Adios Muchachos Read online

  When the young man recovered, he looked at Victor and sighed with an air of absolute despondency.

  Only then did the glass reach the table.

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  Sunday morning. In the elegant golf club in the suburban neighborhood of Capdevila, Victor was playing tennis. Confident, he hit his last serve, exchanged a threeshot volley, and scored. Game point! He approached the net, shook hands with his opponent, and made for the benches on the side of the court. He dried some of the perspiration off his face and neck with a towel and began putting his rackets and balls into his bag. When he finished, he left the court area and walked slowly down a red gravel path.

  He opened his car door, dropped his rackets and gear into the back seat, removed a can of tonic from a miniature cooler, and took a long drink. As he was about to light a cigarette, he heard the crunch of tires on gravel and turned to see who it might be. To his immense surprise, he saw van Dongen getting out of a car with a broad smile across his face. The Nose was wearing a white turtleneck with white trousers and dark heelless loafers. In his hand he had a small leather bag.

  “Do you play tennis, too? What a coincidence!”

  “No coincidence. I came to see you.”

  “Anything urgent?”

  “Not urgent, but very serious.”

  Victor studied him with mounting concern. “It must be very serious to need venting on a Sunday!”

  “Why don’t we walk a little?”

  Victor agreed, took the towel from around his neck and dropped it in the car, and then got in stride beside van Dongen, eager to find out what was up.

  Van Dongen took the typed text of the report out of his little leather bag, unfolded the paper, and handed it to Victor. “I received that from INTERPOL a few days ago.”

  At the mention of INTERPOL, a tremor passed through Victor’s body. He knit his brow and took a furtive look at van Dongen. He was growing paler by the second.

  Finally, he lowered his eyes and read rapidly through the first page, scanned through the second, and gave the report back. “Yes! It’s all true,” Victor confirmed, standing tall and staring arrogantly at van Dongen. “I suppose you’re horrified.”

  Van Dongen, looking at Victor, still smiling and nodding his head enigmatically, did not react for several moments.

  “No, I’m not horrified. I was a bit of a cut-up when I was young, and I still think there’s more honor in a bank robber than in a bank president.”

  This second shock was too much for Victor. He stopped cold in his tracks. The normally glib Mr. King could not find anything to say. Arrogance in the face of certain destruction was fairly easy, but this ray of hope completely undermined his bravado. All he managed to do was scratch his head and smile, although he would have been hard-pressed to explain what the hell he had to smile about.

  Jan took a couple of steps and turned to look Victor in the face. Victor studied him from head to toe, his eyes wide open; he twisted his face into an expression intended to convey incredulity but only managed to reveal his fear and doubt. Van Dongen remained quiet, looking Victor serenely in the eyes. It was his game and he had no need to hurry.

  Victor finally thought of something halfway coherent to say: “How is one to reconcile this confessed dislike for bankers with your relations with a super millionaire like Rieks?”

  “Rieks saved me from madness and dishonor and I’m grateful to him. But that’s not what I came here to talk to you about, Victor.”

  Reeling from the third shock in five minutes, Victor tried to say something, but it stuck in his throat. Finally, he shrugged and asked the question that was burning his chest: “I suppose that by this time the whole company knows everything about me.”

  Jan took a few more steps and stood immobile, pensive a few seconds. Then he headed for one of the benches by the driveway, wiped off the leaves and twigs with his hand, and sat down. Victor stood upright before him, swallowed the rest of his tonic, and dropped the can behind some bushes.

  “No one in Cuba knows anything about this, Victor. For the time being, not even INTERPOL knows that Henry Moore and Victor King are one and the same man. You and I are the only people in the world who know that.”

  “Not Rieks?”

  “Not Rieks!”

  Victor spread his arms in total surrender: “What do you want from me, Jan?”

