The soldiers marched Rolo through the streets of the town and to the jailhouse adjacent to the headquarters of the local regiment. Once inside, they took his handcuffs off and pushed him into a small, dark cell with a barred window high on the far wall and a bucket in a corner. It stank of urine and the men’s bodies, but there was only one other prisoner there. An old man with long white hair and a beard that reached the middle of his chest was sitting on the floor, in the middle of a coughing fit. His arms were covered in tattoos.
The guard shut the door and Rolo stood there, looking at the old man and waiting for him to stop coughing. After a minute, the man spit in a corner.
“Greetings, young man,” said the prisoner, standing. “My name is Eliecer Fuentes Barros. Welcome to my home.”
“Rolo Barba.” They shook hands.
“And what brings you to the Cueto Hotel?”
“I beat him up.”
“No!”
The old man laughed out loud and coughed so much he bent over. Finally, he sat down on the floor. It took him a moment to catch his breath.
“Really? How? What happened?”
Rolo told him the story.
“He wasn’t wearing his uniform,” said Rolo, pacing back and forth. “How was I to know who he was?”
“Well, they don’t wear their uniforms every day, you know. He probably took a day off. Still, I’m glad you gave that bastard a good beating.”
“Personally, I’m having second thoughts.”
The old man chuckled. “I don’t blame you, though I’m glad for the company.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Oh, I lost track. I can tell you my hair was still black when I arrived.”
Rolo felt a chill. “Christ of the Great Power! What did you do?”
Under the bushy white eyebrows, the old man’s eyes sparkled, and a thin smile formed on his lips.
“I killed half a dozen Englishmen, a couple of Dutchmen and, I believe, a Frenchman who took exception to my friendship with his wife. I also stole a fortune in gold, silver and more from assorted ships all over the Caribbean, under the command of the great Roberto Cofresí Ramírez de Arellano. May he rest in peace.”
“The Pirate Cofresí!”
“That’s right. The last pirate of the Caribbean, and a thorn in the side of the Spanish Crown until his dying day. That is why they will never let me out of this God-forsaken hole.”
Rolo sat cross-legged on the floor.
“So you’re…”
“I’m a pirate.”
