Stalked: The Boy Who Said No (18 page)

“I just finished my stint in the army.”

“Special Forces, right?”

“You old fox! You never forget a thing.”

“It must feel good to have it over.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to be able to relax a bit.”

“So what are your plans?”

“I don’t know. Find a job—like everyone else. Or at least try. I’m not having much luck.”

“It’s tough out there—a lot of people are out of work.” Matia thought for a moment and then slapped his forehead.

“What?”

“Just the other day my boss asked me whether I knew of anybody who was getting out of the army and might need a job.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No.”

“Where do you work?”

“At the oil refinery—Nico Lopez.” He gestured in the direction of Belot, across the bay from the Havana harbor.

Lazo’s heart sank. “I don’t think I’d qualify. Aren’t the jobs there very technical?”

“Some are, but Tomás is looking for someone with an ability to learn. He’s looking for a man to train.”

“That sounds almost too good to be true. Tell me about Tomás.”

“He’s an engineer, a family man—a good father. I met him on the beach one day, and we started talking.”

“And—?”

“We went for a drink and hit it off. He’s a great guy, a lot of fun—good sense of humor. I told him I was out of work, and the next thing I knew I was working at the plant. I couldn’t have been more surprised myself.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a technician.”

“How long have you worked there?”

Matia looked up, calculating. “Almost three years.”

“That’s as long as I’ve been in the military. How’d you avoid the army?”

“I got a deferment. They let me off because I worked in a facility vital to national interest.”

“Lucky bastard! Do you like it?”

“What’s not to like? The pay is great. I’ve learned a lot. And it’s air-conditioned!”

Lazo whistled. “Air-conditioned? Man, that could be the best part of the job.” They laughed and looked out to sea. A seagull mimicked their laughter.

“Want me to put in a good word for you? Maybe I could get you an interview.”

Shoulders sagging, Lazo said, “I doubt it. Don’t you need a security clearance?”

“We have to be careful. There’s lot of resentment against the oil company, especially since Fidel took it over from Esso. We even had a bombing a few years back.”

“I remember.”

“But you shouldn’t have a problem, not with having been part of the force. I’ll set you up for an interview, if you’d like.”

“Could you?”

“I think I can pull it off.”

Lazo beamed. “Damn, that would be great.”

Three days later, Lazo sat in the refinery’s personnel office, filling out an application. When he finished, he walked to the lobby and handed the paperwork to the receptionist. She took it with a smile, telling him that her boss would be with him shortly.

A few minutes later Tomás arrived. Lazo rose to greet him, and they shook hands. “I’m Tomás Valdes, but you can call me Tomás.”

“Call me Lazo.”

“Okay, Lazo.”

Tomás, a trim man with thick hair and bright eyes, extended a hand toward a chair. “Please, be seated.”

Tomás sat down and scanned Lazo’s application. “I see you just finished up with the army. What are your plans?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been home for a couple of weeks, and I just have two more weeks to figure it out.”

“What did you do in the army?”

“Special Forces.”

Tomás dropped the file and looked at Lazo. “What did you do for the force?”

Lazo felt apprehensive about answering the question. “I’d rather not say.”

Tomás waved his hand in dismissal. “That’s your prerogative. I was just trying to determine your level of skills.”

“I understand.”

Tomás grew more serious. “So do I.” They sat in silence for a minute.

Tomás glanced again at Lazo’s application. “You have two years of college—very commendable. We need educated people—people who can follow directions, people who can think.”

“I would’ve finished college, if I hadn’t been drafted.”

“I see it all the time.” Tomás thought for a moment. “Would you be willing to take a test for us? In order to make an offer, we would need to assess your skills.”

“Do I need to study?”

Tomás chuckled. “No, it’s not that kind of test.”

“What kind of skills are required?”

“Basic intelligence—analytical skills, math abilities, that kind of thing.”

“Sure, that’d be fine.”

“Good. There’s a lot of competition for these jobs, and we have to be certain we select the right person.”

