Chapter 56
Ramón met Mosises’ Cuban contact, Salvador, at a café in the old town at dusk, near Hemingway’s old hangout, La Bodeguita del Medio. The area was jammed with European and Canadian tourists, distinctive in their floppy Tilley hats and hiking sandals, pink sunburned skin a badge of honor in the tropical heat. They sat together at a tiny circular table, Salvador smoking, while a comely waitress with a quick smile for them both brought coffee and a snifter of rum on the side for Salvador. Ramón stuck to water, not wanting to further impair himself with additional chemicals, the pain pills more than sufficiently altering his state.
Salvador waited until the woman had set their drinks down and moved to another table before sliding an envelope to Ramón. “In there you’ll find a photograph of the man who bought the cigar, as well as a brief dossier on him. He came from nowhere and has become a colorful addition to the Havana scene. He’s rumored to be a high-level fixer.”
“Fixer?”
“In a regimented society like ours, there’s always a need for those who can get things done unofficially, who can secure forbidden fruit. He has that reputation.”
Ramón opened the envelope and peeked inside. “How do I find him?”
“He has a mansion by the water…but I checked, and it’s well guarded.”
“Is that typical here?”
“If one has sufficient financial wherewithal, it’s not unknown. He’s got a contingent of armed ex-military on his grounds, and they tend to be rather good at what they do, so I wouldn’t try to tackle him there.”
“Do you have someone watching the house?”
Salvador tossed back half the rum and washed it down with coffee. “No. It’s not practical in that neighborhood. The police patrol it very regularly, and they’re sensitive about nonresidents loitering around.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“He owns a number of businesses. Actually, a dozen that I was able to find, and probably more where he’s a silent partner. You can look for him at his known establishments.”
“That sounds like a lot of ground to cover.”
“I am happy to assist, if you’d like me to.”
“I would.”
They finished their drinks and Salvador led Ramón to his vehicle, where he opened the trunk and retrieved a green tote bag and handed it to him. “Your pistol and ammunition are in there.”
“Perfect. I’ll wait to hear from you. Time is of the essence in this matter.”
“Mosises made that very clear.”
Ramón walked back toward the main plaza, where taxis lined the block, and read the brief paragraph on the subject as he went. Carl Rodgers, ostensibly Canadian, man about town, bon vivant, entrepreneur. A list of his enterprises, which included three cafés, an art studio, two tour companies, and a handful of other miscellaneous ventures.
Not a lot to go on. But their only thread.
And Carl had bought a cigar in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
Which was enough.
Tomorrow, Ramón would make a tour of as many of the man’s businesses as he could. From the picture, it wouldn’t be hard to spot him. The man was the size of a polar bear, judging from the weight on the driver’s license copy Salvador provided, and his Lincolnic beard and leonine head of platinum hair were distinctive even in the small photograph.
In the meantime, more meds and another night’s sleep would set Ramón right. He was already healing; with every hour he felt surer of himself, his limp now a mere nuisance, the pills taking the worst of the edge off the pain.
Tomorrow he’d be ready for battle. He just hoped that there would be an enemy to fight, because with every hour the trail grew colder, and he knew that eventually it would disappear altogether.
~ ~ ~
Major Fuentes stood in the doorway of his friend and sometimes lover Solana, who was in charge of the Havana passport department – a job she’d held for over a decade and which had earned her a tidy sum, working in conjunction with him. Fuentes had dropped off the photos that morning, and stopped in after hours to confirm that progress was being made.
“You’re an angel for helping with this, Solana.”
“I know. Of course, the money helps my divine intervention in the matter.”
Fuentes nodded. “We must seize opportunity when we find it.”
She smiled up at him from her desk. “Speaking of which, why are you here so late?”
“I was thinking you might want to have a daiquiri with me somewhere quiet.”
Solana eyed the pile of documents on her desk. “Can we do it some other time? I have a lot on my plate.”
