Cuba blue

9

In a rich coffee-brown, book-filled stud y

The elder Cuban business sovereign huddled over his desk, his face half-hidden in the semi-darkness he preferred. A ragged scar ran down his neck from his right cheek, a leftover from the days of the revolution-the result of a machete attack from a subordinate who took issue with his orders. No one’s fool when it came to seizing opportunity, he’d fought on both sides, first with Batista, then later when fortunes changed, with Castro-politics less important than the power that winning conferred. The mutinous soldier had paid with his life along with any peasant who stood in Humberto Arias’s way. All the bodies disposed of not far from the local church. With the remains, he’d also hidden Cuban historical relics. Over the years, he secretly retrieved items that became the foundation of his current lucrative international antiques business.

He offered his visitor a fine cigar from a gold inlaid box.

“Ahhh…my friend, Alejandro,” he warmly began, “This is good news…that we will soon have the bodies in the hands of the SP. That man Benilo is dangerously clever-never underestimate him, never!”

“You can stop worrying about that old fool. Cavuto and I will not let you down.” The tall handsome Alejandro Valdes, known for his ability to ‘fix’ anything, deeply inhaled the full-bodied, rich aroma of the tobacco used to make the Fuentes, a prize the rest of the world hungered for at almost any price.

Alejandro had recently decided that a fundamental conundrum existed in his life: His boss, whom he’d originally intended to kill, had become first his mentor, then in all respects, his father. As a young man, Alejandro had been on a quest-in search of the man who’d ordered the brutal murder of his mother and others taking sanctuary in his village’s most sacred place-the cathedral. Surviving only because he’d hidden beneath her body, the memory of that terror still burned within. Often, the cries of those murdered woke him, their spectral voices pleading for vengeance. As a man, he’d tracked down the remnants of the revolutionary unit responsible for the wanton horror of these killings. One by one, Alejandro murdered each member of that wicked rouge unit, until only their leader remained-the man who was now his ‘father’. And all the while, the old man never suspected that his ‘adopted son’ had been a witness to his wartime atrocities. Ironically, with no son of his own, Arias had made it clear he considered the younger man his heir apparent-a twist of fate that the ‘son’ could never have predicted.

Adding to his dilemma, Alejandro had come to realize he loved the lifestyle of the rich and powerful, and he was reluctant to do anything to jeopardize its continuance. But what had become of his original plan? He’d gotten close to Arias, taking on more and more opportunities connected to the old man’s Havana operation as it related to Alejandro’s SP position with the express purpose of creating the appearance of loyalty. At Arias’s direction, many activities went unreported and many lives were ruined by the SP’s frightful attention. Over the years, Alejandro had lost count of the instances of mis-directions and legerdemain that enabled Arias to become a major player in the Cuban underworld.

Alejandro’s cunning plan so far had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams; however, his plan of assassination, rather than being quickly accomplished, had instead permutated into something else, something complex, something tangled. It’d taken years to reach this point-to be this close to his target-and for what? Killing this man was no longer the simple matter it ought to have been.

Rolling the Fuentes between his fingers and lifting it to his lips, Alejandro tasted its sweetness, so like that of his only love-Humberto’s youngest daughter, Reyna-to whom he gave a fleeting thought as the smoke curled about his darkly alluring features. Just the thought of her brought a half-smile to his face. Falling in love with the bastard’s daughter had not been by design, yet their coming marriage ensured his closeness and access to the position and power he’d craved.

With patience grown thin after so many years, he’d begun to plot Arias’s demise. How many times had he killed the old bastard in his mind? So often that when drunk, he’d wax poetic saying, “Let me count the ways.” These thoughts filtered through his mind even as he enjoyed the man’s largesse. Leaning forward, he lifted the rum-filled Waterford crystal snifter and drank. He imagined himself on the other side of the desk, his hands on the controls, his fiancee proudly at his side.

“So tell me,” Humberto began, “do you have this pathologist Gomez…what’s his name? Trebeca in your control?”

“The SP has enough on Trebeca to send him away for two lifetimes. He’ll do whatever I tell him.”

“So when’s this press conference you’re orchestrating for the public? And are you sure this will work?”

“Don’t you see…when the SP announces to the world that these deaths are the result of a drug-smuggling deal gone bad, it will divert attention from us.”

“Clever…but still I see loose ends. That damned lock…and perhaps Montoya.”

Not wanting to pursue the subject of the lock, Alejandro asked, “Are you suggesting that Montoya should take a permanent vacation?”

“Only if he becomes a liability. He says a single word to his lady-this detective Aguilera-even in pillow talk, and we could be tomorrow’s headline.”

“I was against putting the woman on the case from the beginning, but at the time-”

“I know, but neither of us knew she was involved with Montoya.”

“Ahhh…that Montoya wouldn’t jeopardize the money,” replied Alejandro, sipping at his drink. “I know him.”

“Then that only leaves the lock.”

“Stop worrying. It’s already taken care of. The cop, Tino Hilito will be switching your lock so it can’t lead back to you.”

“Then you are telling me, Alejandro-”

“I’m telling you there is no way any of this can be traced. You’re safe.” Alejandro smiled, thinking that the astute Benilo and the equally shrewd woman, Aguilera, would most certainly trace the lock directly to his mother’s murderer. In this way, Alejandro believed he could successfully betray the old man without implicating himself, or destroying his relationship with his fiancee-his guarantee of access to Arias’s fortune. Furthermore, this plan relieved Alejandro of the onus of direct murder while allowing him to slip naturally into the chair he longed for.

“So, Alejandro, my boy, when will you and Reyna set the bans for your marriage?”

“Reyna is making arrangements as we speak.”

“Good! I hope you two give me grandchildren before I depart this world. It’s the bull who makes the calf.”

Alejandro understood the insult to the childless Gutierrez who was married to Humberto’s older daughter, Angelique. “I plan to do all in my power to ensure that happens.”

Each man now leaned back in his chair, a sense of comfort pervading the study as, together, they enjoyed their smokes.