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ME, Myself and I
Whoever said crime doesn't pay indulged in the wrong criminal activities. I wouldn't call myself a criminal of the common variety by any means. I would describe myself as among other things a herald of prohibited articles. I get certain types of property from A to B or F if needed, it all depends on the client. There is no university course where you learn the skills of my profession and you can’t find it on a website. I got into the game over a cocktail.
I’m not going to tire you with my life story. The first 20 years bores even me to think about them. Who the fuck wants to hear about my first steps and my first sexual endeavors. I’m going to enthrall you with my escapades over the last decade. There was involvement in the usual suspects: sex, drugs, booze, double crosses, women, money, lost love and some of the unexpected like: diamonds, government black ops, gold bullion, plutonium, arms, globe hopping and misplaced priceless artifacts. The life I lived would make the Pope want to be a bad boy.
I gained a reputation with a certain type of clientèle. Thanks to them I made a lot of money and traveled around the world too many times to count. Ive met some of the most colorful but deranged people on the planet. There have been some complete scum bags and I've made a few enemies along the way, but it comes with the territory. There’s been one constant pain in my ass for the last ten years. I just can’t seem to get rid of her. A lovely Interpol agent seems to have a hard on for me. With the amount of shit I've seen and done I should come with a public health warning. It is highly possible you might hate me by the end of the book or half way through, but you could love me unquestionably. I’m Marmite that way. It’s been my life and my choices whether good or highly questionable.
I’m on unexpected sabbatical at present.
An unforeseen circumstance has given me more than enough time to write this little novel that you've graciously bought or downloaded illegally.
I’m now spending my time learning about my fellow man in a place with great lake views, gently sloping hills and plenty of fresh air. The only draw backs about my new dwelling would be the sixteen foot fences with razor sharp barbed wire and the foul tempered federal guards. If you haven’t guessed, I’m the guest of a certain federal system for the next couple of years, I won’t say which, but it is one of the better ones, this place has a roof and I get three square meals a day and cable T.V.
I should be out in time for a book tour, granted I won’t be able to visit some countries but I’ll do the best I can. The way I look at it, life is for living we only have a short time on this little gaseous rock so you should try to be varied as possible. I’ve had experiences most people only read about in books or see in movies. Hunter S. Thompson said it best: Who’d want to leave a perfectly preserved corpse when they go? I want to look back on my life and slide into the coffin sideways shouting
“What a fucking ride”.
For all you aspiring criminal masterminds out there Ill give you one piece of advice: Understand the consequences of your actions.
I got caught, was it worth it you ask or would I do it all again.
You decide.......
Chapter 1- Fade
Nine years ago I was a bartender, peddling my wares at an up scale poolside establishment on the south coast of Spain. I didn't have a care in the world. I had three: sun, sex and fun. I tried my very best to fulfill them all with as little effort as possible. Luckily, all my pressing concerns drank at my place of work on a regular basis. The local of my employment was to be found in Puerto Banus, where the rich and semi-famous would go to be seen and frolic in the Mediterranean sun. The primary element of my vocation was to get the sun soaked, floss wearing cougars full to their plastic infused lips using my elixirs of wonder like Mojito´s, Woo Woos, Piña Colada or sex on the beach .
I was good at my trade. I’m sure I turned a few customers into alcoholics or at least got them on their merry way.
The other part of the job was to make it look like I gave a shit about my patron’s lives and their problems. Bartenders are the
UN-certified psychologists of the world. Everybody thinks we have PhD s in life´s problems.
For some bothersome reason when the third cosmopolitan kicked in the girls stopped seeing me as the purveyor of fine alcoholic beverages that I was, before their overly glazed eyes I would somehow morph into their personal shrink. I‘d have to listen to the ladies whine about how lonely they were and how unfair life was while they ordered bottles of Crystal like it was fucking tap water. They got all that attention for the bargain basement price of a ten euro tip. My fee was usually paid for by their ass hole cigar smoking husbands at the end of the day. A small thanks for watching the girls. The husbands would rather play eighteen holes than play with their wives.
At one point during the summer I thought some of the women had actually taken residency because they spent so much time at the bar. On occasion I’d get a bonus and a wife or two would be pissed off at their husbands and would play with me instead. Yes they were older than me but hot and full of experience. In my defense I was young and impressionable and I swear they took advantage of me. I thought fooling around with them would help with their self-esteem issues you see, it helped with mine. That’s my reasoning and I’m sticking to it. There where two ladies of a cougar nature in particular who drank at the bar every day, man if I had got those two in the sack at the same time I would have died a happy man. I could never talk my way into it, much to my disappointment. Forget about the wild life that prowled poolside, back to the story at hand.
The road to my current profession was an odd one. At the time I didn't know I was being considered for a career that I didn't even know existed.......
Chapter 2 - The Man with the red face
It was a Friday afternoon nearing the end of the summer. The sun was still burning everything it touched, drinks were flowing, the DJ was hitting the right beats, the cougars where on the prowl around the pool which meant the towel boys where running for their pubescent little lives. The bar was buzzing with regulars and newly arrived sun worshippers on their annual vacations from reality. The atmosphere was stunning. I was busy jumping from one customer to the next, giving drinks and grabbing tips. The place was bursting at the seams. I was running round like a lunatic for hours serving and smiling. It finally started to ease off after six. I ducked out from behind the bar for a smoke and a scan of the ladies poolside to see if they needed any help applying their sun screen. It was all part of my personal service. If any of the owners asked I was checking up on the waitresses.
