Havana Bay (33 page)

"Pribluda took this when I dropped him off at the
airport. He said he'd use it for target practice for old
times' sake. This was in the room?"

"Hedy was not a mental giant. She was probably still
in a daze from the
santero's.
I think maybe someone
gave her that to help her pick you out."

 
"You think the man in this picture could pass as
Italian?"

"In the dark some people are hard to tell apart. Did
I tell you that the dead man's name was Franco?"

"Yes."

"If a European called Franco looked like Renko, his
name sounded like Renko, she met him outside Renko's
apartment and his head had a cut the same as Renko's,
he was probably Renko enough for Hedy. I think it's possible the murder of this Italian was a second attempt on your life."

"This happened two nights ago?"

"Yes."

Luna had said he would be back to fuck him up,
Arkady remembered, and the libidinous Franco Mossa sounded as thoroughly fucked as a man could get.

"Does Sergeant Luna know about the correct identi
fication of the body?"

"He does now. He and Arcos took over the
investigation."

Luna would be back again. The days of grace were
over.

Arkady asked, "Why kill Hedy?"

"I don't know."

"Why leave the photograph on her?"

"He didn't, he flushed it down the toilet."

"Then how did you get it?"

"The picture was trapped with toilet paper." She
described the deeply petaled slashes, the blood-smeared
sheets and blood-soaked air that had been baking in the
sun for a day and a half, and confessed to her nausea.»
It was unprofessional of me."

"No, it's an occupational disease," Arkady said.» The reason I left the autopsy was to be sick. See, we share a
common weakness. I feel like smoking just hearing
about it."

"Dr. Bias has never been sick."

"I'm sure."

"Dr. Bias says we should welcome smell as infor
mation. A body's fruity bouquet might indicate amyl
nitrate. The hint of garlic can be arsenic."
  
^

"He'd be a delightful man to have dinner with."

"Anyway, I've showered."

"Showered and took the time to paint your toenails.
A lot of detectives wouldn't bother to do that. You took
a chance."

More than taken a chance, he thought; by removing the picture the detective had altered the crime scene,
tacitly admitting that she suspected Luna as much as
he did. Sharing the picture was the first real step forward on her part, painted toes and all. Now it was his
turn, that was the etiquette. He could hold on to his
scraps of information until he was safely back in
Moscow, where the contents of the briefcase he had picked up at the Chinese theater might mean the hook
for Bugai and an exchange of red-faced accusations
between the Russian Ministry for Foreign Trade and
the Cuban Ministry of Sugar. Over money, of course.
Once back in Moscow, though, he'd never find out
what happened to Pribluda.

 
"Have you ever heard of a Panamanian sugar com
pany called AzuPanama?"

"I've read about it." Her eyes cooled.» In
Granma,
the Party newspaper. There's a problem with the Russians over the sugar contract and AzuPanama is supposed to help."

"Mediate?"

"So I understand."

"Because AzuPanama is neutral."

"Yes."

"Panamanian?"

"Of course."

He led her to the office, opened the green briefcase
and emptied its contents item by item on the desk.

"Copies of participants' lists from Russia, Cuba and
AzuPanama. A list of company directors for AzuPanama
and, for those same names, Cuban passports, Cubana
tickets and hotel receipts. Plus a Panamanian bank
reference from John O'Brien, residing in Cuba, and a
deposit slip from the bank for Vice Consul Bugai, also here."

It seemed to be going well, Arkady thought. Next he
could introduce the concept of O'Brien and George
Washington Walls, then their involvement with Luna and Pribluda. Osorio cleared her throat and sorted the
items more neatly, touching them the way a person did when handling fire.

"I thought you were getting a picture of Pribluda for
Dr. Bias," she said.

"Oh, I am. I happened to come across these first."

 
 
"Where did they come from?"

"Why don't you look to see what they are?"

A slight hiss developed in Osorio's Russian.» I can
see what they are. What they are is very evident.
Documents manufactured to embarrass Cuba."

"You can see by comparing names on this certificate
of registration with the passports that AzuPanama isn't
really Panamanian at all. AzuPanama was set up in
Panama by Cuba with the help of a bank controlled by
the American fugitive O'Brien. That's what Pribluda
was after when he died. So far, AzuPanama has cost
Russia an extra $20 million. Men have died for less."

"Of a heart attack?"

"No."

"Dr. Bias says so."

"Anyway," Arkady went on, "we can make a positive
match of the names from AzuPanama with a roster
from the Ministry of Sugar. That's what Pribluda would
have done next."

"We
are not doing anything." Osorio stepped back.»
You lied to me."

"Here are the documents."

"I'm looking at you. What I see is a man who claims to look for a picture of his dead friend while he gathers
all sorts of anti-Cuban materials. I come to help you
and you throw these papers, which you don't tell me
where they came from, in my face. I won't touch them."

This was not going the way Arkady hoped.

"You can check them."

