Little Havana Exile

by Hale Chamberlain

Out of the blue, a frantic and loud banging on the patio door brought the group out of their gleeful bliss. The chatter, cheering and laughing immediately stopped. When Teddy turned to look at the origin of this cacophony, his blood froze. Never had he see a Cuban with such a pallid skin color. The man’s face was livid and his eyes seemingly trying to warn of an impending danger. It was one of Paco’s henchmen.

  CHAPTER 15

  The next ten seconds happened in a heartbeat.

  A first gunshot was heard from afar, and the man on the other side of the window dropped like a stone.

  Paco had already drawn his weapon when the man’s body impacted the floor, but he realized in horror that it was already too late. Three guns were pointed at him, and the following hail of bullets left him no chance. Paco managed to fire twice, hitting one of the mobsters and missing his second shot. The sudden pain in his chest stopped him in his stride. He only had time to look down at his wound in disbelief and drop his firearm, before falling over his chair. Blood was oozing from under his shirt as he hit the floor.

  Only six seconds had gone by, which was how long it took Teddy to come out of his torpor. He instinctively moved behind Carlos next to him, thinking the obese bodyguard would provide wider cover than any other live or inanimate objects in the room.

  The corpulent gangster took a fury of fire, and the sheer force of the projectiles crashing into his fatty armor was almost impossible to withstand for Teddy. He pulled his gun and retaliated with deadly precision, hitting three men at various places in faces and shoulders.

  Ten seconds into the shooting, half the men in the room were dead on the floor, while the others were missing. Teddy was standing alone in front of the dining table, a mar of blood surrounding him. He looked down at his hands, smeared with a filthy combination of duck grease from the buffet, and dark blood. Someone else’s blood. He had an urge to puke but the fear quickly set in, taking over any rational thought and physiological response to the repulsing scene.

  The patio windows were shattered leaving fragments of crimson glass all over the floor. Teddy ran for his life through the empty frame.

  The night had fallen, and Fisher Island would soon be pitch black.

  After an endless minute of dashing aimlessly across dry land, Teddy realized he had reached the other side of the island. Where he stood, he could still distinguish the light from Herrera’s house. The damn place is smaller than bloody Alcatraz!

  It hit him that he was stranded on a piece of barely-developed land surrounded by water, with no means to reach the continent. The sight of water all around him called back memories of his favorite movie – Jaws. Except that in his present situation, the sharks were on the island.

  He surveyed his surroundings in despair, hopeful to find a place to lay low until he could come up with a plan. There were no obvious hideouts, the terrain was desperately flat and the edges of the island were all made of concrete – slick and clean cut. The worst possible setup for a man on the run.

  Right in front of him, the few residential high-rises were already stormed by Herrera’s men. He could hear their voices resonate across the land mass. For an instant, he felt as if he was back in Birmingham following James Wilkinson’s assassination – hunted by half the population. Back then however, he had the full resources of his gang at his disposal.

  His current predicament looked dire in comparison. Paco was lying lifeless on Herrera’s mansions’ floor, probably in a pool of blood that was turning putrid. And of the two loyal henchmen he brought along, one was dead, and the other one missing.

  Scanning his surroundings, crouched behind a large trash bin, Teddy realized that he was standing next to one of the island’s small harbor. A glimmer of hope ran through his mind. Only five boats were parked there, and if there was the slightest chance that one of the proprietors had left the keys on the vehicle, he had to take the risk of being exposed.

  The vessel closest to him had a similar shape and color to the speedboat he came on, but with a twist of malice. The boat looked wicked and powerful, the side of it read in big orange letters SUPRA SALTARE. Teddy jumped on the watercraft and scouted for keys. No keys in the ignition. Nothing on the seat. Nothing under the carpet either.

  As he searched frantically, kneeling under the wheel and dabbling for a small piece of carved metallic salvation, Teddy’s heart skipped a bit. He heard men’s voices only a few feet from him. How the fuck did they come over here so fast! I dashed like a madman.

  So he crouched under the control board, praying that the contingent steered clear of the Supra Saltare.

