The Cadillac’s big, five-liter engine took a last breath from the four-barrel carburetor and then exhaled loudly through dual exhausts that were built into the bumpers. One of the rakish cut-down doors opened, and out stepped Dinah. She looked great. The drive had stirred her hair a little and made her look more natural than before. Sexier, too, if such a thing was possible. There was a stole over her shoulders that could have been honey-ranch mink, but I wasn’t looking anymore. I was too busy noticing the driver stepping out on the other side of the red Eldorado. He was wearing a well-cut, lightweight gray suit with a white shirt and a pair of flashing gem cuff links that matched the car. He stared straight at me with a mixture of amusement and deliberation, as if noting the changes in my face and wondering how I might have come by them. Dinah reached his side after a long pilgrimage around the farthest point of the car and eloquently threaded one arm through his.

“Hello, Gunther,” said the man, speaking German.

He had a mustache now, but he still looked like a pit bull in a bucket.

It was Max Reles.

Chapter 6

6

SURPRISED TO SEE ME?” He chuckled his familiar chuckle.

“I guess we’re both surprised, Max.”

“As soon as Dinah told me about you, I started thinking, It couldn’t be him. And then she described you, and well. Christ Almighty. Noreen won’t like my being here, but I just had to come down to take a look for myself and see if it really was the same fucking pain-in-the-ass guy.”

I shrugged. “Who believes in miracles anymore?”

“Jesus, Gunther, I thought you must be dead for sure, what with the Nazis and the Russians and that smart fucking mouth of yours.”

“These days I’m a little more close-lipped.”

“Only bullshit shoots its mouth off,” said Reles. “What’s genuine in a man stays silent. Jesus, how long has it been?”

“Must be a thousand years. That’s how long Hitler said his Reich would last.”

“That long, huh?” Reles shook his head. “What the hell brings you to Cuba?”

“Oh, you know. Getting away from it all.” I shrugged. “And by the way, my name is Hausner. Carlos Hausner. At least, that’s what it says on my Argentine passport.”

“Like that, huh?”

“I like the car. I guess you must be doing all right. What’s the ransom for a one-man motorcade like that?”

“Oh, about seven thousand dollars.”

“The labor rackets must be good in Cuba.”

“I’m out of that shit now. These days I’m in the hotel and entertainment business.”

“Seven thousand dollars is a lot of bed and breakfast.”

“That’s just your copper’s nose twitching.”

“It does that sometimes. But I don’t pay it any mind. These days I’m just a citizen.”