Suspicion of Rage

by Barbara Parker

  42

  Standing in the junk-strewn garage, Anthony watched his brother-in-law go out the side door and look up the stairs. He heard the thud of shoes on wood, then the squeak of hinges. Nothing for a second or two. Then more footsteps, Ramiro walking around Cobo's apartment, thinking what in hell to do next.

  Hector Mesa sat on his heels on the concrete floor studying the young man stretched out between a stack of paint cans and a folded pool table. Mario lay on his side, hands behind him, the cord running to his feet, which were also bound. He had been out cold for nearly an hour, ever since Hector had slammed him in the back of the neck.

  Hector said, "The Twenty-Eighth of January Movement. What is that?"

  "José Martfs birthday."

  "Yes, so it is. Fools. What are you going to do with him?"

  "How soon can you have a boat ready?"

  "As soon as I make a phone call," Hector said.

  "Make it," Anthony said, "before Ramiro comes back."

  It had taken a while to sort out exactly what had happened. An hour ago, walking across the front yard, they'd heard gunshots from the house. Hector had gone to see what it was, and a few seconds later, Mario had come running through the door with a pistol in his hand. If Hector's Beretta had not been left in Chinatown, Mario would have several bullet holes in him. They carried him inside, limp, and the explanations began.

  Leaving that job to Anthony, Gail went upstairs with Karen, who had begun to come out of her stupor. Anthony made sure his kids were all right after the shock of nearly seeing their uncle shot to death. Then Giovany came home, saw the shattered glass on the floor, and had to be held back from calling the police. A neighbor called asking about the noise. Ramiro grabbed the phone from Maria and explained that the kids had set off some firecrackers. As soon as the house was quiet, Anthony took Ramiro into the study and told him about Garcia. Ramiro's first question: "Is Karen all right?" Anthony told him yes, she was. Second question: "Did anyone see you?" Ramiro was concerned about his own neck, a useful thing to know. Anthony said that if anyone had seen them, the police would have arrived by now.

  It was strange, how distant the events seemed as they were happening. Reality came with recollection. Firing the pistol at Ruiz, the bodyguard, Anthony hadn't felt the recoil or heard the shots, and he couldn't remember how many he had fired, but the image of the man's shattered arm was still hot in his memory. Garcia's face was still with him, too, stripped to one bare emotion: fear. Anthony's own gut-quivering shakes hadn't started then, but he'd felt them in his legs coming down the four flights of stairs, then again driving back to Miramar, his hands jittering on the steering wheel. It helped to know that the shit-sucking bastard had deserved it. But it didn't help much.

  Hector closed his cell phone and slid it back into his pocket. "They need about three hours' notice. You let me know."

  Anthony didn't ask who or what. The boat would be fast, and the people on it reliable. He leaned over and felt the knot under Mario's left ear. "I hope you didn't do any permanent damage."

  "He's okay," Hector said.

  Anthony tossed him the car keys. "Bring the car as close as you can to the portico. You have a place to take him tonight?"

  Hector replied with a quick nod as he headed for the side door of the garage.

  For a while Anthony looked down at the young man on the floor. He reached into his trousers pocket for the envelope that he'd promised Mario to deliver to his mother on Sunday. It had been written before José's arrest. Anthony had an idea what the letter might say, and he didn't want Yolanda to see it. He tore off the end and withdrew a single sheet of paper. The handwriting was small and neat, no cross-outs, as if copied from a final draft. Translating the flowery Spanish typical of such correspondence, Anthony read:

  Dear parents of my soul, this letter arrives to your gentle hands to comfort you in this heavy hour and to beg that you will try to understand the reasons for what I have done. You have taught me that liberty is of greater value to a man than his own life. Without doubt some will say that what I did was evil, but what is evil? Malefactors like General Ramiro Vega laugh as they condemn the hopes of a people to the cold dungeons of despair. Do not weep for me, my dear parents, for I perished in the sure knowledge that my blood will bring forth flowers in the soil of our beloved Cuba.

  Anthony groaned softly. "Oh, Mario."

