Havana Bay (34 page)

"Pariahs," said Walls.

"The Russian Mafia would love to get in here.
They're already in Miami, Antigua, Caymans, they're in
the neighborhood, but Russians are such a sore subject
with Fidel there's no point in being associated with
them. But more than that, they're stupid, Arkady. No
offense."

"None taken."

"A Russian wants money, he says, I'll kidnap some
one rich, bury him up to his neck and demand a
ransom. Maybe his family will pay and maybe they
won't. A short-term proposition either way. An Ameri
can wants money, he says, I'll do a mass mailing and
offer an investment with an irresistible rate of return. Maybe the investment pays off or maybe it doesn't, but
as long as I have lawyers those people will be paying me
for the rest of their lives. After they're dead I'll put a
lien on their estate. They'll
wish
I had buried them up
to their necks."

"That's what you did?" Arkady said.

"I'm not saying that's what I did, I'm saying what's
done in the States." He raised his hand and his biggest
grin.» Not lying. I have testified in district court in
Florida and Georgia, federal court in New York and
Washington and I have never lied."

"That's a lot of courts to tell the truth in," Arkady
said.

"The fact is," said O'Brien, "I prefer happy investors.
I'm too old to be stalked by unshaven, angry men or
have to duck subpoenas from men who can stand
outside a door for the rest of
their
miserable lives. Hey, we're here!"

Walls swung across oncoming traffic to the curb of
an airy high-rise hotel, an angled tower of blue balconies
that nestled at its base the separate dome in mottled
colors. Arkady had passed the hotel before without fully
registering how its architecture was pure American
fifties. And they'd arrived in the perfect car, gliding to a stop under a cantilevered entrance by a statue of,
perhaps, a seahorse and siren carved from the largest of all whale bones. John O'Brien had visited before, judg
ing by the doormen's zeal.

"The Riviera," O'Brien explained in a hush to
Arkady, as if they were about to enter the Vatican.» The
American Mafia built other hotels here, but the jewel
was the Riviera."

Arkady asked, "What does this have to do with me?"

"A little patience, please. It all fits."

O'Brien removed his cap as a mark of respect before they climbed the stairs and entered glass doors to a low
lobby of white marble under inset ceiling lights spaced
as irregularly as stars. Sofas as long as boxcars reached
across the floor toward a skylit grotto of elephant-ear
ferns. Along one side was the tidal murmur of a bar,
at the far end a staircase suspended on wires wound around a stabile of black stone, and a bright haze that
was plate glass leading to a pool. O'Brien glided at a
reverent pace across the lobby, tassels of his shoes
flopping.» Everything deluxe. Kitchen like a cruise ship,
beautifully appointed rooms. And the casino?"

One step ahead of O'Brien, Walls opened the brass
doors to a convention hall emblazoned with the colorful, forceful logos of Spanish, Venezuelan, Mexican
banks. Knockdown displays and charts on easels forecast
Caribbean economic trends. Business cards and four-
color brochures littered the carpet. O'Brien stopped at
a particularly outsized booth with a row of chairs facing
a giant monitor.

"It's pathetic," O'Brien said.» Market projections,
rates of interest, capital protection, all languages spoken.
Look at this." He tried to turn on the monitor at the
screen.» Hell, it doesn't even work."

"Maybe this does." Arkady picked up a remote con
trol from the booth counter and pushed
on.
At once,
images of serious men and women in expensive suits
marched across the screen. Dollars, pesetas, deutsche-marks flowed from them like lines of electricity.

"Right," O'Brien said.» They know how to put your money to work for your benefit around the world, sure they do. The only trouble, this isn't the world. This is
Cuba. You know what Fidel says about capitalists. First,
all they want is the tip of your little finger, then the
finger, then the hand, then your arm and piece by piece
all the rest of you. He's made up his mind. So the banks
didn't come all this way to make their presentations to Fidel, think about that. Thank you, Arkady."

Arkady turned the remote off.

"Anyway," O'Brien said, "the banks have it back
wards. Nowadays people are not interested in a slow
accrual of assets. What they want is a jackpot, the
lottery, payday. Look around, you can still see it." He
called Arkady's attention to walls of baroque cream and
gold, pointing out how the dropped ceiling hid the dome overhead. They were in the painted dome they
had seen from outside. If the Riviera was the Vatican,
this was the Sistine Chapel. As O'Brien removed his
dark glasses and made a slow, complete turn a small miracle happened, the lines on his fine-as-an-eggshell
forehead seemed to smooth away and Arkady saw a hint
of the redhead O'Brien once had been.» The Gold Leaf
Casino. You have to imagine the way it was, Arkady.
Four roulette tables, two seven-eleven, one baccarat,
four tables for blackjack with mahogany rails, the nap
brushed twice a day. Not an ash. Pit manager on a
bishop's chair. It was a meeting of two classes, the rich
and the mob. The French have a word for it:
frisson.
A
little charge and, by God, it sparkled. Chandeliers lit
like bubbling champagne glasses. Women wearing diamonds from Harry Winston, I mean rocks. Movie stars,
Rockefellers, you name it."

