soon be too dead to drink it.
‘You are American,’ said the voice at his shoulder.
‘Is that a question or are you just showing off?’ Mr Wynter turned around and smiled at the large Cuban behind him. The man looked to have been built from butcher’s offcuts. His face was lumpen with scar tissue and, when he smiled, he showed Mr Wynter little but gums. ‘You look perfect,’ Mr Wynter said.
‘Your eyesight must be bad for you to come in here in the first place,’ said the Cuban, ‘but you must be completely blind if you like my face. Maybe I’ll give you one to match?’
‘Then you wouldn’t earn all the money I plan on paying you for a few jobs I’d like taking care of,’ Mr Wynter replied. ‘Which seems a shame really.’ He turned to the barman. ‘Where’s my drink?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t got all day.’ The barman, looking somewhat surprised, turned away and began mixing.
‘What jobs?’ asked the Cuban.
‘Oh, you know,’ said Mr Wynter. ‘All the usual stuff – driving me around, sharing your local knowledge, beating people up.’
‘I’m good at that,’ the Cuban replied, offering another gummy smile.
‘I just bet you are,’ said Mr Wynter.
Rex moved through the busy harbour until he found a relatively quiet spot. Sitting down on a coil of rope, he called Esther.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You found anything yet?’
‘Patience, woman,’ he replied. ‘I only just got here.’
‘Sorry,’ Esther replied ‘I’m just…’
‘What is it?’ asked Rex.
‘Penelope Lupé was found dead in her apartment.’
‘Dead how?’
‘Heart attack, apparently.’
‘Apparently?’
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘I think that if Gleason and his unit are here in Cuba but someone’s killing people that are connected, then you should keep your mouth shut, especially on an open line.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK. Don’t worry, I’m on this, and I’ll find out who killed her. For now I need you focused, yes?’
‘Of course.’ A slight pause as she tried to put a little more steel in her voice. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Damn right you are. Now… first problem: he’s going to call her, so… we have her cell?’
‘No, and guess what, according to company records she never had one. They are tidying this up so tight…’
‘Tight enough I can’t believe S.O.G.’s not involved. Seriously, Esther, this stinks worse by the minute.’
‘I know. Sorry. There is one piece of good news: I cleared things with Broderick. You have sanction in this until someone from higher up slaps his wrists.’
‘Broderick actually approved this?’
‘I know. I think it’s because he’s always had the hots for me.’
‘Not that he really likes and respects my work?’
‘He hates you, Rex.’
‘Can’t think why.’
‘You refused to hand over the route mapping in Venezuela.’
‘I suggested he would be better not interfering and let me get on with my job. I was perfectly friendly.’
‘You told him to suck your balls.’
‘The very definition of friendly. I don’t let just anyone suck them.’
‘He didn’t take it that way.’
‘His loss, they’re nice balls. Succulent.’
‘I’m hanging up on you now.’
‘I told you to do that five minutes ago.’
The phone went dead in his ear.
Rex got up and made his way towards where a collection of men were hauling crates onto the quayside.
‘Hey,’ he called. ‘Where can I hire a truck?’
They looked at him as if he was speaking Dutch.
‘My Spanish isn’t that bad,’ he said. ‘Where can I hire some transport?’
Eventually, one of the men pointed further up the quay and so began a slow game of tag as he worked his way from one group to another until eventually he found himself, by a general consensus of the people working at the harbour,face to face with Juan de Marcos Rodriguez.
Rodriguez was a small man, sat on a tatty deckchair in the far corner of the harbour. He was looking out over the water, scratching at a
‘You are American,’ said the voice at his shoulder.
‘Is that a question or are you just showing off?’ Mr Wynter turned around and smiled at the large Cuban behind him. The man looked to have been built from butcher’s offcuts. His face was lumpen with scar tissue and, when he smiled, he showed Mr Wynter little but gums. ‘You look perfect,’ Mr Wynter said.
‘Your eyesight must be bad for you to come in here in the first place,’ said the Cuban, ‘but you must be completely blind if you like my face. Maybe I’ll give you one to match?’
‘Then you wouldn’t earn all the money I plan on paying you for a few jobs I’d like taking care of,’ Mr Wynter replied. ‘Which seems a shame really.’ He turned to the barman. ‘Where’s my drink?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t got all day.’ The barman, looking somewhat surprised, turned away and began mixing.
‘What jobs?’ asked the Cuban.
‘Oh, you know,’ said Mr Wynter. ‘All the usual stuff – driving me around, sharing your local knowledge, beating people up.’
‘I’m good at that,’ the Cuban replied, offering another gummy smile.
‘I just bet you are,’ said Mr Wynter.
Rex moved through the busy harbour until he found a relatively quiet spot. Sitting down on a coil of rope, he called Esther.
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘You found anything yet?’
‘Patience, woman,’ he replied. ‘I only just got here.’
‘Sorry,’ Esther replied ‘I’m just…’
‘What is it?’ asked Rex.
‘Penelope Lupé was found dead in her apartment.’
‘Dead how?’
‘Heart attack, apparently.’
‘Apparently?’
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘I think that if Gleason and his unit are here in Cuba but someone’s killing people that are connected, then you should keep your mouth shut, especially on an open line.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK. Don’t worry, I’m on this, and I’ll find out who killed her. For now I need you focused, yes?’
‘Of course.’ A slight pause as she tried to put a little more steel in her voice. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Damn right you are. Now… first problem: he’s going to call her, so… we have her cell?’
‘No, and guess what, according to company records she never had one. They are tidying this up so tight…’
‘Tight enough I can’t believe S.O.G.’s not involved. Seriously, Esther, this stinks worse by the minute.’
‘I know. Sorry. There is one piece of good news: I cleared things with Broderick. You have sanction in this until someone from higher up slaps his wrists.’
‘Broderick actually approved this?’
‘I know. I think it’s because he’s always had the hots for me.’
‘Not that he really likes and respects my work?’
‘He hates you, Rex.’
‘Can’t think why.’
‘You refused to hand over the route mapping in Venezuela.’
‘I suggested he would be better not interfering and let me get on with my job. I was perfectly friendly.’
‘You told him to suck your balls.’
‘The very definition of friendly. I don’t let just anyone suck them.’
‘He didn’t take it that way.’
‘His loss, they’re nice balls. Succulent.’
‘I’m hanging up on you now.’
‘I told you to do that five minutes ago.’
The phone went dead in his ear.
Rex got up and made his way towards where a collection of men were hauling crates onto the quayside.
‘Hey,’ he called. ‘Where can I hire a truck?’
They looked at him as if he was speaking Dutch.
‘My Spanish isn’t that bad,’ he said. ‘Where can I hire some transport?’
Eventually, one of the men pointed further up the quay and so began a slow game of tag as he worked his way from one group to another until eventually he found himself, by a general consensus of the people working at the harbour,face to face with Juan de Marcos Rodriguez.
Rodriguez was a small man, sat on a tatty deckchair in the far corner of the harbour. He was looking out over the water, scratching at a
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