The meeting place looked like any other little restaurant in their area.  It was a squat one story yellow building with a red roof and overhang with big glass windows, thick enough to be bullet resistant, showing haphazardly arranged tables and chairs inside.  Sitting on a dirty and cracked street between low income apartments to one side and a liquor store to the other with dingy gravel alleys between them both the only thing differentiating this little restaurant bar from any other in this area of Havanna was the little sign setup outside, "Las Tres Hermanas."<br/><br/>Going inside through the doorway low enough that some trolls would need to duck the heavy weight of the glass front door gave another hint that it was likely bullet resistant. The cool air was refreshing from the July heat though it was still too early for the dinner rush and the open dining floor was empty except for two individuals at the far side from the doorway standing around the bar and watching a baseball game on the large flat trid over the bottle rack.  Both were Hispanic male humans, the one behind the bar seemed to be pushing on to middle age but still had a fit lean look to him and nodded at your entry to the younger man barely looking to be 20.<br/><br/>The twenty year old approached the dining floor to you and quickly inquired how he can help you.  That he does not offer to seat you is the final nail in the coffin this is the right place.  Asking for a Mr Fernández causes him to quickly lead you to an open doorway on the far side from where you entered, just off the bar.<br/><br/>It opens into a rear dining room with smaller and sparser windows that seem somewhat frosted and likely harder to peer through from the outside.  Other than that though it is appointed with the same cheap looking chairs and tables that the front dining room was.  Back here though there is another Hispanic man, no doubt your, "Mr Fernández."<br/><br/>Looking well into middle aged with silver hair coloring his dark hair and creeping at the edges of a thick mustache he smiles jovially at you with tobacco stained teeth as a hefty cigar hangs from one hand.  With a thick hand that matches the rest of his paunchy body he signals for you to sit and with the other signals to the server who brought you his empty beer glass.  The server then rushes off with glass in hand after asking for what you want to drink.<br/><br/>Mr Fernández refuses to talk business for awhile turning any conversation that may veer in that direction to one of sports.  He is a fount of knowledge of local sports of all sorts.  He does not simply seem to watch but analyze it all knowing thousands of statistics and easily rattling them off at minimal prompt.<br/><br/>It is only when the last of the group is assembled and seated he turns to business with a quickness surprising from such a soft looking man.  Putting out the stub of his cigar in an ash tray he drains the dregs of his beer.<br/><br/>Withdrawing a nickel plated cigar case from the thin jacket on his chair he offers the thick Cubans around the table before taking one for himself and placing the case on the table by his ash tray.<br/><br/>"Things work a certain way in the Carib League you see.  Havanna is not New York, Cuba is not UCAS.  Some people do not seem to get that," the man spoke slowly and withdrew a cigar cutter from a compartment on his case and proceeded to nip the head off his cigar before smelling it slowly and putting the guillotine back in the case.<br/><br/>"Some people just do not seem to get that idea you know, look at this cigar," he held it for everyone at the table to see, still unlit.<br/><br/>"This is nice Cuban tobacco in nice Cuban paper rolled by beautiful Cuban maidens.  This is not some stogie you buy in a dollar store in Seattle but something you sit back, relax with, and enjoy, and you enjoy properly," sticking the cigar in the corner of his mouth he now took out a small box of matches.<br/><br/>Striking a match he let it burn for a moment before he brought it to tip of his cigar and puffed until he felt he had a proper light on it.  Exhaling slowly he took a moment before removing the cigar with one hand and continued, "With nice Cuban tobacco you do not use a lighter, they burn to hot and the chemicals will alter the flavor.  Now if you so choose you may do so but there are consequences.  Your neighbors will shun you, your friends will shame you, and your seller will sell you the cheap stuff.  All this may happen with nobody telling you why.  It is up to you to know the rules of what you are doing because there are consequences for your actions here in the Caribbean."<br/><br/>Taking several puffs on his cigar he looked about the table, "That is why you have been asked to come here.  Someone in Havana does not know the rules.  I need you to teach him."<br/><br/>Leaning over he grabbed a manila folder that had been resting next to his chair and placed it on the table still closed, "How do you feel about giving someone their last lesson?"