CHAPTER III

“CHIC-CHICKY-BOOM, CHIC-CHICKY-BOOM!”

The night was in full swing back at the Nacional. Fortunes were being mainly lost at the casino, and the cabaret was shaking the very foundations of the grand hotel. Every spot in Havana played out exactly the same: If country was going to blow up, then it was going to do it to a mambo soundtrack. 'Chic-chicky-boom, chic-chicky-BOOM!'

Time to play my hand. I realized that the Colonel still had to be listed somewhere as a guest. I strolled up the front desk and engaged the clerk.

“I'm trying to find out if a friend of mine is registered here; Colonel Tom Parker.”

That got his attention.

“Just a minute sir, I will check.”

He went through the motions of checking the register.

“Er, one moment while I check the book in the office.”

No problem – a couple of minutes to pretend to rifle through some papers, while he called his boss. Smooth. It also gave me the opportunity to look through the actual register on the front desk. I flipped the pages back to the previous week and ran my finger down the columns

“You won't find him in there 'cos he wasn't a guest here.”

I turned around to see a couple of hotel goons doing their best George Raft impersonation. The bigger of the two put his hand on my shoulder.

“Boss wants to see you upstairs.”

“Lead the way.”

All eyes were on us as we walked across the lobby. And as we made our way through the casino towards the elevator, I kid you not – there's George Raft at the roulette wheel.

We arrived at the boss' suite. I knew who the BIG boss was, but was this gonna be him?

Even with his back to me I knew who the little man was. Meyer Lansky – Florida mob boss and probably number two man in Cuba just behind President Batista. He kept his back to me as he spoke.

“So it seems we have a mutual friend we are both looking for.”

“I take it that you don't have him then.”

That got his attention. He turned around and eyeballed me.

“I know you're not CIA because, them I know and they are in this hotel too. So I figure you are either Interpol or MI5, but I don't know why you would be interested in our friend.”

“Let's just say we have a connection.”

“Ah yes, I heard he had some trouble back in his past. The past sometimes has a strange way of catching up with you.”

I let him continue and arrive at whatever connections he wanted to make.

“So now you know that I am looking for him, I trust you will be forthcoming with any information that might come your way, so our friend can settle his debts.”

“My sources tell me he's owed you big from Vegas to Florida for the last four years. Why the problem now?”

Lansky pushed closer towards me to make his point.

“I do not have a problem with someone owing me money. But when that someone suddenly ups and disappears – then I have a problem.”

He motioned to his goons to take me outside. Meeting adjourned.

They took me back to the lobby where they picked me up. The little one spoke this time.

“See you around, pal”

Which meant they would be watching me as I tried to find the missing Colonel.

I went to the bar and ordered a Gibson. Lansky had told me that the CIA were poking around the hotel too. I'd already made them earlier, and I knew they'd made me. Looked like whatever my next move was, I'd be having an entourage.

Suddenly I felt a pinch from behind. What now?

It was Betty Bombshell.

“It IS you Jack Frost. For a minute I thought I was seeing your ghost.”

“It would seem that news travels fast around here.”

“Oh you're all the buzz! Not many people actually reappear once they've been asked to go upstairs.”

I slammed down my drink. Skol!

“I need to get out of here. You free?”

“I will be in an hour. Let's meet at The El Dorado on the Prado and I'll take you somewhere fun.”

“Make it an hour and a half. I have to shake the tail your boss has pinned on me first.”

Shaking the mob was as easy as an assignment in spy school. I got to the El Dorado ahead of time and waited for Betty.

I couldn't miss her. Despite the heat of the night, she had on a leopard print coat and black slacks. Bombshell.

“C'mon let's go.”

“Where to?”

“Barrio Chino!”

Havana's Chinatown was notorious for it's burlesque, fetish, and sex shows. Sin and sleaze seemed to ooze from every crack and doorway we walked past. There were more girls available for money in 20 square feet here than in the whole of Moscow.

