He’d seen her several times in the past with Marta. The two were obviously close. She wasn't pretty like Marta, but rather plain, and Antonio had no interest in her whatsoever.
"What can I do for you?"
"I came here to tell you something, Patrón," she said, her close-set eyes staring down at her rather large feet.
"Yes?" Antonio asked, amused that such a silly looking girl might have the courage to approach him.
"I'm not sure how to tell you this, but I don't feel right keeping it from you."
“What is it? I am tired.”
"Marta has given birth to your son."
Antonio stared at the young woman for several seconds. She did not look at him. “What?” He finally said, his voice raised as a nervous and angry energy turned his blood cold. “Is this some joke? I will have you fired for this. You imbecile!”
Josefina shoved a fistful of letters into his palm, then abruptly disappeared, leaving Antonio startled and confused.
Antonio sat down at the desk and read the half-dozen letters Marta had sent to Josefina. They expressed her deep love for Antonio, and the powerful effect his betrayal had had upon her. The letters clearly described the details of Marta’s experience crossing the border, and how she blamed Antonio for all her hardships. It was obvious that she never wanted to see Antonio again.
He was impressed with her perseverance. He never would have imagined that Marta had the nerve to go alone to the United States. And when she mentioned how much she missed Mexico, his stomach sank, knowing he was responsible for her leaving. If only he had been honest with her from the start, she never would have had to go through so much pain.
He’d had no idea what a strong and determined young woman she was and he felt a renewed yearning for her, a desire to go to her and comfort her for all that she’d endured.
His eyes raced across the words of Marta’s last letter in which she described her pregnancy and her newborn son. Josefina told him the truth. He sat stunned. He had a son? He had a son. The reality came over him, lifting away lies and tucked away emotions. Anguished, he cried out, frightened at the sound of the pain in his voice. He couldn't believe he had a son. The son he’d always longed for finally existed. Bittersweet tears stung his eyes as he dropped his head into his palms and sobbed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The diesel fumes from the chartered plane gave Antonio an intense headache. As a remedy, he drank a few measures of Scotch before takeoff. Once under way, he felt the calming effect of the alcohol, and he let his mind focus on the problems he’d been trying to avoid. However, no matter how hard he tried, he could not get over the fact that somewhere in this world, he had a son--a son he longed for but could not rationalize claiming as his.
The last few weeks with Javier had been horrendous. Cynthia's death had taken a severe toll on him, and the fact that he’d insisted on staying up throughout night after night with the baby made matters worse. There were now dark shadows under his eyes; eyes, which, at one time, were vibrant and alive, now contained an unbearable sadness in them, aging Javier beyond his years. Yet, Antonio couldn't help but admire him. The devotion he had shown his daughter was nothing short of miraculous. Antonio realized that the infant filled the void Javier felt so deeply. Antonio could understand this because he himself felt such a void. He wondered what his son looked like, how he was faring. He’d obtained the address where he and Marta were living through the labels on the envelopes. Many times in the two weeks since he’d discovered that he had a son, he longed to fly to Los Angeles and visit them, if only to hold his son. But he knew that the love he still felt for Marta, compounded by the birth of their son, could lead him so far astray, that he might never return to his family. He could not bring himself to carry out such a cruel injustice. His wife was a good woman and he loved her and their daughters.
So, he buried himself in his work. Javier's interest in their business and his own politics waned in such a short amount of time that Antonio had witnessed their operations slipping. At the behest of Javier, he’d taken over the production of heroin in their jungle factory, managing all phases of that portion of the business.
Heroin was such a strange drug. Why in the name of Jesus would people want to stick themselves with a needle, and inject foreign venom into their bodies? Crazy. Nonetheless, the Mexican Mud produced quite a substantial amount of cash, and profits were growing larger by the day. If the pinche gringos wanted to get high off the brown poison, it was surely none of his business, as long as the cash kept rolling in.
The struggle for power between the Mexican and Italian families was growing fiercer, and now Simon Levine had summoned Antonio and Javier, insisting that he was no longer willing to wait. Antonio was able to postpone the meeting for a few weeks, in the hopes that Javier would rid himself of his grief. The last thing Antonio needed was a bereaved widower on his hands.
Antonio arrived in the Bahamas and slid into the back of a limousine, which delivered him to the entrance of a lavish hotel, where Levine’s driver informed him that Señor Rodriguez had already arrived. Antonio shuddered when the man also mentioned sarcastically what a cute baby Señor Rodriguez had brought with him. Antonio could see the man’s white teeth glow against his coal-black skin as he flashed a mocking smile.
The massive hotel spanned a good portion of the picturesque beach overlooking a pale turquoise sea. Once inside, guests were dazzled by dozens of slot machines, flashing and glittering. Hundreds of American tourists, zinc oxide spread over their noses, poured money into the machines, passion-fruit drinks in their hands. The Bahamas had become all the rage since Castro had taken Cuba away from the Mafioso, but Antonio was a bit shocked. He hadn't realized the extent of its success. There was evidence all around that this city was fast becoming a haven for the wealthy and the high-stake gamblers alike.
