Ganado: a novel Page 2

  Elio shook his head from side to side and mouthed back. “No.” He lifted four fingers then passed his hand along the sides of his face before flapping it about. The bartender nodded his assent and raised his index finger. Elio nodded his own head and pointed towards Camilo’s table.

  He tapped Rico on the chest to follow him, “Let me do the talking.” As they meandered through the crowd, the roar of the conversations offered no anticipation when they came up to Ortiz’s table.

  Ortiz looked up and made a half-disgusted grimace before lifting his head high. “Well, if it isn’t the employer of the shit-eating Alonso! Why do you keep company with such an infantile, no good son of a whore?”

  “Now, now, he could be my brother and you would be insulting my mother,” deadpanned Elio.

  The guy across from Ortiz stiffened and his hands went below the table.

  Rico pointed with his nose at the man. “Be careful there, chico, or you’ll have another remembrance on your face.”

  Elio’s arm leaned into Rico to hold him back and saw that Ortiz quickly waved his partner still and nodded.

  “He’s not your brother!” He turned his gaze over at Rico for some sense of assurance.

  “No, he is not and I don’t understand the bad blood between you two. It makes no sense. You know that people in our line live on colorful and countless insults. It’s their invitation to talk. If you take it personally, they become relentless.”

  “Sure, but one can tell when it isn’t the normal insult. Alonso is disrespectful to me.”

  Rico pointed his finger at his own chest.” And to me, and to Elio and our other partner. Hell, he’s disrespectful to his own mother!”

  Francisco reached the table with the bottle of rum and four glasses.

  Elio looked at Ortiz and pointed at Francisco’s offering. “Can we sit down and talk some business?”

  Camilo looked at his partner and flicked his head to a side. “Cuello, have your drink and you can go. I’ll meet you later. Let me do some business with these two.”

  Elio looked as Cuello stared quietly at Ortiz. When the man shifted, he noticed a gun tucked in his waistband. The man picked up his glass and downed the rum with a lick of his lips. “You sure, Señor Ortiz?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Go now!” Ortiz gave him a gentle push off the chair.

  The gunman left as though he had never been there, disappearing through the crowd. Rico followed him with his eyes, but realized the man with the dented face seemed to vanish. He sat and Elio urged Francisco to pour a line for each.

  Rico kept a look on the crowd before returning to Camilo. “Since when do you keep company with a man like that?”

  “It’s been for some time. You know things are not easy. There is a bad element that will do anything to take what doesn’t belong. One cannot be too careful. People see me come and go and do business with people like you. It’s good to see my shadow is armed.”

  “Armed? Are you kidding me! What? Do you think this is the American west?”

  “No, but in case of the flies4…”

  Elio interrupted. “Ortiz, I have one question. How do you get your cattle?”

  Ortiz pushed his hand out, palm open.” Can I get a picture of your wife in the nude?”

  “Ha, I guess I deserved the question. Look, I, we slaughter cattle. We don’t know how to raise them. Your secret is safe.”

  “No shit, it’s safe, because a select few know.”

  Rico jabbed at Ortiz.” Who knows?”

  Lifting his middle finger Ortiz answered, “Me, of course!”

  Elio poured a second round. Ortiz wrinkled his forehead watching the rum trickle into his glass. “Kid, don’t think drinking can open me up either. I can drink you two under the table any time and still keep going.”

  “That’s easy, because I wouldn’t bet you. I don’t drink often, just now and then.”

  “So what is the occasion?”

  “Well, we wanted to apologize for our loose-lipped friend. We recognize what a great job you do and we prize the association. We want this to grow.”

  “You know there are other houses in this city who are respectful and pay in good currency? Why would I favor you?”

  “So, as I see it, you get on the train and go east. You negotiate each time with the ranchers. You return and make your deals with the houses. You telegraph the order and the train returns with cattle. You see to the off loading and transport from the stockyard through the city to our holding pen. It’s a lot of work year in and year out.”