  My dear sweet mami, I will set sail into eternity on the great ocean of your love. You must not forget to smile, for I will be watching from heaven. José, the father of my heart, you have given me courage. Do not cry for my passing, for we shall meet again. Until then, may God protect and keep you. With embraces, your faithful son, Mario Cabrera.

  Elbows on his knees, Anthony looked at the boy on the garage floor. "Now what will you do, eh? When will your life ever again be this certain, this pure?" He leaned over and stroked the boy's curly black hair. "May I confess something to you, Mario? I admire this dangerous passion. I used to be as reckless as you are. Yes, I know what it's like, this feeling. You're going to miss it"

  The door at the top of the stairs closed. Hollow thuds grew louder. Folding the letter, Anthony stood up and returned it to his pocket. Ramiro appeared. He flexed his hands, cleared his throat. "Whose blood is that on the towels? Olga's?"

  "I believe so. Cobo removed his footprints and wiped off the weapon."

  "What was it?"

  "A carved wooden statue."

  "And you say she died quickly." Ramiro passed his hand over his eyes, then straightened the front of his uniform shirt. "I told Marta, when the police come, she doesn't know anything about it. I will tell them I found Cobo like that. And now. What to do about this young man." Ramiro moved his eyes to Mario Cabrera. "Abdel Garcia sent a boy to kill me. Clever. What is your saying? A wolf in sheep's clothing?"

  "Not much of a wolf. He couldn't pull the trigger."

  "Even so."

  "Ramiro, you'll have to be careful about the police. Don't let them talk to the family, especially Marta. She's close to the edge. You're leaving tomorrow, and she could inadvertently say something to jeopardize that."

  "I'm not leaving," he said.

  Anthony had to replay the words in his head to believe Ramiro had spoken them. "Why not? Because Garcia is no longer a threat?"

  "That's part of it. Thank you for solving my problem for me. I often considered doing it myself, but then I would sober up and forget about it. I will stay in Cuba because I ought to stay in Cuba. Give Mr. Bookhouser my regrets. I'm not going."

  "What about the disk?"

  "What disk?"

  "The disk with your notes on the radioactive materials that Garda stole. You brought it home with you, I hope."

  "The disk stays here. The files contain other sensitive information that your government doesn't need to see. I was never going to give them the disk. I would have destroyed it and relied on my memory."

  A switch had flipped somewhere in Ramiro's head, possibly from the electrical surge that accompanied the terror of imagining his own brains splattered on the wall.

  "Ramiro. If we don't have you, we need the files. Otherwise, what's to stop Navarro and his gang from believing Omar Céspedes's story? They will say, because they want to believe it, that Fidel Castro himself is peddling radioactive materials to Al-Qaeda. You and I know this is a plate of shit, but since when does the truth count in politics? They might want to start sending Tomahawk missiles through Fidel's bathroom window."

  The electrical surge had apparently vaporized Ramiro's sense of humor too. He said, "You tell them. You know it went no higher than Garcia."

  "No, I do not know that, and frankly, my credibility with Bill Navarro isn't something you should count on."

  Ramiro shrugged. "You're an intelligent man. You'll think of something." Hands on his hips, he walked over to the prone figure on the floor. “I am sorry for Mario. I am sorry that you are friends of his family. Sorry he became involved with that group."

  "Don't tel
l me you're planning to turn him in."

  "What should I do, dust him off and send him home?"

  "Ramiro, if you turn him over to the police, he will be lucky to get off with a life sentence."

  "He tried to kill me!"

  "He was being manipulated by Abdel Garcia. I'll get him out of Cuba. That should satisfy you. He and his father can both be gone within twenty-four hours. You'll need to talk to MININT to arrange Leiva's release."

  "I told you, I do not work for the Ministry of the Interior!"

  Anthony could feel the heat building in his neck. He took a breath and said, "Then call the police. You have Olga's killer. Ask for Detective Sánchez. Tell him about Cobo. Show him the towels. The blood can be matched to Olga Saavedra. Say Cobo killed her because he couldn't have her. Say an injustice has been done, and you want Leiva released. They're investigating him for political crimes as well, but I think they'll put him under house arrest if you ask them to. Do that, and I will have the family on a boat out of here."

