House of Ghosts (18 page)

Laughter seeped under the door of the Rothstein apartment. Jake found his parents doting on their visitor in the kitchen. Rachel was at the stove. “We’ve had the most enjoyable afternoon. Paulie filled us in on the plans for the trip.”

Paul motioned Jake to follow him to the living room. “I don’t mind telling you I’m having major league doubts. You’re going to place yourself into a great deal of danger for someone you don’t even know.”

Jake wrapped an arm around Paul’s neck. “The reason we have to go to Cuba is because people haven’t put their noses into other people’s businesses. If the world gave a damn, that girl wouldn’t be stuck on some piece of shit boat with a bunch of poor slobs and no hope. I’ve been involved in crazier things, and this won’t be the last. We better move one of the mattresses from our room so Sarah can stay in it. One of us will sleep on the floor and the other will sleep on Ma’s wonderful couch. I doubt she’ll have any objections.”

Jake reached over to the clock on the floor beside his head. It was a small miracle that he’d been able to get a few hours of sleep. Paul was still dead to the world. Jake picked up one of Paul’s dirty socks, rolled it into a ball, and threw a perfect strike hitting Paul squarely in his gasping mouth. “Five o’clock my boy. We only have one bathroom, and Sarah will need more time than both of us combined. You get washed up first, and I’ll get the coffee going.”

As promised, Rachel was up early. She made her way to the kitchen and kissed Jake good morning. “Ma. You look like hell. Did Pop have another one of his spells?”

She nodded. “Some nights are worse than others.”

“When I get back from Florida, we’re going to have to talk about what we’re going to do about Pop. You can’t go on like this. Do me a favor, go in and wake up Sarah.”

Rachel returned to the kitchen to find Chef Jacob at work. Eggs were frying and he already made a stack of toast. “Maybe a few sandwiches for the trip?” she asked.

“I hadn’t thought of that. Paulie, with his appetite, will probably eat the seats after five hours in the air.”

Sarah came into the kitchen and pulled up a chair. She turned down Jake’s offer of a plate of eggs. “I don’t normally eat at such an early hour,” she nervously explained.

Jake recognized the symptoms. “Last night, I didn’t ask if you’ve ever been on a plane.” She shook her head no. “Paul’s in the same situation, but he’s following my suggestion to get something into his stomach. Flying is no big deal. You’re going to love it.” He handed her a piece of toast.

Sarah forced half a slice and a sip of water. A horn blew. Jake pushed the curtains aside, seeing Nicky’s Buick. “Paulie, grab the bags.” He turned to his mother. “If you get into a bind with Pop, call Nicky. I’ll fill him in on what’s going on.”

Nicky rested against the fender, calmly manicuring his fingernails. The trunk was open. “Vinnie got a couple of Cubans to fuck things up on the dock. It should buy an extra twelve hours.”

“My father is giving my mother fits and I told her to call you if she gets into a pickle. The only option is to put him in Kings County Hospital. I don’t think we will be able to keep him home much longer.”

“Just get down to Havana, do your thing, and get home. Don’t worry about Abe. If necessary, I’ll take him over to Pleasant View, a rest home owned by Tommy.”

The trip to the airport was rapid. A silver DC-3 capable of seating 21 passengers, three flight crewmembers, and two cabin stewards sat one hundred yards from the gate. Jake became antsy. They were behind schedule and every minute counted for his four o’clock meeting in Havana.

Finally, at 7:30, an announcement was made to begin boarding. Jake led the way turning to see that Sarah was lagging behind. Allowing Paul to proceed ahead, he waited for the girl who talked a good game but her body language showed her true feelings. “Come on, it’s like going to Coney Island, just a different kind of ride,” he said, trying to build up her confidence.

“That’s the problem. I can’t stand those Coney Island rides. The roller coaster makes me sick. I get ill just thinking about going on the plane.”

She stood frozen at the bottom of the roll-a-way steps. Not hesitating, Jake lifted Sarah over his shoulder, fighting to control the kicking one hundred fifteen pounds. The DC-3 was configured with two seats on either side of an aisle. Jake deposited her next to Paul in the forward section. For Jake, the trip was going to be one for the books. He sat across the aisle.

Sarah looked out the window as the plane accelerated down the runway. The
sight of the city seemed to ease her anxiety as the plane banked over the Statue of Liberty and began climbing. Paul propped a pillow under Sarah’s head and after a few minutes she fell asleep. “If she gets up, try to give her some of this,” Jake said, handing Paul a hip flask.

The flight plan consisted of three segments: Washington, D.C.; Atlanta; and Miami. With the DC-3 cruising at 170 mph, flying time to Washington D.C. was 1 hour and 15 minutes. The descent into Washington caused Sarah to complain about her ears. Jake passed her some chewing gum and told her to make believe she was a Golden Guernsey. They had twenty minutes to stretch their legs in the terminal.

Jake placed a collect call to Vinnie in Miami who was surprised to hear Jake’s voice. “
Goomba
, where are you? It ain’t possible that you’re here already.” Vinnie had a way with words.

“I just landed in D.C. Anything change?”

“The people on the ship are beginning to go crazy. This morning, one of my people in Havana told me a guy slit his wrists and jumped overboard. They fished him out of the harbor and patched him up in the local hospital. I guess the guy would rather die in Cuba than be sent back to Germany. The Cubans are getting real itchy. They don’t want any more Jews getting off. Jake, I don’t know how much longer we can stall them.”

“I’ll call from Atlanta. Make sure that the boat is ready to go as soon as I arrive.” Jake hung up. He did what he normally wouldn’t have done, bum a cigarette from a sailor waiting to use the phone. For whatever reason, the smoke helped settle his nerves. Jake picked up the Sunday edition of
The Washington Post
from a newsstand.