  “You bet your ass it’s a lot of work. Do you know how many different people I have to deal with and each one is a tougher thief than the other? …except… you guys.” Ortiz downed his second shot.

  “Exactly!” Rico poured him another.

  Elio continued, “See, despite what you think of the others, we pay you like clockwork. Have you ever been denied our draft at the bank? Don’t they address you differently when you present our draft? It should affirm to you that you are dealing with the highest quality people. Matadero El Sol is different. We are honest and straightforward. We protect your market by never underselling the others.”

  “Why were you asking where I get my cattle?”

  “I was joking with you. Trying to get a rise, which I did! But look, here we are enjoying our rum and talking about our prospects.”

  “So, what did you have in mind?”

  Elio waved his finger for emphasis. “We want some security in our source. We want to commit to buy your cattle for more than one order at a time.” Elio kicked Rico hoping Ortiz did not catch Rico’s eyebrow and his dry swallow.

  He tilted his head and squinted one eye in disbelief. “What? How do you expect to do that?”

  “Simple, we sign a contract for let’s say three years. We agree on the rate of delivery. We agree on a price. We sign over to you a bank draft for payment pre-dated to match each delivery. All you do is go to the bank as usual with the delivery invoice and they pay you. Perhaps, if you are good with your early shipments, the bank can advance some money based on our draft.”

  Ortiz sat up with both elbows on the table and his arms reaching out to Elio. “Money in advance? Three years? How do we get to a price?”

  “What was your price these last two years…what, four and a half pesos per hundred pounds?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know what it will be next year or the next or the next”

  “True, but you don’t have the risk of who will buy or how you will get paid. In addition, with the assuredness of what we’ll buy, you can secure the cattle with more confidence. Aaannd if, big if…, you are creative, perhaps you can feign a small shortage; a mini-panic of sorts from the other houses. They will pay you more for the remaining cattle we don’t buy.”

  Ortiz slapped the table and quickly poured his own rum. “Coño5! That is brilliant!” He seemed to be bouncing in his own seat, when suddenly he stopped. The smile replaced with a serious look.

  “How are you screwing me in this deal?”

  Elio smiled back. “Screwing you? You are too suspicious, my friend. You need to have a little faith in your business partners.”

  Ortiz sat back and turned his bearded chin at an angle where he looked down at Elio. “All right, but I want four and three quarter pesos per hundred.”

  Elio, in turn, paused and thought for a moment, making Ortiz wait. He stared into him with his piercing look. “I’ll agree to four pesos and sixty cents per hundred and no more.”

  He paused again to let the number sink in. “Also, this deal is good for the time it would take me to down my last drink. After I finish, it is off the table and we go talk to the other guy. What’s his name? Matos, right?”

  Ortiz rolled an eye and wrinkled his forehead. “Matos? You wouldn’t! Why, he is a big thief and a thorn in my side. I have to constantly worry.”

  “So you see. We can solve many issues with a handshake; and a formal contract tomorrow at Matadero El Sol. All right, here goes th
e last swallow. Salud!” Elio took a breath and downed the shot of rum.

  Ortiz jumped forward on his seat and extended his hand. “I’m in, four pesos and sixty for three years; shake!”

  They shook hands with smiles all around. Despite the apparent glee, Rico perspired under his shirt though it wasn’t hot. With the deal done, Elio waved Francisco over and gave him ten pesos to settle the drinks. They stood and walked out of the bar, and watched as Ortiz headed along the wharf in the direction of the local houses where women were available.

  Elio and Rico walked in the other direction, back to the slaughterhouse. After a block and while not losing their stride, Rico finally spoke. “Elio, have you gone mad? Where are we going to get the money for the contract?”

  “Don’t worry Rico. The bank will give us the money.”

  “Why would the bank do that and how did you come up with this scheme?”

  “Well, because the bank feels certain we are good with our promises. And, I didn’t come up with this scheme.”

  “What do you mean? Look Elio, I don’t have a gun and Ortiz’s guard does. If this goes bad, it will be difficult for us. Not to mention that he wouldn’t have to shoot. He would need to tell the other vendors and the other houses we can’t pay. So who came up with this?”