  “What a total fiasco!” One of the men said, his voice potent enough to be heard even at that distance. “Goddam Cuban mobsters and their traditions. They just had to do it like that. They had to part ways after a lavish meal. A simple bullet to the head just wasn’t good enough!”

  “Zip it, Paco deserved a last meal with everyone, after all he’s done for the family.”

  “Look where it has led us. If we don’t find the other rat presto, your head’s on the line. Literally. And mine too…”

  The voices were getting closer, and as he reached for his belt, Teddy realized he had lost his weapon as he ran away. This doesn’t look good at all!

  “Let’s check the boats, there’s a rat’s hideout for you. Quietly…” one of the men said.

  Teddy’s blood froze instantly, as he felt the vibration of someone stepping on the Supra Saltare. There would be no escaping this. He would have to fight them, with the risk that the noise drew further unwanted attention from Cuban hitmen.

  After a few unnerving seconds, the other man said, “Forget it, there’s no way the kid’s leaving this island on a boat by himself. The boss said he’s got no knowledge of boating whatsoever. We’re better off checking the buildings over there. I bet you he’s tucked behind a bin like the vermin that he is.”

  The man leaped back down on the dock, and the gripping echo of the voices faded away progressively, before disappearing completely. The chatter on the other side of the island was all but audible, and an unsettling silence engulfed the western front of Fisher Island.

  Teddy stayed on the watercraft, immobile, unable to think clearly. He had been under an insane amount of pressure for over five minutes now, and the sudden quietness offered a welcome respite.

  The relief was short-lived, however, as barely a minute later, another step on the Supra Saltare sent him into a nerve-wracking panic. He clenched his fists, ready to burst like a nuclear bomb.

  “Teddy! Teddy!” a man whispered with urgency. “Amigo, are you here? I saw you get in there.”

  The voice was only remotely familiar, but it was enough for Teddy to come out of his hole. Even in the darkness of the night, the solid frame of the figure before him left little doubt in his mind. This was the voice of Santi Lopez, the missing henchman. All six feet four of him. Even though they had never exchanged more than a few words, the man was a regular in Paco’s entourage. He was someone a man on the run could trust. And anyway, he was his only ally left on this hostile island.

  “My friend, you’re alive!” Teddy whispered, barely able to contain his excitement. “We’re in it deep to the neck. We’re fucked!”

  “Calm down my friend, I know how to get outta here. I’ve got a plan. It’s a long shot, but we can do it. We have to.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Santi Lopez was one of the good guys. Teddy understood that the first time he met him, shortly after his landing on US soil. The man was made from the same mold as Paco, a Cuba-born countryman, benevolent at its core and solely driven by the prospect of improving the condition of his people. Like a number of men in the faction, Santi refused to deal hard drugs and to get involved in racketeering, kidnapping and murder, no matter the reward. He felt ashamed to be connected in any way to those activities and was plotting in loose association with Paco and the other rebels to eventually provoke the demise of the head of the organization – Joaquin Herrera – via legal avenues.


  Now that any chance of doing this as an insider had blown up in his face in spectacular and bloody fashion, Santi Lopez was left with no choice but to precipitate his plans. And as serendipity had it, Teddy would be instrumental to his sneaky project.

  But first, they had to get off that island, and back to continental ground, where they would be able to blend into the mass more easily and escape Herrera’s men.

  “You know how to get off that bloody Fisher place?” Teddy asked, his voice agitated but barely audible.

  “Yes, there’s only one way,” Santi whispered back. “We need to get away from here quickly, before they start circling the island with their boats.”

  Latching on the man’s confidence, Teddy asked, “Please, tell me you’ve got a boat. We need a boat!”

  Santi shook his head, “No Teddy, we’ll have to–”

  “Can you start one without a key?” Teddy interrupted. “Connecting the ignition to the battery somehow? Can you do that Santi?” He grabbed the man’s shoulders with his hands in an awkward embrace.

  “Amigo, listen,” Santi said curtly. “We have to go back to Herrera’s house, on the other side of the island.”

  “What the f… You gotta be kidding me,” Teddy said. “What kind of a rubbish plan is this?!”

