to us to get them-and ourselves-uninvolved.”
“Dude. We were there when someone was killed. It was our guy who did the shooting if you remember. You don’t get uninvolved from a killing.”
“We don’t know anything. The shooting was to save our asses. We can make that case.”
“What if no one believes us?”
“We try, James.”
“But after tonight, if we meet with Rick Fuentes, what then? What if he tells us something? You see? We’re headed into the belly of the beast. We’re constantly involving ourselves further and further. It’s like we want to know what we’re involved in. And after you find out what kind of a mess this is, you can’t pretend you don’t know anything.”
He was right. I was afraid for Em, for James, for myself, and even for Angel. And I was afraid for Vic Maitlin. I didn’t want to make too strong a case to James or Em, but I had an opportunity to return a favor, and I prayed Vic was still alive so I could at least have the chance. I really wanted to keep going. This was like a really good Hardy Boys mystery, except it involved people I knew. And it involved me.
“What do you want to do?”
He stared at the beer, then took the short glass and downed it in one single gulp. “I want the rest of our money. And I guess we’re just going to have to see Rick Fuentes to get it. This is a business, Skip. I lost sight of that. Somebody is trying to screw with my business before it’s even off the ground. It’s time to show a little backbone. Let’s see what the Cuban financier has to say.” He smiled at me and ordered two more beers.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
He was home when we called.
“You’ve got more information?”
I hesitated. “We do, but we’d like to see you personally.”
“No problem, I’ll alert the front gate.”
“Mr. Fuentes?”
“Yes?”
“No gun this time.” I said it firmly, but felt like it was more of a plea. I couldn’t deal with another gun tonight.
He was silent.
“This visit involves our business. We’re business people. There’s no point in waving a gun around.”
“Okay. No guns.” The man sounded exactly like the Fantasy Island guy, Ricardo Montalban.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“We’d like to collect the rest of our money.”
“Your money.”
James was right. It was our business. “The $2,500 you owe us. We did watch the building.”
“The gate will let you through.” He hung up the phone.
“He didn’t sound happy about the money situation, James.”
“Skip, there are going to be a lot of things he’s not happy about tonight.”
We pulled through the gate and parked the truck.
“Do you think the big guy with the greasy hair is up there with him? What if he’s up there just waiting to kill us?”
I’d considered it. “James, if Fuentes wanted the rest of that mail, he could have asked us for it. We told him we had it. Instead, these two goons went to Jackie and asked about it. If they’re in with Fuentes, he would have told them we had all the mail. I think they were by themselves.”
He thought for a moment. “Skip, they obviously are part of this Cafe Cubana thing. The guy was really upset, finding out we had the donor list. Fuentes and these two guys are involved, and just going up there tonight could put us in a world of shit.”
“Yeah.” I knew we were possibly walking into the lion’s den, but there was no other choice. We were being hunted and we had to find out why. “Jackie Fuentes said that the two overweight Cubans had visited her house a number of times when her husband lived there. Somehow they were connected with Fuentes.”
We got out of the truck and James and I retrieved two boxes of mail from the back. I started to pull the back door down as James yelled.
“Hold on. We can’t give him the Cafe Cubana envelope.” He held it up like it was slimy and untouchable. “Come on, amigo. It’s torn open. Christ, we cannot, cannot go to this guy with another piece of opened mail.”
“We didn’t see a problem with this when we opened it. Ah, fuck it.” I took the offending manila envelope from his fingers and tossed it in the back of the truck. “Hell, he doesn’t know what mail came to Jackie’s house. Now, pick up the box and let’s get rid of this other stuff.” I pulled down the back door of the truck, leaving the brown envelope lying by itself in the middle of the floor.
We entered the magnificent lobby where an entirely new arrangement of hundreds of flowers blossomed from the vase in the center of the vast room. I glanced at the vivid painting on the wall and marveled at the details. Seahorses and clams, neon fish with flashing eyes, and wispy strands of plant life all worked together in a potpourri of colors. We rode the elevator in silence, neither of us wanting to concentrate on what or who might be behind Rick Fuentes’s door.
He answered the door looking as if he’d stepped off the cover of GQ. Gray linen slacks broke over highly polished black alligator shoes. He wore a black silk shirt, open at the collar, and a narrow silver necklace with a simple mother of pearl cross. In my jeans, Dive Bahama T-shirt, and sandals, I felt woefully underdressed.
“Gentlemen.” He let us in. “You’ve brought something?”
James nodded. “The rest of your mail.”
He motioned to a narrow entrance table and we put the boxes down.
“Come. Sit.” This time he escorted us into the living room and we sat in overstuffed chairs, surrounded by furniture that was made to look at, not use. My mother would have had fits if we were even in a room like this. Plush carpeting, soft fabrics, muted tones in the textured walls-it was a room to view, not to sit in.
I struck first. “Mr. Fuentes, have you heard anything about Vic?”
“No.” He pounced on it. “I was hoping that was why you were here. Have you heard anything? Anything at all?”
“Let me ask you something else. What is Cafe Cubana?”
You could see the surprise on his face. “I’m sorry. What is the question?”
“Very simply, what is Cafe Cubana?”
Fuentes cleared his throat. “Cafe Cubana is a business venture put together by several investors. It happens to be a private concern and I’m not at liberty to discuss it with you at this time.”
“Could this business venture have something to do with the Cuban Social Club blowing up two nights ago? Or is it possible Cafe Cubana could have something to do with your son’s apparent kidnapping?”
“This is why you came to see me?”
James finally spoke. “This, and the $2,500.”
Fuentes stood up and walked to a polished mahogany desk. He reached into the top drawer and I froze. If he turned around with a gun-it was a check. I seriously about had a heart attack.
“I promised you I would pay you. This is a check for $3,000. I appreciate what you did and how you may have put yourself on the line.” He handed the check to James and stayed on his feet, obviously waiting for us to get up and leave.
“Mr. Fuentes, we were threatened by two Hispanic men tonight. One of them had a gun.” I hesitated to go much further. It was one thing to say we were threatened. It was probably very dangerous to tell him that one of our team had killed one of theirs. “It had to do with your mail that Jackie asked us to store.”
“I don’t think I understand. Two men threatened you over my mail?”
“Apparently they thought we had some of your mail that dealt with a business deal on Cafe Cubana.” James
