Maheu nodded. He'd taken off his coat and was looking at O'Connell. Tom guessed Maheu was the liaison between the mob and the Company, with O'Connell probably running some kind of covert operations outfit for the CIA in the same way Alex Goldman did for the FBI. Sorges, he had decided, was the local expert, probably part- Cuban like himself.
Agreed,' said O'Connell.
Sorges said nothing and no one seemed to expect him to comment, which told Tom all he needed to know about how important he was in the scheme of things. This was a deal between Giancana and O'Connell. And once again it was Giancana who spoke.
One more thing, Tom. I don't want Castro dead without you hearing the word from me. And certainly not this side of the election. I don't want anything happening in the next six weeks that does that sonofabitch Nixon any fucking favours. Is that clear?'
Tom nodded. Sure, I understand. I'm a Democrat myself, Mister Giancana.'
I don't think we've talked about this before, Sam,' objected Maheu. I mean, surely the sooner the better.'
Not from where I'm sitting,' said Giancana. Listen, Trafficante can't be here this afternoon. I'm just saying what he would want. He has some narcotics deals going down in Cuba that have to be out of the way first.'
But Maheu still looked unhappy. Rosselli nodded, and said, Bob, you have to understand, this is Santos's territory we're discussing.' Maheu shrugged.
Tom? Frank here will offer you whatever assistance he can,' continued Giancana. Both here and in Cuba, with the underground movement. He used to be Castro's Minister of Sport, so he knows all the plays. Isn't that right, Frank?'
That's right.'
Last year,' said Rosselli, Frank and the guy who used to run the Cuban air force borrowed a B-25 and flew to Havana on a bombing mission. They dropped a lot of leaflets on a convention of American travel agents that Castro had arranged to try and get the tourists back to the island.'
Is that so? said Tom. At last he had the measure of the man. Sorges was a cowboy, a crazy, someone who might turn out to be more of a liability than an asset. The kind of guy who wouldn't have made a bad patsy himself. 'And what was on these leaflets?
Only the truth,' Sorges said defensively. That Castro is a tool of communism. And that the travel agents were kidding themselves if they thought the tourists were going to come back and put money in the hands of a lot of fucking reds.'
The nerve of that guy,' snarled Giancana. To think that he can bring the tourists back to Cuba without the casinos. Without the casinos the big hotels are dead.' Giancana leaned back in his chair and lit a large cigar. Smoking it created the impression of a man who was literally fuming about the fate of his casinos.
That was certainly my impression,' said Tom.
How do you want your money, Tom? Here in Miami, or somewhere out of the country?' asked Rosselli.
Tom tossed an envelope on to the table in front of Giancana. It contained details of a bank he sometimes used in Nicaragua: J.R.E. Tefel in Managua. Tom liked to bank around.
Full instructions are in the envelope,' he said. When I'm advised by my bank that the first tranche of money has been deposited, I'll go to work.'
Good. Then we're done on this.' Giancana glanced at a gold Patek Philippe watch. Tom stood up. Go with him, Frank,' ordered Giancana. Buy him a drink. Find out what he needs. Give him any help you can. Okay with you, Tom?'
Okay with me.'
Tom nodded at the rest of the men who remained seated around the Aloha suite table.
Gentlemen,' he said quietly, and started slowly towards the door, followed by Sorges.
Giancana was already discussing something else - something to do with his girlfriend, Phyllis, and some fucking comedian she was still seeing in Vegas and asking Maheu if maybe he could fix things there, just to make sure. Seeing Fifi open the door, Giancana glanced back over his shoulder and shouted after Tom.
When you hear the word from Johnny, Tom. You make sure you kill that bastard. Kill him. Kill him good. Kill Castro.'
Chapter 5
Air on a G String
Death was so familiar to Tom's thoughts that it seldom gave him any misgivings. Knowing it so well, he did not fear it. Indeed he had almost forgotten what it was to taste fear. Only sleep had the power to kidnap his inattentive mind and subject it to the most veracious imitation of doom. If he had a horror of death at all it was that it would be anything like sleep. The death notices in the Local' section of the Herald referred to people who fell asleep', as if that was a more palatable choice of words than met their deaths'. Not for Tom. He hoped only for complete oblivion. He did not see how anything else could suit him. Some nights were worse than others, but he had no idea why. Seconal or Nembutal stopped him from dreaming but only at the price of blurring the day that followed. And needing all his wits about him he endured the nightmares as another man, afraid of the dentist, might endure a toothache.
This particular morning he awoke with a shout, his pyjamas drenched in sweat, and reached for Mary. This particular morning, she was there.
Was it a bad one?' she asked, wrapping his damp torso in her arms.
They're all bad,' he mumbled.
Do you want to talk about it?'
Not particularly. What is there to say? If Shakespeare's to be believed, it's an occupational hazard.'
Maybe you should see a doctor,' she said, going into the bathroom. Get yourself a different medication. Seconal and Nembutal aren't the only sleeping pills around. Maybe one of the other ones might suit you better.'
What can he give me that isn't on your bedside table?' Tom lit a cigarette to steady his nerves, and followed her into the bathroom. Cigarette's 'bout the only thing that helps.
They're not so easy to handle when you're asleep,' said Mary.
Besides, I need my edge.' He thought for a moment, considering Mary's own situation. I guess we both do.'
He watched her pee and then take a shower, enjoying the way she felt so comfortable around him. Humming High Hopes', the Frank Sinatra song that was the Kennedy campaign anthem, she washed herself with vigorous efficiency. Tom sat on the edge of the tub, handing her the soap and the shampoo when she held out her hand.
I like you watching me,' she said. When a man stops looking at his wife she'd better look out. I read that somewhere.'
I can't imagine not looking at you,' said Tom. That hour-glass figure of yours just makes me want to go and play in the sand.'
Well, you can, if you want. I'm in no particular hurry this morning.'
Tom stepped out of his pyjamas and into the tub beside her.
Why is that?' he asked, taking her in his arms.
Because I'm going to be late tonight.' Grasping the handles on the tub, she bent over in front of him and felt him penetrate her from behind. JFK and Nixon are on television again tonight. Everyone at the campaign office is staying behind to watch it.'
Sometimes I think you've got a thing about him,' said Tom, thrusting himself into his wife's body with something close to venom.
Whatever gave you that idea?' she gasped.
I don't know,' he said, admiring the sight of their lovemaking. Squeezing her buttocks with his hands and then pushing them apart the better to observe her penetration, he chuckled and added: One thing I am sure about.'
What's that?'
I kind of like to stay behind and watch myself.'
No. 1410 Brickell Avenue was an expensive apartment block between Highway 95 and the Rickenbacker Causeway. The place where Frank Sorges had told Tom to meet him was a two-storey house behind the main
