Tropic of Darkness by Tony Richards Read Free Book Online

Loco!”
    Jack peered around, swaying. Pierre was watching him from the far corner of the room with an amused grin on his face.
    â€œNice going, Jackie,” the Frenchman sputtered, his voice full of irony. “Really good way to end the evening.”
    Pierre turned his attention to the outraged girls.
    â€œWe’ve found out something new about Jack Gilliard this evening, ladies. You can touch his body, but you cannot touch those things that pertain to his soul. Is that it, Jack? Is that what you’re looking for, these days? A lady who understands your deepest self, your inner being?”
    Jack’s head whirled. He began wondering if that was true.
    Pierre began to laugh out loud. And that sound, too, merged with the blaring music in the darkened, airless night.
    And, not for the first time, Jack got the persistent feeling that somebody else was watching him.

CHAPTER
    FIVE
    Throughout Uncle Sandro’s birthday party, Manuel Cruz’s manner had been quiet and distant. It was unlike him. He was normally the life and soul of gatherings such as this one, and his wife, Rosita, kept on glancing at him worriedly.
    He stood up and made a toast, to dampen her concerns as much as for any other reason. But he found he couldn’t keep up even that small show of good humor for long. Ever since that call from Canada this morning, a brooding unease had taken hold of him.
    Poor Francis Jackson, dead by his own hand. And only a year back, the Dutchman, Jan Meenders, whom he’d also liked. Two guests that he’d looked after. And two suicides afterward. It seemed like an incredible coincidence. An awful one too, any way you looked at it.
    He couldn’t understand it, nor think what to do. Maybe there was nothing to do. It might only be a trick of fate. But it was disturbing him badly. And perhaps his brother-in-law might have some ideas on this strange subject.
    He glanced across the table at Carlos Esposito, who had come directly from the precinct house and was still wearing his uniform and police captain’s badge. They’d never got on particularly well—he had always been of the opinion that his sister could do better than this crude, brash fellow. But Manuel had to admit: there were times having a cop for a relative was useful.
    Manuel had been waiting for the opportunity to speak in private. It came, finally, when the burly man took out a cigar and made to light it.
    Rosita flapped her hands angrily at him.
    â€œNot in here! Not around the children! Out into the garden, you!”
    â€œAy!” Carlos grumbled. “The pair of you are getting more like Norteamericanos every year.”
    He pushed his chair back and then lumbered out. And Manuel followed, on the pretext of keeping him company.
    It was only a small square of green at the back of the house, bordered with rusting chicken wire, but Manuel felt a sense of calm out here. A little orange tree stood in the rear corner of his backyard, and clumps of aloe vera formed prickly silhouettes in the darkness.
    Around him, in the neighboring yards of San Francisco de Paula, dogs yapped, music wafted from a radio, cicadas chirred. They were on the prow of a hill. The lights of Havana glittered in the distance.
    Manuel watched as Carlos bit the end off his cigar, spat it and then sent a billow of smoke up into the night air.
    The captain noticed he was not alone. Turned around, his face pale in the moonlight. When he saw who had come out with him, he grinned and clamped a hand to his heart mockingly.
    â€œChrist, Manolito, you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that. Lucky for you I’m not wearing my gun.”
    Manuel returned his smile with a complete lack of pleasure. He hated the way Carlos used his diminutive, making it sound denigrating rather than familiar. And the way that the man always made joke threats . . .
    â€œCome,” Carlos beckoned. “Over here. Stand next to me, like a good brother