"I'm not helping you. I don't really know anything
about you. It's your word and a picture that you're
Pribluda's friend, that's all I know. Just your word."

"No, that's not true." Her words crystallized what
had been vague before. What had bothered Arkady was
how his picture got from Pribluda's fiat to Hedy.» Did you give Pribluda's picture of me to Luna?"

"How can you ask a question like that?"

"Because it makes sense. Let me guess. After the
autopsy you came here to dust for fingerprints and
found the picture of this miserable Russian who had
just arrived. You naturally called Luna, who told you to
bring the picture to him."

"Never."

"Who gave it to poor Hedy. Have you been helping
Luna all along?"

"Not in that way."

"Do all Cuban police carry an ice pick and a baseball
bat?"

"When you see Luna with a machete,
bolo,
that's the
time to be afraid. You should have stayed in Moscow.
If you had, more people would be alive."

"There you're right."

Osorio snatched up her bag. She was out the door
before he could consider whether he had really handled
the issue of AzuPanama as well as possible. But why
would a Cuban be impressed by mere evidence? This
was Havana, after all, a place where sugar attaches
floated in the dark, where a Havana Yacht Club did,
didn't, might exist, where a girl could lose her head two
nights in a row. Osorio's lie about the picture had
simply been one absurdity too many. All the same there
had been a nasty edge to his words that he regretted.

When she reached the street, Ofelia realized that, apart
from a bolt on his door, Renko had no protection if
Luna came back. What she had not told the Russian
was how Luna looked when he stood over Hedy's body
at the love motel, how his eyes reddened and the
muscles of his face worked like a twitching fist. Or how
the sergeant had later sat in the archive room, and how simply moving by him was like walking in the shadow
of a volcano.

Traffic on the Malecon—always thin at night—had
as good as disappeared. Even the couples who usually
courted on the seawall were gone. If Ofelia was angry
with Renko, she was furious with herself. She had
removed the picture of him from the crime scene. She
had broken the law. For what, so he could accuse her of
taking the same picture from Pribluda's? She knew by
now his taste for frivolous minutiae and then the
diagonal question that cut across the board. As for the documents he pulled from the briefcase she was not
surprised by the lengths Russians would go to to dis
credit Cuba. All she needed, Ofelia told herself, was to
keep Renko alive until his plane left for Moscow. She
wanted a clear conscience.

Determined not to be baited again, she went back in
the house. Halfway up the stairs Ofelia heard steps
above and a soft knocking at Renko's door. When he
opened the door the light of his room fell on an
extraordinarily fair woman with braided black hair in a Mexican dress and bare feet. She was a rose on a long
stem, a glamorous white flower tinged with blue. Ofelia
recognized her from the Santeria ceremony, the friend
of George Washington Walls, the dancer.

Ofelia watched Isabel lift her face and kiss Renko.
Before they saw her, she retreated down into the dark
of the stairs, getting smaller and smaller until she
reached the street again.

 
Chapter Eighteen

"You're making a mistake," Arkady told Isabel.

"No mistake."

She guided his hand between her legs so that he could feel her through the cotton of the dress, then
kissed him and slipped into the sitting room. Maybe
this was a test for signs of life, he thought. The dress
was thin to show the slimness of her body and the dark
caps of her breasts, and if he were a normal man he
would feel healthy lust. The truth was he did feel a first stirring, feeling her breath on his neck, taking in the
almond scent of her hair braided like long black silk. Her pale skin made her lips all the more red.

"No mistake," Isabel said.» I asked you to do some
thing for me. Fair trade. Gordo keeps the rum over the
sink."

"I thought Gordo was the name for the turtle."

"For both. Sergei, turtle."

"What do you call George Washington Walls?"

"I call him done with. I have a new boyfriend,
no?"

"Well, I can't imagine who that is."

Isabel touched the coat hung on the back of the
chair, and when he pulled her hand away she said,
"Relax. Such a strange man, but I like you." She found
the rum herself and rinsed two glasses.» I like strong
men."

"That's not me."

"Let me be the judge." She handed him a glass.» I know you've heard about my father."

"I heard there was a conspiracy."

"True. There's always a conspiracy. Everyone com
plains, and He ..."—she pointed to her chin—"He lets
them, as long as they don't
do
anything. As long as they
don't organize. All the same, every year there's a con
spiracy, and it's always a mix of conspirators and
informers. That's Cuban democracy at work, that's how we will finally vote, when even the informers decide
enough is enough and they keep their mouths shut and
this country is delivered." She brushed Arkady's cheek.»
But not yet, I don't think. This is the first place where
time does not exist. People have been born and died,
yes, but time has not passed because time demands
fresh paint, new cars, new clothes. Or maybe war, one or the other. But not this, which is not dead or alive, which is neither. You're not drinking."

"No." The last thing he needed was Isabel and
alcohol.

"Do you mind?" She took a cigarette.

"No."

