Bob's got more connections than Pan American. To be honest I'm not exactly sure what Hughes expects to gain. But I've heard he's already after a piece of the action in Vegas, so maybe he thinks to buy some of the Havana casinos from a new Cuban government. Drink?'
Bourbon.'
Sorges collected two tumblers, an ice-bucket and a bottle of Ezra Brooks and led the way to a big leather Chesterfield. He placed the tumblers on a glass coffee table, next to a Soundcraft tape box.
Sit down,' he said, dropping on to the sofa. Take the weight off your Bob Smarts.' He poured two large ones and collected his glass in a mug-sized fist.
At the same moment Tom realised who it was the big man reminded him of. Jack London. He'd seen a picture of the author in a bookstore when he'd gone in to buy Errol Flynn's autobiography.
Tom put himself down on the sofa with less aplomb and picked up his drink. Thinking Sorges was about to propose a toast, and hating to drink to anything other than a better frame of mind, he said, Under the circumstances, it hardly seems appropriate to drink to the new President.'
No, I guess not,' admitted Sorges.
Is that the tape?'
His mouth full of Bourbon, Sorges nodded, and then, Just don't tell your friends.'
I don't have any friends,' said Tom, but without any trace of self-pity. It was true, more or less. He kept himself to himself. Never did much more than nod to the neighbours. Most of the people he came into contact with were afraid of him. He knew that, and it didn't bother him. Living a secret life was hard enough without having to explain things to friends.
Your wife, then. She works for the Democrats, doesn't she?'
I won't tell anyone,' said Tom, lighting up a Chesterfield. I'm not the gabby type, in case you hadn't noticed. A big mouth looks bad for business.'
Is that all it is for you? Just business?'
You mean, do I get any pleasure out of it?'
Sorges shrugged his curiosity. You said it.'
It's just something I do, that's all,' said Tom. You might as well ask Truman if he got any pleasure ordering the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It was a job that needed doing. Which is the way I look at my own job. Pleasure or dislike doesn't even come into it.'
I think I'd enjoy killing Castro,' admitted Sorges. We've got a history, me and him. I owe that bastard, big time.'
Can't say that I ever enjoyed killing anyone. Not even in the war. And like I say, some of those guys needed killing.'
Oh, Castro needs killing, all right. Make no mistake about that. There's no shortage of blood on his hands. And everything and everyone is ready to do it, too. Everton, Genevieve, Diaz Castillo, Gonzales, they're all in Cuba right now. And our people have been back to Everton's house and cleaned up that rifle, added a heavy match barrel and a flash suppressor, a leather cheek-piece and a telescopic sight. Wearing some of Everton's old clothes, including his gloves, one of our guys even fired some shots, and made sure that some fibres from his shirt stuck to the stock. They've also left some other stuff in his room. Articles about Castro, old gun mags, ammunition - live and spent - and some of those photographs we took in Mexico City. It's as nice a frame as you'd see hanging in an art gallery. How are you coming along with the priest routine?'
Pretty good,' said Tom. Listen.' He cleared his throat, composed himself for a second, and then began to chant: Si capax, ego te absolve a peccatis tuis, in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.' Tom made the sign of the cross with his thumb, as if anointing with holy oil.
What is this?' asked Sorges. Method acting?'
Tom continued to chant. Per istam sanctam Unctionem, indulgeat tibi Dominua quid-quid deliquisti. Amen.' More crossing. Ego facultate mihi ab Apostolica Sede tributa, indulgentiam plenariam et remissionem omnium peccatorum tibi concede, et benedicto te. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.'
Hey, that's pretty good,' nodded Sorges. Marlon Brando couldn't have done that better. What does it all mean, anyway?'
It's the last rites,' said Tom.
I can see how that might attract you.'
You see, I was thinking, suppose I shoot Castro, walk out of that church, and then someone wants a priest to grant Castro the forgiveness of sins? It would look kind of weird if I didn't know the last rites. So I thought I'd better learn it. Just in case.'
Now there's a thought,' snorted Sorges. Wouldn't that be something? He'd go to hell for sure.'
I know he's a communist 'n all, but from what I've been reading about him, he was a pretty devout Catholic when he was a kid. Went to a Jesuit school. And earlier this year he made a speech in which he said that to betray the poor was to betray Christ.' Tom shrugged. Be just like the thing if he turned Catholic again at the last minute. A lot of people do, you know.'
I guess you're right at that,' agreed Sorges. Better safe than sorry, huh? Well, Marlon, soon we'll take you down to Key West and have you on a boat for Havana. You can even bless the boat if it helps you to get into the part. Just as soon as we get the word from Momo.'
Now that Kennedy's elected, what's stopping him?'
Nothing. Nothing at all. Matter of fact Rosselli's going to call me here this afternoon. If things work out we'll have your holy ass in Havana sometime next week. As it happens, Castro's going to be making a lot of speeches in the next couple of months. So we'll have plenty of opportunities to kill him. In December and January there are a lot of landmarks in the history of the revolution. On December third we have the anniversary of the landing of the Granma, the boat that carried Fidel and the other revolutionaries from Mexico in fifty-six. January first we've got the anniversary of Batista's resignation. And on January eighth we've got the anniversary of Castro's triumphant arrival in Havana. But we think you may get a shot even before then. The word from Genevieve is that those dumb bastards are going to ban Christmas and Santa Claus.'
You're kidding,' laughed Tom.
They'll do it. Maybe you're right. Maybe they will all die as Catholics, but for the time being they intend to live as communists. Besides, food's in short supply. And money's a little tight right now. Too tight to waste on Christmas. So that means no Santa Claus. But at least Castro has a beard. Who knows? Maybe the Big Barbudo can take the place of Father Christmas. Our people think that he'll make some sort of speech about the revolutionary season of goodwill to all communists, or some such shit. Most probably on Christmas Eve. I take it you have no ethical objections to that?'
I've no particular plans for Christmas,' said Tom.
If you're on target my friend, Christmas nineteen sixty could turn out to be the best Christmas I ever had. Fidel Castro with a bullet in his head sure beats the hell out of a pipe-rack and a Max Factor travel trio.'
So that's what that smell is.'
All sorts of gladsome gifties will be coming to fill your Christmas stocking if you pull this off.'
I was kind of hoping for a Swank electric putt machine,' admitted Tom. For just fourteen ninety-five it returns your ball to you after you've holed out.'
And I'll give you the solid silver putter from Tiffany's to go with it, you blow him away.' Sorges stood up. Help yourself to another drink,' he said. While we listen to the chief executive get laid.'
He collected the tape, went over to the phonola, and lifted the stylus off the LP. Kneeling down, he started to thread the tape through the head of the Sony Stereocorder that was on the floor underneath the phonola.
On second thoughts,' said Tom. You can forget the Swank and the silver putter.' He poured himself another drink. A night with Marilyn will do me just fine.'
Glancing across his shoulder at Tom, Sorges looked sheepish. Then he cleared his throat, and said, Yeah, I'm real sorry about that. But this isn't Marilyn you're gonna hear.'
Tom felt himself becoming irritated. He raised surprised eyebrows at Sorges and smiled thinly. It isn't?'
Not exactly, no.'
Tom nodded, unimpressed with this development. Not exactly? What, you mean it's some dozy douche-bag of a ditzy blonde doing a grotesque imitation of the real thing? Or something else? Marilyn minus the sigh and the wiggle and the Spanish fly in her voice? Marilyn with a bad cold, maybe?'