  “Galo knows numbers and he walked me through the plan this morning. Plus, the bank manager has a secret he does not wish for it to become public.”

  “You’re joking. What secret?”

  “I honestly do not know. And I don’t want to know, and if anyone asks, I will answer honestly.”

  Rico became animated and almost shouted, “You are betting on an undisclosed piece of information that Galo says? Have you gone insane? I might as well go and simply threaten the manager’s life if he doesn’t do what we say.”

  Elio stopped mid-step, reached for Rico’s shirt and grabbed him despite his size. “Look tough guy, this is delicate and we don’t want anyone to get nosy and spook our banker. Let it be. We will be honest and pay accordingly. Everyone will benefit from a real and respectable business transaction. The bank will earn its fee and interest. Ortiz will earn his profit and we will earn our profit. Everyone wins. We need a little faith and a little boost. After all, we are not heirs to fortunes or sons of owners from years past, nor do we have plantations. We will inherit what we make. We will earn what we work for. Agreed?” He turned and walked away, not waiting for an answer.

  Rico followed in silence for half a block before he came around. “I hope the deck is loaded!”

  “Why so long to see the light?”

  “Nah, I was thinking of what a son of a bitch my father was in not working to leave me some capital so I wouldn’t have to go around pouncing on steers and people.”

  Elio moved his head right to left considering his friend’s lamentation. “That reminds me. I will have a serious conversation with Alonso about his mouth, but you need to tone down your muscle. That guy, Cuello, the one with Ortiz, could’ve easily shot you before you got to his face, and then what? You would be dead or maimed.”

  “You are suddenly the worry wart. I can and have always taken care of myself. There isn’t a man in the whole of La Habana6, hell, in the whole of Cuba that can take me. I’m the one with the cojones7 to do what needs done. You can count on me!”

  Elio let a deep breath out. “I’m wondering who is worse Alonso or you, Rico? What pains in my ass!”

  * * *

  4 Very common Spanish expression carried to Cuba meaning in case of anything.

  5 This is the most popular Cuban expression found. It could mean anything from the ideal to a disaster. It all depends on the intonation and the person that hears it understands immediately how it is meant. At its most vulgar state, it refers to the female genital.

  6 Pronounced ‘Labana’

  7 Balls, testicles.

  Chapter 3

  Rafael Gonzalez, a former Mambi8 and current captain of the police force, waited impatiently with his lieutenants. They stood a few blocks away from the Sirena Bar, at a gate to the wharf. The Cielo Gitano docked and proceeded with the disembarkation of passengers and goods from Spain. The wharf teemed with travelers, customs agents, stevedores, laborers, mechanics, and sightseers, who all bustled like ants building a farm. He noticed several of the passengers were tourists visiting friends and family. For those people, an escape from the European winter and the constant news of the war meant something. For some others, it was a migration away from the misery of war and hopelessness and a new start in a new place. These latter were a little different mix than the earlier arrivals, which were mainly Spanish. They were Russian Jews, eastern Europeans and Lebanese. All sought a better life and opportunity here and the wharf was full of their ancient languages and dialects.

  He bobbed and weaved to avoid the people walking by, each of them nodding a greeting. More than half the passengers moved on to a more permanent destination, but his new recruit was nowhere to be found. He questioned his decision at the time, a favor owed to his old friend Remei Verges in Barcelona. Remei’s nephew, was wrongly accused, found himself in peril and needed a new start. The nephew seemed to be an honest, educated policeman trying to rid the town of those who made it unsafe. The circumstances were against him. Remei needed to sneak him out of the country and give him a new chance in a new world. He sent a letter to his friend in La Habana, who mentioned in an earlier exchange about a shortage of qualified policemen.

  Days before appearing in front of a magistrate, Remei loaded his nephew, with wife and child onto the train that would make its way to Madrid. Their papers carried different names to avoid questions and evade authorities that could not to be trusted. In Madrid, they transferred to the Sevilla line and later traveled by coach to Cadiz. They had four days before the ship sailed and a two-day head start before the warrant for his arrest would be issued. They were fortunate that the inefficiency of the Spanish court and its bureaucrats delayed enough so the cable ordering the arrest became moot.

