"You just call me that again."
Neely noticed that something about Tyler had changed, along with his tone as he said, "Why don't we get to it? Tell me what's on your mind."
"All right. Teo wants to speak to you. At the bar."
"Tell me why I'm suppose to go to him." "Man, he isn't ordering you." "I hope to tell you he isn't."
"It's for privacy. No one else's business."
"He has something to say, Lionel, he can come over here. We're all friends."
Neely watched Tavalera hesitate, trying to decide-it looked like-if he wanted to make any more out of the way Tyler pronounced his name, Neely wondering if Tyler was doing it on purpose, to be irksome. Tavalera made up his mind, evidently not to say any more about it. He turned in kind of a military about-face and went back to the bar, exchanged a few words with Teo and now Teo was on his way over.
He brought a card from his vest pocket with the tips of two fingers, a calling card, it looked like, and with a very solemn expression on his face offered it to Tyler-Tyler, still on his feet, one might say waiting for him. Neely noticed Teo holding his black kid gloves in his left hand. He also noticed Tyler was the taller of the two and possibly ten years older. He'd have to check on that, Neely pretty sure he had a story here he'd be writing as a feature. He watched Tyler look at the card and then at the young hussar officer, more a dandy than a fop, with his neat little waxed mustache. Tyler said, "Teobaldo," and glanced at the card again. "Teniente. What can I do for you?" As easy about it as you please.
It surprised Neely that Teo didn't acknowledge Amelia first, ask her pardon for interrupting, walking up to the table unannounced. Amelia's eyes were glued to the two men facing each other, Teo saying now in a very formal manner, "I request that you meet me tomorrow…" with an accent but the words clear enough: that Tyler meet him in the morning at first light in the Prado by the statue of Her Majesty Queen Isabella, Teo saying his second, Major Lionel Tavalera, would bring the pistols and Tyler would be given his choice of which one he would prefer to use.
Look at Amelia's eyes, big as saucers, the sweet thing hanging on every word.
Tyler said, "I thought you wanted to sword fight."
She loved it, looking at Tyler almost adoringly, her new hero, her lips slightly parted.
Tyler saying, "Now you want to shoot me. "Cause I wouldn't saddle a horse for you?"
Neely would tell her later her mouth was open and it distracted him, made it hard to concentrate on details, and he didn't want to take out his notebook-how would that look? He'd have to remember what was said.
Teo was saying now, "You insult me." Tyler asking him, "How do I do that?" "The way you speak. You show no respect." "Why should I respect you?" "There. You see?"
"What you need to do," Tyler said, "is get over your touchiness. You understand what I mean? You're too sensitive, got a thin skin on you. I'm not gonna stand out there by a statue and let you aim your pistol at me, not over something as piddling as you wanting your own way."
There was no missing the hussar officer's expression of hostility. Neely noted the narrowing of his eyes to slits; he glanced at Amelia to see the adorable creature completely absorbed.
Spellbound.
Tyler saying now to Teo, "You have a war going on. Doesn't it give you enough people to kill?"
Teo didn't waste a moment. Neely watched him shift his gloves from his left to his right hand and crack Tyler across the face, stinging him good with those kid gloves-harder in fact than need be, only the formality of a slap required and ordinarily accepted as a challenge. What was in no way part of duello rites was Tyler cocking his left fist and driving it hard into Teo's wide-eyed expression, sending him stumbling back off-balance all the way to the bar, where Lionel Tavalera caught him around the shoulders and kept him on his feet.
Neely could see that Teo, now the center of attention, wanted no help from anyone. He used his elbows to free himself of Tavalera, and Neely thought, Now what? Rant and rave?
Promise the American he'll kill him for sure on the morrow?
No, what Teo did, he drew a short-barrel pistol from in side his suit-a. 32, it looked like-extended the weapon in what must be a classic dueling pose in the direction of Tyler, barely more than six paces away, and while he was taking deliberate aim, intent on an immediate finish to this business, Tyler pulled a big. 44 revolver from inside his new alpaca coat and shot Teo Barban in the middle of his forehead. My Lord, the sound it made! And there, you could see the bullet hole like a small black spot, just for a moment before Teo fell to the floor.
Neely thought of Amelia.
In that moment, the sound of the shot still ringing in his head, he actually thought of Amelia.
Not a sound came from her. All eyes, her pretty mouth still open, her expression one of awe in the silence that followed, gun smoke hanging in the air… No, wait.
Neely got out his notebook, his pencil inside where he'd made his last entry, the one about Charlie Burke not able to find any chewing tobacco.
There.
Charlie Burke, old-time cowpoke who liked nothing better than a good "'chaw'" couldn't believe it. All the tobacco that was grown in Cuba, famous the world over for its fine cigars, not one pinch of it goes into the production of chewing tobacco, scrap or plug. Idea for a heading: See a Spittoon Anywhere?
Neely began to write:
As gun smoke hung heavily in the air and a young man lay dead (presumably) in the bar of the Hotel Inglaterra, on a sultry evening only three days following the destruction of the United States battleship Maine in Havana harbor… Or how about: As gun smoke hung heavily in the air and a young Spanish officer lay dead…?
He wished Teo had been smoking a cigarette. Like in "The Death of Rodriguez," the boy appears before the firing squad smoking his last cigarette. How did Harding Davis put it? "Not arrogantly nor with bravado," something about being nonchalant and so "shockingly young for such a sacrifice."
That idea, get some emotion into it, but not so the reader sympathizes with Teo, a Spaniard.
Remember the scene, Neely told himself, the tableau.
Tyler kneeling over Teo's prostrate form, Teo obviously gone from this world.
Tavalera standing, looking down.
Amelia not moving a muscle, her expression, though, fairly calm.
Tavalera looking toward the entrance. Nodding.
And now uniformed Guardia Civil, armed with carbines, were coming into the bar.
SEVEN
This time they sat in the inner courtyard of the home in Vedado, each with a glass of dark sherry while Rudi Calvo gave his report. As before, earlier this evening, Palenzueta's collar was off and his suspenders hung below his hips, this time the chief of municipal police preparing for bed when Rudi arrived. It was almost two A.M. and Palenzuela sat with his legs stretched out, now and then yawning.
"There were witnesses?"
"More than we need," Rudi said. "All the regulars in there, the correspondents, all professional observers. They were attentive because Amelia Brown entered and took a seat with the Americans."
"Alone?" The police chief sounding surprised.
"Mr. Boudreaux was still in the dining room, with his partners in the railroad venture." "How do you know this?" "Fuentes."
"What would you do without him?"
"He was in the bar and witnessed the shooting, but was gone when I looked for him after. And of course I was a witness, no more than a few steps from Barban when he drew his pistol."
"After the American struck him."
"Which was after Barban struck the American." "The slap, that was a formality,." "Does the American know that?" "Everyone knows it."
"But it was a hard slap, more an act of aggression than a formality."
"Why does this have to be complicated?"
"It isn't," Rudi said. "Barban struck the American and the American struck him back. Barban drew a pistol to shoot the American and the American drew a pistol and shot Barban first. To me that doesn't seem complicated."