“...by catering to the needs of men. But like all of us, she deals with whatever commodity she has available. And her work for the cause, it has been exemplary.”
I nodded. “Novios?”
But it was Maria who took the liberty of answering: “No sweethearts, Señor Morgan. No boys, no men. Since Gaita’s experience at the hands of Castro’s pigs that awful night, so many years ago? She has little to do with the male sex.”
“Unless she’s charging a male for sex, you mean?”
She took no offense and seemed utterly unembarrassed as she said, “That is business, señor. One must survive.”
“Maybe so, but she made me a free offer the other night.”
Now it was Saladar who replied: “That is because you are different. She said as much to me. She said, ‘This Morgan—he is a real man.’ ”
“Yeah, well, that’s swell...but maybe that’s what she wants you to hear, Luis. And wants me to hear through you. The question is, can I trust her?”
Saladar’s chin jutted. “As Pedro told you—I would trust her with my life. In fact, I have...several times.” His eyes narrowed. “Information she had ferreted out for us, it has proved invaluable.”
“She made the arrangements at the Hotel Amherst,” I reminded him.
“If she had the intentions upon your life, señor,” Saladar said quietly, “did she not have ample opportunity to act upon them? When you were in her care, and her trust? Would your death have not come sooner, and in less obvious a fashion than by some bomb? No? As you said yourself, your coming here was most accidental. She could not have foreseen your arrival. None of us could.”
I leaned back in my chair and took a taste of the coffee. The stuff could make your eyes water. I liked it.
“That,” I said, “leaves us with the other hooker—Tami—and that cab driver, whose name I never caught.”
Saladar’s nostrils twitched and he seemed to grow with the breath he took. “The driver, señor, was my nephew. I will vouch for him gladly.”
“Okay. But will you vouch for Tami?”
“Gaita recommended her as a trusted friend.”
But a prostitute. A woman who sold herself for money might not hesitate selling somebody else out. On the other hand, I’d met plenty of whores whose morality was superior to a lot of self-proclaimed good people.
“So if we take Gaita’s word that Tami’s reliable,” I said, “we are still left with a great big leaky hole somewhere.”
Maria gave me a soft smile. “This house, Señor Morgan, it is watertight.”
“I’m thinking about another house.”
“Señor?”
“The Mandor Club.”
Saladar’s eyes were curious now. “This is by the process of elimination, señor?”
“In part,” I said. “But mostly it’s because, as Gaita made clear, the Mandor’s a handy little place for picking up tidbits of information you can make pay off. Luis, you said yourself that Gaita has been a top source of information for you...and where did she get that information?”
He shrugged. “The Mandor Club. You are right, señor.” Then he shook his head. “But not Gaita, or her friend Tami, either....”
“Still—somebody else could be using it for the same reasons.”
“The businesswoman who runs the Club Mandor,” Saladar said, “you seem to trust her. She passed your message on to Pedro, and through him to me. But she would have the perfect opportunity to gather such intelligence.”
The military term did not surprise me, coming from this man.
“True,” I said. “She may have every room bugged. Hell, they may have film or video cameras going behind one-way glass. But Bunny didn’t send the man with the knife.”
Saladar’s eyes narrowed and his head tilted to one side. “How can you be sure of this?”
“If Maria will pardon a vulgar American expression—you don’t shit where you eat. She would hardly sanction a killing in the lobby of her own apartment house.”
“Ah,” Saladar said, and nodded, accepting that wisdom.
Pedro and Maria had slightly shell-shocked expressions at all this talk of murder and betrayal.
“Anyway,” I said, “I like Bunny. I believe her, even if she did try to have me killed a couple times, a long while back.”
Once again, they all looked at each other, and tried not to let me know just how crazy they thought their gringo guest sounded.
Finally Pedro asked, “This one you killed—”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Pardon, señor?”
“He fell on his own knife.”
“...Yes, I understand. He will not be traced to...to what happened here so recently?” His expression turned woeful, if slightly apologetic. “The militia, they suspect of us of aiding you, señor.”
“The hitman had no identification on him. It’s true I dumped him in Little Havana, but you’re hardly the only Cubans here.”
Pedro nodded, sighed, then asked, “What will you do now?”
“Just give it a little time,” I said, grinning. “You can’t taste the flavor of the stew until it cooks a while.”
Maria nodded, agreeing with that advice in general.
Saladar said, “How else may we be of help in your effort?”
“You can start by telling me something.”
“Certainly.”
“Jaimie Halaquez was a double agent, you said. Who were his contacts in Cuba?”
Saladar shook his head. “That information our amigo Jaimie never shared with us. He said that the less we knew, the safer we were—of course, he meant the safer he was.”
Pedro perked up. “But one time he did mention a name. I remember because it was the kind of name you do not forget—Angel Vesta. He seemed unhappy with himself that he had made this...what do you say? This slip, and never mentioned it again.”
I turned to Saladar. “What does that name mean to you, Luis?”
Saladar gave it a few seconds thought, then said, tentatively, “It might be the one called ‘The Angel,’ who was at times used to dispatch Castro’s enemies. But that is not an uncommon name in Cuba, Señor Morgan—Angelo.”
“Do you know what this Angel looks like?”
“I do, señor. I know also that he is equally adept with the gun and the blade.”
I thought about that.
Then I said, “Luis, how would you like to take a walk?”
“Well...uh, certainly, señor. You have somewhere in mind?”
“Yeah, I do.” I pushed away from the table. “Pedro, Maria, please stay here...and thank you for your hospitality.”
Pedro said, “Would you like to stay tonight, señor, in the secret place off our bedroom?”
Eyes tight, Saladar said, “It might be wise, Señor Morgan. My sources say that this Crowley has distributed your picture to every hotel in Miami.”
A little slow off the dime, old Crowley.
“Thank you, Pedro. Thank you, Maria. But I won’t place you any further in harm’s way tonight than I already have.”
Pedro looked slightly forlorn. Or maybe it was just the droopy mustache. He said, “What else may we do to help your cause?”
Funny way to put it, since I was helping their cause.
I took one last sip of coffee, put the cup down on the table and stood up. “You can keep your people alerted for Halaquez. Somebody should know what charter boats wouldn’t mind hiring out for a night trip to Cuba, if the price was right, and the same thing for private aircraft rentals. Make sure anyone you call upon can identify Halaquez by sight, and if he’s spotted, they’re not to try to take him alone. I’ll be in touch.”