“Make the most of it while you can, comrades” I thought to myself.

Betty had planned to take me to a must-see show at the Shanghai Theater, but a poster on the wall on the way there suddenly turned everything upside down.

It was for a kinky after-hours sex show called 'The Garden of Earthly Delights' at a club called Clandestino. Amongst the photographs of naked showgirls in lewd poses was a young woman being manhandled by two creatures straight out of Coco's description: El bestia salvaje!

Betty shrugged

“Well if that's what you're into...”

We arrived at Clandestino, paid the two dollar cover and took our seats. A procession of freakish acts - high on smut and low on talent - passed before us. I tapped my foot impatiently waiting for the main event. Betty was in her element; she had found some friends at a nearby table and was laughing it up and promoting her act at the Nacional.

Then a little after 2am, the grand finale. It was basically a triple X-rated bastardization of 'Little Red Riding Hood', but with two wolves. Or more to the point wolf-men. Not men-dressed-as-wolves, WOLF-MEN. The audience shrieked and and gasped at their appearance. The fact that they proceeded to ravish 'Little Red Bondage Mask' sent everyone over the edge.

All except Betty.

“Ah, the Santiago Twins. I saw them working the midway a coupla years back at Coney. Guess they returned home to Cuba to do their schtick.”

Lightning hit me: Carnies! That's the connection.

I had to get to them backstage. I told Betty I had something to take care of.

“Okay sugar. We're all going to Mimi's for a nightcap and then Manny's Cafe for breakfast afterwards. Try and meet us there.”

I made my way backstage through the throng of hangers on and performers. It was hard to tell which was which. I tried a few dressing rooms. A half naked transvestite didn't so much as bat an eyelash as I burst in.

“Donde Los Wolf Boys?”

“Next door on the right.”

It was their dressing room alright. Photographs from their carny heyday and press clippings were all over the wall, and hello...a briefcase with the Colonel's insignia. That was all I need to know. I waited out in the corridor for them to return from their performance.

As they brushed past me in the hall I could see why Coco had been so terrified. Completely covered in a thick blanket of fur, they had deliberately cultivated a fearsome appearance by filing their teeth into points and allowing their fingernails to grow to claw length.

After a quick pit stop in the dressing room, they emerged wearing long coats and hats to cover as much of their body fur as they could, and quickly exited through the back of the building. I took off after them; they were on foot and walking at such a pace that I knew they needed to be somewhere else in a hurry.

I followed them through the back alleys of Chinatown, until they arrived at a ramshackle warehouse in the market district.

Could this be where they are keeping the Colonel? I walked around to the rear entrance, looking for a way in. But within minutes they were on the move again. I ducked down behind an oil drum as they descended the back stairs and made their way over to a 1948 Chevy Truck. Damn, if they had taken off there, I would have lost them. But I got a break: One of the Wolf Boys had forgotten something. As he went back towards the building, I moved around and positioned myself at the rear of the truck, and unhooked the tailgate. As soon as he was back in the passenger seat I made my move and slid myself onto the back of the truck, quickly turning over and lying flat on my back as to be out of range from the rear-view mirrors.

The truck lurched through the city. I watched the tops of the buildings go by and the night sky become dawn. Then I saw the buildings give way to trees and empty sky. I fished out a small mirror from my inside jacket pocket and used it as a makeshift periscope. The hills. We were heading for the hills.

After hours of hitting every bump on the dirt road we were traveling, the truck started to slow down to a stop. I jumped off just before it lurched to a complete stop and hid behind some trees. The truck was parked next to a shack nestled amongst the trees. I watched them go inside and then moved around the side to look in the window.

There he was, all tied up. Colonel Tom Parker. Dressed only in a singlet and boxers, he looked like shit; his stubbled face was bruised and his eyes were black and puffy.

