They sat down over dinner in the presidential palace. Batista pronounced himself overjoyed to make the acquaintance at last of his niece's son.
"We've met before, of course," he said, speaking Spanish. "I came to Cordoba. You were but a child."
"I remember," said Bat.
"I came again. You were in Europe fighting the war."
Fulgencio Batista was fifty-two years old that year, a compact man who still carried himself as the army officer he had been. He appeared to be of Spanish-Indian extraction: swarthy of complexion, with dark eyes and brushed-back hair held in place with a fragrant oil. He wore a cream-colored single-breasted suit, a pearl-gray shirt, and a red-and-blue tie in a bold pattern. On his left hand he wore a massive gold ring.
They talked for a while about nothing consequential. Then Batista explained why he had invited the Cords to come to Cuba.
"It is too bad that neither you nor your father has ever come here before," he said. "This country is poor, but this island is beautiful. The climate is better than Miami's. The beaches are extraordinary. The fishing is superb. The flight is short and easy. The Cuban people are hospitable. No nation in the world offers more beautiful — or complaisant — women. I have determined to build our economy by making Cuba attractive to tourists. Anyone who invests merely two hundred thousand dollars in a hotel or motel can have a gaming license. Cord Hotels, Incorporated, wants to build a casino-hotel in Las Vegas. Why not build it here?"
"The Saturday Evening Post article —" Bat started to say. He referred to an article published in that magazine in the spring, exposing dishonest practices in Cuban casinos.
"But you do not know what we did," Batista interrupted. "I turned the army against the card sharps. Military intelligence was given the task of identifying them. Many were Americans. We arrested them and deported them. The Cubans were released from jail with a warning they would return to jail and stay there if they ever went near a casino again. Now we play by new rules. The razzle-dazzle games — eight-dice games and all that — are forbidden. We know we cannot attract the clientele we want if we allow cheating."
"It's hard to control," said Bat.
"I've hired an expert," said Batista. "You know him. Meyer Lansky."
"I've never met him," said Bat. "My father knows him."
"A really profitable gaming operation," said Batista, "can only operate if the people who play can have confidence in it. That's what Lansky knows: what the rules should be and how to enforce the rules. Strictly."
"That's what we're doing in Las Vegas," said Bat. "Playing by the rules. Including the tax laws."
"I want to make Cuba the Monte Carlo of the Caribbean," said Batista. "Most Americans don't want to take the time or spend the money to fly to the Mediterranean, but here — a short flight from their shores — we can provide everything Monte Carlo offers and more."
2
Bat accepted Great-Uncle Fulgencio's offer of "a really superior girl" for the night and woke exhausted and hungry when the telephone rang and the hotel operator said a Mr. Lansky would like to see him. Five minutes later Meyer Lansky was at the door. Wearing a white terry-cloth robe. Bat welcomed him in.
The word about Lansky was that he was a small man. He was: a solemn little man, prematurely aged as Bat judged him. His temples were gray, his face was marked with liver spots, and his eyes looked weary. He had an extraordinarily big nose. He bore the marks, too, of a heavy smoker. He wore a dark-blue suit that looked a little too large for him, a white shirt, and a bow tie.
"I wasn't expecting you," Bat said.
"I can come back another time," said Lansky.
"No. Sit down. You'll have to forgive me, though. There's a girl in the bathroom, and breakfast is on its way up. She'll be out of the suite in five minutes. I ordered for two. Can you use some breakfast?"
"Just the coffee," said Lansky.
"I'm told it's a Cord family trait to be hungry in the morning," said Bat. "I'm only gradually picking up on Cord family traits. Anyway, I'm glad you're here. We have some things to talk about."
Lansky sat down in a leather-upholstered chair facing the couch where Bat would sit and take his breakfast off the coffee table. "The President," he said, "made you a pitch about building a casino-hotel here."
"Right."
"If he can make it work, what he's talking about, there's a ton of money to be scooped up in Cuba."
"The country isn't stable," said Bat.
"Once there's a big American investment, certain people will lend their talents to make it stable," said Lansky.
Bat shook his head. "I wish you hadn't mentioned it."
"I've got nothing to do with that," said Lansky. "You'll have nothing to do with it. It'll happen just the same, and the President will accept the help he gets."
"We'll all be tarred with the same brush," said Bat.
"Would you refuse to take profits from oil because John D. Rockefeller was a robber baron?" asked Lansky.
"You're a consultant to President Batista. You're a consultant to us. Is there a conflict of interests?" Bat asked.
Lansky shrugged. "Find one," he said. "My job for the President is to make gaming profitable in Cuba — by making it honest. That's what your father asked me to do for The Seven Voyages. That and to avoid a tax prosecution by stopping the skimming. There's money to be made in Cuba. I wish I had enough to build a casino of my own."
"I'd be reluctant to make a long-term investment in Cuba," said Bat. "And I know my father would be reluctant. It would take ten years to recover the money it would take to build a hotel. Cuban governments don't last that long. You may be confident in the staying power of my great-uncle, but I am skeptical."
Lansky pursed his fleshy lips and frowned. He lit another cigarette. "You don't have to build a hotel to have a casino," he said.
"I know. If you invest two hundred thousand, they'll give you a gaming license. Surely you have two hundred thousand, Mr. Lansky."
"My money is tied up in a place called the Montmartre Club," said Lansky. "Ask around about it."
"I already have," said Bat. "You attract the high rollers because they know the Montmartre is run to the Meyer Lansky standards. Serious gamblers respect you and your club."
"But they leave my tables to go get something to eat, to see a show, to get laid. I can't afford to build a big swimming pool for their wives to lie around while they play. Look, Mr. Cord —"
"Call me Bat."
"Okay. And call me Meyer. You know the origin of the name Meyer? It comes from the name of a rabbi called Mei-or, meaning 'the bringer of light.' I was born Meier Suchowljanski. When we arrived in New York forty years ago, my father changed me from Meier to Meyer and changed us all from Suchowljanski to Lansky."
Bat smiled. "I am Jonas Enrique Raul Cord y Batista," he said.
"Anyway, Bat, I have an idea. I'd like to install a casino in a hotel like the Floresta — which is a hotel, with pool and shops and all that. I could attract the serious gamblers the way I do at the Montmartre. I'd also get the tourists, who'd know they were playing honest games."
"The way the new Vegas hotels work," said Bat.
"Exactly. Ben Siegel saw the connection. The difference is that Havana is a tropical paradise, not a dusty desert town. What's more important, Chicago and everything east of it are a lot closer to Havana than they are to Las Vegas."
"Are you making a proposition, Meyer?"
"A million dollars will build a gaming room and a show room on the Floresta," said Lansky. "It's a more modest operation, but the investment can be recovered in four years, maybe less."