  Van Dongen lowered his head as if the answer were lost somewhere among the dead leaves and gravel of the country road. Then he smiled and looked up into Victor’s eyes. “The main thing I want is for you to understand my position as right-hand man for Rieks, to whom I owe everything. Because, first of all, your past and your aliases don’t scare me at all. It’s obvious that the bank jobs were just a means to raise money to finance your underwater treasure quest. I can even admire a man with a passion, and finding sunken galleons is one hell of a passion, enough to drive a man a little crazy.”

  Jan paused to take his cigarettes from his bag, then offered one to Victor. He lit both, noticing the intense trembling of Victor’s hands. “Besides, I’ve studied your project inside out, and not only does it appear to be feasible, I’m convinced that it’s going to be a poetic adventure, a hell of a lot of fun and very, very profitable for all concerned. This is something I would gladly devote my life to. I would be a happy man if I could just quit my present job and sign on as your assistant.”

  Victor smiled, flattered, blushing. “What better assistant could I ask for?”

  “I think that with the solid research we’ve had done on all this area—with the immense investment we’ve made in equipment and with the thousands of divers whose explorations you’re going to program using that equipment—there’s one hell of a good chance that we will come up with a couple of loaded galleons in no more than a couple of years. Your project stands to make hundreds of millions for the company, but it’s you who have to do it, you who will be at the computers. You will be the hub of everything, and finally, you will be the first to know. Now that … is my problem. Everything will be in your hands; so who’s to guarantee that, if you do find a galleon in the reef, you won’t decide to hide it or sell the information to some other party for a lump sum payoff instead of the generous, but relatively modest income you will be getting from the company?”

  Victor tried to say something, but van Dongen stopped him: “Let me finish. Just sit and listen!”

  Victor straddled the bench so that he could look at Jan, crossed his arms to steady his nerves, and settled down to listen.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass for the company or for the Groote family. I hate Vincent as much as he hates you. But I have a debt of gratitude with Rieks, and I will never betray his confidence, never.”

  Jan kept silent a few seconds, looking into Victor’s eyes to try to fathom just how well he was understanding what he was being told.

  “Now, I don’t think you’re playing dirty with Rieks. I really don’t, Vic, but that’s only what I think and I only bet on what I know. So this is why we’re here today. So that you can understand that if you cheat or betray Rieks, I will feel that I have betrayed him, I will feel guilty, and this time you won’t go to prison—I will have you killed.”

  Victor let out a sigh of relief. Since the first mention of INTERPOL a few minutes ago, his visions had been of ruin, loss of a future he had carved out of adversity and practically had in his hands, a return to abject poverty, loss of a dream, and even the possibility of doing more time. Jan’s promise to have him killed sounded almost like a blessing, especially since he had no intention of doing anything that would get him murdered.

  During the silence that followed Jan did not look at Victor, and, as he always did when people could see his grotesque profile, he began to scratch the space between his eyebrows with his middle finger to cover his promontory with his hand.

  “I don’t know what to say, Jan,” Victor finally articulated without looking at him. “On the one hand, I am grateful to you for not reve
aling my dirty secret. On the other hand, you’re promising to have me killed. And I don’t understand why you haven’t shown those papers to Rieks.”

  “That would hardly be advisable. Rieks has his limitations and he’s pusillanimous about certain things. Your past would drive him to eliminate you from the project and I cannot allow that to happen. The project must go forward. And I am convinced that you are the key man. Without you it would probably take off, but it wouldn’t fly.”

  Victor again looked at his interlocutor, totally perplexed.

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  The thick, dark-brown plaster was supposed to clean the pores and revitalize the skin. It was applied so that there would be room left for the special treatment around the eyes, the cheek bones, and the temples, where the red lacquer would iron out wrinkles. A great green towel was tied like a turban over the head. Ah, yes, the mirror: a quick inspection of the mask to heighten the satisfaction when it all came off, and then to bond the plastic fingernails and color them with a light lavender enamel.

  Yes, darling, tell yourself you’re beautiful, but make certain you don’t spoil those nails. Lift your arms in the air; stretch those fingers as far apart as you can. Yes, we are looking much better; aren’t we?

