Topaz - Leon Uris [22]
“Negro members of the Cuban delegation have been mistreated and insulted by the staff of the Wharton Hotel. It is typical of the disgusting behavior of the imperialists. This outrage is protested by the Government of Cuba.”
Pencils quickened as the Spanish translator intervened.
Rico Parra smashed his fist on the table again and again, spitting venom and denouncing the Yankees with every catchphrase in the Red book.
After twenty minutes he had overrun his translator and become hoarse from the tirade. “The delegation of Cuba is, therefore, moving to the West Side, where we will be welcome and among our own people. We are leaving directly for the San Martín Hotel.”
The bearded revolutionaries and their female staff, some sixty in number, marched on foot across Manhattan to an area largely inhabited by Puerto Ricans and other Spanish-speaking Americans, where they took possession of the fifth, sixth, and seventh floors of the venerable old hotel.
During the 1920’s, before the accepted integration of New York’s big hotels, the San Martín had won a measure of renown as the hostelry for left-wing political refugees of high rank from the revolution-torn countries of the Caribbean and South America. Legendary were the meetings in smoke-filled rooms following abortive attempts to overthrow various Latin American dictators, meetings attended by Spanish-speaking reporters hard up for news and all sorts of camp followers. Yes, they had all come to the old San Martín Hotel and flooded its shabbily decorated suites.
In addition, it attracted a number of Latin American entertainers and boxers. Among the minor notables had been one Benny García, known and somewhat remembered as the Sugar Cane Kid. Benny García followed the usual format of Cuban fighters of that era in that he was a colorful welterweight with a vicious but wild right uppercut and not enough ability to carry him beyond the No. 4 rating in his division.
Benny García’s star also dimmed, as such luminaries always did, a few years after he fought a few too many fights, and his brief hour of glory gave way to younger, stronger, hungrier men.
The Sugar Cane Kid remained on the far West Side, to become part and parcel of the San Martín Hotel, first as a glorified bouncer, then as a member of the hotel security staff. He and the hotel faded into drabness together.
But Benny García proved far more wily as a hotel dick than he had been in the ring. For a hustler, there was always a buck to be made. Trade was brisk in girls, a room to hide in, a place to play a crap game. Benny passed packages, held bets, passed tips, and asked no questions.
When Rico Parra and the Cuban delegation arrived suddenly and dramatically, the San Martín found itself in an instant of revived glory.
As a fellow Cuban, the Sugar Cane Kid, whom many of them remembered, was in a position to offer a variety of services.
Rico Parra himself was somewhat a purist. He had that dedication and holier-than-thou infection that are the trademark of the revolutionary breed, and did his playing in secret.
This was still in the early days of the Revolution, and the traditional hot Cuban nature of the other delegates had not yet been bludgeoned by such idealism. There were many, many, many favors the Sugar Cane Kid could perform.
High in rank among the delegates was one Luis Uribe, a thin, nervous, chain-smoking translator and a personal secretary to Rico Parra.
The Sugar Cane Kid’s appearance on the fifth, sixth, and seventh floors became commonplace in the loosely guarded, undisciplined atmosphere of the Cuban delegation. Uribe made it a special point to befriend the ex-fighter.
Benny García was quick to pick up a signal that Luis Uribe had something to unload. Maybe Uribe, knowing he was coming to the States, had slipped a few gems out of Cuba. A lot of them did. Maybe Uribe was looking for a moment to defect. There could be a good payday in helping to pull it off. Whatever Uribe had in mind, Benny García let him know cautiously that he had found an ally ... of sorts.
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