[2012] Havana Lost

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  The suburbs in America all looked the same, Ramon thought as he rode in the SUV with Frankie’s soldati. It didn’t matter if you were in Miami, Tampa, or Chicago; it was the same blur of neon signs, chain restaurants, and boxy stores, all of them flanking broad roads that didn’t have the grace to wind or bend. The only difference was how flat it was here. The land, the people, the language. The Spanish was dull and monotone, so different from the melodic accents of Cuba.

  He glanced away from the window. Four goons were in the car with him, including the driver. The other team, headed up by Gino, was in another SUV half a mile behind. The snow had stopped, but the air was bitter, and the heat in the SUV wasn’t the best. Ramon shivered.

  When they arrived at the hotel, Ramon was surprised by its elegance. He’d been expecting a seedy space, dark and menacing, not a place with chandeliers, uniformed bellmen, and marble floors. It reminded him of the resort casinos back in Havana, where everything had been big, showy, and brassy.

  One of the soldati climbed out of the car, presumably to touch base with their contact at the hotel. The others drove around to the back and parked on the street facing the highway. They were quiet, but it was an excited, charged silence that soldiers take on before battle.

  Ramon could taste the anticipation. He’d felt that way in Angola with Luis at times. He’d never thought of himself as sentimental, but a hot, achy feeling rose in his throat when he remembered those days. They hadn’t seen much action, at least until he was kidnapped, but he remembered drinking Nkiambi’s warm beer in the leaky shithole they called a bar just to decompress after a risky patrol.

  A few minutes later the goon came back to the SUV with two room numbers. Whoever was in one of the rooms had ordered food a couple of hours ago: burgers with fries and a Caesar salad. Then they ordered an action movie. The person in the other room hadn’t ordered anything. The men in the SUV nodded as though there was a significance to the report.

  The other SUV arrived, and Gino jumped down to confer with the man who’d gone inside. Then he motioned everyone out of the cars.

  “Here’s how it’s going down,” Gino said. “My team will go up to the room that ordered the movie. I’m guessing the girl will be there. We’ll get her and deal with the others.” He gestured to the men who’d ridden with Ramon. “You will scout the other room. On my command you’ll break in and take out Schaffer.” Then Gino pointed to Ramon and one as yet unassigned soldati. “You two will monitor the lobby, in case Schaffer makes a break for it. If you see him, let me know. Rapido!” He made eye contact with everyone, including Ramon. “Understand?”

  No one objected. Gino nodded. “All right. We go.”

  • • •

  Her kidnappers hadn’t hurt her, but Luisa wasn’t sure how much more she could take. As soon as they’d spirited her out of Ham’s apartment, they threw a hood over her eyes and gagged her. Then they loaded her into the back of a car and took off. Without her sight, she tried to rely on what she could hear, feel, and smell. The men didn’t talk to each other—someone must have told them not to—and the noises of the car barreling through the night weren’t distinct enough for her to figure out where they were headed. As far as smells, Ham’s scent was still on her skin, but it was soon overpowered by the body odor of her abductors.

  Someone was smoking a cigar in the car, and combined with the car’s twists and turns, Luisa felt her throat close up. If they didn’t stop, she might throw up.

  After driving for what seemed like hours, although she later learned it had only been minutes, they turned right and started driving slightly uphill in elongated circles. A parking garage? A moment later, the engine cut off, and a deep silence unfurled. Then one of the car doors opened. She was yanked out of the back. A man grabbed her shoulders and pushed her forward. When she stumbled, he cursed.

  The notion she was in a parking garage persisted; it was cold, but not as bitter as it could have been if they were out in the open. Eventually they led her through a door and into an elevator. As they ascended, more silence caromed. The cheerful ding the elevator made when it stopped startled her.

  The scent of furniture polish and astringent permeated the air, and Luisa decided she was either in an apartment building or a hotel. She didn’t have the opportunity to figure out which, though. As soon as they exited the elevator, they walked her down halls, winding in what seemed an aimless fashion, probably so she wouldn’t know where she was.

