Dead Man's Land Jack Patterson (classic novels txt) 📖

want to know, General?” Prado said, trying to break the awkward silence and establish a rapport with his new interrogator.

Machado remained silent, instead picking his teeth with his thumbnail while he read the file.

After five long minutes, Machado put his feet down and slid up to the table. “So, Vicente, I see you were finally willing to talk and tell us about what you saw before you left our country and became a traitor.” Machado slammed his fist onto the table. “I hope you cooperate because I have little time for lies—or traitors.”

“I’m not a traitor. I was trying to make a better life for my family.”

“Do we not give you all you need here in our country? You have a nice place to stay, plenty of food, and you get to play baseball as your job. What more could you ask for?”

Prado sighed. “It’s not that as much as I wanted to see what I could do against the best in the world—and I wanted more than just enough for my daughter. I want the best for her.”

“As does all of Cuba for every one of its citizens. But your defection continues to send a troubling message to your fellow countrymen—that Cuba is not sufficient.”

Prado looked down at the table. “I’m sorry, General. That’s not the message I want to send.” He felt sweat beading up on his forehead. “I want to let the Cuban people know that this is where I want to be. I made a mistake.”

“You most certainly did. But perhaps you can correct it by showing up and making a public apology tomorrow at the Grapefruit Cutters game. The junior team is hosting some American schoolboys and I might let you attend if you promise to renounce your actions.”

Prado nodded and swallowed hard. “I can do that.”

“Good. Now, to the issue at hand. Tell me about the night you had a lapse in judgment and left the island. What did you see?”

“I was on the docks, hiding behind one of the office buildings when I heard two man screaming at one another. The man in the white lab coat tried to shoot the other man, but the other man stepped to the side and wrestled the gun away from him and shot him. Then he pushed him into the water.”

“What happened next?”

“I wasn’t sure if he was dead and I wanted to go help the man out of the water, but the motorboat roared up and I had to leave. I was very conflicted.”

General Machado nodded. “I’m sure you were.”

“I didn’t have enough time to help.”

“Did you happen to recognize the man who shot the man wearing the white lab coat?”

Prado sighed and looked at the floor. “I’ve seen him around before.”

“Do you know his name?”

“No,” Prado lied.

“But you’ve seen him around?”

Prado shifted in his chair. “I’ve seen him at our games and I recognized him in the street.”

“And you don’t know his name?”

“I don’t demand introductions to everyone who recognizes me. I play baseball and that’s part of the job. I sign autographs and smile and wave. But I don’t ask for everyone’s life story.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Perhaps he lives near me. I’ve passed him in the streets several times.”

“Can you describe what he looks like?”

“Tall with a beard. Brown eyes. A large nose.”

“Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. Now can I please see my daughter?”

General Machado folded his arms and leaned back in his chair for a minute before he said anything. “I guess we can make that happen—as long as you read what we give you to say at the game tomorrow.”

“Anything,” Prado said.

“Good,” Machado said as the door behind him opened.

A guard scurried across the room toward Machado and whispered in his ear. His eyes narrowed as he pulled back and glared at the man. “Are you sure?” he said.

The guard nodded.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some business that I need to attend to,” Machado said.

“Is our deal still on?” Prado asked.

Machado stopped at the door and nodded. “I’ll see you at the Grapefruit Cutters’ game tomorrow. Understand?”

Prado nodded. He’d do whatever it took to see his daughter. He only hoped she hadn’t been shuttled away to an orphanage already.

CHAPTER 28

TORRES THREW BACK HIS BEER BOTTLE and looked at his watch. He couldn’t believe the rollercoaster nature of the last seven days of his life. Already Wednesday, he had no idea what the rest of the day would hold—or tomorrow, for that matter. In a short span, he went from being desperate to being paid huge stacks of money to being debt free to losing everything again. And then losing more than he had.

His boat rocked gently against the Isla de la Juventud docks. The rhythmic thumping served as a stark paradox, reminding him that nothing is that consistent or predictable. Not even when you plan everything out. Something is bound to go awry, especially when you least expect it. He’d thrived on the nature of chaos in the past, but now he wanted something more—he wanted predictability. He wanted to go home at night and not worry about the next henchman who might kick down his door and extract payment in another unpleasant manner. His life felt like it had taken an all-too-common trajectory, one akin to spinning around a toilet until eventually it vanished beneath all the crap.

“How did we get here?” Torres asked aloud.

Ortega snorted and looked toward the mainland of Cuba. If it would’ve made him feel better, he would’ve drawn back and delivered a menacing punch right between Torres’s eyes. But he decided against it and said nothing.

“No, seriously. How did we get here?” Torres asked again.

“Which would make you feel better: Your utter stupidity? Or your supreme stupidity?”

Torres glared at him. “You think this is all my fault?”

“Well, who the hell else did all this? Not me.”

“So, you were just along for the ride.”

“I was along for the redemption story, not the cautionary tale. But