"He'll do what you want, huh?"
"He generally does."
Like she had gentled him, this millionaire, slipped a hackamore over his wavy hair and led him around by it.
"He pays," Tyler said, "and the revolutionary army gets the money. If that's the plan, I'll help you any way I can."
"Later on, after Victor gets back," Amelia said, "we'll write the letter. If you have any doubts about it, let me know, all right?"
Walking back to the farmhouse she took his arm, though he didn't offer it, the blanket folded over his other shoulder. Like they were coming back from having fun. Along the way she handed Tyler her revolver, saying she was better with a rifle, if he wanted it. Tyler stuck the. 44 in his waist. Neither one spoke after that until the house came into view, candlelight showing in the barred windows. Tyler said, "Victor came to Charlie Burke for horses. Even though it's his boss buying them, Victor wanted five hundred dollars for his part. Charlie Burke said it was the way it's done here, like in Old Mexico, you set up the deal you expect a cut. See, what I'm wondering, if the hostage idea is Victor's, maybe that's why you feel different about him. Something tells you not to trust him."
She said, "I hadn't thought of that, Victor wanting some of it for himself."
"Or all of it."
She shook her head. "I can't imagine that."
They walked toward the lighted windows, the land beyond shapes against the night sky, empty and desolate.
"It was Victor's idea, wasn't it?"
She said, "No, I thought of it myself."
Virgil believed he might've eaten too many of those goddamn black bananas, he didn't feel so good, but said he'd better go clean himself up. He spoke in a loud young voice, though sounded shy asking Amelia was it all right he used her soap. Tyler handed him the bar of lilac. Virgil stepped outside, stood listening a few moments and came back inside. "Somebody's coming."
The weapons they'd brought from Atars were on the table: the Maulers and a matched pair of. 44 Smith amp; Wesson Russians. Amelia handed Virgil a carbine and picked one up for herself. She said to Tyler, in the doorway now, "Can you tell how many?"
He said, "Three," looking out at the dark, waiting for them to come into view. Virgil, close by, threw the bolt on the carbine as Tyler said, "It's Fuentes," and there he was.
Fuentes in his town clothes and two riders trailing close behind who could be farmers in their white cotton, but farmers with rifles, cartridge belts across the chest, the brim of their big straws turned up in front, Fuentes telling the house, "Friends coming!" Shouting it out and saying it again as they appeared out of the dark. In the yard he stepped down from his horse and stretched and then gestured for them to come out of the house.
"Please, my friends want to see what you look like. They come from Islero." He gestured again. "We meet on the road back there. Come on, we friends."
Tyler and Virgil stepped out to the yard, Virgil turning his head to Tyler as he said in a raspy whisper, "They're Negroes," maybe a little surprised. Amelia stayed in the doorway. They watched Fuentes untie a gunnysack from his saddle and turn to them, shaking out two lifeless chickens, their necks wrung. The mambis sat their horses without moving or saying a word, rifles across their laps, looking this way but mostly, Tyler believed, at Amelia in her blue bandanna.
"I meet these old friends," Fuentes said, "and they tell me where to steal the chickens." Fuentes in a good mood, not showing any wear.
Amelia said, "Are they staying for supper?" Asking the question, nothing more.
"No, they riding to scout to find cane fields to burn, ones as close as ten miles from Havana, so people in the city see smoke in the sky." He said, "Girl, you want to cook for them? Maybe in two days when we visit the general." He turned to speak to the men of Islero, finally raised his hand to them and waved as they reined their horses and rode out. Amelia was waiting for him. "Are you expecting me to cook?"
"I was thinking. of chicken fricassee," Fuentes said, "and a nice plantain soup? Or, if you rather, you can pluck the chickens."
Amelia stared at him in silence.
Virgil said, "Hell, gimme the birds. Boil some water to stick 'em in and we'll get her done."
