Authors: Elmore Leonard
Yeah, if that's what was in here.
The bank Tyler located was on Salamanca, three blocks from the Yurumi River and across the street from a park full of palm trees--one old man sitting on a bench. Tyler stepped from his horse and dallied the reins to a young tree at the street edge of the park, across from the Banco de Comercio. Tyler remembered Fuentes in Galveston saying the name of Boudreaux's bank in Havana, so this was a branch of it. Fine. He crossed the street with saddlebags over his shoulder and entered the bank, the place quiet and dim, the only sound coming from a ceiling fan, no lights on, no customers either. Tyler crossed the marble floor to a teller's window in a partition of dark wood and ornamental glass. He said good day to the teller, lifted the saddlebags from his shoulder and shoved one of them across the counter. The teller, a little baldheaded gink, looked at it and then up at Tyler.
"Yes, may I help you?"
Tyler said, "I'm withdrawing forty-five hundred dollars from Mr. Roland Boudreaux's account," and waited as the teller looked at the saddlebag again, his expression pleasant enough."
He said, "You have authonzanon?"
Tyler said, "Right here," and produced a.44 Russian he pointed at the teller, the butt resting upright on the counter.
The teller, the poor guy, looked like he couldn't believe his eyes.
"You robbing the bank?"
Tyler shook his head. "I'm robbing Mr. Boudreaux. Debit his account and tell him the next time he's in."
The teller stood so still he appeared dipped in starch.
Tyler asked him, '"What're you waiting for?"
The teller answered, "I don't have American money here. I have to get it."
He was lying. Tyler saw his eyes shift and heard a voice behind him say in Spanish, "Close the bank." Tyler home red the revolver, lifted the saddlebags and hung them over his left shoulder. He turned to see two Guardias with carbines as one of them was saying, again; "Close the bank. The Americans are coming."
The second Guardia said, "One is already here."
Tyler understood them. He said, "I'm not a soldier."
The second Guardia said, "What are you?
The teller answered, calling to them, "He's robbing the bank!"
Now the first Guardia approached Tyler, looking him in the face, holding his gaze as he pulled Tyler's revolver from its holster and stepped back, the second Guardia saying, "I ask you again, what are you?"
Tyler hooked a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the teller. "He doesn't comprehend what I want. There is no problem here, no problema. Here, let me show you," Tyler said, with his left hand lifting the flap of the saddlebag hanging in front of him. "No, I didn't take anything from him." Now he slipped his right hand into the bag saying, "Here, look," and brought out the matching.44 Russian, cocking it in the first Guardia's face, giving the man no chance to use the revolver he had taken. Tyler put his hand out and the Guardia returned the revolver. Now with a.44 in each hand Tyler told them to unload their weapons and throw them out the door. When this was done Tyler told them if they came outside he'd shoot them. He walked out of the bank past the two carbines lying in the street, telling himself they weren't armed now, they weren't carrying pistols, so he could mount and ride out maybe with the two shouting after him, but that'd be all.... Unless there was a gun in the bank, and in that moment thinking it became sure there was.
Almost to the other side of the street he turned to see the Guardia in the bank doorway aiming a pistol at him, firing as Tyler fired, hit him with a.44 round and the Guardia went down. But now the second Guardia was taking the pistol from the first one's hand. Watching him Tyler thought the man must be crazy. Why would he think he had time? Tyler yelled at him, "Put it down!" knowing he wouldn't, saw the pistol come up and fired twice this time, blowing the man back into the bank, leaving the two lying dead.
He rode north on Salamanca, a deserted street, no one watching or yelling after him, no sounds from anywhere, the green range of hills waiting for him, and the explosions began.
Loud and not far away. Tyler looked back knowing it was artillery fire, and the answering thunder broadsides from the American ships, the war creeping up behind him.
]eely got one of Islero's scouts, a kid named Emilio, to act as their guide and take them to the coast just west of Matanzas. Virgil thought the squirt looked about twelve, his rifle way too big for him, and asked how old he was. Emilio said sixteen.