"No Cubans?"

"Cubans
worked
here. They hired Cuban accountants
and made them into croupiers and dealers. Taught them
grooming, bought them suits, paid them well to keep
them honest. Of course, they were still vacuumed for
chips at the end of the day."

Arkady had seen casinos. There were casinos in
Moscow. The Russian Mafia loved to strap leather
jackets over uncomfortable holsters so they could belly
up to a table and lose money loud and big.

"Mind, there was always gambling in Havana," O'Brien said.» The Mafia just made it honest, with a
fair split for President Batista. Batista and his wife got
the machines, the Mafia got the tables and there was no
more honest operation in the world. Plus, biggest names
in entertainment, Sinatra, Nat King Cole. Beautiful
beaches, best deep-sea fishing and the women were
unbelievable. Still are."

"It's hard to believe there was a revolution."
"You can't please everyone," O'Brien said.» Let me
show you my personal favorite, though. Smaller but
more historical. America's last stand."

On the way, as soon as they left the Riviera, they drove by picturesquely rotting houses, the sort Arkady might
have expected to find in a mangrove swamp, the pave
ment rolling over banyan roots.

Arkady asked, "So, what kind of business have you been doing here? Investing?"

"Investing, consulting, whatever," O'Brien said.» We
solve problems."

"For example?"

Walls and O'Brien glanced at each other, and Walls said, "For example, Cuban trucks here need spare parts
because the Russian factory that used to produce them is turning out Swiss Army knives now instead. What
John and I did was find a Russian truck factory in
Mexico, and buy the whole thing just for the parts."

"What did you get out of that?"

"Finder's fee, costs. You know, I used to think
because I was a Marxist that I understood capitalism. I
didn't know anything. John plays it like a game."

O'Brien said, "I have always noticed that people from
the socialist camp take money far too seriously. You should have fun."

"It's like a second college education being with John."

"Yes?" Arkady was ready to be educated.

"Like boots," said Walls.» The Cubans ran out of
boots. We found out that the U.S. was getting rid of
surplus boots at a dollar a pair. We bought all of them,
which is why the Cuban army is marching in American
combat boots."

"You must be appreciated here."

"I'd like to think that George and I are," said
O'Brien.

"But how do you do that from Cuba? I would think
you'd need a third party."

"In a third country, of course."

"In Mexico, Panama?"

O'Brien twisted in his seat.» Arkady, you've got to stop being such a cop. Over the years, I have helped a lot of police in your situation, but it's a matter of give
and take.
you
want to know this and you want to know that, but you have yet to give me a believable explanation how you came to stand on the dock of the Havana
Yacht Club."

"I was just visiting places where Pribluda might have
been."

"What made you think he might have been there?"

"There was a map in his apartment and the club was
circled." Which was true, although not as true as the
photograph.» It was an old map."

 
 
"Just an old map? That's how you heard about the
Havana Yacht Club? Amazing."

The Hotel Capri was a pocket version of the Pviviera, a
high rise but off the Malecon, and no dome or spiral
stairs, instead a simple lobby of glassy sounds and
chrome furniture. Cubans were not allowed upstairs;
they sat and nursed colas as they waited for appoint
ments to materialize, ready to wait all day. The air-
conditioning eddied around potted plants.

"I can't get over the coat," Walls told Arkady.» Do you mind if I try it on?"

"Go ahead."

Although Arkady didn't want other people even
touching the coat, he helped Walls in. The coat
stretched a little over Walls's shoulders. He ran his
hands along the cashmere outside, the silk lining in, felt
the pockets inside and out.

O'Brien watched the fashion show.» What do you
think?"

"I think he's a man with empty pockets." Walls
returned the coat.» But nice. You got this on an inves
tigator's pay? Good for you."

"A good sign for us all." O'Brien led the way off the
lobby and through the doors into a small, darkened
theater. Arkady could barely see the stage, steps, speak
ers and overhead lights with colored eels.» La Sala Roja.
It wasn't a cabaret then. It was a better show. Use your
imagination and you can see red drapes, red carpet, red
velvet lamps. In the center, four blackjack tables and
four roulette. In the corners, seven-eleven and baccarat. Girls selling cigars, and I mean beautiful girls selling
Cuban cigars. Perhaps a little cocaine, though who
needs it? It's the sound of the ball on the track, the
excitement around a craps table. The man says 'Bets, gentlemen' and people bet. Do you gamble, Arkady?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't have the money to lose."

"Everyone has the money to lose. Poor people gam
ble all the time. What you mean is, you don't like to
lose."

"I suppose so."

"Well, you're unusual, most people need to. If they happen to win, they keep on playing until they do lose. Right now around the world more people are gambling
than ever in the history of man." O'Brien shrugged to
show that the phenomenon was beyond him.» Maybe
it's the coming millennium. It's as if people want to
shed material things, not in a church but in a casino.
People are willing to lose everything as long as they
have fun. They can't resist. It's human. The worst snub
in the world is a casino where they won't take your
money."

"Were you here before the Revolution?"