Havana Bay (13 page)

The noise from below reminded him that he had meant to try in at least one language or another to
interview the ground-floor neighbor. According to
Detective Osorio, this was the person who had illegally
rented Pribluda the second-floor rooms. The illegal part
appealed to Arkady. Also, he wondered why the neigh
bor didn't want both floors himself. The cacophony
could have been even more stereophonic.

When the noise stopped it was interesting how like a seashell a shuttered apartment could sound. The barely
audible sweep of cars, stirring of water along the seawall,
the pounding of the heart. Maybe he was wrong about
the chairs and bag, he thought. Nothing else seemed
out of place. The din started downstairs again, and he
took his glass to Pribluda's office phone and studied the
list of numbers he had copied off Rufo's wall.

Daysi 32-2007

Susy 30-4031

 
Vi. Aflt. 2300

Kid Choc. 5/1

Vi. HYC 2200 Angola

Now that he thought about it, why had he assumed
that
Vi.
stood for visitor? Granted, he was a visitor
arriving on Aeroflot, but was the word for visitor the
same in Spanish and English? Rufo knew he was com
ing. Wouldn't it be more important to know what day of the week? He looked up the word for Friday in
Pribluda's Spanish-Russian dictionary.» Viernes."
Vi.
stood for Friday. Which suggested that on another Friday at 10:00
p.m.
with a person or at a place with
the initials
HYC
something would happen concerning
Angola.
Was that vague enough?

Arkady tried the names on the list and got an answer
on the first ring.

"Digame."

Arkady, in Russian, "Hello, is this Daysi?"

"Digame."

"Is this Daysi?"

"Oye, quien es?'

In English, "Is this Daysi?"

"Si,
es Daysi"

"Do you speak English?"

"Unpoco,si."

"Are you a friend of Rufo?"

"Muy poco."

"You know Rufo Pinero?"

"Rufo, si."

"Could we meet and talk?"

"Talk?"

"Do you know someone who speaks English?"

"Muypoco."

"Thanks."

He hung up and tried Susy.

"Hi."

"Hello. You speak English."

"Hi."

"Could you tell me where I could find Rufo Pinero?"

"El cono Rufo? Es amigo suyo? Es cabron and come-
mierda. Oye, hombre, singate y singa a tu madre
tambien."

"I didn't catch that."

"Y
singa tu perro. Cuando veas a Rufo, preguntale,
donde estd el dinero de Susy? O mi regalito de QVC?"

"Let's say, you know Rufo. Do you know anyone
who speaks English or Russian?"

"Y
digale, chupa mis nalgas hermosas!"

While he was trying to find
chupa
in the dictionary,
Susy hung up.

A noise drew him to the parlor, although he found
no one but Chango glowering from his chair. The doll
had slumped a little, still surly, top-heavy. Had its head
turned since he had been in the room last, raised its
eyes to steal a sideways glance? For some reason he was
reminded of the giant Comandante he had seen painted
on a wall the night before, the way the figure seemed to
loom above the lamps like an all-knowing, all-seeing
specter, or the way a director hovered in the dark at the
back of a theater. Arkady had felt exceedingly small and
uninformed.

He refilled his glass and wandered back to the office
and the map of Havana over the desk. Facing it, Arkady could see the full scope of his ignorance. Neighborhoods
called Havana Vieja, Vedado, Miramar? They sounded beautiful, but he could have been staring at hieroglyph
ics for all he understood. At the same time, it was a
relief to be far from Moscow, where every street sug
gested Irina or a journalist's cafe she'd favored, the
shortcut to the puppet theater, the ice rink where she'd
goaded him into skating again. At every corner he'd
expected her to appear, walking full tilt as she always
did, scarf and long hair snapping like flags. He had even
returned to the clinic, retraced his steps like a man
trying to find that single step, that pivotal error he could
correct and turn everything back. But his futility
mounted as the days rolled in like waves, one black
crest after another, and the distance between him and
the last time he saw her only grew.

In fact, his very work was a reminder that time was a
one-way proposition. A homicide meant, by definition,
that someone was too late. Of course, investigating a
crime that had already happened was relatively simple.
Investigating a crime that hadn't yet occurred, to see
the lines before they connected, that might demand
skill.

At a creak of wood Arkady noticed Sergeant Luna
standing in the office door. It wasn't just the sound,
Arkady thought, more like an entire force field crossing
the threshold. He didn't recognize Luna immediately
because the sergeant was in jeans, sweatshirt and a cap
that said "Go Gators." Air Jordans graced his feet and his muscular hands flexed around a long metal club as
if he were trying to squeeze it in half. The man was a
natural athlete just by the bounce in his feet. Dirt
covered his arms and shirt as if he'd come directly from
a game. The barrel of the club said "Emerson."

"Sergeant Luna, I didn't hear you come in."

"Because I walk quiet and I have a key." Luna held a
key up to illustrate and put it in a pocket. He had
a voice like wet cement being turned by a shovel. The
narrow cap emphasized his round head and the way muscles played on his forehead and jaw. The whites of
his eyes were slightly fried. His biceps balled with anger.

