“Damn right.”
“It’s only obvious.”
“Damn right.”
“Hey, when we finish our work with these birds tonight, what do you say we go to the track and bet the dogs? You said you liked to bet dogs.”
“We’ll have to stop and get Betty first. She gets lonely at the hotel all by herself.”
“You really are pussy-whipped.”
“If you’ve got to be whipped, it’s best to have a pussy do it.”
“Not for me, brother. I say, you keep your wife and kiddies in one place, your pussy in another place, and you do the ass-whipping.”
“We might not be able to make it to the track tonight, if these guys in front of us don’t step on it.”
“They’re headed for Miramar and the swanky Country Club part of town. That’s where these rich birds go. They’re like goddamn homing pigeons.”
“What if they end up at one of their homes? What then?”
“Then everything has to be done faster. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. We get Hurricane into our car and we’re off to the races.”
“Got it.”
“You know, if we don’t go to the dog track later, we can hit the Three Virgins.”
“It’s not my kind of place.”
“It might be.” Lizard gummed the stub of the cigarette in his mouth. The tobacco was almost burned down to his lips. “You never know what life has in store for you. Life is not always gonna serve your eggs sunny-side up.”
“I like my eggs scrambled.”
“There you go. That’s what I mean.”
“Watch it! Those guys ahead are turning left!”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I grew up driving getaway cars and chase cars before I even had a driver’s license. Driving’s a piece of cake here in Cuba. They drive on the same side of the road as we do, not like in England.”
“You’ve been to England?”
“Yeah. I had to do a job there once. Shitty food.”
“Where do they drive in England?”
“Crazy limeys are on the wrong side of the road all the time. A miracle they don’t kill themselves. And they all dress on the wrong side.”
“What do you mean, dress on the wrong side?”
“The side of your crotch you wear your dick on. In England, they hang it on the wrong side.”
“How do you know?”
“I told you. I’ve been there. I seen it—What the fuck, where are these birds headed now?”
“Making a quick right. Stay on them.”
“Goddamn, these guys are going into the Nacional!”
“Yeah.” PayDay looked through the windshield at the avenue of palms leading to the high-arched hotel lobby entrance, where snappy attendants in crisp uniforms stepped forward to greet arriving guests.
Lizard stopped behind the Cadillac. “Get ready to snatch Hurricane.”
“Armstrong’s not getting out. He’s staying in the car.”
“Makes it easier. When he pulls away, act fast.”
A uniformed attendant opened the passenger door of the Cadillac. Hurricane stepped out and waved good-bye to Armstrong. The Cadillac drove off.
“What’s this! I don’t believe it!” PayDay nearly choked on his words.
With the Cadillac out of the way, there was a clear view up a broad staircase leading to the lobby. At the top of the stairs stood Betty with a man in a white dinner jacket at her side.
PayDay banged his fist on the dashboard. “It’s the Bad Actor!”
“Goddamn!” shouted Lizard. “Don’t mess up my car!”
“I’m going to kill that Hollywood creep!” PayDay screamed.
Lizard grabbed PayDay by the knot of his necktie. “Don’t go apeshit on me! Take care of business! Get Hurricane!”
PayDay’s chest heaved, his breath shot out in short bursts, he was ready to explode. He jerked out his automatic and checked that it was loaded.
Lizard barked into PayDay’s face, “You’re a professional man! Don’t fuck it up!”
The hotel attendants opened both front doors of the Chrysler at once, bowing and saying in unison, “Welcome to the Hotel Nacional, luxury under the sun.”
PayDay jumped out and in two long steps he was up the staircase and nudging the gun into Hurricane’s ribs. “Turn around. No sounds. Into the Chrysler.”
Hurricane was blasé, as if he had been expecting PayDay. He turned and headed toward the car, leaving PayDay standing alone.
“Johnny!” Betty shouted with delight. “Honey!”
The Bad Actor, next to Betty, saw PayDay facing him with the gun. “Holy shit,” the Actor groaned, his face draining of all color. He took a step and stood behind Betty for protection, then he backed up through the door into the lobby and ran.