  Finally they stopped. Luisa heard the catch of a key card, and a lock was released. When they thrust her through a door, the sharp smell of disinfectant and carpet cleaner accosted her. She knew that smell. A hotel room.

  She hoped they’d take her hood off, but they didn’t. They didn’t loosen the gag, either, although she tried to indicate she wouldn’t scream. But all that came out were moans and grunts. Someone bound her hands and feet with rope and pushed her down on a bed. At least the mattress was soft. Then a man spoke. He had an unusual accent. “If you needa go to the bathroom, gimme three whimpers. If you’re thirsty, ya gimme two. Goddit?”

  She nodded, all the while trying to figure out the accent. Was he from New York? Boston? She wasn’t sure, but those were the only words spoken. A moment later, a cell phone rang. Someone snapped on a TV loud enough to muffle the conversation.

  Luisa knew her kidnapping was connected to the map. They wanted the map as much as Gran. The why wasn’t difficult, either. The only questions were who and why they’d shot Ham to get it. When she recalled the crack of the gun, hot tears welled in her eyes. He was probably dead, lying on the marble floor of his condo.

  She had no idea how much time passed, but she must have slept, because the noise from the TV, a show with lots of gunfire and explosions, woke her. Then a cell chirped. She tried to concentrate on the conversation, but with the TV blasting, all she could make out were brief cryptic replies.

  She must have dozed off again—how, she didn’t know—because she came awake suddenly when someone knocked on the door. The men rousted her and shoved her into the bathroom while they answered it. She tried to cry out, but the gag silenced her. Before they let her out she managed to relieve herself.

  When they dragged her out, the aroma of burgers, greasy French fries, and coffee saturated the room. Luisa didn’t understand: she was miserable, almost in pain, but she was famished. How could she be hungry at a time like this? She wondered how much she’d give for a bite of a burger or a couple of fries. Then she berated herself for even thinking of taking something from these assholes. She had to stay strong. But for how long? Her resolve was starting to crumble. How little it took to render a person helpless. And all because of her grandmother. Luisa didn’t understand why Gran hadn’t rescued her. Where was she? More important, where was her mother?

  Luisa needed her mother, like she did when she had her tonsils removed. The doctor had told them they were as big as golf balls. She couldn’t eat or drink for a week and kept spitting out huge gobs of mucus. Her mother had stayed home with her night and day, trying to relieve the pain, but it was relentless. When nothing else worked, her mother sat on the edge of her bed and stroked her forehead. Knowing she wasn’t alone had helped. But this time, there was no one. If she ever got home—no, she mustn’t think that way. When she got home, she’d have plenty to say to Gran.

  • • •

  The end came unexpectedly. Luisa had almost convinced herself that the residual aroma of the burger and fries wasn’t bothering her when there was another knock at the door. The men immediately snapped to attention, and she heard the snick of what had to be a slide on a pistol. One of the men went to the door. “Yeah?”

  A mild voice came from the hall. “We have a refund on your dinner. We overcharged you.”

  “Put it on the bill.”

  “Sorry sir, we need a signature. My boss said so.”

  Nothing happened, and Luisa imagined her captor checking the peephole to see who was in the ha
ll. When he finally opened the door, the assault was fast, efficient, and thorough. Two shots in quick succession from a gun with a suppressor.

  “There she is!” a man cried.

  Someone hurried to the bed, while somebody else made a call on their cell. Luisa’s gag and blindfold were removed. She blinked like a hibernating animal awakened and thrust into sunshine. When she recognized Gino, she started to cry. She didn’t think she’d ever stop.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  David Schaffer had been dreaming about Christmas Day. He was only about eight years old in the dream, but his parents hadn’t bought him any presents. Had they found out he’d been spying on them? Was this his punishment? He was about to ask when his cell trilled. He woke up and groped for it on the bedside table.

  “Yeah?”

  “David, it’s Carol. I—I’m really scared. You have to do something.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Two men kicked the door down a little while ago. They won’t leave. They want to talk to you.”