One wall was covered in photographs, but it was the same photograph of a dead woman, copied over and over again. The Wolf Boys were standing over him. He was pleading with them, but his voice was so croaky and rasped that I couldn't understand a damn word he said.

One of the Wolf Boys held his mouth open while the other poured some kind of piss-colored liquid down his throat, which made the Colonel gag and gasp even more.

I made my move. Entering through the open door, I snuck up behind the Wolf Boy closest to me, and thrust an arm around his throat, while I held my gun to his head.

I called out to his brother.

“Okay, now untie the Colonel.”

The Wolf Boy closest to the Colonel turned to face me.

I tightened my grip on his brother, causing him to gargle a cry of pain.

“I said, untie him.”

The other brother complied, addressing me as he fumbled the ropes.

“This is our issue with this piece of dirt. It's no concern of yours.”

I decided to get tough with them.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you both for what you've done to him.”

The Wolf Boy thought for a minute, then told me their story.

“We all worked for the Royal American Carnival. This bastard was a utility worker; wherever he was needed he stepped in, whether it be the hot dog stand, the dancing chickens, or ticket stand.”

“Okay, go on...”

“One day they put him to work on the Lemonade Stand. So what does he do? To save a few bucks he buys a bag of citric acid and dumps it in the barrel instead of lemon juice. Selling it to the marks in the audience is one thing, but he sells it to my wife.”

I looked around at the pictures on the wall of the dead woman. I put two and two together.

“And she was Citric Acid Intolerant, causing her to have a reaction.”

Citric Acid. That's what they were pouring down the Colonel's throat. Trying to burst his kidneys like an over inflated balloon.

The Wolf Boy finished his story.

“She was also eight months pregnant. The acid reacted with the medication she was taking for the baby and caused her to deliver prematurely.”

I looked again at the pictures.

“Killing her and the baby.”

I flashed a look of disdain towards the Colonel. You cheap bastard I ought to...

YOWCH! I felt a searing flash of pain shoot through my arm. The Wolf Boy's pointed teeth had ripped through my flesh and caught me off guard. As I recoiled, the other Wolf Boy lunged at me, and the three of us collapsed to the ground. As we struggled, I felt the bite and scratch of their sharpened teeth and claws drawing blood.

We grappled on the floor as I tried to fight them off. I managed to knee one of them

underneath the jaw, sending him reeling backwards. The other one had my back, but I managed to slam him against the wall, making him release his grip.

I looked around. The Colonel had taken off. Damn it!

I figured he must have panicked and run into the jungle. I headed after him. I looked back to see the Wolf Boys chasing, so I fired two shots into the air to scare them off. They stopped dead in their tracks then turned and ran towards the truck. As I headed off after the Colonel, I heard the truck driving away down the hill. Brilliant. There goes my ride.

I kept moving through he jungle. For an overweight, dehydrated old man, the Colonel had managed to somehow get far enough ahead of me that I couldn't pick up his trail. Things were getting wild. The Wolf Boys hadn't finished him, but the snakes might.

I scrambled through the bushes and lost my step, which sent me tumbling down an embankment an into a clearing. As I picked myself I saw him on his knees, head down and gasping for breath.

I headed over to where he knelt. No way this pathetic incident was ever going to make his autobiography.

“All right, the dance is over, Colonel.”

He looked up at me, his runny eyes squinting against the harsh Cuban sun. His gaze drifted past me, over my right shoulder. Something had startled him

I turned around. Something was weird – the landscape was moving.

It was a rebel patrol coming out of the hills. We were surrounded. Myths about the tenacity of Castro's ragtag army were all over Havana, and as I came face to face with this unwashed horde, I could see why; they looked menacing. A command came from the rear of the party

“Levante las manos sobre la cabeza!”

Even my crude grasp of Spanish could translate this; 'raise your hands above your head'

I complied immediately.

“Better get them up, Colonel.”

NEXT: Chapter IV - 'We Really Have Gotta Get Outta This Place'