  A well-known face with baggage in tow approached the Captain. Judge Carmelo Castellano stretched his hand out. “Rafael, really? Must you have a welcoming committee for me?” He dressed casually and seemed relaxed, quite opposite of his normal ‘deep in thought’ scowl.

  “Carmelo, Judge, I didn’t even know that you were out of the country?” Rafael shook his friend’s hand heartily. He introduced his Lieutenants and they all shook hands.

  “Yes, I’ve been in Spain for the holidays. The ship sailed from Cadiz a week before Christmas and we got caught in a storm for a few days. The captain pointed the ship to the wind and rode it out.”

  “How bad was it?”

  “Many were seasick. It took three days for the storm to pass. The ship’s captain had to make an unscheduled stop in the Canary Islands to re-provision, and off-load the sickest. There were also repairs to contend with before crossing the Atlantic.”

  “What about the crossing?

  “It took three weeks to make the crossing. The seas rolled constantly and to put the cap on the bottle9, I learned the Cielo carried an extraordinarily large Spanish flag so as to make it clear to any German submariner the neutrality of the vessel. I don’t think I slept one bit after that.” The scowl returned for a moment, but disappeared just as quickly.

  “Well, I’m glad you made it and I’m sorry for the bad trip,” commiserated Captain Gonzalez with a sympathetic grimace. “It was a little strange when I heard the cheers of the passengers as the ship entered the bay.”

  “Yes, and I was the loudest!” His eyes broadened. “Believe me, the calm and pristine waters of the channel were a relief. Once I saw the Morro to my left and the Castillo de la Punta on my right, I felt the protection these fortresses provided the city for the better part of one hundred and eighty years.”

  “Carmelo, you do realize that despite the forts the British captured the city?”

  “Yeah, but Carlos III built the Cabaña10 on top of a rise that overlooks the en
tire area.” He pointed across to the large castle on the other side. “Today, everyone waved from the foot of the fortress wall. In any case, I’m going home and getting some sleep.”

  Captain Gonzalez shook hands once more with the Judge. “Do you need a coach?”

  “No thanks. I have one waiting just over there. Come by the office some time so we can catch up.” The judge gave a tired smile and Captain Gonzalez nodded.

  As his friend departed, he turned to see his city. It’s January 1916. The city is in transition from the old century to the new. It is an old city for the Americas, but subjected to modernity in spaces. We are close to the United States and we are their test for anything new. Look at our cobblestone streets. Yet, there’s an electric trolley on a rail system. At the same time, there are horse drawn carts carrying goods and materials, and fine horse drawn buggies ferrying the well to do. Those modern automobiles blow smoke from the tube in the back and the toots startle anyone.

  Among the disembarking passengers, a brown-bearded man carried a baby girl down the gangplank with his woman in tow. He wore a black suit, hat and a matching tie flowing out of a high collared white shirt. One could easily have confused him with a Russian Jew. The attire did not match the tropics, but he was lucky it wasn’t August. He was a tall man, seemingly taller as a result of his thinness and exaggerated posture. Likewise, the lady wore a long dress with laces and bows that matched the parasol in hand. The pink in the bows carried through to the baby girl’s dress.

  With a broad smile he told his daughter, “My princess this is our new home! We’ve traveled far and long from those miserable people to a place where we’re needed. You’ll see that I’ll have whatever you want. Despite the changes here, we’re still masters of this land because we know how to deal with these people. Mind you, they’re no better than the ones in Barcelona. These here lack education and manners. The language is so rough; one has to guess it is Castilian. But, it’s precisely these flaws that allow us to remain in charge.”

  He looked back with a stern face to his lagging wife, “Can’t you walk faster? Why must it look like you’re with that African?” referring to the man carrying a trunk and bags behind her. She sped up at his words to catch up.