Randy White - North of Havana

"What, I'm going to go back and freeze in fucking Moscow? Or Montreal? Believe me, five years training in that place, dealing with those asshole Canucks, it was enough. You know what I'm saying. The rest of the world, having money just makes you rich. But in a place like Cuba, it makes you God."

I didn't want to hear any more. I wanted to be away from him. Was it that I found Geis so repelling… or just so uncomfortably familiar? I said, "Then let's talk money. I've got nine thousand, cash. I can get it for you tomorrow. You cut me loose now, I walk to the Santeria compound alone, get Dewey and Tomlinson, and we're out of here."

"You get back with Taino's people, you're not going anywhere. That's what you don't understand."

"They like Tomlinson. They think he's helping him; him and his psychic powers. They're not going to hurt me or Dewey as long as they think they need Tomlinson."

Geis said, "Oh?" letting me know that I was already providing information, whether I wanted to or not. Then he said, "Tomlinson's going to get all three of you killed. Tell me this, last night, when you went down that alley? Did some gorilla jump you, try to rob you?"

"He tried to kill me."

"There you go. A guy named Rosario. He used to do some stuff for us. That guy, Jesus, he'd sneak up on cows, neighborhood dogs at night, and cut their throats just to stay in practice. Rosario, he likes it. Now he works for the priests. Taino put him onto you. Taino would burn his own mother if he thought it would get him a little more money or a little more power. He's like the fifth or sixth most powerful priest in Cuba, and he wants to be first. So what's new?"

"Bullshit. Taino's people tried to rescue me. I'm pretty sure they killed the guy you're talking about."

"You think Taino would tell anybody? He has you popped, takes the money, his own people still think he's a great guy. What's he care what happens to you or anybody else. He's just like Fidel; all those power-hungry assholes. He's got a public agenda and a private agenda. What you better hope is, Dewey's not on Taino's private agenda." Geis puffed on his cigar before he added, "So you going to think it over, or are you going to help me?"

I stood there feeling sick; cornered. Finally said, "God damn it."

Geis said, "Good decision," then turned suddenly and kicked open the door of the building. He had the light of his rifle on, shining it around: some kind of old mess hall; a few cans of food sitting on shelves, dust everywhere, the tiny ruby eyes of rats looking out at us. Was this Point Lenin, the old special forces base? Geis said, "First thing we do, we get something to eat. Maybe sleep a little bit, too."

I was exhausted. When was the last time I'd slept?

Dewey and I had had a short nap at the Havana Libre- this after making love. But my last real sleep was… Panama City.

It seemed as if we had flown out of Panama City weeks ago, not the day before.

I said, "You don't have to worry. I'm not going to sneak off and I'm not going to try to take your weapon." Telling him that in advance so he wouldn't be tempted to tie me.

The man was looking at cans, holding them up to the light. Black beans; something else that might be spinach. "Damn right you're not," he said. "I'm your ticket out of here, your only way. That's why I trust you a lot more than you trust me."

When I awoke, the sun was casting dust streamers through cracks in the boarded windows. I'd folded some newspapers, old copies of Granma, into a pallet and had slept on the floor, my back to a wall.

I'd been dreaming about something… what? Something to do with Dewey; one of those anxiety-ridden dreams that suddenly lost detail as it collapsed then blended into a general feeling of dread.

Rolled, stood, checked my watch: seven forty-five A.M. I'd slept for less than three hours. I'd talked with Geis until first gray light, telling him what I knew about the Ochoas, what I knew about Rita Santoya. That she was looking for something that Taino wanted her to find, but her grandmother's directions were wrong. So they were now depending on Tomlinson's psychic vision to lead them to it. I told him the names of the villages I remembered, La Es-peranza and Candelaria, but that Rita had said she'd already spent two days in Candelaria and claimed she didn't find a thing.

Geis had asked, "You really think he's got those kinds of powers?"

"Tomlinson? No, of course not. It's nonsense."

"Total bullshit, I agree. What it is, I think someone's trying to buy time. They tell you what it is they're after?"

"Money for their revolution."

"That too," he had said.

"What else would it be?"

"Something a lot more important than money. At least, that's what the Santoyas want them to believe."

"Meaning you think they're intentionally misleading Taino."

"At least one of them is. If they knew where it was, they'd have it by now."

"Have what?"

"It's voodoo bullshit. Magic. That kind of crap. Trouble is, Fidel's gone so nuts he believes it, too."

Geis wouldn't explain. Told me, "If you need to know, I'll tell you. Standard procedure, right?"

I thought back to Geis's tour of Old Havana, the way he'd probed for a reaction, telling us things so he could read our faces, find out what we knew. I had a pretty good idea what it was they were looking for. But if he didn't want to come right out and tell me, I'd go along with it. He was right. Standard procedure.

I was having trouble reconciling my impression of the man I knew as Valdes with the man I was hearing about, Adolfo Santoya. Yes, I could see him arranging a meeting with Rita, trying to reunite with the estranged branch of his family. Could see him trying to rise above the reputation of his much-hated grandfather. He was that much of an idealist. Maybe could see him planning to assassinate Castro; whatever it took to save his country. But to intentionally mislead for profit? It seemed unlikely. Or I had misread him… not that I hadn't misread people before.

The last couple of years, it seemed, I'd been doing more and more of that…

But Geis had told me, "You may be right about Adolfo. He's a straight arrow. When he disappeared a week or so ago, went underground, people figured he was dead or something. But neither one of us knows the girl, right? That family's got a bad side; maybe she inherited the full dose." When he chided, "Wasn't it her father who pulled a gun on Fidel a few years back? At some baseball game?" I did not reply.

And that's the way he had left it.

Now I put on my glasses and looked around. Big abandoned cafeteria, a couple of signs on the wall in Russian. Geis's newspaper pallet was empty. I went outside, urinated. No sign of the man.

Geis was gone.

I walked down the beach looking out over the harbor: a trash line of plastic bottles and broken glass edging a breathing azimuth of dishwater gray. A few boats on moorings to the south, a few more across the harbor near the peninsula. The boats had a dilapidated look, like junked cargo trucks adrift. For a harbor this size to be idle illustrated Cuba's alienation; it was a dead spot in the mall of international shopping.

I decided to keep on heading south, see if No Mas was among the anchored boats. If Geis didn't appear, I'd just keep on walking. Go straight to the peninsula. Dangerous or not, I wanted to find Dewey. She was a tough woman, a powerful individualist in her way, but she was no more equipped to deal with the potentialities of a Third World country than I was equipped to deal with the social pressures of professional sports.

And that fuzzy dream had left me uneasy, worried about her.

I pictured Taino trying to bully her with one of his egocentric tirades; saw his expression when Dewey told him to go fuck himself-he spoke English; he'd understand. Or maybe Molinas. Molinas, with his broken nose, might try to use Dewey to get even with me. I pictured Dewey freezing him with those sled dog eyes of hers, telling him to get the hell away.