  Schaffer bolted from the bed. “Who are they?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice was close to hysteria. “But they have guns, David, and they tied me up…”

  The phone was snatched away. His wife’s voice was replaced by a deep male voice with a thick Boston accent. “How are ya, David?”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Fear streaked up his spine. The hand holding the cell grew sweaty.

  “You don’t need to get nasty. You know who we are.”

  “Let me speak to my wife.”

  “Sure, David. In a minute. After you uh—conclude—your business in Chicago.”

  David looked wildly around the room. How the hell did they find him? As if on cue, there was a thump at his door. David hurried over, hoping it was one of his men. But when he squinted through the peephole, he saw three unfamiliar goons about to break down his door. His stomach lurched.

  “I’ll get back to you,” he rasped into the phone. Then he threw the phone on the bed, grabbed his car keys and wallet, and sprinted to the other door of the suite. He’d studied the hotel’s floor plan in advance, then requested this room, congratulating himself for leaving nothing to chance. He cracked the other door, which opened onto an adjacent hallway. Clear. He eased himself through and raced to the stairs.

  • • •

  At first Ramon was frustrated to have been assigned such a trivial role. Then he stopped brooding. He was an unknown commodity to the Pacellis. Plus, his wounded leg made him a liability. He looked around the lobby of the hotel. Story of his life. Always unimportant, easy to dispense with. Still, he kept watch on the elevator and stairs. When the stairway door opened and David Schaffer appeared, slinking toward the exit, Ramon yanked his companion’s sleeve.

  “That’s him!” he cried out.

  Schaffer spun around, a look of astonishment on his face. When he recognized Ramon, astonishment turned to horror and he rushed to the door, careening into furniture and the few people in the lobby as if he was drunk.

  The goon with Ramon took off after him, his cell clamped to his ear. Ramon limped behind. By the time he got to the garage, Schaffer was pinned against the wall by Gino’s goons, and Gino was aiming an automatic at him. The acoustics of concrete in the partially open garage made for a clear echo. Schaffer was begging for his life.

  “Look. I didn’t hurt her! She’s fine. All I wanted was the map! But you can keep it. Let me go. And my wife.”

  Ramon watched Gino hesitate, as if he was considering Schaffer’s plea. Then he pulled back the slide on his pistol. Ramon saw the flash of the muzzle. Heard the sharp crack of the bullet. Schaffer crumpled to the ground. Ramon hopped over to gaze at Schaffer’s body. A pool of blood oozed out around his head. Ramon squeezed his eyes shut.

  Gino spat out orders. “Vite, Vite! Get him outta here!”

  Ramon turned around. At the curb beyond the parking garage, a pale face framed in black pressed against the window of one of the SUVs. The girl. Although the electric blue light of the parking garage was dim and shadowy, he could tell she was exhausted. And panicked. He thought he saw tears trickle down her cheeks.

  “Where should we dump him?” asked one of the men dragging Schaffer’s body to the other SUV.

  Gino glanced at Ramon, then back at the men. “The regular place.” Gino switched to Italian and kept talking, but Ramon didn’t understand. He limped over to Luisa. She didn’t recognize him and reared back in fear.

  He smiled and motioned for her to roll down the window. “I am a friend,” he called out. “I know your mother.”

  She stared at him but refused to lower the glass. She probably thought he was part of the Pacelli Family.

  “I knew your grandfather Luis. In Cuba,” he added.

  She gave him a wary nod.

  “I am glad you are safe.” He smiled again.

  She showed no reaction, but Ramon understood. She was in shock. She’d just survived a kidnapping. He knew what that was like. He would tell her everything after she recovered from the trauma. He would tell her about his friendship with Luis. How they grew up together in Oriente. How they moved to Havana. How Luis was a student of law, history and art. He would tell her about the time he and Luis spent in Angola. What a noble colonel Luis had been. He nodded back to Luisa, about to make his way to the other SUV when Gino called out.

  “Suarez!”

