Part 3 (2/2)
”Of course, build,” de Boya said, more animated than before. ”What else do you think?”
And maybe that's all there was to it, though Moran still had his doubts.
He said, ”Well, we could sure use another condominium,” turning to look at his property. ”There's room for forty units you go up ten floors. Sell them for around three and gross twelve million. Cost you about eight and a half to build it, say two for the property, add on this and that, cost of tearing down the Coconuts, you net maybe a million, million and a half. I could do the same thing. But it seems like a lot of trouble to go to. I mean what do I get out of it? Pay half to the government. I'm the owner so I live up in the penthouse with a great view of the Atlantic Ocean but have to take an elevator anytime I want to go outside.” Moran nodded toward his bungalow. ”I already have a view of the ocean. I got a living room, a bedroom. I got a color TV . . .”
The Dominican former general, cane grower, head of the secret police or whatever role it was that made him rich, stared at Moran. Maybe he understood; maybe he didn't.
But either way, Moran thought-packed, ready to take off on his adventure-what difference does it make?
He said, ”Andres, all I'm trying to say to you is, there's no place like home and no friend like Jesus.”
Moving away Moran's gaze came to the two figures standing at the opposite end of the walk, in front of the bungalow, Nolen and the Irish-looking guy, Scully. As Moran got closer he saw they were each holding a can of beer, his his beer; Nolen acting, telling a story, Scully grinning, getting a kick out of it. beer; Nolen acting, telling a story, Scully grinning, getting a kick out of it.
There you are, Moran thought. You gonna worry about these people?
ALL OVER THE WORLD, Moran decided, the past was being wiped out by condominiums. Moran decided, the past was being wiped out by condominiums.
There were condos now on the polo grounds west of the hotel, where Amphibious Task Force helicopters had dropped off Marines from the U.S.S. Boxer Boxer, the grounds becoming a staging area for Marine patrols into the city. There were condos and office buildings rising in downtown Santo Domingo with the initials of political parties spray-painted on fresh cement, PRD and PQD; but only a few YANQUIS GO HOME now, on peeling walls out in the country, old graffiti Moran had noticed coming in from the airport.
There were young wives of ballplayers sunning themselves at the hotel pool-where the Marines had set up their water purification tanks-the young wives talking about housing and travel while their husbands, down here to play winter ball, took batting practice and went off for a round of golf.
There were no open fields near the hotel now.
The gardens were gone, where the first group of Marines had dug in. The Kentucky Fried Chicken place on the corner of Avenida Was.h.i.+ngton and Socorro Sanchez was gone. The mahogany trees on the street south of the U.S. emba.s.sy were still there; the trees looked the same.
They had gone up this street beneath the arch of trees, wide-eyed in the dark, all the way to Nicolas Penson in a war where the street signs were intact and they found their way with a Texaco road map. In the morning they saw people in the streets, crowds of people lining Was.h.i.+ngton along the oceanfront, like they were watching a parade. They were-waving at the tanks and amtracs. Even with the FUERA YANQUIS signs painted on houses most of the people seemed glad to see them.
The next day, filing back to the emba.s.sy, a Marine walking point was shot dead by a sniper; Item Company, at Checkpoint Charlie north of the emba.s.sy, drew heavy fire and soon there were snipers working the whole neighborhood, what was supposed to be the International Safety Zone, using bazookas as well as small arms, even old water-cooled 30s that pounded out a heavy sound and at first were thought to be .50-caliber. The Marines moved crosstown, east, establis.h.i.+ng a Line of Communication with the Eighty-second Airborne troopers coming into the city across the Duarte Bridge. The LOC held the rebels cornered in the old section of the city and kept the loyalists from getting at them. But it didn't stop the snipers.
A battalion officer told them, ”You got your Friendlies and you got your Unfriendlies.” He told them most of the snipers were hoodlums, street gangs who'd armed themselves when the rebels pa.s.sed out guns the first day. These people were called tigres tigres but were not trained or organized, not your regular-army rebels. The but were not trained or organized, not your regular-army rebels. The tigres tigres were out for thrills, playing guns with real ones. ”So don't fire unless you're fired on.” That was a standing order. were out for thrills, playing guns with real ones. ”So don't fire unless you're fired on.” That was a standing order.
Wait a minute. You mean there're rules rules? Somebody said, ”We're here here, man.” Two Marine battalions and four Airborne. ”Why don't we go downtown and f.u.c.king get it done?”
The question was never answered. By the end of the first month of occupation nineteen U.S. military had been killed in action, one hundred eleven wounded.
Moran said to his driver today, in the early evening sixteen years later, ”I have a friend who was here with the Eighty-second, the paratroopers. He believes we could have gone into the rebel area, the old section, and ended the whole thing in about fifteen minutes.”
”Yes, I believe it, too,” the driver said.
”You were here?”
”Yes, I always be here.”
”What side were you on?”
”This side.” The driver, who was an old black man with Indian cheekbones that looked as though they had been polished, tapped his steering wheel. ”Three taxicabs ago, the same Number Twenty-four. Chevrolet, but not new like this one.” They were in a '76 Chevrolet Impala, Moran in front with the driver, the windows open, Moran now and again smelling wood smoke and the smell would take him back to that time.
”You were glad to see the Marines?”
”Yes, of course. To have peace. I drove pressmens from the United States. Yes, we come to a corner, a street there, we have to go fast or those rebel fellas shoot at you. One time the bullets come in this side where you are, they hit here”-he slapped the dashboard-”and go out this way past me, out the window.” The driver's name was Bienvenido. He was born in 1904 and used to Marines from the United States. He said to Moran, ”You want to see where Trujillo was killed, yes?”
”Tomorrow,” Moran said.
”And the old quarter, Independence Park.”
”Tomorrow,” Moran said. He was silent a moment and then said, ”Do you know a woman by the name of Luci Palma?”
The driver thought about it and shook his head. ”No, I don't think so. Luci Palma...”
They followed the drive into the grounds of the Hotel Embajador, past the front lawn where the
59.
American civilians had waited with their luggage to be evacuated. Moran said, ”Will you do something for me?”
”Yes, of course.”
Moran took a piece of notepaper from his s.h.i.+rt pocket and unfolded it. ”I want this message put in the newspaper. In Listin Diario Listin Diario or or El Caribe El Caribe, I don't care, whichever one you like better. All right? Tell them to put it in a box. You know what I mean? With lines around it. So it'll stand out. Okay?”
”Yes, okay.”
”In English.”
”Yes, in English.”
”Just the way it's written here. Okay? See if you can read it.” He handed Bienvenido the piece of notepaper with the hand-printed message on it that said: CAT CHASER.
is looking for the girl who once ran over rooftops and tried to kill him. Call the Hotel Embajador. Room 537.
Moran waited for the driver to ask him a question. Bienvenido stared at the notepaper, nodding his lips moving.
”You understand it?”
”You want a girl to call you?”
”The girl I met when I was here, before.”
”Yes.”
”She'll recognize 'Cat Chaser.' If she sees it.”
”Yes.”
”That was the code name for my platoon. When I was here. I was Cat Chaser Four, but she'll know who it is. I mean if she's still here.” It didn't seem enough of an explanation and he said, ”This girl shot at me, she tried to kill me. I don't mean it was anything personal, it was during the war. Then, I was taken prisoner by the rebels and I got a chance to meet her...You understand what I'm saying?”
Bienvenido was nodding again. ”Yes, I understand. You want this girl. But if you don't find this girl, you want another girl?”
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