We were on the run.
Bravo had assured me that his plan would go off without a hitch. Given past experience, I had no reason to doubt him. It really was a run-of-the-mill job. We had contracted our services out to an elderly man, an Ecuadorian varón named El Corazón. El Corazón was the patriarch of an ancient and noble Ecuadorian family, a family who had been engaged in a feud with la familia Pudín for seventy-five years. El Corazón was nearing death, and he wanted to take the Pudines with him to the grave. He asked us to do what he could not, and we happily obliged, taking a large amount of his pesos in the process. It was nothing we hadn’t done before.
When we first arrived in Guayaquil, I attempted to befriend Pachoso Pudín, the eldest grandson in the family. He was a young man, close to my own age, and I knew from El Corazón that he frequented a coffee shop on the port. He was a loudmouth, a braggart, and our target. I walked into the shop on a Tuesday morning and nonchalantly sat down near him. I ordered a macchiato and listened.
“No, you are a fool! Do you know nothing about me? Do you think that I could not do such a thing?” Pachoso demanded.
“I did not say you could not do such a thing. I merely stated my belief that you would not do such a thing, señor,” replied the other man.
“I will tell you what I will do or will not do! Get out of my sight, cerdo!” The other man smirked and walked out.
I took the opportunity presented to me. “You seem to have a way with people, señor.”
Pachoso turned and glared at me. “¿Tienes un problema conmigo? Do you have a problem with me?”
“Not at all,” I replied. “I notice that you are a passionate man, a strong man. It seems strange that you are in a coffee shop bickering with whomever enters, when you could be…”
My pregnant pause was the bait. Pachoso was the hungry fish. “Could be what?”
“Could be using your passion and strength to your advantage.”
His mood changed from rage to guarded curiosity. “What is your name, señor?” he asked.
“Rico. My name is Rico Sabor, and we have much to discuss.”
*****
Later that afternoon I returned to the hotel room, where Bravo, as usual, was reading a book. Not lifting his eyes from the page, he gave a brief nod of assent as I walked past. I sat down on my bed and recalled the events of the day.
After piquing Pachoso’s curiosity, I had informed him that I was a businessman with ties to the Peruvian underworld. I had been in Guayaquil for a few months looking for a suitable partner for some under-the-table business transactions. I had learned of him through a mutual acquaintance of his uncle, and I informed him that I thought he had the machismo to handle any unfortunate “tasks” that might have to be performed. I promised him a large salary and a cut of the profits to boot for his services. Although he was already rich with his family’s money, he was greedy. He was also a scared man on the inside, and he sought to prove his own machismo to himself through violence. He readily agreed to the deal without so much as asking a single question. El Corazón had identified his weaknesses perfectly.
By now Bravo had finished his book. He was an adept and skillful reader—devouring five pages per minute and retaining every word with his photographic memory. He could quote Shakespeare at length when pressed, or memorize the blueprints of a building at a single glance.
“He took the bait,” I reported.
“Good. Now we wait,” he replied.
To be continued...
