Black Horizon

by James Grippando

  “I can’t disagree with that,” said Jack.

  “Everything you just agreed with is on Josefina’s need-to-know list.”

  “Curiosity isn’t reason enough for her to help us.”

  “It isn’t curiosity, dude. It’s love.”

  “Shut up. Josefina is not in love with you.”

  “Not me. Rafael.”

  “Now you’re just making things up. Their engagement was a sham.”

  “Says her,” said Theo. “But it doesn’t add up. She told us that she was willing to pretend to be Rafael’s wife, but she was afraid to pass on his love letters to Bianca. Bullshit. It’s not that risky to send a few letters to Miami. Josefina wasn’t worried about saving her own ass from the big bad Cuban government.”

  “Then what was it?”

  Theo smiled, but it was mostly out of disbelief. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Look, this is the situation. I got no doubt that Rafael was just pretending to be engaged. But Josefina? Nope. Not pretending. Or at least she wished it wasn’t pretend. That girl was in love with Rafael. Probably has been since high school. That’s why she didn’t pass on his letters to his wife.”

  “How do you come up with that?”

  “I’m a bartender, dude. Got myself an honorary degree in pop psychology and screwed-up relationships. These things I know.”

  Jack paused, but not because he thought Theo was off base. “Your theory actually makes some sense.”

  “Yes, it does,” said Theo. “And when you spell it out for Josefina, she is going to help us.”

  “When I spell it out?”

  “You’re Bianca’s lawyer, dude. Not me.”

  “That I am,” said Jack. “That I am.”

  Chapter 21

  Think whatever you want to think,” said Josefina.

  Jack heard a denial without heart, which spoke volumes about Josefina’s feelings for Rafael. Or maybe it meant nothing. Jack drew his own conclusion: Theo had nailed it; Josefina had found love on a one-way street.

  Right or wrong, Jack had her cooperation.

  “I know a place you can stay,” said Josefina. “Two days, no more. No one will find you.”

  The neighborhood behind La Escuela de Boxeo was mostly government buildings, all closed for the weekend. Burned-out bulbs made the streetlamps useless, and there was not even a porch light or glowing residential window to brighten the deserted streets. Overcast skies made the night even blacker. Josefina led the way with Theo at her side. The sidewalk was just wide enough for two abreast, but they were off the curb and walking in the street anyway.

  “Stay off the sidewalk,” she told Jack. “Buildings are really bad on this street. Last week a poor old man ended up in the hospital when a chunk fell off and landed on his head.”

  Jack minded the warning, careful not to fall into the gaping holes in the pavement. The shallow ones were ankle deep; the only “pot” these holes brought to Jack’s mind was on a soup-kitchen order of magnitude. After a nine-block walk, they reached a more lively area, a mixture of the local bar scene and century-old apartment buildings. Jack had no map, but the smug bourgeois mansion blocks left him guessing that they were near the University of Havana, where the Paris École des Beaux-Arts was once the major influence on the prized school of architecture. It required serious imagination to see the mansions in their original glory, as most had transformed into overcrowded apartment buildings, too many families in too little space.

  Josefina led them up an outdoor staircase to a second-story apartment. The staircase and the door were a post-revolution addition—an ad hoc point of access to what had once been an upstairs bedroom in a nineteenth-century estate. She stopped outside the door to give Jack and Theo a little more information.

  “My friend Vivien lives here.”

  “Alone?” asked Jack.

  Josefina shot him a “stupid question” expression. “With her mother, two aunts, and five cousins. But lucky for you they are all in Cienfuegos for a wedding this weekend.”

  Josefina retrieved a key from beneath a clay pot beside the door, but before she could insert it in the lock, the door opened.

  “Vivien?” she said, obviously startled to see her friend.