  “We have to move fast, the longer we’re here, the more likely it is that they’ll find us. We don’t have time to play around trying to start boat engines.” Santi Lopez pulled the gun stuck in his belt. “We need to get to the northernmost tip of the island, and swim to Miami Beach–”

  “What!” Teddy roared, immediately regretting it. Lowering his voice, he added, “We’ll fucking drown. It might take two minutes by boat, but they’ll have plenty of time to find us if we attempt to swim back to that dock we came from.”

  “Listen to me for heaven’s sake, we’re not going back there. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We need to reach Miami Beach, the other stretch of land north of Fisher Island. We’ll be safe for a while there. And the easiest way to cross the Cut is to swim from the north-east corner of the island. The pier on the other side is only two hundred yards away.”

  This time, Teddy remained silent. He considered that option quietly in the still of the night. He was a poor swimmer, but Santi was right, there was no time for tricks unlikely to produce results. The Cuban mafia was after their asses and the bastards wouldn’t be forgiving. If they were found, the best they could hope for was an unexpected bullet in the forehead. Quick, tidy and painless.

  He surveyed the island, feeling more aware and alert by each passing second. Finally, he clasped Santi’s arm, eyes locked with his, and uttered a resolute “Let’s go!”

  The two men ran across the island, ducking every time they felt an unwelcome presence or spotted an ominous figure in the darkness. The island was badly lit, except along the shores where the dwellings could potentially provide some rudimentary concealment. On the other hand, cutting through the main central park, which covered over half of the land mass of the island, would leave them exposed. Save a few garbled trees, the area was just a massive grass-covered field.

  Before he could think this through, Santi was racing through the park. A filthy Brummagem swear word popped into Teddy’s head, but he ignored it and rushed after Santi Lopez.

  Less than two minutes later, the two men were standing twenty yards away from Herrera’s villa.

  A speedboat was patrolling near the waterfront. Santi pointed at the villa’s rear entrance, where two men were surveying the uneven, somber terrain, guns in hand. Still without a word, he motioned to his right. Teddy realized the island of Miami Beach wasn’t as far as he had thought. Why had he not paid attention to that earlier on that cigarette boat? He scolded himself. The lights emanating from residential buildings on the opposite waterfront were glowing a bright shade of yellow.

  “Herrera’s men are on the move; the boat is circling to the other end of the island. It’s now or never.” Santi urged.

  Teddy peered at the departing watercraft and nodded. Without a second thought, the two men plunged into the cold water of the Atlantic Ocean. The patrolling boat was now well into the Cut, toward the continent and further away from the villa. It showed no sign of coming back their way.

  The crossing of the Cut proved much longer and tougher than anticipated, as Teddy tasted the bitterness of salted water more than once. Indoor pools weren’t a common sight in Birmingham, so his swimming education had been minimal, and he struggled to resist the slow stream flowing his way.

  After almost five minutes of grind against the current, the shore of Miami Beach was within physical reach. An intense feeling of relief rushed through him as his hand touched the South Pointe Pier of Miami Beach.

  As the two men pulled themselves back on firm ground, Santi Lopez appeared to be hit by the dark reality of the night’s events. He said, in complete disbelief, “Goddamn Herrera! That coward! That pig! I swear on my mother’s tomb that he will pay.”

  “Why the hell would he kill Paco now?” Teddy asked.

  “The bastard knew all along that we would move to overthrow him sooner or later, and shut down his filthy operations.” Teddy reeled at the revelation, unaware of what was weaving in the background. Santi continued, “We were building a rock-solid case against him, and were gonna use the legal system to give him what he deserved – the electric chair.”

  Teddy paused for an instant, pondering the feud he had been dragged into, and how oblivious he had apparently been to Paco’s grand maneuvers. Did he try to keep me out of it on purpose? This wasn’t his battle, yet, he felt an irresistible sympathy toward Paco and his group, and a blazing hate for Herrera. The fact that his mentor was gone still failed to register in his mind, but deep in his guts, a black fire was smoldering. He knew that feeling. The brief flashback of a time when similar smoldering inner flames turned into a raging inferno played before his eyes. That was moments after James Wilkinson’s death at the hand of Kieran O’Connor, back in Birmingham.

