“If they do, you might as well go home.”
Easier said than done. On the subject of the Commie assholes finding an excuse to cancel the tournament, I asked, “Did the crews or the fishermen have any trouble on shore with the police or the locals?”
“Not that I know of. We all started out together — maybe fifty of us, and three women fishermen, two not bad-looking — and we hit the bars. We all had these Pescando Por la Paz baseball caps, but I gave mine to a Cuban broad. Everybody in the bars and on the streets was friendly, and we bought lots of drinks for everyone.”
“And a few for yourselves.”
He smiled. “We spread goodwill. Then some of us split up.” He showed me a piece of paper and said, “This is our visitors’ pass or something. We all have to be back on the boats by midnight.”
“Make sure you are.”
“No problem.” Jack was checking out the cigar lady in the fishnet stockings and asked, “Where does a sailor get laid around here?”
Recalling Sara’s lecture on that subject, I informed him, “Being with a prostitute will get you four years in the slammer.”
“That sucks. But how much do they charge?”
“Jack, you’re on an important mission. Keep your dick in your pants.” I should talk. Jack looked unhappy, so I said, “I’m sure you can charm the pants off a señorita after a few drinks and dinner.”
He smiled. “I need a wingman.”
“I have a date.”
“Yeah? Your girlfriend has you on a short leash?”
I ordered two more beers. Jack had his Zippo and we fired up the Monte Cristos.
I asked him, “Did the customs guys search the boat?”
“No. They didn’t even go below. They were happy with their gifts and welcomed us to Cuba.”
“Did you declare the guns?”
“They were stowed in the locker and I forgot them.”
“Okay... Did you remember the extra ammo and the Kevlar vests?”
“Cost me a fortune.” He asked, “Did you find out how we’re getting the money onboard?”
“No, but I’ll find out when Sara and I get to Cayo Guillermo.”
“And how am I supposed to find out?”
“Did you ask Felipe if he knows anything?”
“Yeah. I asked. And he said, no comprende.”
And he could be telling the truth. But not the whole truth. I said to Jack, “I’m sure someone will get word to you — or to Felipe — while you’re in Cayo.”
“How much money is this?”
“Let’s just say we’ll have some heavy lifting to do.”
“What do I do if you don’t show up by the time the fleet sails for home?”
“You and The Maine sail home with the fleet.”
He looked at me. “I can’t do that.”
“That’s an order.”
He watched the smoke rising from his cigar.
“Jack, don’t worry about what you can’t control. You just go and have a nice tournament.” I added, “As for getting me, Sara, and the money onboard, as you saw at the pier, everyone in this country is on the take.”
He reminded me, “You and me spent some time in fucked-up countries like this. You ever been double-crossed by the locals?”
“At least once a week.”
“Me too. So—”
“So if we get double-crossed, we do what we did then. Shoot our way out.”
“You got a gun?”
“No. You do. Four of them.”
“You need a gun before you get to Cayo Guillermo.” He looked at me.
Well, I knew where this was going, and I knew that Jack didn’t have condoms in his fanny pack. “How did you get it past customs?”
“Easier than I thought.” He explained, “The two Cuban guys who came aboard gave us customs forms that we filled out and signed. Nothing to declare. They took the forms and their loot and left.”
I informed Jack, “Having a gun in Cuba is not your constitutional right — it’s your death sentence.”
“Well, sonny, in my country, gun control means using both hands.” He added, “Your Glock will increase the chances of you — and my money — getting to The Maine.”
“And increase my chances of getting arrested if I get stopped and searched on my way out of this bar.”
Jack quoted from one of his T-shirts. “Better to have a gun and not need it than to need a gun and not have it.”
“Right. Okay... thanks.”
“You don’t mean that now, but you might later.” Jack drank his beer and commented, “This shit isn’t half bad. We need this in the States. I can use my million to open a U.S. franchise when the embargo is lifted.”
I reminded him, “Half a million for deployment and half a mil for combat pay if we get shot at.” I also reminded him, “They don’t have to hit you.”
He looked at me through his cigar smoke. “I forgot to tell you — the Glock is costing you half a million.”
“It’s actually my gun.”
“I risked my life getting it to you.”
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“Tell you what, Captain, if you don’t want the gun, I’ll take it back to the boat.”
“I’m surprised you’re not a millionaire already.”
“Me too.”
“But you are an asshole.”
“Don’t piss me off. I got a gun. And you don’t.” He thought that was funny.
We sat in silence awhile, enjoying our beers and cigars. A D.J. set up his electronics and played a Sinatra album. Jack was hungry and we got a bar menu and ordered Cuban sandwiches. Frank sang “That’s Life.”
On that subject, I asked Jack, “What happened to the lady you married?”
“She got sick.”
“Children?”
“No.”
“Who are your next of kin?”
“I got a sister in New Jersey.”
“You have a will?”
“Nope.”
“If you don’t make it, how can I find your sister?”
“If I don’t make it, neither will you.”
“Let’s say I make it home, Jack, with the money. How do I get your money to your sister?”
“If you get that lucky, you keep it.”
“Okay. How do I find your sister to let her know you’re dead?”
“You sound like an officer.”
“I’m trying to sound like a friend.”
He finished his beer, then looked off into space.
I changed the subject and asked, “How’s the weather look this week?”
“Next couple of days look okay for fishing. But there’s a tropical depression brewing out in the Atlantic.”
It was the end of the hurricane season, but the Caribbean had been unusually hot for October. “Keep an eye on that.”
“We all are.” He asked, “Why is Havana so much fucking hotter than Key West?”
“Must be the women.”
He laughed. “Yeah. Felipe said if you stick a candle in a Mexican woman it comes out melted. Stick a candle in a Cuban woman and it comes out lit.”
Glad to hear they were bonding. I asked, “Any mechanical issues with the boat?”
“Nope.”
“When are your three fishermen flying to Mexico?”
“They go to Havana Airport right after the last day of fishing. They miss the awards dinner and all that shit.”
“When does the fleet sail for home?”
“About nine the next morning.” He looked at me. “I can develop a mechanical problem and wait for you past nine.”
I had no idea what time or even what day Sara and I would get to Cayo Guillermo, or what the security situation was at the marina, or who’d been bribed, or who might need to be taken out, or who, if anyone, was in Cayo to assist us. As a tactical matter it wasn’t important for me to know any of this right now, but from a psychological point of view it’s always good to visualize the path home.