  “Dancing in the dark, da ra ra ra; we’re dancing in the dark …”

  Fine, but we mustn’t crack the mask. OK, but we can have a cigarette and get rid of this terrible towel. Oh, dear, the telephone would ring just now …

  “Hello? … Ah, yes dear, but speak to me in French or something; English is so harsh. Is Alicia finally coming? … Wonderful! Who with? … No! Victor, you’re a genius … Yes, yes, you’ll see; I have a surprise for you … No, hurry over. I’ll be waiting. Love you.”

  Well, isn’t that wonderful? This New Look idea was grand. Let me see, now: body makeup to look mulatto, African wig with tiny braids … Yes, Victor’s going to go wild.

  Chapter

  Twenty

  Alicia walked into the great room with the pond, followed by Cosme.

  “Make yourself comfortable; I’ll be right back.”

  The young man remained standing, overwhelmed by the luxury and the sheer beauty of the room. Through the bank of windows he could see the gardens and the pool. His face was frozen in an expression of amazement as he continued his inspection of the room: a splendid period vase, a giant projection television, and this pond!

  As he knelt to feel the temperature of the water in the pond in the very center of the room, he noticed a wooden statue about thirty-five inches tall by the side of the pond, as if somehow forgotten. It was a bearded faun with the hind legs of a goat, long pointed ears, a prominent rear end, and a great, black, shiny, erect phallus with a pointed glans. Cosme stared at it in confusion for a moment, then smiled.

  Alicia surprised him from behind: “Isn’t he the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

  Cosme turned around, still a little perplexed, and began to study Alicia as if he were seeing her for the first time. Alicia was barefoot and had her hair up in a bun on top of her head. She had removed her outer clothing and bra and was wearing only a short petticoat and a crocheted net top that barely covered, but did not hide, her breasts. Cosme was practically drooling and could not take his eyes off of her nipples. Alicia kneeled by the faun and softly caressed its thigh.

  “A friend of mine gave it to me yesterday,” she confided, now squeezing the faun’s prominent butt. “Don’t you find it hot? Wouldn’t you like to cool off a bit?”

  Cosme agreed, as in a dream, still confused: “Well, yes, if you think it’s OK.”

  Alicia walked away, poking just the slightest bit of fun at him. “Well, of course it’s all right, silly. Take off your clothes and get in! Would you like a drink?” she asked, absentmindedly rubbing one of her breasts.

  Cosme began to undo his shirt buttons. “Good idea! What are you having?”

  “A double rum on the rocks.”

  “OK, count me in,” Cosme replied, holding his thumb in the air.

  Chapter

  Twenty-One

  And voilá: the mulatto Elizabeth. The new Afrobraids were gorgeous; they made Elizabeth sumptuous from every angle, as a cursory inspection in the triptych mirror confirmed. No wonder the thing cost a thousand German marks.

  The light white col montant rose over her neck almost to her ears, and the ruffles on the jumper did a lot to embellish her diminutive chest. Yes, it was a little bit too much for summer in Havana, but the air conditioner had been on since early afternoon and Elizabeth was certain that they were not going to feel the heat in the apartment. With the black silk stockings and the fiveinch spikes, Elizabeth’s stocky legs looked rather slim, stupendous.

  Let me see now, a few steps back and a sexy over-the-shoulder glance into the mirror. Oh, the girdle is pure torture, but it certainly works; and no one ever said being shapely would be easy. It’s either this or work out like an animal every day.

  Yes, yes, yes! A beautiful mulatto Elizabeth. What fun!

  I hope he likes it. Let me check my butt again … beautiful. It may not be as perfect as Alicia’s, but as long as I keep this girdle on, I will be the envy of many women half my age.

  Half an hour later, Victor’s car pulled into the driveway.

  A little bit of Joy behind the earlobes. Thank you, Mr. Patou. An aromatic Cuban cigarette. Thank you, Mr. Cohiba (if there was anyone by that name). And off to meet Victor in a cloud of Cuban smoke and French roses.

