Hey, you down there in the blue dress and the pretty eyes-yeah, you, the Yankee ace-you read me?
It isn't blue, it's aqua, and which one are you?
The good-looking guy in the grey pinstripe suit.
From here I can see four grey suits, and none of the guys inside them look all that great.
You got to be kidding. Look, I'm raising my glass now.
Oh sure, the Cuban.
You know me?
I've seen you around. What's on your mind?
I could get arrested for what's on my mind.
Save it for your dreams.
No, I mean really arrested, because what I got on my mind is to come down to your end of the bar, say hello, maybe buy you a drink, but if I do that we're both in trouble. A Cuban and a Yankee, both aces, not so good.
My people wouldn't be happy.
Neither would mine. Bright lights and lots of questions, you know?
I know.
So I was thinking… you got a keeper?
No, we don't work it that way.
You're lucky. I've got a keeper, but he doesn't have the brains that God gives to goats. I can lose him easy if I want to.
Now why would you want to do that?
Come on, what do you say?
It's risky.
What isn't?
Plenty of things. Watching television. Washing my hair. Things like that.
Sure, if you play by the rules then nothing's risky. You always play by the rules?
That did it. Where and when?
You know Woody's on Third Avenue?
Sure.
Half an hour?
I'll be there.
That was the way it began, and from there it had escalated into three months of frantic loving, months of meeting on the sly, drinking in bars that no one knew, using motels in Jersey and Queens. Three months of looking over their shoulders before diving into bed, and then one day it was over. He was ordered back to Havana, and that was the end of it. There was time for a quick farewell, one last night of laughter, and then he was gone. Until now. Now he was here with his arms around her, and the years had dropped away.
She rested her head against his shoulder, and said, "We have some things to talk about."
"We can talk in my room."
"I don't think so. We'd better talk here."
"Oh?" He took his arms away. "Sorry, didn't mean to push."
"It isn't that."
"Then what?"
"I think we have to talk business."
He laughed. "What a Yankee you can be, always business first. You're not exactly overwhelmed by this reunion, are you?"
"More than you think, but we still have to talk. You can start by telling me what a Cuban ace is doing here in Glen Grove."
"Wait here, I'll be right back."
He went into the darkened house, and returned in a moment with two cold bottles of San Miguel beer. He gave one to Snake.
"Mrs. Costigan keeps a few bottles in the refrigerator for me," he explained. "She thinks it helps to remind me of home. Actually, it's made in Tampa and it tastes like Bud, but I drink it. It makes the old lady happy."
Snake took a sip. "You haven't answered my question."
"I don't see that I'm obliged to."
"You're not, but I'm hoping that you will."
"For old times sake? You're here on a job, aren't you?"
"Of course, and I assume that you are, too."
"As a matter of fact, I'm not."
"Oh sure, you just decided to take your vacation in Florida this year."
"It's simpler than that. I don't work for anyone anymore. Not the DGI, not anyone. I'm retired."
Snake said flatly, "You wouldn't kid an old lover, would you? No ace ever retires. My people don't allow it, and neither do yours. No agency allows it."
"Who said I asked permission?"
"You mean you came over?" She knew that could not be. If he had defected to the Agency, she would have known about it.
"You're not listening to me. I said I was out of the business."
"Do you mind if I tell you that you're a lousy liar?"
"I don't mind at all," he said cheerfully, "but it's true. Do you want me to prove it?"
"How?"
"I'll open up long enough for you to take a look. Just long enough. You can see for yourself. Do you want that?"
She was suddenly unsure. "If you do."
"Go ahead. I have nothing to hide anymore."
He opened up. She went in and saw that he was telling the truth. She came out quickly. He slammed the gates.
"You saw?" he asked.
"Yes. It's still hard to believe, but I saw. I'm sorry, it didn't seem possible. When did you…?"
"About five years ago."
"What happened?"
"It's a long story."
"I'm not in any hurry. Is there any more beer?"
"Enough."
"Then go ahead." She moved to the glider, and sat with her legs tucked under her. "Tell me all about it."
He leaned against the porch railing, and grinned so broadly that his teeth gleamed in the night. "All right, you asked for it."
9
MADRIGAL'S job was to kill Calvin Weiss. My job was to stop Madrigal, and the job was impossible. Weiss was the entertainment director on the S.S.Carnival Queen, a cruise ship that sailed out of Florida 's Port St. James, on a regular eight-day run to Nassau, San Juan, St. Thomas, and St. Maarten. The Queen had seven bars, four lounges, and a casino. She had a swimming pool, a gymnasium, and two saunas. She had a cavernous dining room, three card rooms, two cafes, a sports area, a skeet range, and the facilities of a small city. She carried one thousand and twelve passengers, and a staff of over four hundred, any one of whom could have been Madrigal. And I had to keep Weiss alive.
"Impossible," I told Sammy.
"Difficult," he agreed, "but you'll manage."
"How? If there were twenty of me, I couldn't keep Weiss covered every minute."
"Right, so you don't try to cover him. The job is to find Madrigal before he can do anything."
"Look, I don't know if Madrigal is a man, a woman, or a cocker spaniel. How do you expect me to find him, tap fourteen hundred heads?"
"Just keep your mind open, tune in to anything you can. With your luck, you'll pick up something."
"Is that the best advice you can give me?"
"With your luck, that's all you need."
My luck. He has a thing about that word. He likes to say that I have more luck than brains, and to prove it he points to the way that I win at cards. He ignores the fact that what I do at the card table has nothing to do with luck. I win because I know what everybody else at the table is holding. I go into their heads, and peek at their cards. To put it baldly, I cheat. Yes, I agree that the way I play doesn't fall within the code of the gentleman gambler, but, you see, I don't believe in gambling. Life is uncertain enough.
With those instructions in mind, on the night that the Carnival Queen sailed from Port St. James, I was not shadowing Weiss all over the ship, nor was I desperately trying to tap any of over a thousand heads at the seven complimentary cocktail parties and imitation luaus going on. I was, according to instructions, trusting to my luck, which meant that I was sitting in the card room on the Promenade Deck trying to decide which way to go on a two-way finesse for the queen of hearts. My partner's name was Betty Ireland, our opponents were Jim and Ellen Kreiske, from Cleveland, and the stakes were respectable enough to keep me awake. The contract was six spades, doubled, I looked to be a trick short, and there was no squeeze or endplay in sight. I needed the finesse, and there was no clue from the bidding as to where the queen lay. It was an even shot either way, and anyone else would have flipped a mental coin, but that would have been gambling, and I don't believe in gambling. Instead, I went into their heads. I tried Ellen Kreiske on my left, but she didn't have it. I tried her husband, and there it was, the queen of hearts along with two small ones. I crossed to the dummy, led the ten of hearts, and when Jim didn't cover, I let it run. I cashed the ace and the king, collecting the queen, and claimed the contract.