  Ramon whipped around.

  “Stop bothering her! Get away from the car!”

  Ramon stepped aside and tried to raise his hands in a “what are you talking about” gesture, but he only made it partway. The bullet struck him in the chest. As it tore through his flesh, he felt a sharp burning sensation, a sensation that cut off his breath. He staggered, then fell to the ground, gasping for air. Although the snow had stopped, he was cold. And getting colder. At the same time, his brain was slowing down. It must be the wind, he thought. It must have picked up.

  It was time to go back to Cuba. To the island kissed by warm, tropical breezes, not a frigid wind snaking down the street. Raoul was Presidente now, and reforms had come. Cubans could sell their homes and their cars. They could start businesses. He wanted to die where he was born, not in a strange, lonely city. He knew there were flights from Chicago to Havana. But he should probably find a Santería priestess before he made his plans. She would tell him the best time to travel. The last thing he saw were the eyes of the girl. She shouldn’t look so horrified, he thought. As if a nightmare was unspooling. She should smile. This was a happy time. Ramon was going home.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  When Carla saw Luisa come through the door in Barrington, she ran to her, threw her arms around her, and burst into tears. Luisa cried, too. In fact, her return triggered a storm of emotion. Carla hovered, refusing to let her daughter get more than a foot away from her. She immersed herself in the details of heating up soup—no one could do it except her—running a bath—she was the only one who knew the correct temperature. She attended to Luisa’s needs as if her daughter had been released from the hospital.

  For her part, Luisa couldn’t stop shivering, and had difficulty speaking. She refused to take a bath, claiming she didn’t want to be separated from the others in the house. Carla promised to stay with her and bring her downstairs afterward, but she still refused. Carla settled her on the couch in the living room with blankets and pillows instead. Someone brought a tray with the soup Carla had heated and a sandwich, but Luisa wasn’t hungry.

  “It’s so strange,” she whispered to Carla. “When they had me, I was famished. I kept smelling their burgers and fries. I would have given almost anything for a tiny bite. But now…” Her voice trailed off.

  Carla tried not to show her alarm. She figured shock was setting in now that the ordeal was over. She spooned soup into her daughter’s mouth. The doctor in her knew her daughter’s reactions would be off for days, perhaps weeks. But the mother in her was profoundly worried and could only comfort herself wit
h the fact that Luisa was safe.

  Francesca emerged from her office where she’d been closeted with Gino. She smiled benevolently at everyone, then hugged Gino.

  “Grazie mille again,” she cooed. “It is over.”

  Gino nodded as if this was nothing special, simply a routine day’s work. Which made Carla shiver. Then he rounded up his men and left.

  Francesca’s consigliere was still at the house, along with a few others. Francesca explained that Gino’s men had dumped Schaffer’s body along with a bag of heroin in an empty lot on the South Side. “When the police come, they’ll assume it was a gang shoot-out. A drug deal gone bad.” Schaffer’s wife was okay, she went on. Their partners in Boston had released her.

  Then she went to Luisa and perched on the edge of the sofa. She stroked Luisa’s hair. “But all that really matters is that you’re home.”

  Luisa squeezed her eyes shut, allowing her grandmother’s ministrations.

  Suddenly Carla looked around. “Where’s Ramon?”

  Her mother in law didn’t miss a beat and kept stroking Luisa’s hair.

  “Francesca,” Carla repeated. “What happened to him?”

  Francesca hesitated, then licked her lips. “Unfortunately, according to Gino, he tried to attack Luisa. He had to be stopped.”

  Luisa scowled and propped herself up on her elbows. “Are you talking about the Cuban man?”

  Carla nodded and looked over at Francesca. She stopped stroking Luisa’s hair.

  Luisa twisted around. “He wasn’t attacking me, but Gino thought he was and shot him. I saw it happen.”

  Francesca didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “You must have been mistaken, Luisa. It was dark. You were in shock. Everything happened so fast.”

  “No, Gran. He was trying to talk to me through the window. He said he knew Granpa Luis.”