Night Work by David C. Taylor Read Free Book Online

friends in a house by the beach drinking rum and making revolution. Who would look twice at a pretty girl in a pretty dress carrying her purse into the casino? No one. We want pretty girls in the casino. And what is she thinking as she comes here, hey? She will walk in and leave the purse under a table, maybe the roulette table, play a few spins, and then walk out. Maybe she plans to stop on the Malecón to watch, and then home to her friends, full of excitement. The description of the explosion, the noise, the fire, the screams of the capitalist oppressors. And she is the hero. A good plan. Only one problem. A bad timer, or a bad fuse. The stupidity of amateurs.”
    A doctor had been standing nearby trying to get Fuentes’s attention. Fuentes ignored him. Finally the doctor could not wait any longer. “ Coronel …” He lifted his black bag to show Fuentes.
    â€œNo. No drugs. Not until she speaks to my sergeant. Give her drugs, she goes to sleep. She wakes up in the hospital, she has courage she does not have now.” He said it in English for Cassidy’s benefit.
    â€œShe’s going to die if you don’t let me attend her.”
    â€œShe came here to kill. If she dies, she dies. So what?”
    The girl cried out, a high wail that trailed to a whimper. It sounded like a plea.
    â€œIf she lives,” Cassidy said, “you can question her again and again. If she dies, you get nothing.”
    â€œYour professional opinion, Detective?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Lopato stood when Fuentes approached him. The two men talked together in low voices. Then Lopato squatted by the girl again and asked her a question. She did not respond. Lopato put his hand on the blood soaked bandage that covered her ruined shoulder and squeezed.
    The girl screamed.
    Some of the firemen walked away quickly.
    Lopato leaned down and asked her something again. When she did not answer, he clamped her shoulder. She screamed again. Her feet drummed on the terrace stones, and she died.
    Fuentes looked over at Cassidy and shrugged.
    *   *   *
    He did not think he would sleep. And then he woke and somewhere in the night an idea had come. He examined it in daylight. It seemed half-baked, but it was all he had, so he went to look for the senator.
    Cassidy found him eating breakfast in the dining room. The senator looked freshly showered, rested, and serene, as if nothing that had happened the night before had touched him. He indicated the chair opposite him at his table. “Sit down. Have some breakfast. I recommend the papaya, and the coffee is wonderful. I don’t know why you can’t get a decent cup of coffee in the States.”
    A waiter came and poured coffee for Cassidy, took his order, and went away.
    â€œI guess you heard what all the excitement was about.” The senator mopped egg yolk with a piece of toast. “A rebel bomber blew herself up, one of Castro’s people, they say.”
    â€œYes. I saw her.”
    â€œI hear she was pretty.”
    â€œNot when I saw her.”
    â€œThey can’t win. Batista’s got a big army, well equipped. We’ve been supplying them and training them for years. I don’t think a bunch of ragtags are going to beat them.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œMaybe?”
    â€œShe must have known she could die doing it. She must have known the bomb could go off while she was still there.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œDo you think there are any men in Batista’s army who would blow themselves up for him?”
    The senator pushed his plate away. “That’s an interesting thought. Dedication over equipment. Commitment beats heavy weapons.”
    â€œThe American Revolution.”
    â€œYeah, yeah. I get it. It doesn’t always work. Mostly God is on the side of big battalions. That’s the gospel up in Washington. Still, an interesting thought.”
    The waiter brought Cassidy’s