  Ramiro's eyes flamed with indignation. "Why should I help José Leiva?"

  "Because he doesn't deserve to be in prison, and you know it. At heart, Ramiro, you're not such a prick."

  "What do I say, that Ernesto Pedrosa's grandson asked me to do it?"

  "I don't care what you tell them. You have the power. Garcia is gone."

  "Mother of God." Ramiro lifted his hands. "You want Leiva? Take him. But not this kid."

  "Mario Cabrera was used. He's innocent of everything but stupidity."

  "Innocent? Ha! Now you're the one making jokes. Who brought a gun into my house? My house? Who threatened my wife and my family? I nearly pissed myself He will be punished for this!"

  He meant it, and Anthony could see that neither a plea for mercy nor a rational argument was going to make any difference. His voice rose to match Ramiro's. "I think Céspedes was probably right. What if I tell them that? Navarro and the Intelligence Committee should know that you and Garcia were working together, and you had orders from the top."

  Slowly Ramiro shook his head. "You would not tell a lie that big. You know the consequences."

  "Absolutely. Picture this: an Abrams tank parked on the Plaza of the Revolution, firing rounds into Che's face."

  "I don't believe you," Ramiro said.

  "This regime should have fallen at the Bay of Pigs."

  "Oh? When the Americans come, they can liberate José Leiva, because I am not going to do it!"

  Anthony looked at Ramiro for another few seconds, then pushed past him, went out the door, crossed under the portico. He heard Ramiro behind him screaming, "Where are you going?"

  In the kitchen, the kids sat at the table with sandwiches. Irene turned around from the stove. Still speaking Spanish, Anthony said, "Danny, Angela. Go pack your suitcases. We are leaving. Irene, you too. Where is Gail, still upstairs?"

  He could feel their eyes on him as he went out of the kitchen. Marta was cleaning up the pieces of glass in the dining room, tossing mirror shards into a bucket. She had put on slacks and a shirt, but her hair was still standing out as though she had been tearing it. Behind him, Ramiro shouted, "Marta! Forget what I said. We're staying in Cuba."

  "You told me already," she said. "What is the matter with you?" She yelled at the kids to go back to the kitchen and finish their dinner.

  "It's your brother who is leaving," Ramiro said. "What a fool I was, opening my house to him, year after year." On the stairs he shouted, "AH right! You can have José Leiva."

  Anthony said over his shoulder, "Mario goes with him."

  "Mario Cabrera is an assassin!"

  The bedroom door opened as Anthony lifted his hand to knock. Gail glanced past him at Ramiro, then said, "What is all this?" Beyond her, on the bed, Karen looked over her knees. She was sitting against a pillow, playing games on her PDA.

  Anthony pulled Gail out of the bedroom and shut the door. "We're going to a hotel tonight, and in the morning we're going back to Miami. I want you to start packing our things."

  Ramiro cupped his hand and yelled down the stairs, "Marta, ¡Se va tu hermano. Despídete de él!" Telling Marta to say good-bye, because her brother was going now.

  Anthony wanted to put his foot between Ramiro's shoulder blades and push.

  Gail said, "Anthony, what happened?"

  "He says he's going to turn Mario over to the police." Anthony walked to the stairs. "Ramiro, what do you want me to do? Beg on my knees? He's no threat to you. To anyone."

  "No threat? You saw what he did!"

  Marta was running up the steps, her open-back shoes slapping on the stone. "Why is everyone shouting?"

  Gail moved around Anthony and took Ramiro's arm. "Come here. Please." He didn't move, and she lowered her voice. "You can't."

  "Why not? He tried to kill me."

  "He's Anthony's son. Mario is his son.”

  "What?" Anthony said.

  Marta slowly came up the last step.

  Gail closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were focused on Anthony. "I'm sorry. Yolanda told me. When I went to pick up your father. She and I talked and ... she told me. Ramiro, you have to let Mario go."

  Anthony put a hand out to steady himself on the wall.

  The flush of dark red still colored Ramiro's cheeks. He said, "Is this true?"

  Unable to think what to say, Anthony continued staring at Gail.

