“In the meantime,” Ray said. “We made a list of things we need you and Nina to go pick up for us.”
He held up a smudged piece of paper with several items listed.
“Oh sure, we’ll just go to the local Sporty’s Pilot Shop.”
“My nephew, Ramón, he is very good at obtaining hard to find items,” Luz said.
“That’s because he’s a thief,” Nina said.
Luz flinched and resumed his verbal and full body gyrations. Nina flung her wrists toward him, snatched the list out of Ray’s hand, and walked out toward the front of the building without looking back. Luz lifted his shoulders and gave me a what’s-the-problem look.
With no idea, I followed after Nina and wondered what I was about to step in next.
40
We started out on foot, then hopped aboard a strange, hump-backed bus Nina called “the camel.” She wouldn’t explain what had her upset until we were seated.
“Do you know any languages besides English?” Nina said.
“I can get by on French, but just barely,” I said. “Why?”
“Act French, or Canadian. Just not American.”
“Any reason beyond the obvious?”
“My cousin Ramón can’t be trusted. I hate him.”
Her anger was as fresh as it had been at Luz’s garage.
“He’s five years younger than me, and when I was seventeen, he suggested I come to Havana to be a jintera!” Her whisper came out as sharply as compressed air in spurts from a narrow pipe. “Do you know what that is? A prostitute! He said he had friends in the tourist business at large hotels and they would take care of me! I was so pretty, I wouldn’t have any problem at all—uggh!”
We got off the bus at a stop ten minutes after getting aboard. Nina said we were at Plaza de Armas, the oldest square in Havana. The sun had begun to peek over urban rooftops, and people were now on the streets in increasing numbers. We turned down a narrow street and walked two blocks until we stood in front of a short stairway that led to a red door. Nina hesitated.
I took her by both shoulders and she refocused her eyes on mine.
“Thank you for doing this, Nina. I’m sorry we dragged you into this mess, and sorry we’re here. I know this’ll be hard for you, and I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it. How much I appreciate it.”
She started to say something, stopped, then her eyes narrowed to a resigned glare of determination. It was the same expression she’d had when we first arrived at the farmhouse.
“Let’s go,” she said.
We entered the red door without a knock and found a stair with several other doors inside. At the top of the second flight of stairs she turned to the first door on the right and knocked three times, hard. It suddenly dawned on me that we hadn’t established a story to explain who I—
The door swung open. The man who answered wore no shirt, offered no greeting, just stood appraising us while I did the same. Ramón was lean and muscular, handsome, his abdomen a classic washboard, his face closed.
He said something in Spanish, with Nina’s name in the midst of it.
He nodded us in.
Nina said something, turned, and held her flat palm up in my face: stop. Just before she shut the door in my face, Ramón locked his eyes on mine for a split second. He looked to be the type who didn’t need more than that to assess a person, or a situation.
The Ramón’s of the world are at home in oppressive environments, the lubricants of weak economies. I hated what this one had tried to make of Nina, but the fact is, it was the Ramón’s I had gravitated to in my pursuit of information, political favors, and strong backs to help line e-Antiquity’s coffers.
They’re never to be trusted, though, since their loyalty goes to the highest bidder. Problem here was, I had nothing left to buy loyalty with, so Ramón would be a loose end. I had no idea why Nina wanted to keep me outside, but I didn’t like it.
The door opened and she walked out, followed closely by Ramón, who now wore a red shirt, buttoned halfway open. His eyes sought mine and he offered a quick rise of his eyebrows, which I returned with a quick nod. He smiled and led us down the steps, then lit a Marlboro as we stepped outside.
“Canadian collector, huh?”
His English had little accent, but I didn’t respond, just held my stare.
“Ramón!” Nina launched a hiss of Spanish.
He pulled out Ray’s list and said, “This will take a couple hours. Wait for me at the café on the square.” Without awaiting a response he spun on his heel and strutted up the street.
“I told him you were a French Canadian collector restoring a rare car,” Nina said. “I didn’t tell him you were American.”
“You didn’t need to. The list was half in English, Ray’s half.”
“Ahh.”
“And I’m a hundred percent gringo, remember?”
The café on the square was half full with customers about to start their day, or at the end of their night. I steered Nina toward a small table in the corner where I sat her with her back toward the street. If Ramón was more chickenshit than greedy, he’d send his local PNR contact our way, first thing. But my gut said he smelled a bigger score by helping his uncle Luz and cousin Nina’s mysterious friend.
Once that was done, we’d see how Ramón played the game.
41
It took a full two hours before Ramón showed up at the café, and during the interim, Nina and I shared stories. She was surprised at how quickly I’d built a financial empire, but less surprised that e-Antiquity fell apart even faster. What astonished her, though, was my saying I had no interest in reacquiring wealth.
“Afraid you can’t repeat the success?” she said. “Embarrassed at the doubt and insults that might dog you?”
Her grin made me wonder if she had a cruel streak, or was just trying to lighten the mood. “Hate to sound un-American, but having more money than I knew what to do with didn’t make me happy. What about you?” I said.
