night air, and Lepski was in an ugly mood. A squat, dark Cuban woman walked by them, giving them a quick, suspicious glance, then looking away. Neither of the two detectives were to know she was the wife of Pedro Certes. They dismissed her as yet another of the waterfront whores.
They found Manuel's vessel moored in the third berth, between two clam fishing boats. The gang plank had been run in, but there was a light on in the forward cabin.
In his cop voice, Lepski bawled, 'Hi, Torres! Police!'
Manuel and Fuentes were just touching glasses of whisky to cement their contract when Lepski's voice made both men slop their drinks.
Fuentes turned a greenish yellow and his eyes went dim with fear. Police!
Manuel patted his arm. 'I will handle it.' Moving swiftly, he pushed aside the table and lifted a trap door. 'Down there, and keep silent. It will be okay. Leave it to me.'
As Fuentes lowered himself into a dark hole that stank of stale fish, Manuel came out on deck.
'You Torres?' Lepski barked.
'That is my name,' Manuel said quietly. 'What is it?'
'We want to talk to you.'
Manuel ran out the gang plank, then moving swiftly, he arrived on the quay and faced Lepski who flashed his shield.
'Where is Roberto Fuentes?' he demanded.
'You mean my friend, Roberto Fuentes?' Manuel asked and smiled.
'You heard! We want him as accessory for murder. Know where he is?'
'Accessory for murder?' Manuel faked a startled expression, 'Ah! That explains everything. I guessed something was wrong.'
'Explains what?'
'My friend came to me last night. He seemed agitated. He told me he had to leave for Havana immediately. He asked me to lend him money. I look after my friends so I lent him a hundred dollars. When my friends are in trouble, I don't ask questions. You, Mr. Cop, when your friends are in trouble, would act the same way.'
Manuel was now enjoying himself as he watched Lepski's frustrated expression.
'So my good friend, Roberto Fuentes, took a boat and is now with his family in Havana.'
'What boat?' Lepski snarled.
'That I wouldn't know. He has friends on the waterfront. Many of them fish. Some go to Havana on business. We Cubans help each other.' Manuel shrugged.
Lepski moved forward and tapped Manuel on his chest. 'I think Fuentes is on your scrap heap. I think you are lying.'
'Mr. Cop, I am known on the waterfront as a man of truth. You can search my poor home with pleasure,' Manuel said. 'Fuentes, I assure you, is now with his parents in Havana. You will, of course, have a search warrant? I believe that is the necessary form.'
Lepski loosened his tie. 'Now listen, smart ass, you could get caught with an accessory to murder after-the-fact rap. That could put you away for a five to ten. I'm asking you: is Fuentes on your vessel?'
Manuel shook his head. 'He is, by now, in Havana. I am a man of truth. Ask any Cuban. Never mind the search warrant. Come aboard. Search. Satisfy yourself. I am a man of truth.'
Lepski hesitated. If he went on board and didn't find Fuentes, this slick bastard could complain to the mayor: an infringement of rights. Lepski decided he wasn't going to get involved in a mess like that. He decided he would report to his chief first.
Watching him, Manuel saw his bluff had worked. 'I need my sleep, Mr. Cop,' he said. 'I am a hard working man. You too need your sleep. I say goodnight.' He stepped back, gave Lepski a respectful wave of his hand, walked up the gang plank, waved again, pulled in the gang plank, then walked to the lighted cabin.
'He could be telling the truth,' Jacoby said.
'Like I'm Greta Garbo,' Lepski snarled.
Chapter 4
Maria Warrenton was in the mood to show off. To Wilbur's surprise, she told him they would dine in the Empress Restaurant which was strictly for the clients staying at the hotel, away from music, rich tourists, and with a terrace on its own.
'But that will be full of old people,' Wilbur said as he struggled with his tie. 'Wouldn't you like something more gay where
They found Manuel's vessel moored in the third berth, between two clam fishing boats. The gang plank had been run in, but there was a light on in the forward cabin.
In his cop voice, Lepski bawled, 'Hi, Torres! Police!'
Manuel and Fuentes were just touching glasses of whisky to cement their contract when Lepski's voice made both men slop their drinks.
Fuentes turned a greenish yellow and his eyes went dim with fear. Police!
Manuel patted his arm. 'I will handle it.' Moving swiftly, he pushed aside the table and lifted a trap door. 'Down there, and keep silent. It will be okay. Leave it to me.'
As Fuentes lowered himself into a dark hole that stank of stale fish, Manuel came out on deck.
'You Torres?' Lepski barked.
'That is my name,' Manuel said quietly. 'What is it?'
'We want to talk to you.'
Manuel ran out the gang plank, then moving swiftly, he arrived on the quay and faced Lepski who flashed his shield.
'Where is Roberto Fuentes?' he demanded.
'You mean my friend, Roberto Fuentes?' Manuel asked and smiled.
'You heard! We want him as accessory for murder. Know where he is?'
'Accessory for murder?' Manuel faked a startled expression, 'Ah! That explains everything. I guessed something was wrong.'
'Explains what?'
'My friend came to me last night. He seemed agitated. He told me he had to leave for Havana immediately. He asked me to lend him money. I look after my friends so I lent him a hundred dollars. When my friends are in trouble, I don't ask questions. You, Mr. Cop, when your friends are in trouble, would act the same way.'
Manuel was now enjoying himself as he watched Lepski's frustrated expression.
'So my good friend, Roberto Fuentes, took a boat and is now with his family in Havana.'
'What boat?' Lepski snarled.
'That I wouldn't know. He has friends on the waterfront. Many of them fish. Some go to Havana on business. We Cubans help each other.' Manuel shrugged.
Lepski moved forward and tapped Manuel on his chest. 'I think Fuentes is on your scrap heap. I think you are lying.'
'Mr. Cop, I am known on the waterfront as a man of truth. You can search my poor home with pleasure,' Manuel said. 'Fuentes, I assure you, is now with his parents in Havana. You will, of course, have a search warrant? I believe that is the necessary form.'
Lepski loosened his tie. 'Now listen, smart ass, you could get caught with an accessory to murder after-the-fact rap. That could put you away for a five to ten. I'm asking you: is Fuentes on your vessel?'
Manuel shook his head. 'He is, by now, in Havana. I am a man of truth. Ask any Cuban. Never mind the search warrant. Come aboard. Search. Satisfy yourself. I am a man of truth.'
Lepski hesitated. If he went on board and didn't find Fuentes, this slick bastard could complain to the mayor: an infringement of rights. Lepski decided he wasn't going to get involved in a mess like that. He decided he would report to his chief first.
Watching him, Manuel saw his bluff had worked. 'I need my sleep, Mr. Cop,' he said. 'I am a hard working man. You too need your sleep. I say goodnight.' He stepped back, gave Lepski a respectful wave of his hand, walked up the gang plank, waved again, pulled in the gang plank, then walked to the lighted cabin.
'He could be telling the truth,' Jacoby said.
'Like I'm Greta Garbo,' Lepski snarled.
Chapter 4
Maria Warrenton was in the mood to show off. To Wilbur's surprise, she told him they would dine in the Empress Restaurant which was strictly for the clients staying at the hotel, away from music, rich tourists, and with a terrace on its own.
'But that will be full of old people,' Wilbur said as he struggled with his tie. 'Wouldn't you like something more gay where
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