“I’m honored just to be considered,” said Lazo. “It sure beats picking coffee or working the cane fields. And those are my only civilian prospects at the moment.”

“We like to hire through word of mouth,” said Tomás, ignoring Lazo’s comment. “Matia speaks highly of you. He’s known you since kindergarten?”

“We go way back.”

“Matia’s a good man. Trustworthy.”

“He is.”

“Trust is an important thing to me. I’ve worked here for seven years, and I sit on the board of directors. I’m interviewing you on Matia’s recommendation. I trust him. Trust his judgment. Trust his opinions.”

Lazo nodded, wondering what Tomás meant, but he was unsure how to frame the question.
There’s something a little off about all this emphasis on trust. But, again, this is an oil refinery.

Tomás looked at Lazo with an intensity that was almost frightening. “Can I trust you?”

“I’m trustworthy,” said Lazo.

Tomás nodded. “You mentioned your civilian options. What are your military options?”

The question surprised Lazo. He didn’t think Tomás had been
listening that closely.
There’s more to this guy than meets the eye. He’s sharp— doesn’t miss a thing.

“I could make a career out of the military.”

“Does that appeal to you?”

Lazo shook his head. “Not really.”

“What else?”

“I could just do my regular stint in the army reserves until I’m twenty-eight and try to find a job on the outside. Or—”

“Or what?”

“Or I could become part of the permanent reserves and continue to train the new recruits.”

“Train them on what?”

“Various aspects of weaponry.”

“So you’d remain current with all the new weapons coming out of the Soviet Union?”

“Yes, what they are and how to operate them.”

Tomás leaned back in his seat and touched his fingers to his chin. “But if you did that, you’d still be able to work for us.”

Lazo’s heart quickened. “Yes. Time would allow me to do both.”

“Would you like my opinion?”

“Of course.”

“Well, it’s none of my business. But if it were up to me, I’d take advantage of the opportunity to be part of the permanent reserves.”

“Why do you say that?”

Tomás smiled. “I like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that you asked a follow-up question. It shows you have a curious mind—that you don’t take things at face value. That kind of thinking could be a real asset to us.”

“Thank you, sir. But why
did
you recommend the permanent reserves?”

“It’ll keep you in the know. Help you maintain your connections. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No. Nothing wrong with that.”

Tomás stood, signaling the end of the interview. “The receptionist will administer the aptitude test. If you perform the way I expect, we will both have something to think about.”

“I hope so.”

Tomás glanced at his watch. “I must run. I have an important appointment. Stay in touch.”

“Will do,” said Lazo.

His jaw unclenched and his shoulders relaxed as he watched Tomás walk out the door.

A week elapsed before Tomás called Lazo for a second interview. During that time, Lazo had given a lot of thought to his future. He didn’t want to make a career of the military, but the idea of serving in the permanent reserves held some appeal. It would give him extra income. Tomás thought it was a good idea, and Lazo respected his judgment. After all, Tomás had made a success of himself.

Lazo entered the conference room to a waiting Tomás. The older man stood and pumped his hand.

“Glad to see you again.”

“Good to see you too,” said Lazo.

“Sit, sit,” said Tomás, gesturing toward a wooden chair on the opposite side of the conference table. “I have great news for you.” Lazo smiled and took a seat. “What?”

“The scores on your aptitude test place you in the top tenth percentile.”

Lazo lifted his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes, we rarely see scores this high.”

“What does that mean?”

Tomás sat back, lightly holding the arms of his chair. “It means you have a job if you want it.”

Lazo leaned forward, elated. “Wow! I don’t know what to say.”

“You probably shouldn’t say anything until you hear the particulars.”

Lazo beamed while Tomás opened a folder. “First things first. If you don’t mind, you will report directly to me.”

Lazo shifted his body in his chair. “Great.”

“I need help with new Russian equipment, and I believe you are the right man for the job.”

“I’m flattered you think so.”

“Once you learn to operate the equipment, you’ll train six men at a time for a period of weeks. When you finish, you’ll oversee one of our key operations.”

“This would be a permanent position?”

