Topaz - Leon Uris [23]
“I must speak to you.”
“Come down to my room in ten minutes.”
Benny locked the door behind him and the tattered window shades were drawn, darkening the dank little apartment. Luis Uribe wore the mask of a man deep in confrontation, on the verge of a terrible decision.
“I must get my family out of Cuba,” he sputtered at last. “The country is destroyed. For myself, I do not care. I’ll stay and take prison. But I have three sons and they must have a chance for life.”
Benny thought it was paternal as hell, but his battle-scarred face showed no further sympathy.
“I’ve scraped together everything I have. I can arrange a boat, but I need another two thousand dollars.”
“Man, that’s a lot of bread,” Benny said, “a lot of bread.”
Luis Uribe shook visibly. His mouth dried, and he asked for water and drew a glass from the leaky faucet. “I’ve got something worth that much.”
“Maybe I can find you a buyer. What you got?”
Uribe could not bring the words out.
“Well, man?”
“As you know, I am personal secretary to Rico Parra and I have access to his suite.”
“Yeah ...”
“What I have to sell are the documents in Rico Parra’s attaché case.”
2
LOTS OF TIMES BENNY García did odd jobs if the contacts and the price were right. Maybe a jealous husband wanted the boyfriend worked over. Maybe a guy wanted his business partner roughed up. Odd jobs like that.
He was good pals with Detective Leeman, who was in charge of the territory that included the San Martín Hotel. Sometimes a hood came into Leeman’s territory and they didn’t have anything exactly legal to move him out of town. So Leeman would clue Benny and he would arrange that the guy cut out, quick.
A year earlier, Detective Leeman had talked to Benny about some strange business. A hit was needed on someone, but not a hood. Someone on the expensive East Side. A foreigner with a lot of respectability. Detective Leeman was his pal so he didn’t ask questions, just took the job and did his work.
The job had something to do with “detaining” an Algerian United Nations delegate while some other guys rifled his apartment.
The final instruction had been given by a Frenchman. Benny knew that the Algerians and French didn’t like each other so he put two and two together. Orders for the job must have come from some high-placed Frenchman. They paid good, too.
Benny mulled over Luis Uribe’s proposition. He figured that the French already knew of his good work; maybe they’d deal with him. Chances were they’d be interested in those papers in Rico Parra’s briefcase.
He dropped around to the station to see Detective Leeman.
“Leeman, how do I see someone in French Intelligence?”
“What you up to, Benny?”
“Got a tip that may interest them. Swear, it’s got nothing to do with your action. You got my promise on that.”
“French Intelligence officer is called Special Labor Representative. Go to their labor office on Madison Avenue. Guy’s name is Prévost, Gustave Prévost. Now you sure you’re not making a mess for me?”
“You got my word, Leeman, my absolute word.”
“I’ll call Prévost for you and set up an appointment.”
Gustave Prévost rocked back and forth in his chair, tapped his fingertips together, and otherwise appeared to be sniffing constantly in short, darted breaths.
Benny García related the story of Luis Uribe and his offer.
“You say he has complete access to Parra’s papers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How about getting other people in and out of the Cuban’s rooms?”
“Well, they’ve been disarmed and them people is always creating such a rumpus ... hell, I just come and go like I please.”
“What is Mr. Uribe asking for the papers?”
“Twenty-five hundred,” he answered, tacking his own commission of five C-notes onto the price-Hell, wasn’t much for that kind of work.
“Where can you be reached?”
“San Martín Hotel. I got an apartment there. I’m always around.”
“I’ll pass the information along to someone who may be interested. You’ll be contacted.