“He carried a canvas sack over his shoulder. His bald head resembled an orange in the light of the fading sunset. He paused now and then to exchange greetings with other Cubans who were aimlessly waiting for the time when they could return to their shacks, hoping their wives would provide some sort of meal. There was a cold, gloomy expression on Manuel's face as he walked the gang plank onto his vessel. Carefully, he laid down the canvas sack, then pulled in the gang plank. As he had approac...hed his vessel, his eyes darted to right and left. There were no signs of watching detectives, nor even a cop. He whistled to alert Fuentes that he was back, then picking up the sack, he walked the deck to the forward cabin which was in darkness. He had warned Fuentes not to put on the lights. He had been away some six hours, and he felt sorry for Fuentes, sitting in the growing darkness, alone, but at least he had left him food. He entered the cabin, closed the door, then turned on the light.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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