Havana Bay

uninformed.

He refilled his glass and wandered back to the office and the map of Havana over the desk. Facing it, Arkady could see the full scope of his ignorance. Neighborhoods called Havana Vieja, Vedado, Miramar? They sounded beautiful, but he could have been staring at hieroglyphics for all he understood. At the same time, it was a relief to be far from Moscow, where every street suggested Irina or a journalist's cafe she'd favored, the shortcut to the puppet theater, the ice rink where she'd goaded him into skating again. At every corner he'd expected her to appear, walking full tilt as she always did, scarf and long hair snapping like flags. He had even returned to the clinic, retraced his steps like a man trying to find that single step, that pivotal error he could correct and turn everything back. But his futility mounted as the days rolled in like waves, one black crest after another, and the distance between him and the last time he saw her only grew.

In fact, his very work was a reminder that time was a one-way proposition. A homicide meant, by definition, that someone was too late. Of course, investigating a crime that had already happened was relatively simple. Investigating a crime that hadn't yet occurred, to see the lines before they connected, that might demand skill.

At a creak of wood Arkady noticed Sergeant Luna standing in the office door. It wasn't just the sound, Arkady thought, more like an entire force field crossing the threshold. He didn't recognize Luna immediately because the sergeant was in jeans, sweatshirt and a cap that said 'Go Gators.' Air Jordans graced his feet and his muscular hands flexed around a long metal club as if he were trying to squeeze it in half. The man was a natural athlete just by the bounce in his feet. Dirt covered his arms and shirt as if he'd come directly from a game. The barrel of the club said 'Emerson.'

'Sergeant Luna, I didn't hear you come in.'

'Because I walk quiet and I have a key.' Luna held a key up to illustrate and put it in a pocket. He had a voice like wet cement being turned by a shovel. The narrow cap emphasized his round head and the way muscles played on his forehead and jaw. The whites of his eyes were slightly fried. His biceps balled with anger.

'You speak Russian, too.'

'I picked it up. I thought we could have a talk without the captain or the detective, with no one else.'

'I'd like to talk.' Luna had been so silent around Captain Arcos, Arkady was happy to hear the sergeant out. The bat bothered him.» Let me get you something to drink.'

'No, just talk. I want to know what you're doing.'

Arkady always tried honesty first.

'I'm not sure myself. I just didn't think the identification of the body was certain enough. Since Rufo attacked me, I think maybe there is more to find out.'

'You think that was stupid of Rufo?'

'Maybe.'

'Who are you?' Luna poked him with the fat end of the bat.

'You know who I am.'

'No, I mean who are you?' Luna poked him again in the ribs.

'I'm a prosecutor's investigator. I wish you'd stop doing that.'

'No, you can't be an investigator here. You can be a tourist here, but you can't be an investigator here. Understand? Comprendes?' Luna walked around him. For Arkady it was like talking to a shark.

'I understand perfectly.'

'I wouldn't go to Moscow and tell you how to do things. It shows a lack of respect. And you killed a Cuban citizen.'

'I'm sorry about Rufo.' Within limits, Arkady thought.

'It seems to me you're very difficult.'

'Where is Captain Arcos? Did he send you?'

'Don't you worry about Captain Arcos.' The sergeant gave him another poke of the bat.

'You're going to have to stop that.'

'Are you going to lose your temper? Are you going to attack a sergeant of the Ministry of the Interior? I think that would be a bad idea.'

'What do you think would be a good idea?' Arkady tried to emphasize the positive.

'It would be a good idea if you understood you are not Cuban.'

'I swear I don't think I'm Cuban.'

'You don't know anything here.'

'I couldn't agree more.'

'You do nothing.'

'That's pretty much what I'm doing.'

'Then we can be friendly.'

'Friendly is good.'

For his part, Arkady felt he was being agreeable, soft as a pat of butter, but Luna still circled him.

'Is that a baseball bat?' Arkady asked.

'Baseball is our national sport. Want to see it?' Luna offered the bat to him handle first.» Take a swing.'

'That's all right.'

'Take it.'

'No.'

'Then I'll take it,' Luna said and swung the bat into Arkady's left leg above the knee. Arkady dropped to the floor and Luna moved behind him.» See, you have to step into it to drive the ball. Did you feel that?'

'Yes.'

'You have to turn into the ball. You're from Moscow?'

'Yes.'

'I'll tell you something I should have told you before. I am from the Oriente, the east of Cuba.' When Arkady tried to rise, Luna took a judicious chop into the back of the other knee and Arkady fell backward into the hall and started to crawl toward the parlor to lead the sergeant away from the list of phone numbers. Always thinking, Arkady told himself. Luna followed.» Men from the Oriente are Cuban, but more so. They like you or they don't. If they like you, you have a friend for life. If they don't, you have a problem. You're fucked.' Luna kicked Arkady forward onto his face.» Your problem is I don't like Russians. I don't like the way they talk, I don't like their smell, I don't like the way they look. I don't like them.' The hall was too narrow for a full swing of the bat, but Luna jabbed Arkady's ribs to emphasize his points.» When they stabbed Cuba in the back, we threw them out. Hundreds of Russians flew from Havana every day. The night before the KGB was thrown out someone punctured the tires of all the embassy cars so that they would have to walk to the airport. It's true. The fuckers had to find cars at the last second. Otherwise, think of the embarrassment, Russians walking twenty kilometers to the airport.'

Arkady called for help, all too aware he was shouting in the wrong language and that with the banging from below no one would hear him anyway. Once in the parlor he pushed himself up against a wall and, standing on legs that went every which way, actually landed a blow that made the bigger man grunt acknowledgment. As the two men scuffled around the table the turtle bowl rolled off. Finally the sergeant got free enough to swing the bat again and Arkady found himself on the rug, blinking through blood, aware he'd lost a few seconds of memory and a brain cell or two. He felt a foot across his neck as Luna bent close to feel Arkady's shirt pocket and pants. All Arkady could see was the rug and Change in his chair staring back. No mercy there.

'Where is the picture?'

'What picture?'

The foot pressed on Arkady's windpipe. Well, it was a dumb answer, Arkady admitted. There was only one picture. The Havana Yacht Club.

'Where?' Luna eased up to give him another chance.

'First you didn't want it, now you do?' As Arkady felt his windpipe close he said, 'At the embassy. I gave it to them.'

'Who?'