A courteous gentleman from the front desk escorted Antonio to the Presidential Suite. "Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?”
"Yes." A mirrored ceiling reflected an enormous round bed covered in black velvet. There was a built-in hot tub in the center of the room.
"Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Espinoza?" the man asked.
"No, I think that will be all," Antonio replied, tipping him.
"Thank you, sir. Mr. Levine will see you and Mr. Rodriguez in the private dining room at seven. Is that time suitable to you?”
Antonio nodded, hoping that Javier had hired a nanny by this time. Calling the desk, he was put through to Javier's room.
Javier’s tired voice answered the phone. "Hello?"
"What do you think you're doing, bringing Isabella down here while we’re about to deal with Simon Levine? Where in hell did you leave your senses?"
"Leave my daughter out of this. She goes with me no matter what, no matter where. I brought a nurse along to be with her when I can't. She is my daughter, my responsibility. I expect you to understand that. And if you and the hardball playing Jew don’t like it, then you can both go fuck yourselves."
Antonio was taken aback by the vehemence of Javier's outburst. Never in his life had he been spoken to like that—and certainly not by Javier. For a moment, Antonio wanted to shake some sense into his head. Instead of retorting, he calmed down and replied, "Fine. Be in the dining room at seven—alone." Antonio hung up the phone with a newfound respect for his partner and friend.
*****
Simon Levine was a small man, but his mere presence commanded respect. Although his gnarled features and razor-thin body gave him the appearance of fragility, his gravelly voice boomed when he spoke, causing all within his range to stop what they were doing and pay attention. Antonio couldn't guess his age, perhaps sixty, maybe even seventy. His salt and pepper gray hair receded behind his ears, with only a marginal tuft left at the very center. His narrow eyes didn't reveal much—a skill that Antonio figured Levine had learned from years of experience in this dangerous business. He offered his hand to Antonio, who found to his surprise that the man
’s seeming weakness was only a facade. The stoop shouldered man had a strong grip.
"Please sit down, gentlemen." Levine motioned to the table inside the elaborate dining room, aglow with candlelight. "I'm pleased you could both make it here. I hope your flights were pleasant and that everything is to your liking.” He poured each of them a glass of expensive French wine. "This is my finest," he said, taking a sip and sending the waiter away with a flip of the hand.
Antonio glanced over at Javier, who hadn't cracked a smile and obviously wasn't in the mood for congeniality. Antonio nudged him with his knee underneath the table, and Javier brought himself to the proceedings with reluctance. He smiled on cue and drank his wine. The formalities dispensed with, Antonio viewed this as an appropriate time to approach the subject of their presence there.
"Mr. Levine, you did not ask us here to drink your wine and to lounge in the luxury of your hotel."
"Call me Simon, as I will surely call you Antonio. You are right. I have not called you here for these things. However, I do enjoy seeing to your comfort, and I want you to feel free to ask for whatever you like while you are here in the Bahamas. Do so at my expense, please." He smiled at Antonio and Javier, flashing the brilliance of a gold cap on one tooth. "Allow me to explain to you why I have invited you here. I think I can do as much for you gentlemen as you can for me. You've been running illegal immigrants through here for years now, as many other families from Mexico have. But I like the way you do it. You’re honest. You give your people, no matter how simple, what they pay for—a one-way trip to Miami. Many of the other families aren’t nearly as fastidious. They steal their clients’ money, leaving me with a heap of uneducated foreigners I don’t want hanging around my doorstep. You understand?"
Antonio and Javier both nodded.
"Therefore, I'd like to make you a few propositions that should increase your business ten-fold. The first is, we make a deal. I allow only your organization to transport your people up here. In return, I see to it they get to the States. Together we shut down all the other organizations. Voilá, you and yours monopolize the trade, my friends."
"And what do you want out of this?" Antonio asked.
"Smart man," Levine replied, shaking a finger at him. "I want a mere five percent off the top, nothing more, nothing less."
"And how do we know you don't set this up with all the others?"
"As I said, I like the way you gentlemen do business. I'm not in the game to fuck anybody over. If I can find a couple of honest partners who feel the same way, then why do I need anyone else?"
"How do we get rid of the others?"
"Force. If they don't back out peacefully, we use a little force. Nothing commands more respect than a well-placed threat. Wouldn't you agree?"
“I like it, Antonio. I think we should see how it goes. Besides, we can still run them through Mexico into San Diego,” Javier said.
"Javier is right,’ Simon said. “I don't need any part of that. I'm only talking about the Colombians, Brazilians, those people wanting to go to Miami."
Antonio nodded his head in agreement. The words of the deal sounded good, but he still wasn't sure he trusted Levine. The man had been in bed with the Italians and he wondered if they weren’t indirectly behind this idea. And he didn't like the idea of sharing money with anyone. But if it would help flush out some of the competing organizations back home, it would be well worth it.