"What do you know," Virgil said, "my same age when I joined the Marines."
In sight of the coast they left their horses in a thicket and struck out afoot, Virgil carrying his Krag and semaphore flags he'd made tying cloth from worn out clothing to a couple of cane stalks three feet long, the flags rolled together and stuck in his belt. He said if he got hungry he could eat them.
Neely was puffing to keep up with their kid guide. Once they reached the shore Emilio scooted through sea grape and palmetto, all kinds of vegetation, no trouble at all. He'd stop now and again to hack a path with his machete and it would give Neely a chance to catch his breath. He never complained though, Virgil would give him that. They were in the scrub when the firing, commenced, that ka-boom of long guns opening up, giving Virgil a thrill knowing it was the U.S. Navy, here to settle the dons' hash.
They crept up to an open view, on the west side of where the harbor narrowed and met the sea. There was the mighty fortress across the way and, through a haze of smoke, American warships no more than two miles out in the stream. Busy, their long guns blazing away with port broadsides, fire shooting out of their big muzzles to raise a wall of smoke. Virgil, Neely and Emilio lay on their stomachs watching the guns making direct hits on the fortress, chunks of it blowing up in the air, and on the earthworks, mounds of sand they could see on the high ground just beyond.
"Them're ships of the North Atlantic Squadron under Admiral Sampson," Virgil said, pride in his voice. "The one in the middle's the New York, the flagship. The one with the rigging? It should be the Cincinnati, another cruiser. And the one leading the parade is the Puritan, the biggest monitor in the fleet with four 12-inch rifles. You punch an electric firing key and"--just then one of its guns fired--"ka-boom! You ever hear anything like that in your life, Emilio?" The kid shook his head, too intent on the fireworks to speak. Virgil was grinning. "Give 'em hell, boys. Those 12-inch rifles, each one's throwing seven hundred fifty pounds of metal at the dons. Look at that, pounding the shit out of the fort. There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight, boys. Now the Puritan's coming over this way."
A Spanish battery dug in on this side of the narrows--only a couple hundred yards from the three lying there in the brush--opened up on the monitor, the cannon firing one after the other. The Puritan turned her forward turret on the site. Flame and smoke shot out of her rifles and the dug-in battery was blown to pieces. "Gone from this earth," Virgil said.
Neely, watching the monitor, said, "She sure is low to the water," thinking: A raft whose guns belch fire and white-hot hell to bring death to the Spaniard.
"Her deck's barely three feet above the waterline, but her stack towers, don't it? She's sweet-looking, but don't give me no part of monitor duty in a high sea."
"She's coming in," Neely said. "Taking rifle fire now, from the fortress. Watch yourselves, lads, don't get too close."
The Puritan let go with one of her long guns, threw a shell into the fort, exploding, and the rifle fire stopped.
Virgil said, "Boy, I wouldn't want to be in there. Would you, Emilio?"
The kid said, ""Cdmo?""
Neely's gaze was still on the monitor. "She's coming in awfully close."
"Looking for targets," Virgil said.
Neely pushed up to his knees. "What's the matter with memI said don't come too close? What is she now, about two hundred yards out?"
"Less," Virgil said.
Neely reached over to pat Virgil's shoulder. "Get out your flags. That's the ship will take me home."
"What do I say?"
"Welcome to Cuba. From Neely Tucker of the Chicago Times."
There was nothing to shoot at but smoke, that was the trouble. Once the ships began firing, where were they? They hid.
Tavalera estimated it had taken the Americans twenty minutes to destroy the interior of the fortress, the artillery earthworks and kill--how many? The 12th Asuntas were forming on the parade when a shell came down on them and they were no longer a battalion. A third of them killed outright, mutilated, blown to pieces; the rest, more than seventy, were now on the ground screaming--the ones he could hear-missing arms, legs, some already dying, Tavalera thinking: The war is over before it begins, but no one knows it.
