Caridad Martínez, Chano's wife, told journalist Omar E. Llep, who researched the musician's murder that "Chano left home that day happier than ever before. He was thinking about his debut at the Strand. He mentioned the incident with El Cabo, but he didn't think much of it.
Is it true that Chano tried to take 15 dollars from him?
The fact is that Chano handed El Cabo the money to take somewhere, but since El Cabo didn't do so, Chano shouted at him and slapped him.
Chano was not one to worry about 15 dollars. Some friends broke up the fight and El Cabo was willing to forget the incident as long as Chano excused himself. But that reconciliation never came through.
"The truth of the matter -Caridad Martínez told Llep- is that El Cabo was instigated to act as he did."
THE CRIME
Chano put a nickel in the record player slot. A disc dropped onto the rotating plate and the initial rhythms (trumpets and bongos) of a half wild music started flowing from the black spiral grooves.
Harlem's Café Río began to fill thanks to the furious drumming in Manteca's melodies. Chano stood still for a moment; his eyes fixed on the record, and absorbed by the way the needle translated into sounds the beats of his latest composition, his Manteca, the successful be-bop which had made him famous in the New York music scene
His fingers started shaking and his hands stretched out as if he were, unconsciously, automatically, feeling for his drums, those that no one else could play the way he did.
The catchy be-bop rhythm worked its way into Chano's body. His hips swayed, his eyes glowed and he began to dance, alone, physically and mentally alone.
The Café Rio's glass door opened slowly. A mysterious intruder stepped inside in such a way that he didn't even use his hands, tucked deep inside his overcoat pockets. He kept the door from closing with the tip of his foot. Then, he bent his knee and pushed... The musical notes of Manteca escaped out the door and across Lenox Avenue.
It was Eusebio Muñoz, El Cabo, his hands still in his pockets. Standing his ground, he looked for an opening in the crowd and then he saw Chano's chest in the middle of one of his dance spins. He pulled out his right hand and held it up at eye level.
Just one shot and Chano collapsed, his dance cut by a brutal blow, his heart broken by a bullet. Eusebio Muñoz, pale-faced and lips shut tightly, took several steps forward, approached Chano's lifeless body, looked at him for a second and without saying a word, fired his gun again, twice, six more times at the composer and musician, lying in a puddle of blood.
The record player's needle kept running through the mechanical translation of the last rhythms of Manteca.
ABAKUA wrote:His fingers started shaking and his hands stretched out as if he were, unconsciously, automatically, feeling for his drums, those that no one else could play the way he did.
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