“Honey!” Betty stumbled down the steps, crashing into PayDay. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Yeah-yeah, baby.” He put his arm around his wobbling wife. “Let’s go for a ride.”
The terrified attendants watched as the three climbed into the backseat of the Chrysler and the door slammed closed. The Chrysler peeled off in a screech of tires.
As they sped away, the glowing green lights from the Chrysler’s dashboard reflected on Lizard’s face. So many things had just happened to piss him off, he didn’t know where to start first. “You don’t bring your goddamn drunk wife on a job!”
PayDay ignored him.
Hurricane interjected calmly, “I knew somebody would be coming for me. You want to shake me down for my tab. But if you hurt me, I can’t pitch on Sunday. I don’t pitch, there’s no fix.”
Lizard reached up and twisted the rearview mirror, so that his face was reflected in it and everyone in the backseat could see the rage in his green, glowing expression. He growled at Hurricane, “Maybe we won’t need you, asshole. Maybe the All-Star game will be rained out. Then we won’t have any need to put up with your spitball bullshit.”
“You guys don’t scare me.” Hurricane gave a cocky grin.
PayDay shoved the gun barrel deeper into Hurricane’s ribs. “Keep your fly-trap shut.”
“Johnny, honey,” Betty trilled with oblivious good cheer, “where are we going?”
Hurricane spoke coolly to PayDay. “Why don’t you answer the little lady? Tell her we’re going on a nice picnic.”
PayDay pressed the gun so deep into Hurricane’s ribs that it made the other man wince. “This is no picnic. Wipe that smirk off your face or I’ll blow your tonsils out through your ears.”
“Johnny, honey, who are these people? Did somebody say this is a picnic?” Betty’s head lolled from side to side, her dilated eyes rolling.
PayDay wanted to know what the Bad Actor had done to her. Had he drugged her? The Bad Actor was a dead man.
Lizard barked at PayDay. “Would you tell your daffy dame to put a lid on it?”
“Don’t worry,” PayDay said. “I know how to do my job.” He turned his face to Hurricane in the headlight glare from a passing car.
Hurricane didn’t like what he saw in PayDay’s face. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. “Here”—he handed the envelope over—“take this. I just came into a small inheritance from a sick aunt who passed away.”
PayDay handed the envelope back.
“Why not take it?”
“Because after I kill you, it’s mine anyway.”
A band of sweat broke out across Hurricane’s forehead. For the first time he was worried. He appealed to Lizard in the front seat. “Would you tell this gentleman to accept the money? That’s what you’re shaking me down for, isn’t it? You want me to settle my white-lady bill.”
Lizard shot Hurricane a glare in the mirror. “I don’t give a shit about you and your cocaine habit. Do we look like a couple of goons who are going to bust your balls over money? This is bigger than that. This is your life on the line.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. We’re the one
s doing the giving.”
The Chrysler headed beyond the outskirts of Havana, where the sprawl of the city had not yet laid claim to open fields. The car sped along a highway lined with the silhouettes of wild palms, turned and roared down a road fenced by rows of high-spiked cacti, then spun off onto a dirt trail and stopped. Lizard cut the engine but not the headlights. Dust roiled up around the car.
“Where are we?” Hurricane craned his neck as he tried to peer through the dust.
“Last stop.” Lizard smiled into the mirror.
Hurricane stared out the windshield. The thrust of headlights cut through thinning dust into a field. Creatures in the distance were captured in the light, their eyes reflecting red.
Hurricane jerked with a start as Lizard hit the car horn, spooking the red-eyed creatures; they darted away into the darkness. Suddenly Hurricane knew what the creatures were—rats, scurrying among bones and skulls.
“Oh, God, this is the Pineapple Field,” Hurricane moaned. “You guys have the wrong man. I’m not political. There’s not a political bone in my body. This is a mistake. I’m an athlete.”
“No mistake.” PayDay rammed the tip of his gun sharply into Hurricane’s side. “Shut up and get out.”
