Key Largo, with its Western-style saloon, big oval bar and live music, was housed in yet another handsome colonial mansion. The place was full of gregarious gringos and a seemingly endless supply of dollar-hungry ticas, many of whom were in their teens. Al found a table, ordered a couple of bottles of guaro and left Dave to soak up the atmosphere while he went in search of some female company. He returned a couple of minutes later with not one but four of the best-looking hookers Dave had ever seen. One of them, a blonde with a tight pink cotton sweater and very large breasts, sat down next to Dave and, smiling sweetly, told him her name was Victoria. He felt his eyes climbing up to the half-timbered ceiling as a languorouslooking brunette took hold of his other arm and asked him for a cigarette. When Dave's eyes came down from the ceiling again they were met by Al's, already filled with delight.
'Whad I tell ya? Isn't this place somethin'? Every time I come here it's like I died and went to pussy heaven.'
Finding the brunette a Marlboro, Dave glanced sideways at the pink sweater and then back at Al. Grinning he said, 'Pink. I always did like pink.'
He lit the girl, whose name was Maria, and then smoked one himself. The other three girls were already helping themselves to glasses of guaro. Despite Dave's best intentions, he was beginning to enjoy himself.
Al toasted Dave with the local firewater and said, 'They all speak pretty good American, so I hope you can decipher what I'm sayin' to you now. They're fit for human consumption, if you know what I mean. Forget about the Andromeda Strain, OK? What they do is legal down here so they have to get themselves periodically checked out by the local Surgeon-General. Anyway, s'all fixed. Stock is bought and paid for, whether you take up your share option or not, my friend. That's for their benefit as much as yours. After all, they have to make a living. So it's your choice, sport. They don't mind one way or the other.' Al downed the glass of guaro in one as he saw Dave's grin persist. He added, 'You can read 'em a poem or you can show 'em your cock, it's up to you. Just be friendly, that's all.'
Dave toasted Al and then the two girls sandwiching him.
'Me? I'm Jay Leno, man. I'll sit and be friendly to any of the guests who come on tonight's show.'
Al chuckled obscenely and said, 'If I don't come on tonight's show, it won't be for want of the right encouragement.'
It was well after one when Al announced that he was taking his two tican friends back to the hotel before he was too drunk to party. Dave had enjoyed the company of Victoria and Maria. The evening had been relaxed and light-hearted and he had no desire to offend Al by an obvious display of priggishness. But in life you were either a john or you were not and a long time ago Dave had decided he was not. So he decided to go with the flow and cut the two girls loose as soon as Al had retired to the hotel's presidential suite with his two friends.
Which is what he did.
There were no recriminations, no petulant displays of rejection. The girls accepted it with as much pleasant good grace as they had accepted Al's original invitations. After they'd left in a cab, Dave took a long cold shower and tried to persuade himself that he had done the right thing. Five years of Homestead seemed like degradation enough for one lifetime. Now he wanted to feel good about himself, like he was in control of where he was going and what he was doing. And to do that you had to be strong. To command power over yourself and your desires. Being a john was way short of that.
He threw on a bathrobe and went out onto the balcony. Above the buzz of distant traffic he could hear the roar of a large cat, a lion or a tiger caged in the nearby zoo. He imagined the poor beast as it paced up and down its small cage, and for a moment he was reminded of being back in his cell in Homestead. Hearing the dreadful sound of that immobilized spirit as it gave itself up to its despairing ritual dance, to and fro, to and fro, forever pacing the cell, he realized that for the first time since being released he understood what it meant to be free.
'Have a good time last night?'
It was a cruel question because Al looked like yesterday's shit. His normally dark, swarthy face was pale and sweaty and his eyes were as mean and puffy as a couple of hot snakes. If his head had been left on a pole somewhere in the jungle, he could not have looked any worse.
'Jesus, Al, you look like a fuckin' movie star,' mocked Dave, echoing Tony Nudelli. 'You look like Ernest Borgnine on his free day.'
Al whispered hoarsely, 'Where the fuck's Chico with the four-wheel- drive ?'
Ahead of them was a three-hour drive to Quepos on the Central Pacific coast. Parked out front, next to the hotel's Spanish-style courtyard, their driver was waiting in a Range Rover. Al climbed slowly into the back seat, let out a profound sigh that was half a groan, and closed his bloodshot eyes.