“Sure. Just name a time and place. Perhaps when I pick the documents up the day after tomorrow?”
“Ah, so this is your way of reminding me I need to come in early to get them. I see. Don’t worry, mi amor, I want my payday as much as you. Although a daiquiri sounds…interesting. Shall we say noon, Friday, at La Floridita? I’ll bring the passports, you bring the second half of the payment, and we’ll see if we can find something to discuss other than business. I shall tell the staff I’m feeling under the weather that morning, so we’ll have the afternoon to ourselves.”
“Sounds like a date.”
She watched him walk down the corridor and out the front entrance and sighed. “Oh, Luis. What am I going to do with you?” She placed a hand on the pile of documents and eyed her ring finger, and then took up her work again, the clock behind her ticking inexorably, a reminder that time was creeping by in tiny increments that added up to a life waiting for another woman’s husband to buy her a drink.
Chapter 57
Ramón’s phone rang as he was making his way back to the hotel at the end of the next day. His entire afternoon had been a wash, Carl nowhere in evidence at any of his businesses. Ramón wasn’t looking forward to having to tell Mosises that there had been no progress, and his mood wasn’t being improved by the body aches that lingered from the accident. He fished in his pocket and dry-swallowed another pain pill, figuring it wouldn’t matter since he was just going to be in his hotel room the rest of the night.
It rang one more time before he managed to press the right button. Salvador.
“Yes?” Ramón answered.
“One of my men learned that this Carl has a standing reservation every Thursday night at La Golondrina. That’s where you’ll find him tonight.”
“La Golondrina?”
“On the water down by the Hotel Occidental Miramar.” Salvador gave him an address.
“How did you find out?”
“It’s no secret. Apparently he hosts a who’s who of Havana society there. A regular event. Imported wine, gourmet food, musicians, very hedonistic. Not at all in the spirit of austerity that the regime preaches, but then again, hypocrisy’s the national pastime.”
“What time?”
“Eight o’clock.”
Ramón checked his watch. He had fifteen minutes. “Okay, thanks. I’ll get over there and see if I can convince him to spend a few minutes with me.”
“I should caution you that in that neighborhood, you won’t be allowed to stand around. The security will be tight. These are the wealthiest people in Havana, and they don’t encourage the locals to hang out there. So you’ll need a better plan than that, or you’ll be told to move along.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
Ramón flagged a passing taxi and gave him the address. The old driver grinned – it would be a good fare on a slow evening for him. Ramón fingered the butt of the pistol in his windbreaker pocket. This Carl fellow was about to have the worst night of his life.
~ ~ ~
Jet twirled with her arms outstretched and Hannah clapped her hands in delight, both giggling as Matt looked on. They’d eventually found a dress for Jet the day before, and had spent that morning converting the smallest of the diamonds, a one-and-a-half carat princess cut, into dollars at a black market jeweler Carl had introduced them to. Now, after a relaxing day lounging
around the courtyard wading pool, they were preparing to meet Carl for dinner.
“You look gorgeous, as always,” Matt said approvingly.
“I’m glad I can still get your attention.”
Matt’s gaze drifted from her caramel skin to her sparkling jade eyes and smiled. “The most beautiful woman in the world has nothing to worry about.”
“That’s the kind of talk I can get used to.” She studied him for a moment. “You look very handsome.”
He fingered the lapel of the jacket they’d bought him, a lightweight linen outfit with matching crème pants. “I feel a little like a pimp in this getup.”
“It’s Havana. Go with it.”
“Something in the water?”
“Exactly.”
Jet locked the diamonds in the room safe, and they descended to the ground level. Hannah went running to where Gloria’s daughter, Jamie, stood beside her mother in the entry hallway. Jamie was a year older than Hannah, and they’d spent most of the day playing by the wading pool and were now new best friends. Jet smiled at Gloria as they approached. “Thanks for watching her. We shouldn’t be more than two hours. Just in time to put her to bed.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Gloria assured them.
