Free Bitter Drink by F.G. Haghenbeck

me…which is more than enough for any woman.” Taylor gave him a hard punch in the stomach while he laughed. I was expecting them to take out the gold pistols John Huston had given them and open fire.
    “It disappeared from the house last night,” Miss Taylor concluded.
    “Well, I don’t think they’ll try to sell it in town. Selling the Statue of Liberty in the Sahara Desert would be more subtle. Your ring is no doubt on its way to Mexico City, ma’am.”
    “No, it’s still here in town.” Burton turned toward his friendly giant, who was still standing there beside him, and said, “Bobby, show him the note.”
    King Kong disappeared into another room, then reappeared with a white envelope and placed it clumsily into my hands.
    Inside the envelope was a folded sheet. A sum of money was written on it, and an address: “Salado Bridge. Midnight. No cops.” I folded it again and put it back into the envelope. Who knows, maybe they wanted to keep it as a Mexican souvenir.
    “Smart. They know what they’re doing. If they’d tried to run, Interpol would’ve tracked them out of the country.”
    “Money is not an issue. We just want you to accompany Bobby to the drop-off. You know about these things. Our bodyguard, here, is just an ex-boxer.”
    I turned to look at the giant, who returned another gap-toothed grin. I adored him even more.
    “Do you want me to apprehend them?”
    “We don’t want any shooting, or for you to play the hero. We don’t want any more publicity than we already have. Liz is doing the paperwork to divorce Eddie Fisher, and I’m working on mine with Sue, right here in Puerto Vallarta. This might make the local authorities nervous. Come back with the ring and you’ll be handsomely rewarded.”
    “I’m on Mr. Stark’s payroll. It’s my job,” I said and then added, “Another glass of raicilla should settle the score.”
    Burton turned to look at his future wife. She folded herself on the sofa while scolding one of her children for wallowing in the garden.
    Burton poured me another raicilla. I guess we had a deal.

2 OUNCES BRANDY
    1 OUNCE LEMON JUICE
    1 OUNCE COINTREAU OR TRIPLE SEC
    SUGAR
    B lend and chill with ice. Serve in a cocktail glass with a sugared rim. “Makin’ Whoopee” by Ella Fitzgerald perfectly reflects this drink’s prewar esprit.
    According to David A. Embury, renowned cocktail historian, the sidecar was invented by a World War I captain who stopped in a Paris bar, hoping for a daiquiri. The bar was out of rum, so he had to settle for brandy instead, and the sidecar was born. The new drink needed a name, and “sidecar” seemed fitting, since the bar’s owner was known for riding a motorcycle equipped with one.
    __________________
    Bobby La Salle was Richard Burton’s bodyguard, trainer, and Ping-Pong opponent. Burton’s agent and Liz Taylor’s ex, Michael Wilding, had hired him. I asked Bobby Gorilla whether Wilding had enough guts to shine his ex-wife’s shoes, but Bobby didn’t get it; you couldn’t hold a complex conversation with him any more than you could with a child.
    Burton handed me another envelope, this one stuffed with crisp, clean hundred-dollar bills. It was a sum I figured I’d never come across again in my lifetime, even if I robbed a bank. The Welshman downed a few more drinks with us as we waited for nightfall.
    When the time had come, I asked Bobby to take me to my hotel first. Burton had said no guns, but I had learned long ago that you didn’t walk around with that kind of money without some backup. Bobby was a good start, but my Colt was more trustworthy and less bulky.
    On our way to the hotel, Bobby told me about his glory days as a boxer, and I told him about my interest in surfing. He wanted to be an actor now, and I cheered him on. After all he was as goofy as a cartoon character, and everybody likes them.
    The church bells tolled midnight as we headed out on the highway toward the city limits. There wasn’t much traffic,