“No.”
“Yes!” PayDay shoved the gun harder into the ballplayer’s ribs.
Lizard got out from the front of the car, yanked the back door open, and pulled Hurricane out. He unbuckled Hurricane’s pants belt and slipped it off, then tied his hands behind his back with the belt.
Hurricane pleaded, “Don’t kill me. I’ve got a wife and kids.”
Lizard snarled, “Jesus didn’t have a wife and kids but they killed him anyway. You ain’t no better than Jesus. You’re just a cokehead ballplayer.”
“I never do blow when I’m on the mound.”
“What the fuck do I care? This ain’t your last confession.” Lizard yanked Hurricane by the shirt, pushing him into the field.
Hurricane stumbled forward, stopping at the front of the car, afraid of stepping on bones.
“Keep walking,” Lizard demanded.
Hurricane turned, his face illuminated by the headlights. “I get it. You guys are government goons. You guys are with Batista. Well, fuck you. You’ll never win.”
PayDay got out of the car and stood next to Lizard. “He’s peeing in his pants and ranting anything just to save his ass.”
“Yeah,” Lizard sneered. “Flush the turd down the toilet.”
PayDay stepped over to Hurricane and pointed the gun in his face.
Hurricane looked defiantly at PayDay. “You’ll never beat us.”
“Turn around.”
“That’s the kind of cowards you Batista lackeys are, you only shoot men in the back.” Hurricane turned his back to PayDay.
PayDay jammed the gun under his belt. He took out a handkerchief, knotted it, and slipped it over Hurricane’s head and eyes, blindfolding him. “Start walking.”
Hurricane marched into the field, the car headlights beaming into his back.
PayDay aimed his gun and fired.
Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!
The bullets smacked the skulls on the ground around Hurricane. The skulls shattered, bones went sailing. Then there was dead silence.
Hurricane, to his surprise, was still standing.
“Down on your knees,” PayDay ordered.
“I’ll die standing up!” Hurricane shouted. “Go ahead and shoot!”
PayDay walked up behind Hurricane. He took off his necktie, balled it up, reached around and jammed it deep into Hurricane’s mouth. “When the Right Guys ask you to do something, you do it. The Right Guys don’t ask twice.” PayDay kicked Hurricane behind the knees.
Hurricane fell to a kneeling position. He waited for the shot in the back of his head. He heard footsteps, then the sound of a car driving off. He didn’t know if both men had left. Maybe one was still there, ready to kill him. He remained on his knees, blindfolded and gagged, his hands tied, expecting the worst.
On the drive to Havana, Betty woke up in the backseat of the Chrysler. She raised her head from her husband’s shoulder, where it had been resting.
“Honey,” Betty asked, “were there fireworks at the picnic? I heard fireworks. Did I miss the show?”
“Don’t worry, doll.”
“What about Lucy? Where’s Lucy?”
PayDay didn’t know any Lucy. He figured he already had a problem with the Bad Actor horning in on his wife, and now there was a Lucy. This whole problem was much bigger than he’d originally thought, but he had to stay cool. “Lucy couldn’t make it to the fireworks. Lucy says hello.”
Betty smiled and rested her head on PayDay’s shoulder again, dreamily singing, “Luck, let a gentleman seeee, how nice a dame you can beeee. Luck, be a lady with meeeeee.”
Hurricane was a ballplayer, a pitcher, a hurler on the mound, he was used to playing in a field of dreams, not kneeling in a field of death. He had been kneeling so long that his knees were numb and his legs cramped. He wondered if he would be able to walk again, much less pitch. Rats rummaged through the scattered bones surrounding him, gnawing on remnants of flesh. The high-pitched gnawing unnerved him, it was as if the rodents’ sharp incisors were biting into electrical wires. It was enough to drive a man crazy, especially a blindfolded man. The gnawing of rats stopped at the sound of heavy steps approaching. The rodents clattered away.
The steps came closer.