He was bleeding from a head wound, cut by shrapnel. He could go to the military hospital and be out of action for a day or so. Or he could go to the mulatta's house. She made her own clothes, she could sew up the wound in his head. What was the hour?
This was done and there was time before the Havana train arrived.
Amelia watched through binoculars the tall rider and the short rider in white, two horses trailing behind. A few minutes passed before she became certain the tall one was Tyler and lowered the binoculars, relieved, feeling her body begin to relax. Gone more than a day to rob a bank, twenty-eight hours, and he was back. She stood at the edge of the trees where they had spent the night together and raised the binoculars again, putting them on the two figures far below, coming along the line of date palms now that separated burned-out cane fields. Soon they'd be out of sight, climbing the switchbacks to come out on the other side of the camp. Amelia walked back through the trees and came to Fuentes, the old man having coffee at Islero's table.
"He's back. Emilio's with him."
Fuentes, his cup raised had to think about it. "Only the boy? Where is Virgil?"
"We'll know when they get here," Amelia said. "Come with me."
They walked through the camp--only a few of Islero's men around--to the pasture where the switchback trail topped the slope.
"Islero's moving his dynamite down the hill to plant it," Fuentes said. "Set it off as the train comes. In the smoke and confusion find Novis and take whatever it is he brings."
Amelia said without hesitating, "Do you want your brother to have it?"
"My half brother. No, I change my mind."
"Why?"
"He ask me if I want to share it with him. I said no, it isn't for you. But I can see he believes it is."
Amelia said, "Will you share it with me?" and saw the old man begin to smile.
"How long you been thinking about it? No, don't tell me, it doesn't matter. But listen, we have to get our hands on it before Islero. Even so, it could be an embarrassment. Open the hammock and find nothing there. You ever think about that?"
"Rollie'll pay."
"I don't know, maybe. If he loves you enough."
"I'm sure he will," Amelia said. "If for no other reason than to show he can bet forty thousand and risk losing it. He does it all the time and he's used to winning."
"But when it comes, how do we get it? We don't have much time to think."
"I have an idea that might work," Amelia said. I'll tell you when we ee Ben."
"He's with you on this?"
"Of course he is. Ben's my love."
They had a few minutes together at Islero's table, talking, touching each other's hands. Fuentes spoke to Emilio, then came over to sit down.
"What he told me, Virgil use sticks with cloth tied to them he waved to a ship?"
"He knows semaphore," Tyler said. "I understand that much. Then a boat came from the ship?"
"Yes, to get the correspondent, Neely Tucker. But then soldiers in San Severino were shooting at them, at the boat, the sailors rowing, and at Neely and Virgil, so the sailors bring Virgil in the boat with Neely so he don't get shot and took them to the ship and it went away. Emilio say Virgil don't want to go but they make him. Then Emilio say he's coming back he sees you."
"He caught up to me," Tyler said, "in those hills above Matanzas. I thought he meant to shoot me."
"His bank robbery," Amelia said to Fuentes, "didn't come off. Ben's thinking of giving it up to rob trains. Ones that carry forty thousand dollars." She saw Tyler's gaze take on a frown and said, "Victor's with us, Ben. It's us three against this world. Now then, what I was thinking: For us to win the prize before Islero does, we're gonna have to get on that train."
Tyler thought about it, staring at her.
"As it's going by?"
"Unh-unh, when it stops at Benavides."
Chapter
Nineteen.
ISLERO WAS GIVEN THE KRUPP fieldpiece in Oriente, August of last year, for aiding Garcia in the assault on Victoria de las Tunas. This was a major engagement against a heavily fortified city defended by eight hundred Spanish regulars. With them were forty-seven loyalist Volunteers who for the past year had been raiding insurgent hospital camps and murdering the wounded. For artillery they had a pair of German-made Krupp fieldpieces, old ones--a puff of white smoke, Islero said, and you could see the projectile coming; but since it was in no hurry there was time to move out of the way. The city's outer strong points were connected by a system of trenches banked with sandbags and protected in front by a tangle of barbed wire.