The lead article was President Roosevelt’s message to the National Meeting of Moral Rearmament. Roosevelt said, “The underlying strength of the world must consist in the moral fiber of her citizens.” Nowhere was there a mention of any arrangements being considered for passengers of the
St. Louis
to enter the United States. A State Department spokesman insisted that immigration quotas were to be upheld.

The article exposed an ugly blood money scheme: the president of Cuba demanded $500 per passenger to allow disembarkation. New York attorney Lawrence Berenson, representing the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, pleaded for time to raise the required half million dollars.

Jake tossed the paper into a trashcan. Paul and Sarah had already reboarded the plane and didn’t need additional bad news. He climbed the steps, paused to look at the outline of the Capitol building, and questioned how the members of
the august body could disregard the plight of the passengers on the
St. Louis
.

The white sand of Miami’s famed beaches came into view as the plane followed the coastline. Finally, they were on the ground. A pudgy, balding, five-foot-five gnome rested against a chain-link fence near the terminal entrance. “That can’t be the famous Vinnie,” Sarah said incredulously. “He’s the most important guy down here?”

Jake didn’t laugh at her remarks. Vinnie was more important than she would ever know. Vinnie Sapienza, cousin to the boss, looked like an accountant. However, the only accounts that he kept were how many heads he smashed.

“It’s been a long time no see,” Vinnie said, placing Jake in a bear hug. “Must be your brother and the cousin of the dame who’s causing all this business.”

“The party responsible for this mess is in Berlin,” Jake corrected. “Sarah’s cousin is caught in a business deal.”

Paul picked their bags from the luggage cart. Vinnie led the way to his car left in a no-parking zone and opened the trunk of the black Cadillac. “I got my place fixed up. You two should be real comfortable,” Vinnie said in a distinctive Brooklyn accent despite living in Florida for almost twenty years.

Vinnie gunned the big engine and peeled away from the airport. The five mile trip brought the sights of majestic estates built prior to the stock market crash of 1929. Many were abandoned and had fallen into disrepair. Those with cash were able to purchase properties at bargain prices. Vinnie had the resources and a knack for buying low and selling high as the real estate market rebounded. “I just had a pool put in,” he said as he drove through a twelve foot high security gate that led to a circular drive way. It appeared nothing had been withheld when Vinnie constructed the house.

Vinnie’s household help was waiting to receive his guests. “We don’t have time for any mushy goodbyes. Jake, get your ass back in the car, we have a half an hour drive to the plane.”

Jake incredulously looked at his host. “What are you talking about? You were supposed to get us a speedboat.”

“
Get in the car
, and I’ll fill you in,” Vinnie ordered.

Jake leaned out of the window. “Paulie, call home and take care of Sarah.”

“Since when have you become a mother hen? If those two had any brains, they would use the time to study anatomy.” Vinnie wiped the sweat off his face with a handkerchief retrieved from a back pocket. “I’ve been down here a long time, you’d think I’d be used to the stinking humidity.”

“Never mind the weather report. When did the plans change? You could have told me before we were ready to go,” Jake protested.

“I didn’t see the point in scaring the shit out of the kids. The fucking Cubans are turning the screws. We don’t have the time to take a boat. If we get the broad off the ship, I have a feeling we’re going to need to get away from the island in a hurry.”

“Where’s the plane?” Jake asked. “There isn’t a private airstrip around.”

A breeze whipped into the speeding car evaporating sweat from their shirts. “You gone mush in the brain or something? The Feds are always watching us, just waiting to make a bust. Hoover’s morons couldn’t find the planes I use to bring in goods if they stood next to them. We’ll be at the strip in a few minutes.”

Jake didn’t have to ask what goods meant. Dope was a new addition to Vinnie’s menu of prostitution, loan sharking, and gambling.

Vinnie pulled off the highway onto a narrow unpaved road. Between clouds of dust, Jake could see they were headed toward a dilapidated house that was straight out of the newly released movie
Gone With The Wind
. Vinnie slowed the Cadillac, inching across a wooden bridge spanning a creek almost dry from the sweltering sun. An alligator rested in the shade of a Palmetto tree. Vinnie drove behind a ramshackle barn onto a perfectly level grass field and stopped at a hay pile. Jake didn’t see a plane anywhere.

“Come on and give me a hand clearing this stuff out of the way.” Vinnie said. The hay was glued onto plywood, which they quickly removed revealing a blue Cessna. The usual identifying markings were missing from the fuselage.

Jake was no math whiz—there were only four seats. If they had to fly Minnah out of Havana, they would require a fifth seat. “Where’s the pilot, if I’m not too pushy,” he said, wiping his brow. The sun was like fire.

“I’ll give you three guesses who the pilot is, and the first twenty don’t count.”

Jake suddenly had a gnawing knot in his stomach. The ex-Brooklynite was the person he was about to trust his life to. “How long have you had a pilot’s license?”

“Who said I have a license. Relax, I’ve been flying for almost eighteen years. I’ll start the engine and taxi away from this pile of crap. You drive the car into its place and replace the hay,” Vinnie said, climbing into the pilot’s seat. “I have to go over the plane before we get going. I may look like a schlep, but I want to get back here in one piece like you.”

Jake climbed in and buckled up. Vinnie finished checking the gauges and released the brake. He increased the throttle. The plane turned into the sultry breeze. Moving along the grass at 50 mph, Vinnie pulled back on the stick and they were airborne, beginning a slow bank toward the southwest.