Live by Night Page 0,78

from Boston leer at women on train platforms?"

"We try to stop short of making a career out of it."

She looked back over her shoulder at them. "It's very rude."

Dion said, "I'm originally from Italy."

"Another rude place." She led them through a ballroom at the top of the stairs, pictures on the wall of various groups of Cubans gathered in this very room. Some of the shots were posed, others catching the feel of the dance nights in full bloom, arms flung in the air, hips cocked, skirts twirling. They moved quickly, but Joe was pretty sure he saw Graciela in one of the photos. He couldn't be certain because the woman in the photo was laughing, with her head thrown back, and her hair down, and he couldn't imagine this woman with her hair down.

Past the ballroom was a billiards parlor, Joe starting to think some Cubans lived pretty well, and past the billiards parlor was a library with heavy white curtains and four wooden chairs. The man waiting for them approached with a broad smile and a vigorous handshake.

Esteban. He shook their hands as if they hadn't met last night.

"Esteban Suarez, gentlemen. Good of you to come. Sit, sit."

They took their seats.

Dion said, "Are there two of you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"We spent an hour with you last night. You shake our hands like we're strangers."

"Well, last night you met the owner of El Vedado Tropicale. This morning you meet the recording secretary of Circulo Cubano." He smiled as if he were a teacher humoring two schoolchildren who'd likely repeat the grade. "Anyway," he said, "thank you for your help."

Joe and Dion nodded but said nothing.

"I have thirty men," Esteban said, "but I estimate I'll need thirty more. How many can you - "

Joe said, "We're not committing any men. We're not committing to anything."

"No?" Graciela looked at Esteban. "I'm confused."

"We've come to hear you out," Joe said. "Whether we get involved from that point remains to be seen."

Graciela took her seat beside Esteban. "Please don't act like you have a choice. You're gangsters who depend on a product supplied by one man and one man only. If you refuse us, your supply dries up."

"In which case," Joe said, "we go to war. And we'll win, because we've got numbers and, Esteban, you don't. I've looked into it. You want me to risk my life against the United States military? I'll take my chances against a few dozen Cubans on the streets of Tampa. At least I know what I'll be fighting for."

"Profit," Graciela said.

Joe said, "A way to make a living."

"A criminal way."

"What do you do?" He leaned forward, his eyes scanning the room. "Sit around here, counting your Oriental rugs?"

"I roll cigars, Mr. Coughlin, at La Trocha. I sit in a wooden chair and do this from ten every morning until eight every evening. When you leered at me on the platform yesterday - "

"I didn't leer at you."

" - that was my first day off in two weeks. And when I'm not working, I volunteer here." She gave him a bitter smile. "So don't let the pretty dress fool you."

The dress was even more threadbare than the one she'd worn yesterday. It was cotton with a gypsy girdle straddling a flounced skirt, at least a year out of style, maybe two, washed and worn so many times it had traded its original color for something not-quite-white, not-quite-tan.

"Donations paid for this club," Esteban said smoothly. "Its doors are kept open the same way. When Cubans go out on a Friday night, they want to go to a place where they can dress up, a place that makes them feel like they are back in Havana, a place with style. Pizzazz, yes?" He snapped his fingers. "In here, nobody calls us spics or mud men. We are free to speak our language and sing our songs and recite our poetry."

"Well, that's nice. Why don't you tell me why I should poetically raid a navy transport ship on your behalf rather than just overthrow your whole organization?"

Graciela opened her mouth at that, eyes aflame, but Esteban stopped her with a hand to her knee. "You're correct - you could probably overthrow my operation. But what would you get but a few buildings? My supply routes, my contacts in Havana, all the people I work with in Cuba - they would never work with you. So, do you really want to kill the golden goose for some buildings and a few old cases