“I’m a respected Vaquera at one of the most important farms in Cuba. My focus is on production.” Her eyes got glossy. “And this year we expect the crop yield to—”
“Nina, really?” Her answer made me feel like an inspector from the Department of Agriculture getting a report on crop production. “Do you ever let your guard down? Ambition’s a lonely existence, but success can be even worse. Trust me.”
The interruption pushed her back in the chair. It took thirty seconds before she began to blink, then a few tears leaked.
I took one of her hands in both of mine.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive, it’s just—life’s meant to be enjoyed, to be lived. Not alone amidst tobacco plants that come and go a few times each year—”
She brushed the tear away with her free hand. “This from the man who fled from his failures to a remote Floridian island?” She pulled her hand out of mine.
Ramón walked into the café. “Mission accomplished,” he said.
“You found everything?” I said.
He smiled. No, he smirked.
“Great, can we carry it back on the camel to, ah, my garage?”
“Hah! Funny Canadian collector. And if these items are for a car, then it’s like no car I’ve ever seen.”
“Ramón!” Nina said. “Stop this—”
“Where is everything?” I said.
“In my car. Good thing it’s a convertible, because it’s full.”
His car wasn’t just any car, but a 1959 Cadillac convertible in mint condition. And it was packed with boxes. Ramón’s status as an amateur scammer vaulted up several levels, which caused a tingle in my fingers.
He might be trouble yet.
“I had the aviation fuel sent to Tio Luz’ garage,” he said.
“Tio Luz?” Nina said.
He turned to look at her for the first time since he’d returned. His expression was totally blank. “The list was written on the same paper Tio Luz sends me to find him t
hings, I don’t know, maybe five times a week.”
We all fit on the front bench seat, but Nina had to sit on my lap because there was a bag with several bottles in the middle. I noticed the caps peering out from the plastic.
“Havana Club rum?” I said.
Ramon pulled the list from his shirt pocket and pointed to the last item. It was in Ray’s scrawl.
Good grief.
We lurched forward and my face was pressed into Nina’s mane of hair. The smell of fruit had faded, diluted by her oils and the dust from the day’s travel. It tickled my nose but I didn’t want to push it away. I turned my head to the side to watch the city pass by. Ramón’s car received a lot of attention, from envious turistas and even more envious Cubans. His high profile was more cause for concern, since that level of distinction came with complications, like officials he needed to keep greased.
I didn’t want our little band of misfits to be the grease.
42
Once the materials were unloaded back at the garage, we gave Ramón all the cash we had left. He said the cost was $700, but we only had $475. I offered to mail him a check, but he didn’t laugh. For him to walk away angry was the last thing I—
“I’ll take your coin necklace to cover the difference,” he said.
“Ramón!” Nina’s face flushed.
I felt the Spanish piece of eight hanging in front of my shirt. It was my last trinket from the e-Antiquity days, one I’d found on a three-hundred-and-fifty-year-old wreck off Cartagena, Colombia.
His extended hand didn’t tremble in the least. With no leverage, what choice did I have? I unclasped the gold chain and dropped it in his open palm, which clamped shut like a mousetrap. Ramón never smiled, said thank you, nice doing business with you, or fuck off, he just said something in Spanish to Luz as he walked out.
“I’m sorry, Buck. I told you about Ramón,” Nina said.
First Betty, now my necklace. I’d been stripped clean. Ray, of course, was like a kid on Christmas morning. He checked each box, read labels, smiled big, and hummed California Girls.
The Beast’s engine was pulled apart, its entrails spread out across a large table. It was the scene of an autopsy.
“So, what’s the diagnosis?” I said.
Ray didn’t answer, but Luz flung a loose wrist at the table.
“Piece of cupcake.”
“One of the pushrods had shattered on impact,” Ray said. “It scored a couple of the pistons, but Luz has everything we needed.” He paused, and then broke into song. “‘Well East Coast girls are hip, I really dig those styles they wear, and the northern girls—’”
“Enough with the freaking Beach Boys already! Are you guys going to fix this thing, or what?”
“Was there ever any doubt?” Ray tipped his head toward Luz. “With the equivalent of Luz and Clark here, exploring new mechanical territories, using unheard of methods—”
“More like Laurel and Hardy.” I held up a palm. “It looks like a scrap yard, so let’s pick up the pace and put this bucket of bolts back together. Havana’s not my favorite hang-out spot.”
IN THE END, THEY used a belt and pulley to spin the motor, and there was no sound of scraping or signs of friction. The plugs had been cleaned, the cylinders were lubricated, and we had a truck bed full of fluids, fuel, and loose parts to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. All well and good, but …
Had Señor Maceo given the fishermen the map of the sunken U-boat?
Had Gutierrez broken one of them, or one of their wives or children?
What trouble had Gunner stirred up?
Was the farm now a trap?
I swallowed these thoughts like foul-tasting medicine. Why couldn’t I ever just enjoy something good, like getting the Beast’s engine rebuilt, without worrying about the next thing that could go wrong?