  She touched his arm. "Oh, honey, I never meant to tell you, not like this. I promised Yolanda I wouldn't say anything. She wanted to choose the right time herself."

  Ramiro said, "Mentira."

  "I'm not lying to you. When Anthony first came back to Cuba twenty years ago—"

  "Ay, Dios." Anthony clutched his head.

  Gail said, "Ramiro, please. You can't have Mario arrested. They'll put him in front of a wall and shoot him. He's part of your family. Your blood."

  "Not my blood!"

  "Your children's."

  "I don't care!"

  Marta laughed. "Oh, my God. This is so funny. My nephew." She put her hands over her face and slid down the wall laughing. "¡Qué cómico!"

  Ramiro looked fiercely at Anthony. "All right. I give him to you. Get him out of my house. Get him out of my country! He is never coming back here. Never. ¿Comprendes?"

  "What about José Leiva?"

  "Yes. Take him too. Take them all."

  "When will you arrange it with the police?"

  "Ahora mismo." He continued speaking as he went down the stairs, and his words echoed on the hard surfaces below.

  Marta fell over on the rug laughing. She muffled her laughter in her hands, and her shoulders shook.

  Gail looked down at her, then asked Anthony what Ramiro had said.

  "That he's going to call the police right now. He doesn't want to go to sleep tonight with Cobo's body hanging in the garage." Anthony knelt on one knee. "Marta."

  She wiped her face on her sleeve, sighed, and looked up at him. Her brows were penciled the same bronze as her hair, and in the last few years, the delicate skin around her eyes had crinkled like tissue paper. He saw his own nearly black irises in hers. She touched his face. "Anthony. It's true. That boy is yours. I thought of this myself already, but I never mentioned it. I didn't want to believe it, but I would see him and think ... maybe." She held out an arm. "Help me get up."

  Feeling more than a little off-balance, Anthony pulled his sister to her feet. He said quietly, "Gail, I'd prefer it if you told me you invented this story."

  She shook her head.

  "Why did Yolanda hide it from me?"

  "It was easier. You were married. She wasn't permitted to leave Cuba. Then she met José. There were reasons. Someday she'll talk to Mario. She wants it to be his decision, whether to contact you or not."

  "That's how to handle it," Marta said. "It's the right thing." She took Gail's hands. "My sister." She embraced her, holding her tightly. "I have so much in my heart to tell you, and now it's too late. It will be a long time b
efore I see you again. Maybe never, the way things are."

  "Things will change," Gail said.

  "Si Dios quiere." Marta put her hands on Anthony's shoulders. "Let me look at you. Think of me often, and know that I am thinking of you. The children will grow up not knowing each other. We have to stay in touch for them, if not for us. I want you to call us every week. We can trade our pictures by the Internet, eh? If I don't hear from you, I will be very mad."

  "Marta, you can come for a visit. It's not that hard. A little paperwork."

  "I don't know. The wife of a general. Maybe." She laughed. "Tell abuelo not to die yet. Wouldn't that be a shock, to see me walk into their house?" She patted his cheek, turned, and went down the stairs, curving out of sight.

  Anthony leaned against the wall. He felt that his legs might give way.

  Gail came over and put her head on his shoulder. He brushed her hair back to kiss her cheek, and his lips remained there. "I am his father? My head is spinning from this. What should I do? Should I talk to Yolanda? It's not right to have withheld the truth. She should have told me. I was always fond of Mario. Now I think of the years we've missed."

  "You should wait," Gail said. "Let things settle a bit, don't you think?"

  "So I will do nothing. It's not something I do very well. I should talk to her, not now, but soon. You don't mind, do you?"

  "I don't mind."

  "If that's what she wants, then ... I'll leave it up to Mario. He can contact me or not, as he wishes. He has a father already. I don't want to disrupt their relationship, but this isn't something that can remain hidden."

  Gail pulled away and looked at him. Lines appeared between her brows. "Listen, if the police are coming soon, you need to move Mario out of here."

  "I think he's already gone."

  "Where?"

  "I'm not sure. A safe house somewhere in Havana. Hector took him when Ramiro and I came inside."

  "How do you know this?"

  "I gave Hector the car keys."

  "Knowing he would take Mario."