"You mentioned something about more business?" Antonio asked, intrigued by Levine's offer.
"Yes, but first we feast. A man cannot think on an empty stomach. Eat, my new compadres. Isn't that the word you use?" Levine snapped his fingers.
Three waiters appeared, setting down trays of food. Antonio's mouth watered as he realized he hadn't eaten anything all day. Letting down some of his defenses, he decided old Levine might not be so bad to do business with, after all.
He and Javier filled themselves on the dishes before them, downing medallions of beef in a Bordeaux sauce, sautéed vegetables, garlic potatoes, and cheesecake dripping with raspberry glaze. By the time the meal was finished, Antonio patted his stomach and loosened his belt.
He noticed Javier’s demeanor had changed drastically, seeming to relax for the first time in weeks. Antonio smiled at the sight of the familiar twinkle in Javier's eyes.
After the feast and the table were cleared, the men shared cognac, while three gorgeous native women, clad in nothing but chiffon skirts, danced for them. After a few dances, Levine ordered the women away and got down to business.
"I want to help you organize. I know you dabble in marijuana and heroin, but I think I can see to it that your dabbling turns into a lot more. Enough to profit all of us greatly all the way around.”
Antonio leaned in, curious as to what offer Levine would present. He motioned for him to continue.
“You are esteemed men in your countries—respected, good businessmen. Politicians.” He eyed Javier. “Would you be interested in setting up plans with me to run the drugs in a much larger volume through the Bahamas, and then into the States? Then you could put the money back into my investments here, such as the casinos and hotels, and we launder the money clean."
"It sounds like an expensive venture to me. I don't know if we have that kind of cash ready to invest," Javier commented.
"Not a problem," Levine replied, holding up his hands. "I'll loan you the initial investment, with a small interest applied on the payback, of course."
"How does this benefit you?" Antonio asked, wondering again if Levine could be trusted. “Other than the interest on a loan that I’m not certain we would need anyway.”
"Your investment in my casinos for one thing, and I want a thirty percent cut as well."
"Thirty? You can’t be serious?" Antonio said. "Why in God's name do you think you should take a thirty percent cut of our business? We're the ones taking all the risk. You want us to move the drugs and all you do is take our investments, accepting it into your casinos? That sounds like bull-shit deal for us, if you ask me."
"I didn't mean to offend you, Tony. Please, let's all relax, and see if we can't make a deal which suits us both," Levine remarked in a cool, even tone. “I certainly don't want to screw you," Levine replied, wiping a trace of sweat from his upper lip.
"I take my business very personally." Antonio crossed his arms and leaned back.
"In this business, that can either be a great asset or a serious detriment. It all depends on how you want to play the game. I'm counting on your playing of the game so both of us can participate and come out as winners."
"There's no way in hell I'm going to offer you thirty percent of my business. I'd be willing to go ten."
"Ah, come on, let's be fair here. I may not be taking the same amount of risk as you, but I am putting my business and myself on the line. I'm willing to offer you a substantial amount of cash to set up a big operation, plus give you an exclusive to use my paradise here for you to process your business ventures through. Ten is too low for me."
"Twelve."
"Nah, still too low." He shook his head, a sly smile on his face.
Antonio sighed and a silence fell across the table. He eyed Levine. "I'll go as high as fifteen and that's it. You're still getting cash off the top of the immigrants we run through. As far as I can see, I'm offering you one hell of a deal.”
"You drive a hard bargain, my friend, but I'm anxious to do business with you." Levine stretched out his hand and, with a handshake, closed the deal. He leaned back in his seat. "I think some good ground rules have been laid here this evening. Now I would take great pleasure if you would both partake in having another cognac and sharing some fine Havana cigars with me, given to me by none other than Batista himself. This was before Castro got his grubby hands on that unfortunate country. I tell you, the fucking wops are still having a hard time getting over that one. They want Castro so bad, they can taste it.”
Levine handed out the fine cigars, and as they sat puffing on them,
Antonio hoped the deals he was making with the Jew would not be the cause of his own downfall. He was sure that somewhere in those percentages that the Cosa Nostra would be getting a take. First things first. If they could get rid of the competing Mexican families life would be easier. He’d later deal with Levine and any of the mafia he needed to.
Once back in his suite, Antonio was able to relax. Levine had put him on edge. No matter how Levine referred to the Italians, Antonio knew the old man had an affinity for them. He admired them. If there was one group of people Antonio didn't want to work for or with, it was them. They were sneaky, not to be trusted. The only honor they recognized was within their families. They were too well known for causing wars, and Antonio had no desire to be a part of that.
The meeting had done one thing for him, and that was to take his mind off Marta and his son, Alejandro. What a good and powerful name, he mused in his near drunken state. The cognac the men shared together after dinner eased through his body, warming him.
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