Papa Hemingway in Cuba Page #5

Santo Trafficante.

Yeah.

Yeah, you're pretty tight with

this mafia character, aren't you, huh?

Who else are you tight with?

Papa, let him explain.

I don't know what you mean.

You know damn well what I mean!

You're f***ing double-crossing me.

Eddie, get out of here.

Papa? Eddie, just get out!

Get out of here!

Papa, stop it before you say or

do something that you will regret.

Last time you were here, you met

with your FBI contact

- at the Ambos Mundos, didn't you?

- Stop it.

No, no, no. I know that guy.

He's a friend of mine.

F***ing Judas!

Eddie!

Oh, my God!

You stupid, gullible fat man.

Because you think it's my job.

Is that what you're doing?

You think we're all gonna double-cross you!

Get off me!

Trafficante says...

Trafficante says that...

That they want you out of Cuba.

He says that the FBI and Batista's secret

police are working together to, uh...

To set you up.

They think you're smuggling weapons

for the rebels.

Someone high up

in the US government is out to get you.

He said that it was a personal

vendetta.

Physical pain is nothing compared

to the pain of a lost bond.

For the second time in my life,

I felt completely alone.

You really think

that boy would betray you?

Did I hurt you bad?

No, you didn't hurt me. I'm fine.

How's it feel?

Feels like you punched me in the face.

Well, maybe we should go

get some ice on it, huh?

No, I'd rather just go.

Don't go.

I was wrong, kid.

Full apologies.

I was potted, bad in the head.

Being a prick.

I'm sorry.

Truly.

How's it feel now, kid?

It's just numb.

It feels like a mule kicked me in the face.

No mule, just a dumb ass.

Is it broken?

No, just swollen. Here.

Put that on. It'll help.

So why is the government out to get you?

This was back during the war.

A young FBI character I met.

I liked him.

Trusted him.

We all did.

Even went on patrols with us.

We'd go to the Floridita

afterwards, have a drink.

One night, it was just me and him.

Very drunk.

And he told me a story that made me feel

hollow sick in my gut.

A party.

Basement of J. Edgar's house in Virginia.

Mr. J. Edgar and his pal, Mr. Tolson,

dressed in women's clothes.

Wow.

Got Mr. FBI kid very drunk.

J. Edgar made him take off his pants...

And played with him,

while bosom buddy Tolson

shot moving picture photos.

You could tell he was giving it straight.

He cried.

He was very scared.

And do you think that Hoover knows

that he told you this?

My fault.

You remember the yacht club celebration

after we won the Nobel?

Oh, dear God, Papa.

Not that yacht club party.

Lot of wet talk.

Me, worst of all.

Just after the African plane crashes,

you know, my cracked skull

was not working very well.

With the booze, not working at all.

Yeah, dumb.

By this time, Mr. FBI was dead.

Heart attack.

So I figured the obligation of silence

was over, you know?

And then this creep starts talking about

what a great man J. Edgar is.

And I told him what a great man

J. Edgar wasn't.

Got pissed.

Called me a liar.

Ran out of there fast.

So, that's it?

Yeah.

So, what now?

I mean, I vote that we get out of here

as soon as possible.

- And go where?

- Why, anywhere.

Just don't fancy spending any time

in La Cabaa Prison, thank you very much.

Well, you don't get run out of your house,

you defend it.

Papa, we have nothing to defend it with.

These people are very powerful!

They're ruthless.

I'm gonna cancel the fishing trip.

No.

I want to go fishing on my birthday.

I told Gregorio I'd meet him

at Cojimar at 7:
00.

All right. Then you two go,

and Evan and I will stay here

and guard the homestead.

No. We need you.

Who needs me?

Me.

You need me?

We like this.

Hola.

Papa.

They ambush Lucas.

They shot him to pieces.

Ambushed?

He had more than 30 bullets in his body.

You have to move your account, Papa.

They ambushed Lucas last night.

Shot him to pieces.

What?

I haven't told Miss Mary yet.

Don't want to worry her.

It's a f***ing black dog day, kid.

And I am doing my best to get through it

without killing anybody.

Especially me.

Papa! Papa!

Small school of mullet.

Under two-prong attack.

The bonito coming up from below,

the birds hitting them from above.

Gregorio, why isn't the bait in the water?

We're not going fishing today, are we?

Oh, my God.

Gregorio!

Papa!

Papa!

Coastguard cutter coming right at us.

What do we do?

Put her ahead. Trolling speed.

Our bow right on theirs,

so they can't see the stern.

To them it'll look like we're fishing.

Ah, sh*t.

We have to work faster. Rpido.

He's fishing.

Good. It means

he hasn't dumped the weapons yet.

Mr. Hoover will be pleased.

Soon as we have them

in custody, radio Havana.

I want the press informed.

We'll bring him

into the yacht club docks in handcuffs.

That'll make a good picture

for the front page of The New York Times.

What if we fail to find weapons?

You got weapons aboard this ship, don't you?

Pilar!

Cut your engines immediately

and prepare to be boarded.

Since you've just put my future in jeopardy,

would you mind telling me

how these armaments got aboard?

Sinsky.

He's been running them for Lucas

in his Havana operation.

I got these for the kids in the village.

Our village?

Small gift for the country and people I love.

Why didn't you tell me?

Didn't want you to worry.

Oh, isn't this swell?

Small visit, courtesy the Feds.

Mr. Hemingway.

I'm a great admirer of your work.

I've read all of your books.

I'm very flattered.

I apologize for this intrusion,

but I have orders

to search this boat for illegal weapons.

Your presence aboard this ship

is highly annoying.

We are out fishing

for Mr. Hemingway's birthday.

A peaceful enough endeavor,

wouldn't you say?

I have my orders, seora.

Well, then, execute them

and be quick about it.

It's getting late and Mr. Hemingway

wishes to capture marlin.

Just as soon you didn't irritate him.

Given the present circumstance,

best to keep our mouths shut.

Oh, sh*t.

There are no weapons

aboard the Hemingway boat.

You absolutely sure of that?

Absolutely sure.

Fletch, we've got a problem.

No sweat.

Put together an evidence package.

A nice selection.

Tommy guns, BAIs, ammo, grenades,

not too much.

Just enough to show intent.

That's not gonna solve our problem.

Take a look.

What are you talking about?

Son of a b*tch.

Gregorio, take her in.

No, no, no.

Here he is.

Oh, Lordy.

Y'all look just like the old man of the sea.

Doesn't he, Charlie?

Just like the old man of the sea!

Happy birthday, Papa!

It'll be okay if we can get a drink.

Number two.

You keeping track?

Sure.

Record's 16.

I might just break it.

Happy birthday.

Don't ever let yourself get famous, kid.

You let your work get famous, that's okay.

This celebrity sh*t is deadly.

Nobel thing's even worse.

You work all your life,

and you get that prize,

as a writer, you're finished.

I mean, all my life has been about writing

as well as I could.

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