  Josefina stepped inside, leaving Jack and Theo on the other side of the threshold, but the door was open as the women spoke to each other in Spanish. Jack caught most of it. Vivien’s family was in Cienfuegos, but Vivien wasn’t traveling until Saturday morning. The upshot was that Jack and Theo were invited inside, but Josefina needed to stay until the Americans proved their trustworthiness. It was far from clear that Jack and Theo had a place to stay for the night.

  Theo turned away from the doorway so that the women wouldn’t overhear him. “Jackpot,” he whispered, eyebrows dancing. He was obviously referring to the fact that Josefina’s friend was as hot as she was.

  Jack stepped closer, his tone stern. “First of all, you are with a married man. Second of all—”

  “You can come in,” said Josefina, interrupting. “But be gentlemen.”

  “Absolutely,” said Theo, entering. “Tonight we are caballos.”

  “Caballeros, moron,” said Jack. Caballos are horses.”

  Theo kept his voice low so that only Jack could hear. “Hey, if the condom fits . . .”

  “Knock it off,” said Jack. “Right now.”

  Vivien closed the door and offered them a seat on a lumpy couch. Jack inferred from the old wind-up alarm clock on the end table that it also served as someone’s bed. A small lamp on the same table was the only light in the room, and a quick glance around the apartment confirmed that it had once been a single room in a splendid mansion. Makeshift walls of unpainted plywood butted up awkwardly against the original baseboards, crown molding, and coffered ceiling, subdividing a much larger room into smaller spaces, creating the feel of a construction site.

  Vivien pulled up a pair of wooden chairs that didn’t match, one for her and the other for Josefina.

  “Please,” said Jack, offering his spot on the couch.

  “No, gracias,” said Vivien. Her body language made it clear that she wasn’t just being polite. She preferred a seat closer to the door—just in case. The Americans had a ways to go before earning her trust, even if Josefina did vouch for them.

  “Do you speak any English?” asked Jack.

  “Some,” said Vivien.

  “She’s being modest,” said Josefina. “She speaks very well, and she writes it fluently. Vivien is a contributor to Cuba Times.”

  “What is that?” asked Jack.

  “An English-language Internet newspaper about Cuba.”

  “Does it have anything to do with Granma?”

  “Very different from Granma,” said Vivien. “We are not propaganda. We are an independent voice.”

  “The Cuban government is okay with that?”

  “Well, we are only on the Internet. No print.”

  “Then how does the average Cuban read you?”

  “Internet cafés are not just for tourists anymore. Five American dollars an hour is pretty expensive for a Cuban worker, but Havana has at least a dozen public cafés now.”

  “A dozen? In a city of how many million? And of the people who can afford a quarter of their monthly salary for an hour of Internet, how many read English?”

  Vivien shifted uneasily, her tone taking on a tinge of embarrassment, a hint of sincere sadness. “We have very few readers who live in Cuba. I wish that weren’t so, but it is.”

  “Sorry,” said Jack. “I wasn’t suggesting that your work is not important.”

  “It’s okay. Someday it will be different. Maybe soon.”

  “Have you done any stories on the oil spill?”

  “Not me. But Cuba Times, sí.”

  “How about the lawsuit filed by Bianca Lopez against the oil consortium? Has Cuba Times written about that?”

  “Of course.”

  “A
gainst it, I presume?” said Jack.

  Vivien smiled a little. “Typical American.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just told you that Cuba Times is an independent voice. But your question presumes that no one in Cuba ever says what she thinks.”

  “I wasn’t trying to insult you,” said Jack.

  “I’m not insulted. It’s my chance to educate you. Do you know who the biggest critic of Cuba Times is in your country?”

  “No idea,” said Jack.

  “We wrote a story on him. He is a rich old man in Connecticut who owns www.sex_for_pesos.com. He arranges trips for men who want to fly over for a weekend and have cheap sex with Cuban girls.”

  Jack glanced cautiously at Theo, keeping him in check, but the big guy simply shook his head.

  “Not even remotely my style, dude.”

