Free Havana Run by Les Standiford Page A

the makeup of our partnership. You’ll look it over and make a decision. I’ve no problem with that, though I hope that I can count on your discretion.”
    “What makes you think you can trust me?”
    Fuentes offered his smile again. “My confidence in your character is what has led me here, Mr. Deal.”
    Deal stood up then, too. He picked up the envelope and held it out toward Fuentes, who was already headed for the door. “You’d better take your check,” he said.
    But Fuentes continued on without breaking stride. “Keep the check,” he said, holding up a hand. “Tear it up, burn it, cash it, do whatever you decide,” he said, Tomás close on his heels now.
    He paused at the doorway and gave Deal a meaningful glance. “You’re a singular man, Mr. Deal. I look forward to doing business with you.”

Chapter Seven
    “Well,” came the voice at Deal’s ear, “isn’t this a surprise?”
    He turned from his seat at the Pier House bar to find Angie Marsh standing a few inches away, what looked like a frozen margarita clutched in her hand. The color on her neatly manicured nails matched that on her toes, he realized, and he wondered why he hadn’t noticed as much before.
    The fact that he was working on his second Meyer’s and Coke while he waited for Russell Straight to show might have had something to do with it. When he slowed down, he tended to notice more things, simple as that.
    For instance, he was very much aware that she had changed from her loose-fitting orange print dress into a pair of black slacks and a clinging white tank top that revealed even more of that lovely bone structure he had admired earlier, as well as an inch or so of bronzed skin just above her belt line. It had become abundantly clear to Deal that he would have to keep the inside stairwell door not only locked but possibly nailed shut as well.
    Hire this woman as his secretary? Sure. And why not add Salome and Madonna to the staff while he was at it?
    “Were you waiting for someone?” she asked.
    “I am,” Deal told her. “But he’s late.”
    She regarded him for a moment. “What a coincidence,” she said. “The person I was waiting for hasn’t shown either.”
    “Have a seat?” Deal offered, indicating the stool beside him.
    She slid in easily, brushing against his arm as she moved. She settled herself, smiled and took a sip of her drink, then made a show of checking her watch. “Ray Bob’s about a year late, as a matter of fact. And I don’t look for him for at least two more, even with time earned for good behavior.”
    Deal found himself smiling, then, just as quickly, glancing around the bar. There was a piano player working the lounge at the far side of the room where a few older couples looking spiffy in jackets and go-to-dinner dresses nodded along to “Fly Me to the Moon.”
    “If you’re looking for any of Ray Bob’s friends, don’t bother,” she told him. “The Pier House is a little reserved for that crowd.” She made a face as she finished.
    “Just how much did you and Ray Bob have in common?” Deal asked. He finished what was left of his drink and nodded his assent to a questioning look from the barmaid at the service counter.
    Angie gave him a tolerant glance. “Hey, who knows what gets people together in the first place? Somehow it happens, then one day you wake up and look at who’s lying next to you. By then, it’s a little bit late to be asking the question.”
    She broke off for a sip of her drink. “But I’ll tell you one thing, when the guy you’re with takes a trip up the river, it tends to give you a whole new perspective on a lot of things.”
    Deal nodded. Her comment got him thinking briefly about Janice, or more precisely, about the two Janices he had known. The young, carefree, fun-loving woman he had married, and the wounded, inward-turning woman she had become.
    And as always, there came the pang of guilt, the voice that insisted that it had all been his fault. Men who’d