“Don’t let her have too much sugar or her head will spin around,” Matt warned.
Gloria smiled. “I think I’ve got it under control.”
“Famous last words,” Matt said, and they all chuckled.
“Your taxi’s here,” Gloria said, tilting her chin at the front door.
Jet glanced at the entry. “Oh, good.”
The ride to the restaurant was mercifully brief, and when they pulled down the cobblestone drive past two stern-faced guards, Jet took Matt’s good hand and squeezed. “Wow. Tell me this isn’t nice,” she said as they neared the huge waterfront villa.
Matt nodded. “Carl doesn’t do things small, I’ll give him that.” He turned to her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “You ready?”
“I’m starving.”
~ ~ ~
Ramón reached the restaurant with four minutes to spare. He tossed the cab a few pesos before climbing out and moving to the entrance. A beautiful young woman with a low-cut black evening gown stood with a clipboard, checking off names as diners arrived. Ramón approached and gave her his most charming smile.
“Good evening. I’m just in from out of town and heard about your place. Do you have a table for one?”
“Oh, no, sir, I’m sorry. We’re usually booked several nights in advance.”
He turned on the charisma. “Are you sure you can’t find something? Even in a quiet corner somewhere?” He let her see the twenty-dollar bill in his hand.
“If it were up to me, I’d do my best, but no, I’m afraid there’s nothing.”
“I hate to go home hungry.”
“I can recommend some other very good places.”
It was obvious to him she was a dead end. “No, that’s fine.”
He turned and almost collided with a mountain of a man wearing a lime green tropical-weight suit, replete with vest, hand-stitched shirt, and matching cravat. Ramón recognized Carl, his white mane unmistakable, but all he could do was step aside. Ramón would have to wait for him to finish dinner and then make his move – there was no way to do it in a crowd of diners.
Carl pushed past him and Ramón caught a glimpse of the Accord accelerating away, a valet behind the wheel, and watched as its taillights disappeared around a corner. Carl’s voice boomed behind him as Ramón stepped off the porch and made his way toward the street. “Andreina! You look positively edible tonight! Is my table ready?”
Ramón didn’t wait to hear any more, his attention drawn by a taxi in front of the restaurant whose doors were opening. Recognition surged through him like an electric jolt as a stunning woman emerged from the car, followed by a Caucasian man – with a cast on his hand.
It was them.
His fingers drifted to the pistol in his pocket as he calculated how he’d make his escape after gunning them down, but he was too slow, and before he could act, they were inside, leaving him gaping at them from a dozen yards away. He swore under his breath – doubling up on the pain medicine had slowed his reactions, and that had just cost him his opportunity.
Movement down the drive caught his eye. He turned to where four musicians in street clothes were tuning their instruments near a circular fountain in the center of the driveway. An idea formed as he ambled in their direction, and by the time he made it to where they stood, his confidence had returned.
“How are you fellows doing tonight?” he asked.
“Good, Señor. And you?”
“Excellent. It’s a special night for me, and I’m hoping you can help make it a success.”
“Would you like us to play you a song?” the leader asked, strumming his guitar.
“Not exactly.”
“Then…how can we help you?”
Ramón stepped closer and withdrew his money clip fat with hundred-dollar bills.
“My friend’s having dinner in there and I want to surprise him. Do something special. I’m thinking a little deception would be perfect.”
“A deception?”
“Yes,” Ramón said, peeling off four hundred dollars. The musicians’ eyes widened at the sight of the bills as Ramón held them loosely in his hand. “Let me explain.”
Chapter 58
Carl rose from his seat at the tablecloth-draped table as Matt and Jet followed the hostess through the restaurant. A few of the other diners murmured appreciatively, and Carl held his arms out like he hadn’t seen them in years.
“You’re lucky I brought my heart medicine. Such a vision of loveliness takes my breath away,” he declared theatrically, and then nodded to Matt. “You clean up pretty good, too.”