“Permanent as long as your performance remains satisfactory— and I have no doubt it will. A man with your abilities should be able to enjoy an exemplary career at the refinery.”

“It sounds promising.” Lazo thought for a moment. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but can we discuss my salary?”

“Your salary would be forty dollars a week.”

Lazo looked at Tomás, wondering whether he had heard him correctly. He made a mental calculation. The figure sounded far too high. “A week? You’re talking a hundred and sixty dollars a month?”

“I hope that meets your expectations.”

Blinking, Lazo let out a whistle. This was four times what most Cubans made no matter how hard they worked. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d be working in a nice facility, close to home, with a great boss and an enviable income. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

“One other thing,” said Tomás. “I’ve been thinking about that position you talked about in the permanent reserves.”

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” said Lazo. “I got the impression from the last time we spoke that you thought it was a good idea.”

Tomás scrutinized Lazo as if he were seeing him for the first time. “I do.”

“So, if you were me, you would take it?”

“If I were as young and as smart as you, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“Really?”

“Think about it, Lazo. The army is willing to teach you something for free, to invest in your future. These are precarious times. The more knowledge and money you have, the better.”

Lazo had considered how he would use the money. He could help his parents. Save to get married. Establish an emergency fund. Ten extra dollars a month was nothing to sneeze at.

“You’re right,” replied Lazo. “I’m in no position to turn down money.”

Tomás nodded. “It would be a good move for you—it would help guarantee your future.”

“I put a lot of stock in your opinion, sir.” Lazo hesitated while making his final decision. He was not about to let these opportunities slip through his fingers. “If you’ll have me, sir, I’d be honored to accept the position at the refinery.”

A smile brightened Tomás’s face.

“And on your recommendation, I’ll also join the permanent reserves.”

“Good man,” said Tomás. “You’ve made two sound decisions today.”

Lazo beamed at the compliment as Tomás took him by the elbow and walked him to the door.

“I’d like you to start in a couple of weeks, if that’s good for you.”

“That’s fine. I’m looking forward to working with you, sir.”

Tomás shook Lazo’s hand and said, “Welcome aboard. I think we’re going to have a very interesting future together.”

Lazo nodded, smiled, and began to hum a few bars of “We Can Work It Out,” his favorite Beatles song, as he exited the building.

Day after day, week after week, Pino made it his business to repress his need to take charge of situations that screamed to be fixed. He watched as food spoiled in the kitchen, as garbage clung to dinner plates, as machetes rusted in the rain. He bit his tongue. He didn’t say a word. Others might be left to rot in a place like this, but Pino knew what it would take to get out.

Like a chronic disease, the cane fields caused Pino blinding headaches, lower back pain, and nasal congestion. He suffered from muscular fatigue, sun poisoning, and bouts of intestinal distress from poorly prepared or rotten food. His hands became calloused, his eyes bloodshot, and his arms blistered from the sun.

Yet the former lieutenant endured it all without comment or complaint. He tried to tame his nightmares of Mederos slipping out of his hands like a greased pig, while sleeping next to men who snored and snorted all night. He even complimented his fellow laborers on their work.

True to his word, Torres appeared every two weeks to speak to Castillo and to the other cane cutters regarding Pino’s attitude and behavior. He asked probing questions and took copious notes. Pino did everything possible to ensure a good report.

Little by little, Torres and Pino began to bond. They spent hours engaged in long discussions, mostly because Torres wanted to explore Pino’s attitude toward the Party, but also because he found it a pleasant way to pass the time. Although Pino was humorless and pedantic, his mind was as sharp and quick as a switchblade.

Lengthy discussions about socialism, communism, and Marxism
ensued, convincing Torres that Pino, while pigheaded, arrogant, and impulsive, had a deep and impressive understanding of political philosophy and military history.

After discussing the harvest, Torres would pepper Pino with questions, hoping to gain some insight into his thinking. One day, after they had been discussing Cuban-American relations, Torres sat back in his chair, drew a cigar from his pocket, and lit it. He took a long pull as he balanced his feet on the edge of the desk.