Robertico Robles walked in a few minutes later. Mike smiled and returned his enthusiastic handshake. Something about Robertico's slick attitude made Mike think this one would not be as easy to convince as the others. He was glad Robertico was amenable to using English. Even though Mike spoke Spanish rather fluently-one of the reasons he had been chosen for the job-he always preferred to negotiate in English. He thought it gave him the edge. They sat down in what must have been a library in the back of the house. Because of the empty shelves, their voices echoed throughout the room.
"So, Mike," began Robertico, without wasting time-something Mike found unusual in a Cuban-"what has happened to the canisters? The surgeon hasn't received them."
"I know," said Mike.
"We used your people," continued Robertico, still maintaining an almost offhand tone, "and now the goods are gone."
"I know, I know, let me explain," said Mike.
"Fidel is getting anxious. I'm not sure how much longer he'll wait before calling off the deal," Robertico said, his voice rising for the first time.
"We had an unexpected accident along the way, with a manatee-"
"A what?" interrupted Robertico.
"A manatee, you know, a sea cow," said Mike. "Anyway, we have it under control. We know where the canisters are. We just need a little more time to recover them without anyone else finding out."
"I don't know anything about sea cows, or land cows," said Robertico. "All I know is a deal is a deal and this is the second time you guys have messed up."
"Yes," agreed Mike.
Robertico was getting agitated, fidgeting with a button on his white double-breasted jacket. Mike couldn't help but notice the canary-yellow T-shirt underneath.
"When we met last month with El Maniz, he assured us this would be an easy operation," said Robertico.
It took Mike a few seconds to realize who Robertico meant by the Peanut Man: the former president who doesn't quit. The one who keeps on going and going…
Robertico continued, his face flushing red. "Without the head, there is no proof that he is dead. And without proof, the deal is off. Fidel will stay put. As long as his enemies know he lives, power is his only protection."
"Yes, I know," Mike interrupted. He felt the sweat flowing from his armpits. "But this is only a small detour. Most of the work is done."
"Of course," said Robertico, "especially since we supplied you with the head to begin with."
"You didn't expect us to do that?" Mike said, seeing an opportunity to regain the momentum. "After all, we just don't do that sort of thing in the States. Now you, on the other hand… "
"Sure, sure," said Robertico, waving his hand dismissively. "But let's stick to the point."
"Well, we never anticipated Castro would reject the head after we altered it."
"Of course he rejected it. There was something missing," said Robertico, lifting his cigar high in the air.
"Yes," said Mike. "But it was such a small detail. We didn't think it was important."
"Not important! Anyone close to him would have noticed," said Robertico. "The head has to be perfect."
"It will be perfect," said Mike, nodding.
"But now you have lost it."
"We'll get it back, I assure you. Give us another week," insisted Mike.
"Forty-eight hours. That's all he'll agree to. If Fidel doesn't have the head fixed and in his hands in forty-eight hours, the deal is off!" With that Robertico took a deep puff from his cigar, as if in slow motion, and walked out.
This was one tough bird, Mike mumbled to himself.
Fay rushed the words out, her eyes fixed on the silver canister on the glider.
"Granny, where did you find that canister?"
The glittering object was pulling at Fay; she had seen it before.
"Booger found it in the water and I lugged it up from the beach, just now."
"You went swimming by yourself again?" said Fay, turning her attention back to Marion, who was sitting on the wicker rocker.
"You don't expect me to wait until one of you shows up, do you, dear?"
"Oh, I know, Granny, I'm sorry," said Fay, as she reached down to give Marion a kiss. "Since I opened up the dive shop, I haven't had a chance to come."
"Don't worry, dear," said Marion. "But tell me what's the matter. You look troubled."
"I need your help, Granny. But I want to know about the canister. Have you opened it yet?" asked Fay, unable to contain her curiosity. She yanked the strands of her blond hair tighter in the ponytail as she looked back at the canister.
"No. To tell you the truth," said Marion, "I was too excited to open it. But that can wait, Fay. Tell me what's wrong."
"Oh, it's Phil again," said Fay. She didn't look so tough as she rested her body against the weathered siding on the porch. The dawn's salmon hues colored everything, including Fay, with a delicate touch.
"Phil? I thought you weren't even talking to him."
"I'm not," said Fay. "It's very complicated, Granny. The bottom line is, he's gotten himself mixed up in some shady business with Cubans-he lost some merchandise he was being paid to deliver. I promised to help him, and he let me go. I know, I shouldn't have, and it's all over between us, but I think he's really afraid of these Cubans coming after him."
"Let you go?"
"It's a long story, Granny, and I'd rather not get into it."
Marion was not surprised. This would not be the first time Fay had bailed Phil out of a jam. She remembered another time Phil had gotten involved with shady business. It had had something to do with a crooked Miami commissioner accused of accepting kickbacks from the Society for the Salvation of Sea Rigs. Phil had been one of the people caught breaking into his office attempting to gather proof. The commissioner had gotten reelected and Fay had called her to post bail for Phil. Marion remembered she had made the promise then never to get involved in her granddaughter's private affairs again.
"What merchandise?" Marion asked Fay.
"He doesn't know, but I think it might have something to do with this canister you found," said Fay, pointing to the glider.
"This canister? How can it be?" said Marion.
"I can't explain it, Granny. I just know."
"Well then, let's open it, dear."
"Yes," said Fay, as she approached the shimmering object swaying hypnotically on the glider.
Marion knew something thrilling was awaiting her. The young man had disposed of the first canister without even knowing what was inside. Now here was a second, slightly different from the first in the tint of the metal, but definitely similar. What could it be this time? She was about to find out.
Fay, too, knew this canister matched the one she had hauled out of the bay for Jake. Now she wished she had never gotten involved. But it was too late. She held her breath as she pulled the wheel lock on the top. After a few seconds, it snapped open. There was just enough morning light to make out what was inside.
"Another one," said Marion, almost disappointed-sounding. Fay, struck by a wave of nausea, found herself unable to breathe, much less speak. The air took on a red tint and she reached to her grandmother's frail shoulder for support.
"Oh dear," Marion said, struggling to steady her. "I should have warned you."
Now Fay found her voice, though she still felt ill. "What do you mean another one, Granny?"
"Another head. The first canister had a head in it too."
"The first canister?" asked Fay in amazement.
"The one that floated up with the young man."
"What young man, Granny? You aren't making any sense."
"The other day, I rescued a young man out of the water and he had a canister just like this one."
"But who was he? What was he doing in the water?"
"I don't know, dear. Just a nice young man who floated up on the bay. And if I'm not mistaken," said Marion, leaning over to get a better look, "his canister had the head of this same fellow."