Jet flashed a smile at him and offered a small hug, and Matt waited dutifully and shook his hand. Carl indicated two chairs. “Please, have a seat. What do you think of the joint?”
“It’s spectacular,” Jet answered honestly. The high ceilings accented the mansion’s colonial charm, the paint a creamy yellow with white accents, and the chandelier overhead glittered like a thousand diamonds.
“I like it. And the food’s not half bad,” Carl assured them. A waiter wearing black pants and vest over a crisp white dress shirt approached and cleared his throat discreetly.
“Ah, there you are, my good man! The young goddess will have…” Carl paused, eyeing Jet. “A…mojito. Am I right?”
Jet nodded. “That sounds wonderful.”
“And my friend and I would like a generous portion of your finest aged rum. Havana Club Añejo, of course.”
“Of course, sir. Would you like an appetizer while you wait?”
Carl leaned toward Jet like he was confiding in her. “They have brilliant sashimi. Fresh line-caught yellowfin tuna.” He turned his attention to the server. “The tuna is fresh today, is it not?”
The man nodded stiffly. “Yes, as always. Caught a few hours ago.”
Carl beamed at Matt and Jet. “Then you absolutely must try it. Bring us a platter to share.”
The waiter made a note and hurried to the ornate dark wood bar near the entrance as Carl waved a bear-paw-sized hand at the sea. “It’s the closest thing to paradise I’ve found. Except during storm season, when anyone sensible gets the hell off the island.”
“Where do you go?” Matt asked.
“I favor Tulum, on the Mexican Riviera. I have an interest in a little place there.”
Matt smirked. “Seems like the private life has treated you all right since you left the company.”
Carl returned the smile. “Well, there’s considerable power in knowing where the bodies are buried. You’d be surprised at how helpful the guilty can be when offered a proposition they can hardly refuse.”
“I’ll just bet,” Jet said.
“I didn’t invent the world. I’m merely trying to make my way in it, as are we all.” Carl
patted his stomach, his vest buttons straining at the challenge of containing his girth.
“Some with more good fortune than others,” Matt observed wryly.
“What’s that old song? Something about a little help from my friends?” He stopped as a thought flashed across his face. “Speaking of which, Fuentes confirmed that he’ll have your passports tomorrow in the early afternoon. He’ll bring them by the inn. I already paid him the second chunk, anticipating that you’d do so once you had them in hand.”
“Of course. We can get together for cocktails in the early evening. Our treat,” Jet said.
Carl smoothed his hair and an emerald pinkie ring twinkled on his chubby hand. “Have you decided where you’re going to go after Cuba?”
“Not yet. We’re exploring our options,” Matt hedged.
“You could do worse than stick around here for a spell. I could use some honest help with some of my projects. It would be invaluable to have someone with your field background,” Carl said to Matt.
“I’ll definitely consider it.”
The server returned with their drinks and they toasted. “To a bright new future,” Carl said, and they clinked their glasses together.
The musicians moved into the dining room from the waterfront French doors, which were thrown wide to allow the ocean breeze to cool the large area. They wove their way between the tables, the leader bowing to a few regulars as they made their way toward the bar, and then the last member of the group broke away, lingering as the troupe passed Carl’s table.
A pistol appeared in Ramón’s hand and he pointed it at Jet’s head from only a few feet away, his eyes flat as pools of oil. A woman at an adjacent table screamed and another gasped, and then a stampede of the privileged ensued as the patrons scrambled for the entrance.
“You killed the wrong man, bitch,” Ramón hissed, the gun steady. He pulled his iPhone from his pocket and held it up to film so Mosises could watch the execution in real time. He sneered in triumph as his finger tightened on the trigger, and then a pop only slightly louder than a champagne cork rang through the restaurant, and the crowd shrieked at the sound.
JET - Escape: (Volume 9) Page 25