Hurricane thought the goons had come back. Maybe he would be better off if they killed him now, because his arms had been twisted up and tied behind his back for so long that they had no feeling. If he survived this, he might not be able to pitch again. How many hours had he been kneeling here?
The steps stopped.
Something big and wet slapped Hurricane’s cheek; an animal’s tongue. As the tongue explored his face a sickly sweet scent breathed from a mouth that had been eating decayed human flesh.
The animal moaned, its sharp teeth probed the soft flap of Hurricane’s earlobe. Sweat dripped down Hurricane’s cheeks as the teeth bit into his ear. He smelled his own blood.
Hurricane heard other steps approaching. The animal beside him released his ear. A threatening growl ripped from the animal’s chest.
The approaching steps stopped.
There was silence, then more steps, and all around Hurricane barking went up. He was surrounded by dogs.
A rank scent lifted from the fur of the dog next to Hurricane. It was the smell of an animal prepared to defend its prey against intruders.
The surrounding dogs kept up their barking, running in a tightening circle. The air exploded with lunging fury, vicious snarling and the gnashing of teeth, followed quickly by pathetic moans as life bled out of dogs.
Hurricane didn’t move. His shirt was soaked with sweat. His head baked in the sun. Above him, the air beat with the wings of buzzards.
A dog’s labored panting came close. The sickly sweet breath was again in Hurricane’s face. The winner of the fight was claiming its reward.
Hurricane tried to move his cramped legs, to get up and run, but he couldn’t.
The dog snarled, sensing Hurricane’s urge to flee. Its bony snout punched him in the face like a fist.
Hurricane waited for the canine’s teeth to bite into him. Then he heard a car approaching, bones crunching beneath its tires as it rolled to a stop. The engine was cut, the doors flung open.
The dog next to Hurricane sniffed the air, trying to gauge the threat.
The bang of a gun sounded, bullets whizzed by Hurricane’s head, the dog next to him yelped and crashed to the ground.
“Pedro, you got the mother’s whore! Good shot!”
“Damn right I got it! These graveyard bitches are eating the devil’s meat!”
“Look at all the other dead dogs. Bloody as hell. Must have been a big fight.”
“Maybe they were fighting over this guy here.”
“You think we should untie him
?”
Hurricane was relieved, the men were speaking Spanish, they weren’t the American thugs who had left him there. He wanted to call out, to tell them who he was, but his mouth was gagged. He tried to move toward them, but his knees wouldn’t work.
“We can’t untie him. Someone left him here for a reason.”
“You’re right. The Captain sent us to do a job. He’ll be pissed if we don’t follow orders.”
Hurricane stopped trying to move toward the men. They were talking about a captain. That meant they must be government, they must be Batista goons. He heard the trunk of the car open and the men grunting as they lifted something heavy.
“Don’t drop her, Pedro.”
“What difference would it make?”
“It’s bad luck to drop a dead body.”
“Who says?”
“My Santero.”
“Maybe he’s right.”
“Never wrong.”
“This one is the prettiest. Great tits. Long legs.”
“Pedro, do you think anyone will … find out?”
“Jesus, Paulo, we strangled her, and you’re worried someone might find out we fucked her first?”
“I’m worried about the Captain. He said not to do that.”
“So who’s going to tell the Captain? We killed all three girls.”
“At least we gave them a good send-off.”
“Yeah, who wants to die without a last fuck?”
“I think it was love I saw in their eyes, not just thanks for the fuck.”
“Women are funny that way, especially when they’re young.”
“Is this a good spot to leave her?”
“Good as any.”
“Let her down easy.”
“It’s done. Let’s get the other two.”
Hurricane heard the sound of two more bodies being lifted out of the car trunk and laid on the ground. Then he heard what he didn’t want to hear.
“What about him? You think we should shoot him?”
“It’s not in the orders. You know how the Captain is about following orders.”
“But this guy heard us talking.”
“So what. He’s blindfolded. Whoever left him here to die will come back and finish the job. If the dogs don’t get him first.”
“Yeah, he’s dog food. Chomp-chomp, lick-lick.”
King Bongo Page 15
