Freedom Fighters

11. Switchblade

Dario had to watch his steps, for potholes littered the grey bleached road. From every covered doorway came wary glances. A group of tattooed men seated on crates stopped their conversation to stare at them. Manners of rubbish, from used cardboard to vegetables rotting in the sun, were strewn along the sides, producing a foul and invasive stench.

"Quite an interesting place he has chosen to stay in," Camilo commented, wrinkling his nose.

"The living conditions are not ideal," Juanita conceded, "but it is a haven from the eyes of the Mexican police, some of whom are probably on Batista's payroll. Like the ones following us."

At those words, Dario resisted another urge to turn his head backwards as the group quickly turned into a narrow dirt streaked alley flanked by flimsy structures made out of rusty zinc and plywood. Now, they could be out of sight for a while, he thought. Juanita raised a hand and the group stopped.

"How many are there?" she asked with a voice that seemed to indicate her familiarity with command.

"I think there are three," came Marco's reply.

"Marco, Lionel, you know what to do. Dario and Camilo, just follow me and act normal. This will be where we ambush them."

Her pronounced cheekbones clamped down on her thin lips. Her eyes gleamed with a calm focus. This side of Juanita was a far cry from the demure and attractive girl in Miami. Dario knew that it should be expected, especially since she was a revolutionary leader and sister to the Castros. Yet, he was still impressed with the decisive and efficient manner she commanded others.

The Almeidas slid into the sides of the alley with ease, taking cover behind boxes and bins. Dario paused to wipe the sweat off his brows before following Juanita and Camilo who had eased into a stroll. As he walked with her, he became acutely aware of the eyes peering from the holes in the walls boring into him. His eyes darted around nervously and he took a deep breath to calm himself down.

Juanita noticed this and said in her steady voice, "Don't worry. The people of the slums know how to mind their businesses. For now, act normal."

They kept quiet as they walked down the alley, waiting for their followers to fall into the trap. Dario looked at Camilo for any signs of unease but all he got was a trademark grin. His friend was enjoying himself alright.

Life in this little part of the slum went on as normal. An old woman washing a pile of clothes in a bucket. A few tired old men seated on crates hunched around a small table with cards and coins spread out on it.

The joyful squeals of little children playing echoed in the distance, reminding Dario of the boy in the marketplace who begged him for money. He could almost hear the boy's voice ringing in his mind, causing his stomach to churn uncomfortably.

"Are you okay? You don't look too well," Juanita said beside him, shooting him a look of concern.

"No it's fine. I was just thinking about the boy from the market, and the slum," he replied, after gulping down the lump in his throat.

"I see." Her eyes softened. "You do not see such sights in Havana?"

Dario shook his head. "Not as bad as this. Your thoughts, Camilo?"

Camilo knitted his eyebrows, thinking for a moment before replying.

"It is true that Havana is a cleaner and safer city compared to the rest of Latin America. I believe that is because tourism is a huge priority for Batista and so he tries very hard to make the city presentable, at least for the more affluent districts. I have heard of the conditions in other countries in the region. But still, seeing it myself is an eye opener, especially after a year in Miami."