The night is eerily quiet; perfect for Jack's purposes. The full moon is a blessing and a curse. The first 85 miles were a straight-out full throttle breeze, the sea extremely calm. The last 5 miles demands Jack churn along towards the Cuban coastal waters at a hair above idle and lights out. He quickly opens the forward cabinet, gaining access to the boat registration placard and Cuban flag, as well as his AK. He slaps the faux Cuban registration numbers over the US markings. A quick function check of the AK, and Jack feels ready to act decisively, should the need arise.
The Loosey Too slides softly up to the dock in Matanzas Bay and Jack ties her off. He is somewhat shocked...no pirates, no Cuban coast guard, and no Cuban military patrolling the waters. Now he really has his radar tuned. 'Is this some kind of trap?' he ponders. Jack shuts down Loosey Too's power plant, listening through the eerie silence. His pulse lowers and only the sound of his own breathing mixes with the ambient noise of the early morning. The darkness offers the lapping of the waves against his craft as it rocks against the dock pads at 3AM.
"Gringo. Are you lost?"
Jack turns slowly to find a woman leaning against the dock railing, smoking a cigarette. Her features slightly revealed as the cancer stick glows with each successive inhale. 'Hmmm.' Jack mulls. "No, not lost...just new to the territory," he responds. Rolling the dice he asks, "Is there a good cobbler in this town?"
"Of course. Come with me, I'll introduce you," the woman responds.
Jack feels confident this woman is the contact he sought. He quickly slips his pistol into the waist band of his pants and grabs the briefcase. Jack climbs onto the dock and continues his directed conversation.
"So, this cobbler is available today to do business?" he asks.
"Si. You can meet at 1000," she confirms.
Jack quietly sighs a bit of relief. He got the answers to the questions the Fed Boys gave him. Feeling satisfied this is his contact, he lowers his level of scrutiny from red to orange. His escort turns to face him. The street light illuminates her face. She is gorgeous. That Cuban look, pretty lips, dark eyes, framed in long thick shoulder length hair in reddish/brown. The Uzi slung over her shoulder and hidden under her jacket increases her appeal to Jack. Her red beret gives Jack a reason to conjure the image of a resistance fighter. The 5-foot 8-inch beauty is incredibly sexy. Although Jack realizes, as they stroll along, four inches of her stature comes from the do-me spikes she wears. Jack tries to imagine how that firm ass looks when not falsely jacked up.
"I'm John, by the way," he offers, choosing to give his real name, not his nick.
She smiles and tilts her head to the side, "I'm Landa. Nice to make your acquaintance." Jack picks up on her subtle flirt.
Surprised that Landa leads him to a real cobbler's shop, Jack notes it as pretty good trade craft...keep it simple stupid! She unlocks the front door; they step inside and she locks the door behind them.
"This way," she motions.
They go through a passage way into a storage room and down a hall way to some ascending stairs. Four flights later, Landa leads Jack into a small apartment.
"We will wait here till the morning." she smiles. "Would you like something to eat or drink?"
"Thank you but no offense Landa, I could use a place to lie down. It's been a very long day so far," Jack tells her.
Landa nods and shows Jack to a small room with a bed and a night stand. She pours water into the bowl and hands Jack a towel. "Sleep well," she says to Jack with a sweet smile. Jack chains the brief case to the bed post and secures his pistol under his pillow. He is asleep within 30 seconds of his lying down.
The sun peaks through the crack of the shade covering a window and warms Jack's face. Sitting up, he wonders for a second where the hell he is. It floods back quickly. He rapidly sorts through his mental clutter, then checks for his pistol and the briefcase. Satisfied all is secure, he relaxes. He gets up and throws some water on his face. Staggering out of the bedroom and through the tiny sitting room to the kitchen, he follows the scent of bacon frying. "Now we're talking," Jack mumbles as his mouth waters. Stepping onto the apartment's balcony, wearing just his boxer shorts, Jack finds Landa sitting at a small table.
"Good morning, Senor John," Landa says quietly. Please sit for breakfast with me. Jack takes a seat as she pours him a coffee and serves him fresh bacon and eggs.
"Good morning Landa," Jack says. "Please, call me Jack. All my friends do." Jack's cock stirs and twinges at the site of Landa, dressed in a short form fitting sleeveless tennis court style dress, which looks to be held up by her tits alone. The dress is so short it barely covers her gorgeous ass. Jack's mouth waters even more at the site of her, as well as the smell of the bacon.
"I'm pleased you consider me a friend, Senor Jack." Landa half whispers as she plays softly with her hair. Her silky soft voice stirs Jack's desire to have her sit on his lap while he eats. 'Jesus Jack, you're such a dawg!' he swears in his head.
Landa sits beside Jack on the little bench. She grabs a cloth napkin and spreads it on his lap, seeking his response as she drags her hands across his upper thighs. She hesitates as her palm tests to see if he truly likes her sexiest house dress. Her eyes flash wide as Jack's cock throbs violently under her touch. Jack, still chewing his first piece of bacon, leans forward and kisses Landa on the cheek. She takes his hand and softly kisses it. Leaning in close to him she whispers in a breathy voice, "Tell me about your woman Jack." She softly sucks on his middle finger.
Choking slightly, Jack laughs and says, "Which one sweety?"
"So, you have many women?"
"Oh, I'm not complaining. It's just when you asked, they all flashed in my head at once," he grins.
"But surely you have a favorite one Senor Jack?" she asks with a seriousness replacing her playfulness of a second ago.