"You speak Russian, too."

"I picked it up. I thought we could have a talk
without the captain or the detective, with no one else."

"I'd like to talk." Luna had been so silent around
Captain Arcos, Arkady was happy to hear the sergeant
out. The bat bothered him.» Let me get you something
to drink."

"No, just talk. I want to know what you're doing."

Arkady always tried honesty first.

"I'm not sure myself. I just didn't think the identifi
cation of the body was certain enough. Since Rufo
attacked me, I think maybe there is more to find out."

"You think that was stupid of Rufo?"

"Maybe."

"Who are you?" Luna poked him with the fat end of
the bat.

"You know who I am."

"No, I mean who are you?" Luna poked him again
in the ribs.

"I'm a prosecutor's investigator. I wish you'd stop
doing that."

"No, you can't be an investigator here. You can be a
tourist here, but you can't be an investigator here.
Understand?
Comprendes?"
Luna walked around him.
For Arkady it was like talking to a shark.

"I understand perfectly."

"I wouldn't go to Moscow and tell you how to do
things. It shows a lack of respect. And you killed a
Cuban citizen."

"I'm sorry about Rufo." Within limits, Arkady
thought.

"It seems to me you're very difficult."

"Where is Captain Arcos? Did he send you?"

"Don't you worry about Captain Arcos." The
sergeant gave him another poke of the bat.

"You're going to have to stop that."

"Are you going to lose your temper? Are you going
to attack a sergeant of the Ministry of the Interior? I
think that would be a bad idea."

"What do you think would be a good idea?" Arkady
tried to emphasize the positive.

"It would be a good idea if you understood you are
not Cuban."

"I swear I don't think I'm Cuban."

"You don't know anything here."

"I couldn't agree more."

"You do nothing."

"That's pretty much what I'm doing."

"Then we can be friendly."

"Friendly is good."

For his part, Arkady felt he was being agreeable, soft
as a pat of butter, but Luna still circled him.

"Is that a baseball bat?" Arkady asked.

"Baseball is our national sport. Want to see it?" Luna
offered the bat to him handle first.» Take a swing."

"That's all right."

"Take it."

"No."

"Then I'll take it," Luna said and swung the bat into
Arkady's left leg above the knee. Arkady dropped to the
floor and Luna moved behind him.» See, you have to step into it to drive the ball. Did you feel that?"

"Yes."

"You have to turn into the ball. You're from
Moscow?"

"Yes."

"I'll tell you something I should have told you before.
I am from the Oriente, the east of Cuba." When Arkady
tried to rise, Luna took a judicious chop into the back
of the other knee and Arkady fell backward into the hall
and started to crawl toward the parlor to lead the
sergeant away from the list of phone numbers. Always
thinking, Arkady told himself. Luna followed.» Men
from the Oriente are Cuban, but more so. They like
you or they don't. If they like you, you have a friend for life. If they don't, you have a problem. You're fucked."
Luna kicked Arkady forward onto his face.» Your prob
lem is I don't like Russians. I don't like the way they talk, I don't like their smell, I don't like the way they
look. I don't
like
them." The hall was too narrow for a
full swing of the bat, but Luna jabbed Arkady's ribs to
emphasize his points.» When they stabbed Cuba in the
back, we threw them
out.
Hundreds of Russians flew
from Havana every
day.
The night before the KGB was
thrown out someone punctured the tires of all the
embassy cars so that they would have to
walk
to the
airport. It's
true.
The fuckers had to find cars at the last
second. Otherwise,
think
of the embarrassment, Rus
sians walking twenty kilometers to the airport."

Arkady called for help, all too aware he was shouting
in the wrong language and that with the banging from
below no one would hear him anyway. Once in the
parlor he pushed himself up against a wall and, standing
on legs that went every which way, actually landed a
blow that made the bigger man grunt acknowledgment.
As the two men scuffled around the table the turtle
bowl rolled off. Finally the sergeant got free enough to
swing the bat again and Arkady found himself on the
rug, blinking through blood, aware he'd lost a few
seconds of memory and a brain cell or two. He felt a
foot across his neck as Luna bent close to feel Arkady's
shirt pocket and pants. All Arkady could see was the rug and Change in his chair staring back. No mercy
there.

 
"Where is the picture?"

"What picture?"

The foot pressed on Arkady's windpipe. Well, it was a dumb answer, Arkady admitted. There was only one
picture. The Havana Yacht Club.

"Where?" Luna eased up to give him another
chance.

"First you didn't want it, now you do?" As Arkady
felt his windpipe close he said, "At the embassy. I gave
it to them."

"Who?"

"Zoshchenko." Zoshchenko was Arkady's favorite
comic writer. He felt the situation needed humor. He
hoped there was no poor Zoshchenko at the embassy.
He heard a contemplative slap of the bat in Luna's
hand.