'No. How'd you know I was married?'
She said, 'Maurice,' and said, 'What happened?'
'I don't know.' He thought a moment and said, 'Dames are always pulling a switch on you.'
'Is that from one of your friend's movies?'
He shook his head. 'Laura.'
'Your friend's been married three times.'
'How do you know that?'
'I talked to her. Showed her my wares. She uses a cream made from queen bee extract, turtle oil and seaweed.'
'You talked to her?'
'She thinks it's great. I've got a book--a panel of doctors was asked their opinion of the queen bee cream and their answers were: No value, no opinion, a gimmick, quackery, and crap. She's had a tuck, Joe. Also a nose job. The nose when she was breaking into pictures.'
'She told you all that?'
'Sure. Why not? She's nice, I like her.'
'You do?'
'Very easy to talk to--doesn't give you any bullshit. I'd like to see one of her flicks.' Franny paused. She almost smiled as she said, 'Guess what I sold her?'
'You didn't...'
'Swear to God.'
'Bio-Energetic Breast Cream.'
'Listen, I showed it to her and she went ape-shit. 'Oh, for bounce and resiliency--really?' Trying to contain herself, act cool. It's about as effective as queen bee extract and turtle oil. You either have bounce, Joe, or you don't.' She said, 'Wait, I've got a surprise,' and went into the bedroom.
In a few moments he heard soul music, a male vocal with back-up voices, a familiar melody but not a recent one. When she came out he said, 'Who's that?'
Franny said, 'You're putting me on. You haven't heard that a couple a hundred times?' She wasn't wearing her glasses now.
'Smokey Robinson?'
'Who else. And the Miracles. 'You've Really Got a Hold on Me.' ' She came back to the daybed, her place on stage. 'A big hit in Motown when you were a little kid, right?'
'I was in high school.'
'See? I know all about you, LaBrava. Special Agent Joe LaBrava, United States Secret Service. I knew you were into something shady, at least at one time. So I asked Maurice. He says you're doing Murf the Surf now. I thought you were leaning more toward Iggy Pop, but you never know, do you. You quiet guys... Will you tell me some secrets, Joe?'
He said, 'Former President Harry Truman's house has faulty wiring. You're watching a movie on TV, it goes off, comes back on, goes off, comes back on...'
She said, 'Uh-huh, really interesting work, uh?'
'The lights would go off and on too.'
She nodded, accepting this, said, 'Well, you ready?' and began unbuttoning her cover, by the daybed piled with pillows, facing him.
He sat across the glass table from her in a wicker chair. There were two rolls of film on the table by the wine bottle. He raised the Nikon, made adjustments, lowered it and looked at her again.
Franny stood with her legs somewhat apart, hands on bare hips, naked beneath the cover held open behind her hands. She said, 'How do you want me?'
He studied the pose.
She was playing. He hoped she was playing, giving him a line to come back to. Yeah, she was playing. Having fun. How do you want me? Except that her lavender eyes were serious and those big brown-tipped earth-mama breasts were serious and the belly rounding into the thickest patch of black hair he had ever seen in his life was as serious as can be. Well, you could be serious and still have fun. In fact, he believed it was the secret of a happy life, if anybody wanted to know a secret. How do you want me? And his line, keeping it low-key, soft, the sensitive artist:
'Just as you are.'
After a moment she said, 'Are you gonna take my picture?'
LaBrava said, in all honesty, feeling himself becoming more and more serious, 'I doubt it.'
Each time Cundo Rey thought about the guy in the wheelchair he would sooner or later see Richard driving his beautiful black car, and it was the last thing he wanted to think about.
See the guy, see Richard. Relating them, knowing he would have to do something about the guy.
Cundo sat in the lobby of the La Playa Hotel now waiting for Javier, fooling with his earring. Javier was from Cambinado. He was doing okay in his business. He had already offered to give Cundo whatever he needed.
What a place this was--the tile floor cracked and broken, pieces of it missing. He compared it in his mind to Cambinado del Este because the people who lived here reminded him of convicts. The difference, Cambinado del Este was cleaner than this place, it was still a new prison.
He compared it also to the National Hotel in Havana. The National Hotel was as dirty as this place, but instead of people who looked like convicts, there were Russians staying there, Russians smelling of garlic, talking in loud voices, complaining. They complained like children who didn't like their dinner. They didn't complain of things worth complaining about. What did they know? They didn't work on the housing brigade in Alamar twelve hours a day breathing cement dust. The Russian he had known was an engineer or a technician of some kind. In his room he had vodka, bars of chocolate, boxes of rubbers and dirty picture books he had bought in New York City. The Russian hated Cuba. Say Cooba with his garlic breath and spit on the floor. Cundo Rey, aching to leave, dying for the chance, defended his country because he hated the Russian and had gone back to the man's room late at night. He had almost wasted his life because of the Russian, using the Russian's own gun.
Thinking, Oh well, that was done.
Then thinking about the guy in the wheelchair again, because that wasn't done.
How many guys who lived in the Della Robbia Hotel took photographs of people from a distance, unseen, with a telephoto lens? Sure it was the same guy who had taken the photographs of Richard--oh shit, seeing Richard in his mind again...
And seeing a guy who was called David Vega coming into the lobby. David Vega had looked at him as though he knew him, but had never approached to speak to him. So he watched David Vega whenever he saw him.
When Javier came in David Vega was still in the lobby, drinking a Coca-Cola from the machine. So Cundo didn't greet Javier, pretending not to notice him. Javier would see this and do the same.
Cundo waited several minutes before going up to Javier's room. He accepted a glass of rum as a formality and listened as Javier expressed his desire to move to South Miami. There was no hurry. Listening to Javier kept him from thinking about his car in the hands of Richard the swamp creature. Javier finished his rum before he brought the metal footlocker out of the closet, worked the combination and opened the lid to display his wares.
'Any pistol you want,' Javier said, 'wholesale price to a Marielito. Machine gun one-third off. MAC-10 cost you eight hundred.'
'Something small,' Cundo Rey said.
'You want a snubbie. This one, .38 Special, two-inch barrel. Same kind the Charlie's Angels use.'
'Yeah?'
'Also Barney Miller.'
'Wrap it up,' Cundo Rey said.
Chapter 16
