Free Bitter Drink by F.G. Haghenbeck Page A

just a few tractor trailers on their way to Guadalajara.
    The moon reflected on the surface of the sea, and the palm trees swayed in the night breeze, which was perfumed with the salty smell of seaweed. We crossed the Salado River, and the Cadillac turned inland. The land on both sides of uswas overrun by jungle, and all we could hear were the songs of crickets and toads. At a clearing by the river, where some fishing boats rested on the bank alongside their extended nets, I killed the motor. The crickets and toads grew louder. It seemed deserted enough, but you could probably have hidden a German tank in the undergrowth if you wanted to.
    “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Here, even the lizards get bored,” I told Bobby, as a few frogs splashed into the water, reminding us that we were not completely alone.
    A flashlight beam shone in our eyes. It came from a leafy tree not more than thirty feet from the car. I felt like a deer caught in headlights.
    “Stay in the car. I’ll take care of this,” Bobby Gorilla said, grabbing the envelope of money. He got out of the car and raised both hands in the air. I managed to discern a shape behind the beam of light. It approached the former boxer. Their voices merged with the noise of the river and its inhabitants, and I couldn’t make out more than a word here and there.
    The crickets and toads finally took five, and I was able to hear the man with the flashlight say, “Did you bring the money,
cabrón
?”
    It was spoken in a fast and zesty Spanish. Not the kind spoken on the coasts but city Spanish. Professional, criminal Spanish.
    I didn’t want Burton to have the impression that all Mexicans were a bunch of crooks. I had to do something, so I slowly drew my Colt from my shoulder holster and climbedout of the car. I didn’t care anymore if my baby caught cold. There’d be time enough for it to recover.
    “
Dinero
here,
anillo
.” Bobby articulated the two Spanish words I’d taught him on the way over. I heard a grunt. Voices. Arguing.
    A shot.
    This was getting interesting. It certainly wasn’t the crickets or toads who’d fired. The ones packing the weapons were another kind of vermin. I heard Bobby cursing, spewing words I am sure his mother wouldn’t want to hear. I released the safety.
    Another shot.
    Two shots are too many for one night. Before I could move a muscle, a finger touched my shoulder. Then the barrel of a gun. I can still remember the words whispered in my ear before I fell unconscious, “This is for hurting my arm.” Call it a drunkard’s intuition, but I knew that voice belonged to Mr. Antsy Underpants.

1 OUNCE VODKA
    1 OUNCE BLUE CURAÇAO
    7 OUNCES LEMONADE
    1 MARASCHINO CHERRY
    B lend vodka, curaçao, and lemonade with ice. May be enjoyed with rum and Malibu coconut cream, or sweetened with sugar. Garnish with the cherry and the tunes of Mel Tormé.
    The blue lagoon was created by Andy MacElhone, a famous bartender and son of the owner of Harry’s New York Bar in Paris. The drink was named after the 1949 film directed by Frank Launder and based on a Victorian romance by the novelist Henry De Vere Stacpoole. Years later, in 1980, a new version of the movie was released, making actress Brooke Shields famous.
    __________________
    I was somewhat dizzy when I came to and suffering my worst hangover ever.
    “You’re an irresponsible drunk. Did you think your old man would be proud of someone like you?”
    I could hear voices speaking to me in the dark, but I couldn’t make out a face.
    “It’s my life. I’m not you.”
    “Tough guy, huh?”
    “They’re my mistakes. Don’t fuck with me…”
    I dragged myself across the wet ground and managed to get up on one knee. The voices continued, but they were only in my head. I was alone. Steadying myself with both hands, I tried to stand but fell down again, my hands covered with wet sand.
    Slowly coming to my senses, I tried again. The second attempt was painful but successful. I got up with