Havana Revisited - Yankee Imperialist
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“Sure you don’t want to join us?”
They were driving down the long drive, framed by tall, waving royal palms that led to the Hotel Nacional.
“Most certain, my friend.” Flavio told Jack, as they pulled up to the hotel’s grand entrance. “I refuse to spend a single peso of mine in that Yankee imperialist’s casino.”
Jack laughed shortly as the uniformed attendant opened the cab door. “Fair enough, mate, you can spend mine instead.” He handed Flavio a handful of dollar bills, pressing his hand into a fist around Flavio's hand with a wink. “Here, take your girl to dinner and a show.”
Flavio thanked him and pocketed the “fare,” and made arrangements to meet the next day and drive the men to Cojimar, then wished his customers a good evening with a wave of his hand and drove off.
“I thought he was going to be our guide for the evening,” Will said, as he watched the taxi daringly merge into the early evening traffic.
Jack smiled, placing a casual arm around Will’s shoulder as they turned to the steps leading to the entrance of the hotel. “Flavio holds no particular fondness for Meyer Lansky.”
“And this Lansky might be the ‘Yankee Imperialist’ mentioned?” Will straightened himself as Jack brushed a fleeting hand over his back, reluctant to lose the hold, but forced to keep up appearances before the, undeniably sour, cream of the fabricated society.
Tipping the doorman at the broad front doors, Jack laughed. “Flavio tends to exaggerate,” he explained, as they walked up the stairs to the grand lobby. “Lansky’s not so much an imperialist as he is a mobster.”
“I’m not sure I see the difference,” Will said, gazing in amazement at the Nacional's grand entrance hall, with its luxurious, glittering chandeliers hanging from the wooden ceilings and colorful mosaic tiles decorating the arches.
“Depends on your definition of imperialist. Batista put Lansky on the payroll to clean up the casinos. Apparently, at the time, the only honest games in town were being run by American gangsters. Ironic, isn't it?”
They went about halfway across the hotel's spacious reception area, heading towards the big lobby bar when a voice hailed them.
“Jack Sparrow!”
A small, dapper man was making his way across the hotel’s lobby, arms outstretched in greeting.
Will turned to Jack, a puzzled look on his face. “Who’s that?”
“The Yankee Imperialist himself. Meyer Lansky,” Jack whispered through his charming smile aimed to the approaching casino operator.
“You know him?”
Jack shrugged, noncommittal, “We've done some business together in the past.”
Before Will could get Jack to explain, Lansky caught up with them, hand outstretched and a broad smile rivaling Jack’s on his face.
“Nice to see you, Jack. I gather it’s not business that brings you here.”
“Nope, not this time. Strictly pleasure.” Jack shook Lansky’s hand.
“Well, you've come to the right place,” Lansky said, waving an arm at their surroundings. “We've made a few changes since the last time you were here. What’da think?”
Jack looked around, nodding approvingly and whistled with a small shake of his head. “Never thought I’d see the day there’d be gambling in this here palace.”
Lansky chuckled. “I will admit, it took a bit of persuading.” He didn't elaborate, just proudly pointed out the latest renovations.
At the northern end of the long entrance hall, inside the curved loggias looking out over the Malecón, was an elaborate and luxurious new complex of public rooms - the ultra-high-priced Café-Parisienne, a blue-and-cream-satin lined room where patrons could dine on pressed duck, watch top-notch performers, then afterwards stroll into the brilliant palatial gold-and-marble Casino International, for an evening of gambling. Connecting the two was the Starlight Terrace bar.
Jack let go another low whistle. “Quite an impressive place you've got here, mate.” Giving a quick glance at Will and finding him following the conversation intently, Jack picked up an intrigued tone. “Who’s running all this?”
“The bar is tended by local bar-tenders but we've brought in the best to run the others,” the diminutive gangster cheerfully explained. “The Parisienne’s run by Gogi, from Gogi's LaRue of New York. You know the place?”
“Don’t get up to New York much,” Jack said dismissively, shifting his attention back to Will again. “Too cold for me. I’d rather stay here, in the tropics, where it‘s…hot.” Jack’s gaze boring into Will’s at the last word made the man cough and swiftly look away and admire the walls while biting the inside of his cheek.
Lansky’s observation was fixed on the lush surroundings when he shrugged. “Can’t say I blame you there. Fucking paradise here in comparison.”
Entertaining himself with the sight of Will attempting nonchalance and trying to find something to focus on to keep from grinning, Jack smirked and clapped Lansky on his shoulder. “One can only hope.”
They stopped to wait for Will, who suddenly had a bout of coughing and was catching his breath, outside the casino entrance where a big sign announced, “Wilbur Clark’s Havana Casino.”
“Brought him in from Las Vegas.” Lansky pointed to the sign. “He’s our front man, but my brother Jake, you remember him, don’t you? He’s the one running the floor.”
“Remember him well.” Jack grinned, as they were joined by the younger Lansky.
For brothers, the two looked nothing alike. Where Meyer was short - barely 5’3”, dapper and trim, Jake was taller than his older brother, beefy and imposing. And, while Meyer was sometimes taciturn and cold, Jake was known as a joker and a backslapper.
He joined them with a hearty hail and a ravishing handshake. “If it ain't Jack Sparrow! Heard you were dead!”
Jack spread his arms wide and grinned. “The reports of my death, as you can see, were highly exaggerated.”
Jake Lansky laughed as if he‘d heard the cleverest joke. “Apparently so. What brings you to Havana?”
“My friend there, Will Turner,” Jack pulled Will beside him with an arm around his neck, leisurely leaving it there and dangling his hand over Will’s shoulder, gesturing as he spoke. “Captain Turner doesn't get to shore often.” Jack lowered his head along with his voice. “Was hoping t’ show him some of the pleasures the island has to offer, if ye get my drift.”
“Captain Turner?” Jake asked, glancing over at Will, who smiled a frozen, vaguely polite smile in return for being measured like a prized horse. “What’s your friend do? Doesn't look the military type.”
“He’s a ferryman,” Jack glibbed instantly. “Ferries souls. Even has his own boat.”
Jake looked lost for a moment before bursting into a bellowing laughter, clapping Jack’s shoulder repeatedly with a meaty hand in time with the bleats of hilarity.
“Good business.” Struggling to get himself together, wiping his eyes with his hand, the younger Lansky apparently thought he was getting the hint. “I understand… Not exactly employed by the government, eh.” Bringing his beefy palm to Jack’s back one more time, he rushed to inquire, “Still have your own boat, Sparrow?”
Jack stood up from leaning to Will and gathered his hands back to himself, sending his words on display with a wave. “Thinking of selling it, actually. Getting out of the business.”
Meyer joined the conversation and nodded towards Will, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard. “Your friend there, he’s taking over the territory?” He studied Will for a moment, apparently liking what he saw. “We might be able to talk some business, put a good word in for him.”
“Thanks for the offer, but Captain Turner is only here for pleasure.”
Meyer Lansky shrugged. “There is business, and there is pleasure. Best not to mix the two.” He gestured to the bartender at the bar. “Javier, give these gentleman anything they wish.” He turned and shook Jack’s hand again. “Enjoy your visit. Dinner and drinks are on me.”
“Oh, and here,” he added, fishing in his pocket. “Try your hand at the roulette tables, on the house.” He handed Jack a stack of casino chips. At Jack’s puzzled look, he said simply, “For services rendered. I might still need a favor in the future.”
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On to Part 8 - Havana Cabana