As I was appreciating the view, I noticed two guys walk up to the bar. One was in his mid 30’s and the other in his early 40’s. I noticed because they stood out like sore thumbs. They were wearing tacky Hawaiian shirts which were painful to look at and smoking fat cigars. I watched them as they approached the bar. I could feel the definite air of ‘American on tour’ which meant big tips. I dropped the smoke and got back to work. Before I could even ask them if they would like a drink the older one of the two (who I’ll call Vegas for legal reasons) immediately made a beeline for two of my residents sitting at the end of the bar. I swear if he moved any faster he would have left a smoke outline of himself like the fucking Roadrunner. He got straight in their faces and offered them his business card. I was right about them being American, he let out that smile. You see this smile you could only get in the great old U.S. of A, brilliantly white. When the sun reflected off those things they blinded anyone who dare look, he should have had a health warning around his neck saying caution could lead to blindness.
I was standing there like a tool being blinded so I turned my attentions to another customer, as I was serving I over heard Vegas spew such classics lines as
“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven” and “You must be tired? Because you’ve be running through my mind all day”
I thought I was becoming lactose intolerant with all the cheese being churned out. He finally stopped spouting lines the 80’s didn’t even want and stated “Champagne” with such vigour a few of the regulars turned to look at him. I was serving one of the waitresses when I heard a clicking sound. Out of the corner of my eye I see the cheese monger clicking his fingers at little old me. Now a word of advice to you all: Never ever click your fingers at a bartender it’s just plain fucking rude. If you do you will pay the penalty. To top it off he tried to look all suave in front of the ladies by spouting bad Spanish in an American accent.
“Yo boy dos glasses champagne for the lovely chicas por favor”.
I looked at his friend who was now sitting at the other end of the bar. He was sitting quietly like a good customer but cringing after seeing my face, he looked at me mouthing sorry. I shook my head, turned and faced Vegas with a smile and said
“My man, I no comprendo Americano”
Vegas looked at me and tried to ask again in shit Spanglish. I stopped him mid breath
“And I certainly don’t understand anyone stupid enough to click their fingers at me...sir”
“Excuse me...You can’t talk to me like that’
“And you shouldn’t click fingers at me but what can you do’
‘Well I …”
“Well I think you should buy these gorgeous ladies a drink before they get bored of you, I mean don’t you?”
“Fine, they can have what ever they want, money’s no object BOY”
“Very good sir”
Vegas pulled out his wallet and threw a platinum Amex on the counter and gave me a big fuck you smile, I gave the girls a look and a smile and asked if they would like their usual. They knew I was up to something. They looked at each other and said yes. I thought about what to make. I looked at my liquor collection for ideas then it came to me, a Brandy Alexander. Now a Brandy Alexander is a classic no more than six Euros max, but when you use a brandy that costs three hundred euros a shot and there is a shot and a half in each, well you get the picture. He did say money was no object. I made the cocktails, gave them to the girls in question then gave him the bill. Telling him out loud how much it was so everybody in an ear shot could hear. I did this as I was swiping his card on the machine.
“That’ll be 920 euros not including service charge sir”
I gave him my own fuck you smile. A few customers who were watching the proceedings looked on in amazement, one guy choked on his drink. Vegas turned a startling shade of red. I thought I just gave him a heart attack. The two girls stared in disbelief and his friend nearly fell off his bar stool in shock but sniggering.
“What the..! I’m not paying that much” he shouted
“I thought you said money was no object sir”?
Just then his friend jumped in
“He’s got you there, pay up it’s your own fault”.
To which I add salt to the wound.
“Would you like to leave a tip sir?”
“Where’s your manager?”
He was livid. I looked up and down the bar, over the people in front of me then looked down at my feet then back to Vegas.
“Oh… I’m the manager sir how can I help? Would you like to make a complaint to me… about me?”
His friend started chuckling as did a few of my regulars. The friend whispered something into the ear of Vegas then motioned him to pay and gave him a look. Vegas paid up and gave me a look that probably would have killed me if it had a gun. He slunk back to the other end of the bar with his tail between his legs muttering like an R rated Mutely, if I counted correctly it was at least 140 swear words a minute. I got a round of applause from some of the regulars who saw the whole thing. One even told Vegas ‘you should never fuck with your bartender. That really didn’t help the situation.
I hoped that was the end of the Americans..... Wrong, they didn’t leave. I watched both of them for a while. It looked like they were having a heated discussion about something, Vegas flaring up every so often. I got the other bartender to give them a couple of rounds on the house to make sure Vegas calmed down. I did seriously piss him off. Vegas is a big guy he looked like he used to play pro American Football as a hobby, you wouldn’t want a smack off him. I’m more lover then fighter, ask the cougars. The other one kept looking over in my direction, it freaked me out. I thought he was planning my demise by going to my bosses and complaining.
After an hour I finally had enough and went over to them and asked him what he was looking at. He told Vegas to give him a minute. Vegas went to see if the girls by the pool had enough clothes on or something. I asked him why he was starring at me and if he was going to complain to the owner just do it. The guy had no intention in complaining. He introduced himself as T and then apologized for his friends earlier behaviour. I was truly stumped. The reason they stayed was because while I was disgracing Vegas, T noticed everyone at the bar knew me. Making T think I’d know my way around the town, bartenders always know the in-places. He wanted to ask me earlier but he needed to get Vegas to come round to the idea after our little misunderstanding. He put a 200 euro note on the bar as a tip for my earlier troubles.
“So will you be our guide?”
“What about the happy snapper”
“He’s OK now, you bruised his ego just enough”
“He won’t try and kill me or anything”
“I don’t think so... I’m kidding he’s calmed down, if it makes it easier drinks are on us for the night”
“I’m not finished work till 9”
“That’s fine invite some female friends if you like, it will keep him busy”
“Okay meet me here after nine”
“Excellent”
Next installment is on Tuesday so follow me to keep up it only gets better