  That was reassuring. “Sounds like good investigative journalism,” said Jack. “But from the Cuban government’s standpoint, my lawsuit against the oil consortium is probably way more offensive than ‘sex for pesos.’ I’m shocked that you’re allowed to report anything about it that isn’t critical, even if Cuba Times is available only in English over the Internet.”

  “It’s not a question of what the government allows,” said Vivien. “The website is hosted out of Nicaragua. When I write I use . . . how do you say, seudónimo?”

  “Pseudonym,” said Josefina, translating.

  “Ah, now I understand,” said Jack.

  Theo rose. “You got anything to drink, Viv?”

  “Vivien,” she said, correcting him. “Not really.”

  “I saw a bar on the way over here. I’ll pick something up.”

  “Theo, we’re in hiding. That’s the whole point of this.”

  “Josefina will come with me. Come on, let’s go kick some Russian ass.”

  Josefina hesitated.

  “Go ahead,” Vivien told her. “I’m enjoying my talk with Mr. Swyteck.”

  It was mutual, so Jack didn’t press the “hiding” point with Theo. “Just be smart, okay?”

  Theo agreed, Josefina assured him that they would be quick, and they left together.

  “Your friend likes Josefina, no?”

  Jack smiled. “Not too subtle, is he?”

  “He’s very good-looking. Who knows?”

  “A bit of a long shot. Geography the least of it. Josefina must be heartbroken about Rafael.”

  Vivien paused, showing some caution. “You understand that I know, right?”

  Jack didn’t know for certain, and he reminded himself that he wasn’t just talking to Josefina’s friend. Vivien was a journalist. “Know what?”

  “It was not a real engagement. Don’t worry. I would never write that.”

  Jack studied her expression.

  “If I was going to write it,” she said, “it would have already been in Cuba Times.”

  That much Jack could believe. He pushed a little deeper. “But even if they weren’t engaged, Josefina must be upset.”

  “Yes, very. Rafael was a good friend.”

  “More than a friend, it seems to me. I get the feeling that Josefina was really in love with him.”

  Vivien made a face. “Josefina and Rafael? In love? Ick. They were like brother and sister. Friends since they were little kids. Grosses me out just to think about anything romantic between them.”

  “So I’m wrong about that?”

  “Totally wrong. That would be like Ross doing it with his sister Monica.”

  The somewhat dated pop-culture reference surprised Jack at first, but Friends and other syndicated American sitcoms were staples of Cuban television. And it made the point.

  But if Josefina wasn’t in love with Rafael, why didn’t she forward his letters to Bianca? It was not a question that Jack felt comfortable asking a reporter for Cuba Times.

  Jack heard footsteps on the outside staircase, and then the door opened.

  “We’re back,” said Theo. He had two six-packs of beer. Josefina was holding a steaming paper bag of food. It smelled like empanadas.

  “Did you two have an interesting talk while we were gone?” asked Josefina.

  Jack glanced at Vivien, then back at Josefina. His question about the letters that Josefina had never forwarded came back to mind, along with the unconvincing denial that he’d gotten from Josefina when he’d tested Theo’s theory about her unrequited romantic interest in Rafael. A firm no would have left him less confused. Or maybe it was Vivien and Friends who had confused him. Or the “independent” Cuba Times.

  Which one of you is trying to mislead me?

  “Yes,” said Jack, locking eyes with Josefina. “Our talk was very interesting.”

  Chapter 22

  The beer was gone by ten o’clock. Jack was tired, Vivien was leaving for Cienfuegos at six a.m., and Josefina needed to be at the boxing gym by seven. Theo was just getting started, his vocal rendition of Woody Herman’s “Sidewalks of Cuba” leaving them in stitches. Theo followed Josefina to the door. “I’ll see you again tomorrow, then?”

  Josefina smiled. “Maybe.”

  The plan was for Vivien to spend the night at Josefina’s apartment. Jack and Theo would stay at Vivien’s, with the understanding that they would be gone no later than Sunday at dark, when the family returned. Fifty dollars cash in advance made the arrangement satisfactory. The ladies said good night, and Theo closed the door.