I waited in the truck with Nina while Ray said goodbye to Luz, his new soul mate, mechanical guru, and friend. When he got in the truck he was smiling and chuckling to himself.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Nina, but can we trust your uncle?” I said. “I mean we couldn’t even pay him anything for all his work.”
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Tio Luz would never do anything to hurt me or Papi.”
“Ahh, Buck?” Ray said.
“Because you said we couldn’t trust Ramón,” I said.
“Ramón is different.” Nina’s voice was a whisper.
“Buck?”
“What, Ray?”
“I kind of promised something to Luz.”
I twisted over to look him in the face. “And what’s that, Ray?”
“A Meineke franchise. You know, brakes and all that.”
“And how—”
“Not until the country opens up, but hey, for all he did for us, that’s cheap.”
I inhaled a deep breath. Nina was actually giggling. “He won’t forget, I can promise you that,” she said.
Darkness provided the cover we needed to sneak out of town with our heap of cargo in the truck bed. We’d been on the go for days with little sleep, and I was out before we were out of town. I had no idea how long I’d slept until a sudden jolt launched me into the dashboard.
“What’s the matter? Where—”
When I sat up, I saw that a dead horse blocked the road.
“What the heck’s that?” Ray said.
“Horse. Let’s see what we can do.”
The banks on each side of the narrow road were too steep to drive around. The horse lay sideways, blocking the entire road.
“Grab its feet and—”
“Stop right there!” a voice shouted in English.
Two young men in uniform stepped out from behind dark bushes, one on either side of the road, both holding rifles trained on us. Why? How did they know we spoke—
“Put your hands in the air,” one said. His accent was heavy.
The dead horse? It was an ambush.
Nina came out of the truck and started asking questions, but one of the men yelled at her in English.
“What is in the truck?”
“Tobacco,” Nina said.
“And why is it that you bring tobacco from Havana back into the growing region?”
“It was being tested for quality. Cohiba is planning a new special reserve cigar.”
The two men waved the barrels of their guns toward us and motioned toward the back of the truck. One of them lifted some of the tobacco and smelled it. He then dug his arm deeper in the bed, feeling one of the huge lumps in the middle.
“What’s this?” he said.
The other guard, who had come to the same side of the truck, reached in and rapped on what by the sound of it was one of the fuel cans. They exchanged words, and then the first guard leaned his gun against the truck’s front quarter panel and started to climb over the side of the bed.
I had to do—I leapt toward the guard with his gun trained toward us who was looking at his fellow PNR in the truck bed. He lifted his gun, but I was already on him. We smashed against the truck—which caused him to drop his weapon—then hit the ground hard with me on top. I could feel the wind burst out of his lungs.
A shout of Spanish followed as the other guard dove from the bed on top of me. Ray stood frozen, but Nina jumped for the rifle. The first guard tried to catch his breath while the other one worked his arm around my neck from behind.
I was hunched over with the man on top of me. I thrust my legs backward, pressing him into the truck, but he didn’t let go.
“Stop, or I’ll shoot!” Ray said.
The man’s grip held, so I slammed backwards again into the truck and he slid to my side. He still had hold of my neck, but he’d lost his leverage. I dropped my left leg, spun in that direction, and shoved him up and off me. He landed on his feet, spun on his heel, and dove for his fallen comrade’s rifle.
Ray jumped forward with the gun just as the man bent down to grab the rifle. He hesitated, his eyes on Ray, and I kicked him ha
rd in the stomach, which sent him backwards to land with a thud on the ground.
“Ay, mi madre,” Nina said.
“Tell them to stay on the ground and have them put their backs against the truck, okay?” I said.
She told them and they obeyed, both breathing hard. I took the gun from Ray.
“Find something to tie them up with,” I said.
“What are we going to do?” Nina said.
My eyes were fully adjusted to the darkness now, and I could see a vehicle down the road, parked on the side.
“Turn the truck off and kill the lights,” I said.
Ray brought some of the rope we’d used to secure the contents in the truck bed. I motioned upward with the rifle and the men stood, but when I urged them down the hill into the ravine they just looked at each other, no doubt wondering whether this crazy American planned to execute them. I smashed the one who didn’t speak English in the belly with the gun butt and he doubled over.
“Okay, we go,” the other said.
Once at the bottom, we sat them back-to-back, bound their legs, and then tied their arms and torsos together. I removed their shoes and socks and stuffed the socks in their mouths. They struggled some, until I held the rifle butt toward one of their faces as if I’d smash that next.
“What are we going to do?” Ray said when we were back up at the road.
I took the rifle and said, “Wait here a few minutes, I’ll be right back.”
I kept my eye on the vehicle I’d seen, and indeed, it was a police car. In front of it was another vehicle, one I wasn’t surprised to see. I crept close to the front car, whose driver was looking out his window. I stayed low, closed the distance, and pulled the passenger door open.
Ramón jumped at the sight of me with the rifle pointed in his face. He started to turn the key in the ignition.
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