"The reason my father agreed to the coup in the first
place was the assurances from his Russian friends that
he would have their complete support. It wasn't his
idea."

"He should have known better."

“I think I'm choosing more wisely." She inhaled as if
the smoke would travel the length of her body, exhaled
and spun, her arms spread, so that the dress clung to
her and smoke trailed behind.» I think we're the best.
English dancers are too stiff, the Russians are too
serious. We have the elevation and technique, but we
are also born with music. There is no limit once I'm
out, once I have my letter and my ticket."

"The letter hasn't come."

"It will. It has to. I told George we were looking into
going back to Moscow together."

"You and I?"

"Yes, wouldn't that be the simplest way?" Isabel came
to rest against the coat and an ember from her cigarette spilled on the sleeve.» Are you married?"

Arkady brushed the ember off and took Isabel by the
wrist. It was a slim wrist, an elegant wrist, but he led
her to the door.» It's late. If something comes for you I promise I'll let you know."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm saying good night."

"I'm not done."

"I'm done."

He pushed her out and only had a glimpse of her in the hallway crushed as a moth before he shut the door.

"You son of a bitch," she shouted through it.» You
prick,
cono.
Just like your friend Sergei. All he wanted to do was talk about that stupid plot that got my father
killed. You're just the same, another
maricon. El bollo de
tu madre."

Arkady shot the bolt.
 
"I'm sorry.
 
I don't speak
Spanish."

His way with women was astonishing, he thought. What a charmer. He wrapped himself in the coat and shivered.
Why was everyone in Cuba warm except him?

It was midnight, and dark had overwhelmed the city when Arkady wasn't looking. A power outage arranged
by Luna, or was his imagination expanding in the dark?
There were no streetlamps on the Malecon, only a
couple of faint headlights like the sort on luminescent
fish found in an ocean trench. Although he latched the
shutters closed and lit a candle, darkness continued to seep into the room with a solid, tarry quality.

A car horn woke him. The horn blared until he opened the balcony doors and saw that the morning had started
hours before. The sea was a brilliant mirror to a huge
sky, the sun high and shadows reduced to mere spots of
ink. Across the Malecon a boy flipped small, silvery bait
out of a net up to a partner standing on the seawall
with a pole. Another boy gutted his fish on the sidewalk
and threw the entrails up to a hovering gull. Directly
below the balcony was a streamlined cloud of chrome
and white, Hemingway's Chrysler Imperial convertible
with George Washington Walls at the wheel and John
O'Brien in a golf cap and Hawaiian shirt.

"Remember, we were going to talk about possible
employment," Walls called up.» And show you some famous sin spots."

"You can't just tell me?"

"Think of us as your guides," O'Brien said.» Think
of it as a Grand Tour."

Arkady looked to Walls for any sign that Isabel had
reported her midnight visit and he looked to O'Brien
for an indication that word of the AzuPanama papers
reached him via Osorio, but all he saw shining up from
the car were bright smiles and dark glasses. Employment
in Havana? That had to be a joke. But how could he
dare to miss learning more about AzuPanama and John O'Brien? Besides, he thought, what could happen in
Hemingway's car?

"Give me a minute."

The desk drawer had envelopes. Into one Arkady fit
all his worldly evidence: Rufo's house key, Pribluda's
car key, AzuPanama documents and the photo of the
Havana Yacht Club. Arkady taped the envelope to the
small of his back, put on his shirt and coat, a man
equipped for all climates and occasions.

The car even rode like a cloud, the warm upholstery adhesive to the touch. Arkady noticed even from the backseat the push-button transmission, how could any
one miss that? They breezed along the Malecon while
Walls gossiped about other famous cars, Fidel's pen
chant for Oldsmobiles and Che's '60 Chevrolet Impala. Arkady looked around.» Have you seen Luna?"

 
"The sergeant is no longer associated with us," Walls
said.

"I think the man's unhinged," said O'Brien.

Walls said, "Luna is one funky dude." He dipped his
glasses from his blue eyes.» When are you going to
dump the coat?"

O'Brien said, "It's like driving around with Abe-
Fucking-Lincoln. It is."

"When I get warm."

"You read Hemingway in Russia?" Walls asked.

"He's very popular there. Jack London, John Stein
beck and Hemingway."

"When writers were bruisers," said O'Brien.» I'd have
to say I think of
The Old Man and the Sea
every time I
see the fishing boats go out. I loved the book and the
film. Spencer Tracy was magnificent. A better Irishman
than Cuban, but magnificent."

"John reads everything," Walls said.

"I love movies too. When I get homesick I put on a
video. I have America on videotapes. Capra, Ford,
Minnelli."

Arkady thought of Vice Consul Bugai and the $5,000
deposit in Bugai's name at O'Brien's Panama bank.

"Do you have any Russian friends here?"

"There aren't that many. But to be honest I have to
say I steer clear, as a precautionary measure."