori asked.

  Lane shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

  “Holy shit!” Nigel looked at Lane.

  “What?” Lori leaned forward.

  “This guy was a person of interest in a drive-by killing.” Nigel turned his screen so that Lane and Lori could see a picture. “Is this him?”

  Lane leaned over to look and nodded. “That’s the guy. No fixed address, right?”

  Nigel nodded. “That’s right. Was a member of the FKs.”

  “Was?” Lori sounded surprised.

  I thought you only left that gang when you’re dead.

  “According to this, he was a member of the FKs for ten years, was a suspect in two other drive-by shootings, then dropped out of sight.” Nigel frowned at the screen.

  “What?” Lane asked.

  “Give me some time to look this over. This guy may have an alias or two.”

  Lori stood up. “I’ll call the parole office to see if Lisa has any background on the FK connection. She’s the one who usually deals with the gangs.” She stepped out the door.

  Nigel said, “You really know how to take a vacation.”

  Lane lifted his eyebrows, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and said, “Cuba w
as full of surprises.” The phone rang. He picked it up. “Lane here.”

  Lori said, “Lisa can meet you in half an hour at Higher Ground if you’re buying.”

  Lane managed to make it to Kensington and found a place to park behind Pages Books. He parked beside a Volvo with LVS4VR on its licence plate. He went around behind the shops and walked down a metre-wide walkway between two buildings until he could see Kensington Road. He crossed the road and dodged a cyclist who ignored the fact that Lane was in the crosswalk. Then he walked east toward the coffee shop. Ahead, a group of four people and their dogs sat at the black metal tables and sipped iced lattes. At nine in the morning, the sun was already making the dogs pant. Their tongues dripped saliva onto the concrete. Lane went up the stairs and inside the coffee shop where painted mountain landscapes in rich colours adorned the walls. He spotted Lisa at a table up against one of the bay windows that looked out onto the street. She had long black hair and grey eyes and looked to be in her mid-forties. Lisa lifted her eyebrows, checked the collar on her blue blouse and waited. “What would you like?” Lane asked.

  “A latte and one of their ginger cookies with the white icing, please.” She smiled at him and Lane turned to order the coffees. He returned with a dessert plate bearing a cookie only slightly smaller than it. He sat down and she eyed the cookie. “I hear you want to know about Brett and the FKs.” She crossed one leg over the other, leaned back and straightened her blue-and-red floral skirt.

  “I was on a tour bus with him in Havana. His wife didn’t make the return trip. Then she turned up dead.”

  “Brown hair, gathered at the back, flirty, liked to share her opinions with anyone in earshot?” Lisa asked.

  Lane nodded.

  “Her name was Camille Desjardin when I knew her.”

  “Large latte and large mocha for Lane!” the barista said.

  Lane got up and returned with the coffees.

  “Thanks.” Lisa watched as he set the latte in front of her.

  “How did you know Camille?” Lane sipped his moccaccino and smiled.