In fact, though Lilia wouldn’t dare confess it, Jose Paz-Gutierrez definitely had Castro beat in one department, lovemaking-wise. The ardent Jose had a much longer… attention span, if you will. Lilia wondered if that’s what had gotten him killed, as Castro’s jealous streak was well known.
So she had mixed feelings on this special Friday morning. Oh, she was glad to be back in Havana, holding Fidel’s hand as a fussy gringo tried to restore the illusion of vitality—gluing on the frizzy beard, aligning a new toupee, ruddying the cheeks, powdering the shadows around the hollowing eyes.
Still, Lilia took no joy in knowing that across the Florida Straits, the head of poor Jose Paz-Gutierrez soon would be boorishly displayed for all to see, like a taxidermied fish. Oh well, Lilia thought, it’s all for the cause.
As she stroked Fidel’s arm, hairless from chemotherapy, she observed a pale stripe on his wrist.
“Where is your watch?” she asked.
“Miami,” Castro said sullenly.
“What happened?”
“I got mugged,” he said, grimacing at the memory, “by a Marielito. Go ahead and laugh.”
“I’m not laughing.” Lilia turned, covered her mouth. “Honestly, Fidel, I’m not.”
The massive televised rally arranged at Miami’s Torch of Friendship by Juan Carlos Reyes was not seen by:
• Britt Montero and Fay Leonard, who were sharing bare cinder-block quarters at the South Bimini airfield, under the supervision of an armed Bahamas customs officer;
• Mickey Schwartz, who was gambling away his ten-thousand-dollar payday on Paradise Island, where none of the cute croupiers seemed remotedly amused by his stand-up impression of Howard Stern;
• Jake Lassiter, who was in a Flagler Street hot tub with the lukewarm ex-wife of his ex-client John Deal;
• John Deal, who was on Bird Road shopping for a red Testarossa to go with his black Bentley convertible;
• Marlis and Franklin, who were literally mopping up after a fatal cocaine dispute at a FEMA trailer court in Homestead;
• Joe Sereno, who was thanking a police review board for reinstating him, and promising to be more careful when arresting incontinent tourists;
• and Jimmy Carter, who was in Havana for a rare public appearance and historic announcement by Fidel Castro.
So absorbed in the pomp of his “preinauguration” was Juan Carlos Reyes that he remained unaware of events unfolding simultaneously in Cuba, unaware he was about to share a TV screen five stories high with the same man whose severed noggin he intended to unveil, unaware that local television stations were already receiving a live satellite feed from the presidential palace in Havana.
So that at the climactic moment when Juan Carlos Reyes victoriously hoisted a bearded head for all America to see, a very similar but undead head emerged on a sun-bleached balcony in Cuba. There the real Castro announced a liberal new human rights policy that freed every political prisoner, including (not coincidentally) two of Lilia Sands’s nephews.
In Miami, the cheers at the Torch of Friendship ebbed into a confused mass murmuring as the crowd struggled to understand what they were seeing on the huge split screen. On one side was Reyes, waving the goggle-eyed head and proclaiming himself the harbinger of a new democracy in Cuba. On the other side, flanked by former president Carter, was a person who looked very much like Castro, and very much like he was still breathing.
Juan Carlos Reyes sensed the audience was no longer enthralled by his oratory. He spun around and saw what they saw on the giant TV screen.
“Noooooo!” The millionaire wheeled, bellowing into the thicket of microphones. “It’s a trick! Can’t you see, here is Castro!” He shook the head like a tambourine. “I can prove it, I can prove this is Fidel’s head!”
Reyes was handicapped by the fact that, despite his wealth and power, he was not very popular in the exile community. For many years, Cuban-Americans had endured his grandiose promises, vituperative politics, and heavy-handed fund-raising tactics. Now this: a phony Castro head! It was too much.
Members of the crowd registered their scorn by hurling rocks, bottles, and ripe coconuts at Juan Carlos Reyes, who fled the stage at a dead run. He showed fair speed for a short-legged fellow, but the mob chasing him through Bayfront Park was fueled by outrage. When Reyes reached the seawall, he hesitated only briefly before diving into Biscayne Bay. The bearded head went with him.