Don Bruns - Stuff to die for

“I can see the passenger. Looks like he’s stretching.” Just a dim shadow. The binoculars would have made the picture much more clear.

James leaned forward staring through the windshield. “Are they waiting for someone? Looks like they’re surveying the surroundings.”

Angel kept the glasses trained on one spot. “Don’t think so. He’s struggling with something on the far side, I can’t quite make out-there it is. He’s got the garbage bag, he’s looking into it. Now he’s pulling the envelope out and-” I wished to hell I’d had better eyesight or else I had the glasses.

“The trunk is opening and he’s laid the envelope inside. He’s back in the car-” Angel lay the binoculars on my lap and started the engine. “Gentlemen, we’re about to take a ride. Hang on tight. Let’s see if we can stay with these guys.”

I HAVE TO ADMIT I WAS SURPRISED. I thought we’d be pitting ourselves against the two Cubans in a blue Buick. Instead, we were following what appeared to be two new guys in an expensive luxury sedan. Everything was black and white, except the bad guys were in white and we were in black. And maybe that was good, because black makes a great disguise at night.

“I was a caddy at a country club when I was young.” Angel kept both hands on the wheel, staying well behind the Lexus as it cruised at a safe speed toward the highway.

“You?” James seemed surprised.

“Yes. I was quite good.”

“So you know the game.” I’d played golf before but I didn’t have the patience for it.

“I don’t play. But there are two basic rules when you caddy. Understand the lay of the land and keep your eye on the ball.”

“And your point is?” James leaned forward.

Angel looked over his shoulder. “Watch where we are going and keep your eye on the Lexus.”

“Ah.”

It wasn’t difficult. The Lexus rode the entrance ramp and thirty seconds later we followed.

“They’re heading toward Miami.” James was getting with the program.

I wondered how much Angel knew. “You agreed to get involved with this without knowing much about the situation, Angel.”

“It’s about Cuba.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how much you want to know, but it’s about arming soldiers to take Castro out.”

“My friend, it’s been tried many times before.” Angel looked pensive. “Do you know what Castro wants most of all,” Angel asked.

I knew. “He wants his brand of Communism to succeed. It’s been the entire focus of his revolution.”

Angel was quiet, watching the car ahead, but staying a respectable distance behind. “Castro gave up on his Communism long ago. When the Soviet Union folded, Castro understood that Communism would not work in his country. Fidel is building a new economy based on tourism. People from Europe, Canada, other Caribbean countries are all flocking to his country. They spend dollars, Cuba invests in new resorts, but the United States won’t allow its citizens to participate.”

“Wait a minute.” I couldn’t let him go unchallenged. “Are you suggesting that Castro is a capitalist?”

“No. I’m stating that fact. Granted, he makes it work for the party rather than for the people, but little by little the people are understanding how to make capitalism work for them.”

James chimed in. “So why get rid of him? His life is on the decline. Why not let nature take it’s course? He’s going to kick off soon. He’s in his late seventies, isn’t he?”

Angel nodded. “He’ll die soon. Old and young, we’re all on our last cruise.”

The Lexus did about seventy and Angel was about five car lengths behind. Occasionally he’d let a car get in front, then pass it a mile or so up the road. Just a normal guy trying to get to the city without attracting attention.

“Castro wants a legacy. Right now his revolution has failed. That is not the way he wants to be remembered. To be a hero, he must get the United States to repeal their embargo. Not to mention the billions of American dollars he will reap.”

It made sense. If Castro was able to open tourism to the United States, then he could also open trade. It would be his final victory and the Cuban people could point to his leadership as the beginning of a new Cuba.

“But Miami is a stumbling block. Los Historicos want two things. They want Castro to fail so that he will have no positive legacy. His history will be littered with failure. And they want their property back. They want their farms and factories and homes. As long as Fidel Castro is in power, neither of those things can happen. So, the good Cubans of Miami and South Florida keep the pressure on. They threaten elections here in the United States, they fund revolutionary groups who promise to take Cuba back, and for a small band of patriots, they cause a great deal of international turmoil. They will not let Castro be victorious.”

James asked from the backseat, “Do you know what’s happening with the mail that we’re chasing?”

“Maybe. Maybe the less I know, the better. But it would appear that you’ve gotten yourselves into a Cuban jam. If you are involved with radicals who want to take back the island, you may have bitten off more than you can chew.”

I stared straight ahead. I knew the lay of the land and watched the white Lexus as it signaled for an exit.

“Should we be for or against an invasion?”

“I think the United States should stay out of it. That’s what I think.”

“You’re in this almost as deep as we are, Angel. Do you want to get out?”

He smiled. “I live for this adventure.”

“We could all be putting our lives on the line.”

“I know. They threatened us with guns. I haven’t forgotten. Emerson wrote, ‘A good indignation brings out all one’s powers.’ I would think that all three of us should be indignant and, with our combined powers, we should be invincible.”

S O I KNEW NOTHING about world affairs. We all knew that Cubans living in South Florida had a strong lobby. And we all knew that when Castro finally abdicated the throne it could be a boon to all of us who were within a stone’s throw of the island. James and I had even discussed a restaurant in Havana. We were stoned or drunk at the time, but I remember talking about it. But now I’d been briefed by a genuine Caribbean, a Bahamian, someone who understood the politics of the region and I realized I didn’t know what I thought I knew. It had never affected my life before. Now, I wondered if it could affect my death.

The Lexus veered to the right and took an exit into downtown Miami. Angel smoothly followed, winding past palms and brush, and turning under the highway. There was no reason for the two men in the Lexus to be concerned. Three other vehicles pulled off at the same time.

“Do you know the area?” James obviously didn’t.

Angel’s face was grim. “Industrial. About twelve blocks up is the Miami River. Shipping, warehousing.”

We could see the car leading us in the next block. Now there was just the Jeep and the Lexus. We drove by boarded-up buildings and a commercial dry cleaning establishment. At this hour of the night there wasn’t much happening. Angel turned right and the Lexus went straight.

“Whoa!” James shouted from the backseat. “Angel, man, he’s going the other way.”

“I’m going to go up one block, then cut back in. Just in case he noticed us following him.”

I looked at the black guy with admiration. “You have done this before, haven’t you?”

He gave me a little smile. One block up he cut left to the main road, then right. Now the white car was two blocks up, but well in sight.