Read Torchwood: The Men Who Sold The World for Free Online Page B

park.
    ‘ Dígame, señor ,’ said the girl behind the counter, pushing her face into the breeze of a desk fan.
    ‘You have a car booked,’ said Rex, ‘in the name of Reynolds.’
    ‘The American!’ the girl said. ‘Who sneaks here from Nassau, yes?’
    ‘Journalist,’ said Rex, ‘on business.’
    ‘Oh yes, we get a lot of journalists here. They smoke a lot of our cigars and drink a lot of our rum.’
    ‘Not this one.’
    ‘They all say that, too.’ She gave him a set of keys. ‘Bay number five.’
    ‘ Gracias , and compliments on your customer service.’
    ‘We aim to please.’
    ‘You missed.’
    In bay five, Rex found himself face to face with a car so small he assumed he was supposed to sit on the roof. ‘Journalists don’t travel in style,’ he said, unlocking the door and pushing the driver’s seat back as far as it would go.
    He drove into Havana, an adventure in itself.He had no idea how so many old cars were still on the road. The way the locals drove they should have been trashed years ago.
    Esther had booked him a room in the old town. This would have been fine, but he wasn’t allowed to drive even this toy of a car through some of its streets. Abandoning the car a short walk away (part of him thinking, and hoping, he’d never see it again) he walked the final stretch.
    The hotel was a converted colonial house, white walls and black, wrought-iron railings. It was built around a central courtyard, thick curtains of ivy hanging from the balustrades above. The place felt like the revolution had never happened. Rex hoped the plumbing wasn’t so nostalgic. He checked in and made his way to his room in the upper far corner of the building. It was huge and empty with two windows in it. One looked down into the central courtyard and the other onto an alley filled with garbage dumpsters. Nice. The sweet smell of what looked like weeks’ worth of build-up wafted up along with a few deliriously happy flies.
    He closed the window and stretched out on the bed. A soft puff of mouldy air sprang up from the mattress beneath him. He could tell this was going to be a great couple of days.
    Mr Wynter watched Rex get into his hire car and drive away from the airport. He went into the hire office.
    ‘Hello there,’ he said in perfect Spanish. ‘My son was just in here picking up the car.’
    ‘The journalist?’ The woman behind the desk asked. ‘Your son?’
    ‘Ah, well,’ Mr Wynter laughed. ‘Son-in-law.’
    The woman smiled. ‘I thought you looked a bit pale!’
    They both laughed at this bit of inane wit. Mr Wynter was in no great rush to hurry her along – the less you seemed to push people, the more they filled the space you left them.
    ‘He did not enjoy his flight I think,’ the woman said after a moment. ‘He was a little rude.’
    Mr Wynter looked mortified. ‘I’m so sorry, you must forgive him, he doesn’t travel well. And truth be told,’ he leaned over the counter as if passing on a little secret, ‘I don’t think he likes me coming with him on his work trips. But you know, I just love it here and would hate to miss it.’
    ‘Well,’ she said, ‘at least someone in the family knows how to be nice.’
    Mr Wynter winked at her. ‘You’re too kind. Hey, the thing is, he meant to ask for some directions but you know what these young men are like.’
    ‘They don’t like to ask a woman?’
    ‘You’ve got it.’
    She laughed, pulled out Rex’s hire contract, and checked the local address given with the booking. ‘It’s in the old town,’ she said. ‘Calle de los Oficios. I’ll draw you a map.’
    ‘So kind!’ Mr Wynter smiled adoringly at her as she scribbled an illegible doodle on a scrap of paper and handed it to him.
    ‘Anything else I can do for you?’ she asked.
    ‘Ah…’ said Mr Wynter with a shrug. ‘If I wasforty years younger…’
    They both laughed again, the woman particularly loudly. Mr Wynter blew her a kiss and left the office.
    He walked over to