to the morgue she will fall on the corpse. Usually you don’t need to die to get laid in Cuba, but tonight it would help. She’s from another dimension, perhaps nature itself, equally ready for life or death.
In the city room Max was in his cubicle, his shirt wilted. He looked weary, and bored with whoever was on the other end of the telephone. Quinn watched him stare at Renata who was sitting at a desk in a far corner, next to a tall black man he’d seen on his first visit and who now was making up pages for the next edition. Renata was on the phone. She’s close to Max and he’s red hot for her and she likes it. She likes it hot. Max would, beyond hotness, also be gallant and suave with women. Quinn didn’t trust him.
“We came for the news,” Quinn said when Max ended his call. “Renata can’t live without the small detail of what’s happening. She’s obsessed with knowing who’s dead. I think somebody from the museum may have been killed.”
“How did you hook up with her today?”
“I saved her from solitude after the attack.”
“You move as fast as a sex tourist.”
“Havana accelerates the blood.”
Max preened and said he’d had a ten-minute exclusive interview with Batista after the attack, a bit of a scoop.
“What’s exclusive in it?” Quinn asked.
“Nothing except he said it in English.”
Batista had whetted Max’s appetite for an interview with Castro. “I don’t think he’s dead and I don’t think Batista thinks so either. He’s sure the army’s going to deliver his corpse. You want to try for an interview? Matthews’ story in the Times opened him up but there’s a lot more to get.”
“Why me?” Quinn asked.
“You’re on a roll. You go someplace and things happen. Is it always like this with you?”
“I try to keep the status quo at arm’s length.”
“I have a Santiago contact who may or may not get you started. But he can pass the word and then it’s all whether they trust you. Fidel will trust an American newsman before a Cuban. Some Cuban newspapers are with Batista and the rest are monitored by censors.”
“Not this one?”
“We are sometimes independent. You’re from the Herald and you’re a Time stringer, no? Those are definite pluses.”
“Assistant stringer.”
“But you did make the connection to Time. ”
“They didn’t pay me yet and I didn’t write anything for them yet. Otherwise it’s a deal.”
Renata came weeping to Max’s office, blotting her tears.
“My friend’s entire family was arrested,” she said. “Seven people.”
“Everybody was arrested today,” Max said. “Anybody who wasn’t will be arrested tomorrow. They’re leaving bodies all over Havana, one hanging from a tree. Anybody linked to the Directorio is a target. A dozen attackers were students and they found some of their guns in an apartment near the University.”
“Did all the attackers die?” Renata asked.
“Two or three got away, so the army says. You know any?”
“I may, but I don’t know who was killed.”
“We have a few names,” he said, and he pushed a paper with six names on it toward Renata. “They’re compiling the full list. We’ll get it. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing.” She was almost weeping again.
“I can take you to dinner, with your friend here, if you like. We can even pick up your parents.”
“I couldn’t eat,” she said.
“Eating goes with grief,” Max said. “You always have lunch after a funeral, then think of the Last Supper.”
Renata smiled a very small and silent thank you but no, and stood up.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Max said.
“I may go away,” she said.
“I’m here whenever you need me.”
In the car she said, “My friend said to stay away from the necrocomio. ”
“Good. You should,” Quinn said.
“And he says I shouldn’t go to Diego’s funeral. Diego had two children. He never mentioned them. My friend doesn’t want me connected to anybody in the attack.
In the city room Max was in his cubicle, his shirt wilted. He looked weary, and bored with whoever was on the other end of the telephone. Quinn watched him stare at Renata who was sitting at a desk in a far corner, next to a tall black man he’d seen on his first visit and who now was making up pages for the next edition. Renata was on the phone. She’s close to Max and he’s red hot for her and she likes it. She likes it hot. Max would, beyond hotness, also be gallant and suave with women. Quinn didn’t trust him.
“We came for the news,” Quinn said when Max ended his call. “Renata can’t live without the small detail of what’s happening. She’s obsessed with knowing who’s dead. I think somebody from the museum may have been killed.”
“How did you hook up with her today?”
“I saved her from solitude after the attack.”
“You move as fast as a sex tourist.”
“Havana accelerates the blood.”
Max preened and said he’d had a ten-minute exclusive interview with Batista after the attack, a bit of a scoop.
“What’s exclusive in it?” Quinn asked.
“Nothing except he said it in English.”
Batista had whetted Max’s appetite for an interview with Castro. “I don’t think he’s dead and I don’t think Batista thinks so either. He’s sure the army’s going to deliver his corpse. You want to try for an interview? Matthews’ story in the Times opened him up but there’s a lot more to get.”
“Why me?” Quinn asked.
“You’re on a roll. You go someplace and things happen. Is it always like this with you?”
“I try to keep the status quo at arm’s length.”
“I have a Santiago contact who may or may not get you started. But he can pass the word and then it’s all whether they trust you. Fidel will trust an American newsman before a Cuban. Some Cuban newspapers are with Batista and the rest are monitored by censors.”
“Not this one?”
“We are sometimes independent. You’re from the Herald and you’re a Time stringer, no? Those are definite pluses.”
“Assistant stringer.”
“But you did make the connection to Time. ”
“They didn’t pay me yet and I didn’t write anything for them yet. Otherwise it’s a deal.”
Renata came weeping to Max’s office, blotting her tears.
“My friend’s entire family was arrested,” she said. “Seven people.”
“Everybody was arrested today,” Max said. “Anybody who wasn’t will be arrested tomorrow. They’re leaving bodies all over Havana, one hanging from a tree. Anybody linked to the Directorio is a target. A dozen attackers were students and they found some of their guns in an apartment near the University.”
“Did all the attackers die?” Renata asked.
“Two or three got away, so the army says. You know any?”
“I may, but I don’t know who was killed.”
“We have a few names,” he said, and he pushed a paper with six names on it toward Renata. “They’re compiling the full list. We’ll get it. What can I do to help?”
“Nothing.” She was almost weeping again.
“I can take you to dinner, with your friend here, if you like. We can even pick up your parents.”
“I couldn’t eat,” she said.
“Eating goes with grief,” Max said. “You always have lunch after a funeral, then think of the Last Supper.”
Renata smiled a very small and silent thank you but no, and stood up.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Max said.
“I may go away,” she said.
“I’m here whenever you need me.”
In the car she said, “My friend said to stay away from the necrocomio. ”
“Good. You should,” Quinn said.
“And he says I shouldn’t go to Diego’s funeral. Diego had two children. He never mentioned them. My friend doesn’t want me connected to anybody in the attack.
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