"I don't cook," Amelia said to Fuentes. "Let's understand that right now." She turned and was in the house. Fuentes shrugged, acting innocent. Now Tyler went inside. "Amelia?"
It was the first time he'd said her name aloud. She had laid the Mauser on the table and stood with her back to him. "He was kidding with you."
She turned now and seemed tired, nodding her head, not looking directly at him. "I know, I just… I felt he was making fun of me."
Now Tyler nodded, as though he understood, and said, "You don't ever cook, huh?" and saw her eyes flash, looking right at him.
"Don't you start."
They could hear a pump working around back, Virgil drawing water, the only sound.
Later on, Fuentes gave Amelia the pencil stub and sheets of tablet paper he'd brought folded in his suit pocket. Amelia, at the table, a candle burning, got ready to write and looked up. "Should I say Dear Rollie or just Rollie?" "Either one," Fuentes said.
"But if I'm being forced to write this and I'm petrified, would I think to call him Dear?"
"Is how you start a letter," Fuentes said. "You don't think, you write it the way you write a letter to anyone, from the habit of it. You say Dear or you say My Dear, My Dear Rollie No, what you say is My Dearest Rollie, so he knows you have affection for him and it moves his heart to have you back in his bed."
Amelia made a face, frowning, and looked up at Tyler, watching her. "What do you think?"
He thought a moment. "I'd say, "Dear Rollie, you wavy haired tinhorn son of a bitch, send eighty thousand dollars quick or these boys are gonna put me under."
Amelia didn't smile.
Fuentes didn't either, but was nodding. "Yes, something like that; but we have to think some more about the amount we ask for. Listen, to me you worth a million dollars if I had it. But Mr. Boudreaux is a businessman, very practical, also not a generous man. We want his heart to tell him, make the payment, and his business mind to look at the amount and say, yes, I can do that to save the life of my sweetheart." Amelia tapped the pencil on the table. "Get to the point, Victor. How much?"
"Let me think a minute. Maybe you write down figures and we see how they look."
"Have you thought of the way he delivers it?"
"I have an idea for that," Fuentes said, "but we need Islero to help. I have to speak to him."
"He gets the money?" Amelia said, and looked at Tyler. "Islero is the one receive the guns and bullets this man brought. He's going to attack Matanzas, blow up the fort and free the city. But to do it he needs money for his soldiers, four thousand in his army. They been in the field more than a year, no pay to give their families."
Tyler said, "You trust him?"
"Islero? Yes, of course. He's my little brother."
That stopped Amelia for a moment. "But he's Negro." "Yes, and half of me is also," Fuentes said. "We have the same mother, but different fathers sired us. Listen, if you accept me, then I know you going to like Islero, a true patriot. He lives only to see freedom for our people."
Amelia said, "And that's why he's called the Black Plague?"
Fuentes shrugged. "What does that mean, a name the panchos gave him, the Spanish? He was a slave, he ran away and was a cimarron. When he was caught they cut the tendons in his legs so he can't run no more." Fuentes paused, "Oh, when you see him, don't say nothing as how he walks… So they bring him back and make him a cook in a regiment of the Spanish army. This was in the Ten Years War. He always cooks very good," Fuentes said to Amelia, smiling a little. "So good that pretty soon he was made the cook in the home of a general name Alvarez. He cook for him I think maybe a year. Until one night the general invite his staff and some good friend, all officers, to dinner, Alvarez telling them, "Wait until you taste the yany6," like a very spicy gumbo. It so spicy they eating they don't taste the snake poison Islero put in it. Pretty soon they can't move, they paralyzed from the venom. Then, all of them at ching him, he took a butcher knife and cut the throat of each one. Someone said, to see the bodies, it was like a plague had enter the room as they dined. A black one. Islero himself thinks of it as the Last Supper." Fuentes looked from Amelia to Tyler and back again, his old, brown-stained eyes gleaming. He said, "Now, how much do we ask of Mr. Boudreaux?"