Free Delirium by Laura Restrepo

demanded? Why do you think they treated me like a king despite it all, ignoring your rage and shame? Well, because it was thanks to me that they’d bought the lobster they were serving; don’t look so surprised, sweetheart, don’t tell me you hadn’t already solved that little puzzle, because what would that say about your powers of divination.
    The business I handled was bloodless and juicy, and had nothing to do with the Aerobics Center, which was just a front. To strip the veil from your eyes once and for all, Agustina doll, I’m going to give you a brief summary of the crooked dealings so that you see them in wide-screen Technicolor. Spider, Silver, Joaco, and a few others gave me X amount of money in checks in lowly Colombian pesos that I arranged to have delivered to Escobar, and when Escobar landed his shipment of cocaine in the USA, he returned their investment to them through me, but magic, oh magic!, now it was in dollars and had multiplied spectacularly, by three to one, four to one, even five to one, according to the blessed whim of Saint Escobar. And so, without tangling with the law or tarnishing their reputations, they became smug and invisible investors in drug-trafficking and fattened up their foreign bank accounts to the bursting point. Escobar was happy because he was laundering a fortune and I had no complaints, either, because I took a hefty cut.
    The whole thing involved risks, of course, and to get mixed up in it you had to have steady nerves, because if the shipment didn’t land, Pablo wouldn’t even return the investment. The five-to-one deal made the old-moneys drool like crazy but it had its downside like everything else, which was that no tantrums were allowed, or in other words, the Olympian investors couldn’t complain if the money was delayed or never reached them. Not to mention that any of them could be killed at any moment, according to the rights that Saint Escobar grants himself over the lives of those who get rich at his expense; I don’t know whether you’re following me, sweetheart, I know finances aren’t your strong point, but what I’m trying to tell you is that the instant you put a dollar from Pablo in your pocket, you automatically become his pawn, a worthless lackey at his beck and call. By now you must be able to imagine who it was risking his hide in gringo-land, poking the balls of the DEA big boys over there, why who else but yours truly, Midas McAlister at your service. As soon as Pablo sent word that the oven was hot, I would fly to Miami, set myself up in an oh-so-discreet hotel in Coconut Grove, wait for the suitcases to arrive full of cash from the street sales of the drug, take what was mine and dispatch the rest to the spotless investors of Bogotá. Mission accomplished, I head back home, end of story.

    TOMORROW, TOMORROW I’LL really do it, I said to myself each day, sitting in the lobby of the Wellington Hotel while I drank a cup of absurdly expensive tea. Until I did dare. Last Friday night I came into the Wellington at nine, knowing that I’d find the Fearless Girl in reception, with her long nails and stormy mane. And there she was, very businesslike and efficient, effortlessly improvising languages according to the nationality of each foreign guest, so I marched up to her, putting on my best face so that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious that all I am is a poor bastard racked by despair because the woman I love went crazy on me, and in my best VIP voice I told her that I was there to make a reservation for a couple of friends who wanted to spend a few days in Bogotá, Bzz!, mistake, I made my first mistake, no one travels to Bogotá of their own accord; the only people who come here are those who have no choice, Anyway, I continued, these friends of mine are coming to Bogotá and they asked me to make a reservation for them, Of course, Señor, no problem, Well, yes, Señorita, there is a small problem, which is that they asked me to take a look at