  “Listen, Paco had made you a pivotal part of his plan. All that data you’ve gathered in the past months, on Herrera’s properties, activities, and so forth. This was supposed to tie in with the shadow work we’ve done on our side, meant to expose the dirtier side of the man’s business, the assassinations, the narcotics transactions. What would eventually cause his downfall! We wanted to leave no stone unturned. We wanted to take everything from him.”

  Teddy was listening attentively, oblivious to the hum of an engine in the distance.

  Santi continued, “It’s all there, all the files, all the incriminating evidence, copies stored in various locations. Now it’s down to us to take that bastard down, rightfully, and avenge Paco.”

  After almost an hour of inhuman physical and mental strain, the two men were devoid of energy and willpower. Teddy felt a veil of sadness fall on him as he took the full measure of the momentous events of the night. The corpse of his mentor was in a mar of blood and tequila, and he himself had only narrowly escaped a similar fate. Where do we go from here? he wondered.

  The sudden roaring of a powerful motor made him lurch backward. Teddy and Santi had just reached the pier, and with nowhere to hide, they were easy preys. The bellow of the watercraft was soon followed by a thunder of bullets.

  The two partners rushed toward the nearest habitations, away from the shore. Leaping over a low wall bordering the beach park restrooms, Teddy realized Santi wasn’t following. He spun around, squinching behind the bulwark, and peered in the direction of the boat.

  As his eyes landed on the atrocious scene, he understood immediately that from now on he would be all by himself. Santi Lopez was forced to kneel in front of two men, who were pointing their guns at him. Two shots were fired. Santi’s body dropped on the rocks bordering the southern beachfront of Miami Beach, and then rolled into the ocean.

  CHAPTER 17

  Teddy was seized by a deep feeling of desperation, down to the bottom of his stomach. He felt l
ike bursting into tears and crouching right there, in the corner of that dirty wall. But that wasn’t an option, and the memory of Paco blinkering in his mind was enough to rekindle his vengeful mood.

  The heat was on again, for the second time in under an hour. Bloody Cubanos, are we really gonna do it this way?

  In such life or death situations, Teddy knew that every second counted. He had to try and nullify the manhunt before it had even begun. And as earlier this evening, he was more than happy to give in to his reptilian brain urging him to flee the scene like a maniac.

  The peninsula of Miami Beach stretched from Biscayne Bay to the south, all the way up to Bal Harbour ten miles to the north. Tycoon Carl Fisher was the main promoter of the island’s development in the 1920s, touting it as the ideal site for wealthy Americans from the north and the Midwest to build their winter homes and spend their vacations. Along with his genius publicist associate, Fisher was widely credited with the rapid rise to prominence of the municipality.

  Now sprinting in the deserted streets of Miami Beach, Teddy recalled coming across one such promotional brochure in his Little Havana apartment. Paco was a real hoarder when it came to everything vintage – not just his ride. The man couldn’t help storing useless outdated junk, from old colonial clocks to dusty cigar boxes.

  Some of the publicity taglines popped into Teddy’s head, such as “It’s always June in Miami Beach”, or his favorite – “Miami Beach, Where Summer Spends the Winter.” Out of my head, you damn publicist!

  The dim voices of his pursuers, lurking just a hundred yards away, pulled him back into focus abruptly. Losing those Cubans in South Beach – the southern tip of Miami Beach – would be a real gamble. The goddamn Hispanics could probably easily track someone in that narrow stretch of land, street smarts as they were. Santi must have been thinking further ahead.

  As he ran tirelessly up the southernmost end of Ocean Drive, Teddy realized that if he were to see his twenty-first birthday, he would have to find the incriminating files Santi hinted at. If all went according to plan, he would retrieve the documents, which whereabouts were completely unbeknown to him, report to the police station, convince them that the incriminating evidence was all they needed to lock up Herrera for good, and pray they would shove him in a witness protection program real fast. A long shot, Teddy thought. A fucking long shot!