  “That was a fun night,” said Theo.

  Jack went to the couch, no answer.

  “I say that was fun. Right, Swyteck?”

  Jack still didn’t answer.

  Theo hopped onto the couch beside him. Jack scooted away, creating space.

  “You’re such a tight-ass,” said Theo.

  Jack fidgeted with his shiny new wedding ring. “I was just thinking about Andie. Not exactly the way I planned to spend our honeymoon.”

  “Now, don’t go feeling all guilty for having a beer with a couple of señoritas. For all you know, Andie is out sucking face right now with a twenty-five-year-old hottie as part of her new undercover role.”

  “Thank you, Theo. That makes me feel so much better.”

  “You’re welcome.” Theo stretched his legs out onto the coffee table, hands clasped behind his head. “You know, I really like Josefina.”

  “Too bad, because I can’t imagine someone more geographically undesirable.”

  “I still got tomorrow. And tomorrow night.”

  Jack’s mouth opened, but his words were on a few-second delay. “No, uh-uh. You are not bringing her back here.”

  “She lives with her brother, dude. You gotta give me a shot.”

  “You have no shot.”

  “I think she likes me.”

  “Three hours ago you thought the love of her life was Rafael. According to Vivien, they were more like brother and sister. Your radar is suspect.”

  “Okay, so I misread her feelings about a dead man I’ve never met. I’m rarely wrong about how a chick feels about me.”

  “Then get a hotel room.”

  “That won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “I asked her, just in a kidding-around kind of way when we were out. She laughed, but then, totally serious, she told me it’s illegal. A foreigner can’t book a room with a Cuban national. It’s an anti-prostitution law. If she got caught, Josefina would be labeled a jinetera. Boom. No more boxing team.”

  “Theo, that law hasn’t been on the books since Raúl Castro’s first year in office. She was blowing you off. Anyway, this is not my problem.”

  “Aw, come on, dude. I’m not saying for sure it’s gonna happen, but if it does, just get a hotel room and let us stay here.”

  “We’re in hiding. I’m not going to hunt for a hotel.”

  “There are tons of little places to stay right in this neighborhood.”

  “Forget it.”

  “I’ll even pay for your room.”

  “No. It’s not happening.”
<
br />   Theo swatted him with a sofa cushion. “You shithead. You can’t be with Andie, so you’re busting my balls.”

  “Do you think I’m that petty?”

  “Yeah, it’s a proven fact: a married man feels better about having sex with the same woman for the rest of his life when his single friends aren’t getting any. Only most men don’t actually sabotage their buddies after just one week of marriage.”

  It was a blow too low. From a screwed-up honeymoon to being hunted down by Russian thugs, Jack had reached his limit. And he knew exactly how to deal with his anger.

  “Theo,” he said in a calm but firm voice. “There is absolutely no way on earth that Josefina is going to sleep with you. I guarantee it.”

  “Care to put a little wager on it?”

  “Save your money,” said Jack. “When you and Josefina went out to buy beer, Vivien asked some very pointed questions about you.”

  A look of concern came over Theo. “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her that you were a great guy.”

  “And?”

  “I told her the truth according to Theo Knight: you and I just spent the most wonderful honeymoon together in Key West.”

  Theo’s expression fell. “Say what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Dude, tell me you didn’t really do that.”

  Jack raised his hand, displaying the band of gold. “Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it, Theo?”

  Jack woke in the middle of the night. A sliver of moonlight shone through a crack in the window shade, the only light in the room. The streets outside Vivien’s apartment had finally gone quiet, the neighborhood bars having closed.

  It had taken an hour of tossing and turning on the lumpy couch for Jack to fall asleep. Theo had won the coin toss and got the bedroom. Jack listened in the darkness, but he heard nothing, not even the hum of a refrigerator. He waited for his eyes to adjust, wondering what had woken him.

  A gun barrel against his forehead was his answer.