Free Havana Noir by Achy Obejas Page A

car, he would invite girls to climb in, one at a time, with the promise that he would take them wherever they wanted. They almost always accepted, of course, and even said thanks. There are serious transportation problems in Havana. An offer like that, so generous and seemingly without ulterior motive, is not so easily dismissed. The poor girls didn’t stop getting in the fateful flying saucer even after the rumor on the street about a serial killer who was out there decimating the young female population had reached its point of climax, which, if you think about it, shouldn’t be all that strange. C’mon, who was going to suspect a young white man, well-off, well-dressed, and charming—what we’d call a gentleman? And, if by chance, some girl actually refused to climb into the nefarious flying saucer, he never insisted too much, he didn’t chase her no matter how good she looked. He just took his music somewhere else, to find a less suspicious prey, or he would call me from his cell phone to tell me about his tribulations.
    “Hey, whore, who the fuck were you talking to at this hour? It’s past 3 in the morning! I’m like a fool here, calling and calling, and all the time it’s busy, busy, busy…What were you thinking? What the fuck were you thinking, eh? I’ve been calling for an eternity!”
    “Oh yeah? Well, take it easy, Mr. Fool. Slow down, you sound like a cranky old woman in line for potatoes. I was on the Internet.”
    “Internet? Shit! What the fuck were you doing? Looking at porn?”
    “Yes, of course, looking at porn. Oh, Ted Bundy, it’s so easy to see that money just falls from the sky for you! But that’s not the case with me, you know? Not with me. I have to earn my money, because I’m working class. I was working. How do you like that little word? Work-ing .”
    “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. What working class? You mean whoring class? Ha! Ha! What you have to do—now, listen to my advice—is get yourself a damn cell phone and pull yourself out of this underdevelopment.”
    “A cell phone? Me with a cell phone? No way. Too expensive.”
    “My God, what a tightwad! If I don’t say so myself…you’ve got to be a Jew!”
    “Hey, hey! What is that, man? Don’t start in on stereotypes at this hour of the night. Fine, I may well be a Jew. That’s okay. I accept that. Hey, in the end, nobody’s perfect…But you, my dear, are much worse than me. You’re a Nazi.”
    “Nazi? This here…? Ha! Ha! That’s a good one, little whore! I like that one. I really like that one. I looooove it! Ha! Ha!”
    “You looooove it, eh? Hmm. I knew you would. You’re a piece of work.”
    “Tell me about it. I’m a helluva guy. Always have been and always will be!”
    “Kiss, kiss—kisses for you! But hey, big guy, now that you’ve called, tell me, lay it on the line, tell me everything. What are you waiting for? Tell your momma a delicious, dark, spine-tingling story…I’m all ears. C’mon, how’d you do tonight?”
    “Fucked up! Ufff! I haven’t gotten a thing. Can you believe that, slut? Nothing. There was a meatball standing at the corner of 23rd and Paseo, next to the traffic light. I think she was looking for a ride…but I’m not sure. She didn’t want to get in the goddamn flying saucer—she just refused! You know what that imbecile told me? To mind my own business! Did you hear me, you ugly thing? Yes, just like that. That’s what she said. To mind my own business. As if I—me!—as if I could give three shits about anything in her retarded life…What a bitch! That’s what she is. That’s it exactly: an ungrateful bitch. You understand?”
    “No, my love. I can’t understand how anyone would dare treat you in such a vulgar way. You’re right, as always. That girl on 23rd and Paseo is nothing but an ungrateful bitch. You do her a favor just by noticing her, which she surely doesn’t deserve, and look at how she repays you…Daddy, there’s no respect, no one has any