Havana Blue by Leonardo Padura

Author:Leonardo Padura [Padura, Leonardo]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, International Mystery & Crime, Police Procedurals
ISBN: 1904738222
Amazon: B005DXRIH2
Publisher: Bitter Lemon Press
Published: 2007-06-02T07:00:00+00:00

“We got him, fuck if we didn’t get him!” Manolo almost shouted as he transmuted joy into speed. They were driving along Fifth Avenue, and the Count rested his hands on the car’s glove compartment.

“Take it easy, Manolo,” he told the sergeant and waited for the speedometer to creep down to forty-five. “I think we’ll soon find out why Rafael Morín has scarpered.”

“Hey, and did you notice? Fernández’s a spitting image of Al Pacino.”

The Count smiled and looked at the leafy promenade down the centre of the avenue.

“Shit, you’re right. As soon as we got there, I thought I knew him from somewhere: he is just like Al Pacino. Did you see the film where he played a Grand Prix driver?”

“I can’t recall any particular film at the moment, Conde. Tell me where we’re headed.”

“Well, right now we’re going to have lunch and then we’ll try to see the enterprise’s accountant. Let’s see whether La China, our Chinese Patricia, can go with us, and she can speak to him. The good side to all this is the fact it’s turning out so bad.”

Lunch was the reward and big plus for working on Sundays. As they cooked for some twenty people, Sunday lunch used to bring unexpected surprises that bordered on the refinements of a good restaurant. That Sunday they’d prepared chicken rice with the heavy juicy consistency of yellowish perfumed paella. As well as fried ripe plantain and a lettuce and radish salad to accompany an offering that climaxed in a dessert of rice pudding soused in cinnamon. Even the yoghurt was flavoured, and there was a choice: strawberry or pineapple.

The Count, who’d had a second helping of chicken rice and was smoking his second after-lunch cigarette, looked out of his cubicle window but saw nothing. Rafael was speaking from the podium at school, and he was listening to him, alone in the playground, when Manolo came in, swearing in every direction.

“Don’t get too excited, Conde, there’s no accountant around at the moment. He left yesterday for the Soviet Union on a training trip.”

“This is linked to Rafael Morín, I bet you. But not to worry, it can wait till tomorrow. Besides, I don’t expect the accountant would tell us very much. Come on, let’s go.”

“Let’s go? If the accountant . . .”

He tried to protest but the Count was already on his way out of his cubicle and heading silently to the parking lot.

“Go up G in the direction of Boyeros,” the Count ordered as he sat in his seat.

“And will you tell me where we’re headed?” asked Manolo, unable to fathom the lieutenant’s attitude, though he did recall that first comment he heard about him: “The guy’s mad, but . . .”

“We’re heading to see García, from the union, but don’t worry, we’ll finish early today. I particularly want you to hear what I imagine García will tell us about the great Morín . . . Then you can go home.”

They turned down Rancho Boyeros and stopped at the traffic light by the bus terminal.

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