The Cuban Affair by Demille Nelson

Author:Demille, Nelson [Demille, Nelson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, Mystery, Adventure, Suspense, Historical, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781508241331
Amazon: 1508241333
Goodreads: 34466751
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Audio
Published: 2017-09-19T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 34

Before the revolution, the Vedado district of Havana was controlled by Cuban mobsters and the American Mafia in a profitable joint business venture that might be a good model for the future.

Our taxi, a dilapidated Soviet Lada whose upholstery smelled like bleu cheese, traveled along the Malecón toward the far western edge of Vedado, where we were to meet Antonio in a bar called Rolando.

Parts of Vedado, according to Sara, still retained some of its pre-revolutionary flavor, and remained home to a number of unauthorized activities, including black marketeering, midnight auto sales, rooms by the hour, and unlicensed rum joints, to name just a few of Vedado’s private enterprises. Every city needs a Vedado.

Our driver, who spoke a little English, had never heard of Rolando’s, and our hotel concierge couldn’t find it listed anywhere, but our driver made a few cell phone calls to his colleagues and thought he had an address. If this was a trap, Antonio wasn’t making it easy for us to fall into it.

I’d left a note at the hotel for Tad and Alison saying that Sara and I had been stricken with Fidel’s revenge and would not be joining the group for dinner. P.S.: Gotta run now.

We continued along the Malecón, and Sara didn’t have much to say, except things like, “This is a mistake,” and “This was your idea.”

Sara and I were casually dressed in jeans and T-shirts, and we both wore our running shoes in case the evening included a sprint to the American Embassy.

I’d left my treasure map in my room, stuck in my backpack with my Cuba guide, but my Glock and the three loaded magazines were now in Sara’s backpack, buried under wads of Cuban pesos, along with her map and all my American dollars. Now all we had to do was find a place to stash this before we met Antonio.

The driver turned off the Malecón and traveled south along a dark residential street of shabby multi-family housing units, almost invisible behind overgrown vegetation.

The driver slowed down and we all looked out the windows, trying to find the address or a sign, but most of the street lights were out and the landscapers hadn’t been here since 1959.

Sara told the driver to pull over and said to me, “We’ll walk.”

I paid the driver, and we began walking. The only sounds on this dark, quiet street were tree frogs croaking in the hot night air. I wasn’t concerned about being followed, because if this was a trap the police were already at Rolando having a beer with Antonio while they waited for us. I checked my watch: 7:16.

Up ahead I could see a small bridge over a narrow river that Sara ID’d as the Río Almendares, and on the opposite bank was a well-lighted area that she said was Miramar, Havana’s wealthy and clubby suburb, now occupied by foreign businessmen, embassy people, and the Communist elite. So we had come to the end of Vedado and the literal end of the road where Rolando’s was supposed to be.

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