  “Wonderful,” commented Victor, who was waiting at the foot of the stairs.

  “Do you like my wig?”

  “Marvelous,” Victor insisted, running his hand lightly over the silken texture of the braids.

  Elizabeth strutted around imitating a thing called a pimp roll she once saw in an American movie, while Victor, genuinely pleased with this transformation, was all smiles and compliments. He was even beginning to feel the onset of a premature erection.

  Victor took Elizabeth’s hand and raised it high to do a whirl as if they were ballroom dancing. In the background, the music of Michel Legrand.

  They had their first superficial kiss.

  And after a few more whirls, Victor took Elizabeth by the waist and buried himself in a hot, prolonged kiss. Elizabeth could feel his hardness through his pants and pressed him closer, closer.

  “Wow, you really did like the wig!”

  Just then they heard three chirps from the buzzer installed in the adjoining house.

  “Hey, that’s Alicia.”

  “It can’t be her,” Victor mumbled, looking at his watch. “It’s only 8:45; she’s early!”

  “If I had that piece of black Adonis on my agenda, I’d be even earlier!”

  Victor raised his arm with an I’ll-give-you-the-back-of-my-hand gesture, as Elizabeth ducked with a laugh and began to draw the plush red velvet drapes, holding them with thick cord tiebacks on either side of the armoire that extended the width of the wall behind the cornice.

  Swinging the sofa around to face the fake armoire, Victor hurried to bring the liquor cart alongside while Elizabeth rolled back the louvered folding doors that revealed Cosme crouching at the edge of the pond.

  The back of the one-way mirror was not completely clear; it had a whitish haze and a certain shine. Nor was it completely one-way. If the mirror side was dark and the other side brightly lit, one could in fact see in the opposite direction. But with the dim lights in Elizabeth’s alcove and the bright lights in the pond room, the view was now crystal clear and the subjects, superb.

  The two large rooms, now enjoined by the secret screen, gave the impression of a wide-open space and the fresh aura of an oasis garden.

  Cosme began to take off his shoes, his shirt lying in a heap by a planter. As he revealed more and more of himself, it became apparent that this really was a perfect specimen: unblemished teeth that an orthodontist would envy, tender eyes, a broad back tapering to a narrow waist without a hint of fat, a long
torso and limbs, delicate hands. Pure elegance.

  Elizabeth took in the beauties of the mulatto, who was now down to his white thong, a thin gold chain around his neck, and another chain with red beads. Slowly, almost cautiously, he slipped into the water and kneeled so that the water came up to his chin.

  Victor examined the wooden idol with unusual interest. He approached the glass to get a closer look. The statue had an extremely thick penis about six inches long. Compared to the statue’s total height of around thirty-five inches, the phallus was enormous. The faun had a mischievous smile on his face, as if he were proud of his gifts.

  On seeing it, Elizabeth let out a guffaw like a man hearing a dirty joke and dropped onto the couch to witness the show.

  “I wonder where that crazy girl found the statue,” Victor commented, dropping a couple of ice cubes into his whiskey.

  “Bring me a martini,” Elizabeth purred. “Mariana mixed a pitcher and left it in the refrigerator. And use the Greek olives.”

  When Victor disappeared behind the curtain, Elizabeth took advantage of his absence to fix her jock strap. She would have to find another one because this one was too tight. She hurried to get herself in order.

  Shit, every time I cross my legs I damn near rip my balls off.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Two

  Alicia entered the visual field. She noticed Cosme, who was standing in the water wearing a thong.

  “Come on, guy, don’t be ridiculous. Haven’t you ever gone skinny-dipping with someone you like?”

  Cosme looked at her suspiciously, more than a little worried. “What if someone comes … ?”

  Alicia was enjoying his confusion. She stood tall beside the pond, certain of her beauty, and swayed just slightly with her hand on her hip—looking at him, mocking him, in total control. “If somebody comes, they get a free lesson on how to screw a dancer silly … or wouldn’t you like that?”