Authors: Victoria Howard
No one knew the Banker’s identity
for sure
.
Some
thought
he was
Juan-Carlos Fuentes,
head of
the Fuentes family, who were into drug trafficking and
money laundering
, other
s
said he was the head of a rival gang based in New York.
Vasquez had tried to find out
.
But he was smart.
He knew that if he asked too many questions he’d end up as alligator food.
He
pushed his empty plate away
.
T
he bartender
appeared at his elbow and
placed a cup of café
Cubano
in front of him
, then discretely withdrew
.
He
leaned back in his chair,
lit a hand rolled cigar, sucked hard,
and blew out a plume of smoke.
His eyes shifted to
three
elderly men, their heads bent over the table as they concentrated on their game of dominoes,
a dish of
chicharones
and
half empty glasses within easy reach of their gnarled and arthritic fingers.
Life was good.
He had money to spend on hookers
and
a decent set of wheels
. H
e even had a condo overlooking the ocean
. N
ot bad for a boy whose parents had arrived in America some forty years earlier with little more than the
clothes on their backs.
The door
opened, a man entered
.
He
paus
ed briefly to size up the bar
,
then impervious to the curious glances from the
other occupants
, hobbled over to Vasquez’s table, dragged out a chair and sat down.
Short and stocky, he walked with a slight limp, as if
he’d been born with
one
leg slightly shorter than the
other
.
He wore a
silk shirt tucked into Italian slacks, and
carried a
jacket over his arm.
H
is pale, square-jawed face
marked him as an outsider
.
Beneath the dark aviator sunglasse
s, his eyes were indiscernible.
The bartender
appeared at
the newcomer’s
shoulder and
placed a bottle of beer on the table in front of him, then retreated
to the bar
and resumed polishing glasses.
The stranger
crossed
one
ankle
over the other
,
and
withdrew a packet of
Cohiba
and a gold
Colibri
lighter
from the pocket of his jacket
.
He stuck a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, lit it, and sucked in a hit of nicotine.
Vasquez
watched the smoke trickle out from between the
man’s
lips
.
‘
How did you know I’d be here?
’
‘
You’re predictable, Vasquez.
If you want to survive in this game,
you should
change your habits.
’
Vasquez tried to place the accent
,
Italian or Portuguese
, may be Spanish
,
he couldn’t be sure which.
But no matter
, this wasn’t a man to be crossed.
A cheer came from the table in the corner where the three old men played dominoes.
Heads turned, but
he
kept his gaze on the man sat opposite.
‘
I like it here.
The food is good and no one bothers me.
’
The man shrugged.
‘
It’s your life.
’
He
puffed on the cigarette and
scrutiniz
ed
the Cuban
through the smoke.
Vasquez
wasn’t smart, but he was ruthless and did as he was told.
Vasquez’s brown eyes narrowed and his back became
ramrod
straight.
‘
What
are
you complaining about?
I got the job done.
’
‘
If I can find you, so can the cops.
’
The
thick
fingers of the man’s left hand, the
nails
chewed down to the quick,
kept time with the beat of the salsa playing on the radio.
‘
Everyone in Little Havana knows that if they
snitch
on
me
,
I
’ll
kill
them, and that it will be a slow
,
painful death.
’
‘
Tell me what the attorney said.
’
Vasquez
licked his lips and
smiled.
‘
He thought he was a big man, but a few punches and he was screaming for his mama.
’
‘
I didn’t ask for the details.
I just want to know what he said.
’
Despite the impatience in
the other man’s
voice, Vasquez forced himself to stay calm.
‘
The woman you asked about—the widow—she’s gone to the island.
She, and the man who accompanied her,
paid a visit to the First Apopka
bank
before they left
.
’
‘
Did
the attorney
know
why?
’
‘
H
e said something about
her
transferring money.
’
Vasquez tapped the ash from the end of his cigar and studied the man.
His face was
pockmarked
, and h
is hair cropped close, so close
to his skull
that Vasquez
wondered if he wasn’t bald
,
and it was actually
a
tattoo
.
He
looked in his fifties, yet his body
remained muscular
, and he carried himself with sheer macho
confidence
that
made
lesser men s
link
away into the shadows.
‘
The man with her, did the attorney know
who he was
?
’
‘
West, Jack West.
He
said
she introduced him as
a family friend, but
he
thought he
looked like a cop
.
’
The stranger took the half
-smoked cigarette from his lips
and ground the
stub
out on the
table
.
‘
A cop?
Are you sure?
’
‘
That’s what he said
.
I can ask around if you want, see if anyone on the street has heard of
him
.
’
‘
That won’t be necessary.
And the attorney’s car?
’
‘
A burnt out wreck.
’
H
e nodded h
is
head.
‘
You’ve done well.
I have
another job for you
.
’
An
envelope
appeared on the table
.
‘
The same fee as usual?
’
‘
There’s an extra five thousand
for expenses
. Y
ou’ll be
out of town for
a couple of days
.
’
Vasquez
’s face twisted into what passed for a smile.
He
thought about
his retirement plans
,
the house in the Cayman Islands was becoming a real possibility.
‘
You want me to take out West
and the woman
?
I got my own gun.
’