Perhaps:, Though it was Rudi's belief his chief was sending Lorraine home because he was tired of her, because a mistress had to be worth the trouble of leading a double life. Once the trouble exceeded the pleasure and the mistress became as familiar as the wife, what was the point?
Palenzuela would say good-bye to her and in an hour or so Rudi would escort Lorraine to the wharf where a launch would take her out to the naval supply ship Fern at anchor, and that would be that. He doubted he would ever see her again, and that was too bad. In the past months he hades corted Lorraine to places out of the city to meet the police chief and he could tell she was beginning to enjoy his company. She told him one time, "I can relax with you, Rudi, not have to worry about who sees us." He had been thinking lately of taking her to bed, but now…
"I'm afraid you can't accompany her in this coach," the police chief said.
"No, I'll arrange to hire one."
"The last day of this," the police chief said.
This what, he didn't say.
"I have to tell you something," Rudi said. "This is also my last day. I mean with the police."
His chief said, "Of course, I saw it coming and have been thinking about it. But I won't ask what you plan to do."
So Rudi kept quiet and seemed interested in something out the window, looking up the street they were passing to see the Gulf of Mexico a block away.
"When you turn in your badge," the police chief said, "they'll ask you the reason and what you're going to do."
Rudi said, "Oh," not concerned, because he had no intention of turning his badge in; he was going to use it for something.
"Your pistol, of course, is your own."
Rudi listened to the horses' hooves, the sound one sound to him, continuous, never varying.
His chief said, "Well, I imagine you'll be leaving the city." "I think so," Rudi said. "You don't know?"
"Do you want me to tell you exactly what I'm going to do?" Again speaking to his superior in a way he never had before.
The police chief said, "Certainly not."
"No, you don't want that responsibility," Rudi said, and was silent until they reached the house in Vedado and saw the carriage standing by the entrance, Fuentes and the young woman, Amelia Brown, waiting for them.
"Your friend Victor," Palenzuela said as they were about to get out of the coach. "Is this also his last day?"
It wasn't a question Rudi had to answer. It wasn't a question at all, it was the chief reminding him he knew what was going on. Or believed he did. Once they were out of the coach, Palenzuela greeted the young woman, Amelia Brown, and gestured for them all to come in the house. In the first courtyard, the outer one, he said to Rudi, "H1 have a servant bring you and your friend a refreshment."
"You know Victor Fuentes, but you've never met him," Rudi said.
Palenzuela shook his head. Not once did he look at Fuentes, but took the young woman by the arm into another part of the house, leaving Rudi and Fuentes alone.
Rudi shrugged and Fuentes said, "It's just as well. Sometime later if he has to be can say no, we never met. Did you tell him?"
"Yes, and he asked if this was also your last day."
"You're not concerned about him?"
"Why? What he knows actually is that he doesn't know anything."
A servant brought them cups of coffee and they sat down. Rudi Calvo raised his cup and Fuentes raised his. "Tomorrow," Rudi said. "Or is there a reason to wait?"
"Tomorrow is good," Fuentes said. He sipped his coffee and said, "Amelia Brown wants to go with us. She told me today, in the coach."
Rudi frowned, because it didn't make sense to him, a rich man's woman.
"She says she helped us. We wouldn't know things that we know without her."
Rudi said, "Yes?" and waited. It was true, but what did telling them things she heard have to do with going with them tomorrow?
"She wants to be known for something," Fuentes said, "she wants to fulfill herself, become involved in a celebrated cause, perhaps in the manner of Evangelina Cisneros."
Rudi frowned again. "What did Evangelina Cisneros do? Nothing. The newspapers did it."
"She lived, as they say, 'in Death's Shadow," confined to a dungeon in Recogidas. She became 'the daughter of the revolution' and touched people's hearts when she escaped from the prison. Don't forget that."
"Evangelina was there," Rudi said, "so they used her. But she was never a revolutionist. How many women are there who take up arms and fight?"
"There were the Amazons of the Ten Years War." "Yes, you're right, those women."
"Paulina Gonzales," Fuentes said, "in this war. Her passion was to carry the flag in battle and lead machete charges. I saw her with my own eyes kill Volunteers, this young woman twenty-one years old. I met her when I was with Gomez in Santa Clara."
"But Paulina Gonzales," Rudi said, "is the only woman I know of who's made a name for herself."
"There were amazon as during her time and I believe Amelia Brown will be another one," Fuentes said. "Listen, we go riding, she sits astride the horse wearing trousers beneath a skirt only to her knees. I said to her, "That's a good idea." You know what she said? "Yes, it's the way Paulina Gonzales dressed." How does she know that? The correspondent, her friend Neely Tucker, told her. She knows about the war and she knows how to shoot with the pistol or the rifle. I watched her, at the mill."
"Yes," Rudi said, "but what does she want?" "She wants to be famous." "Is that enough?"
"For us, I think yes. It costs us nothing and she knows fame isn't given to you unless you earn it, risk your life."
"And sometimes doesn't come until you're dead," Rudi said. "Does she know that?"
In the carriage on the way back to the hotel Amelia said, "You spoke to Rudi?"
"He say it's up to you."
"But he doesn't like the idea."
Fuentes shook his head. "No, he's not going to judge you.
He knows you have intelligence But did you tell your friend Lorraine?"
"You didn't even hint you could be risking your life?" "She wouldn't understand if I told her," Amelia said, "and there wasn't time to explain. All she's thinking about now is leaving."
"You could too."
"Yes, I have a choice." She looked at the sky losing its light, the sun fading behind them, shod hooves on paving stones the only sound. "I want you to tell me the truth," Amelia said, "when I ask you a question. Will you?"
"I promise. What is it?"
"Do you think Rollie loves me?"
"What a question. Of course he does."
"Do you think he loves me enough, that if I were held as a hostage " She saw Fuentes begin to smile. "He'd pay fifty thousand dollars to get me back?"
Watching Fuentes smiling, Amelia began to smile.
Easter Sunday evening Amelia and Rollie dined in their suite on the top floor of the three-story Grand Hotel Inglaterra. Rollie began: "Did you have an interesting day?"
"It was all right."
"You go to church?"
"I changed my mind."
"Oh? Where were you all afternoon?"
"Saying good-bye to Lorraine. Remember?"
"Is she sad she's leaving?"
"In some ways."
"She'll miss Andres, won't she?"
"She'll miss the servants."
"When you leave, will you miss me?"
"I suppose."
"What do you mean, you suppose?"
"I was kidding."
"Why did you say I've lived a sheltered life?"
"Have you ever been to prison?"
"Is that a criterion?"
"Have you?"
"Of course not."
"Have you ever not had enough to eat?"
"The portions here aren't exactly generous."
"You know what I mean."
"It's strictly American, the cooking here." "Northern American. Have you ever killed anyone?" "If I haven't, I've lived a sheltered life?" "Have you? Ever killed anyone?" "I've never had to." "What does that mean?" "People do what I want." "I'm going riding tomorrow." "Take Novis with you."