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Despite or because of the fog, Kerry Keel was packed. Miklos and Janos insisted on bellying up to the bar upstairs which caused some consternation on the part of the staff seeing that the stools were already occupied. They boasted of past outings in Dublin earning irritated looks from the bartender as the waitress had to squeeze past us to get her drinks filled. I suppose they´re from Budapest but I don´t bother asking - although I am curious as to exactly why they´re here in Mardel. Janos, the slightly shorter and slightly more sober one seems to read my mind.

You wonder why the fuck we here no!?? he brays.

I nod uncomfortably and he orders another round of Guiness for all of us. I still haven´t finished my first pint and I make no effort at draining it despite the imminent arrival of a fresh one. No point in getting drunk. Miklos has appropriated a bar stool that a balding red head had left vacant - I guess he had to pee. He returns and I fear a confrontation but he just glares at Miklos and pays up his tab. He´s alone and seems to be a regular here from his easy banter with the bartender. I think I hear ¨ pelotudos ¨ in reference no doubt to us and I catch a sharp quick glance from the bartender as he hands the red head his change. Janos drains a good portion of his fresh pint and grins lewdly at me,

Rabbit meat. We are producer/exporters.
You don´t mean you export here??
Nooo!! Che!! We export to Germany and Italy and everywhere. We are to look at possibility ...

The bartender glances again quickly at us and grins sardonically at Janos´ use of ¨ che ¨. It´s a sneer really and I feel even more uncomfortable. Elegant wood paneling and the Plane trees on Alvarado visible through the enormous windows. But the atmosphere is clubby and snotty and we are definitely nearing persona non grata status. I answer Janos with what I hope is quiet calm enthusiasm,

Oh ... you´re buying up a competitor?

Janos winks at me. A little too lustily I think.

Argentina is competitor, yes. And meat processing plant in Colonel Vidal.
Colonel Vidal? There´s a rabbit meat processing plant in Colonel Vidal??
Of course ...

He drains the rest of his pint and signals for another. Milos stares broodingly at the bar counter. I´m nervous and on edge. So are the staff.

Is good product the Argentina ... ( his English is deteriorating quickly )
I see.

I sip at my fresh pint. When did the bartender take away my first one? Never mind. Colonel Vidal is maybe an hour or so north of here along highway 2. I imagine that once they transacted their business there, they decided to see Mar del Plata rather than make the longer drive back to Buenos Aires. A couple vacate their stools with angry looks towards us. It looks like Miklos and Janos ( and me ) are scaring away customers. A chestnut haired waitress suggests we take an empty table over in the corner. Janos leers at her but agrees and I tread carefully behind the two of them as we shuffle over with our pints. Miklos orders another round as soon as we´re seated. What am I doing? These two are a tough lot however drunk they may be. Hell, they´re crazy. What the hell can I do to seperate them from their Dollars or Euros? Or Pesos if need be? Janos puts a large hand on my thigh.

You know how rabbits fuck?? ( oh jesus ... )
Uh ... no.
Like rabbits!!!

He brays at his own joke. People glare as I shift his hand off my leg. I´m at a crossroads here. Do I get angry and disassociate myself from them and return home without having scored even a dollar? Or do I play along ... ? Milos burps loudly and now the bartender approaches along with the doorman. Part of me is absolutely mortified but part of me is relieved. I take the initiave and stand up and meet them a few paces from our table.

Caballeros disculpa. Ya nos vamos ok?

The doorman looks like he plays rugby and would love a scrap. Did I see two of them when we came in? Is another doorman downstairs or outside? The bartender puts a hand on my arm and squeezes hard. I feel a flash of anger.

Mejor que pagan y van.
Mira, ya nos vamos ok??

He keeps his hand tightly gripped on my arm. I´m really angry now and quite alert. Good. Let´s do this. I push at him and say loudly,

No me tocas boludo!!

The doorman slides past him and grabs my elbow and starts to drag me towards the door but as I had hoped, Janos is right behind and lunges at him. I feel blows swirling around me as Milos pushes past me to get at the bartender. I remember a fight breaking out right next to me at Paupers on Bloor Street in the 80´s. It was over before I had really realized what had happened. This took a little longer but time mutates in a brawl. I can´t say if a chair hit my head or if I had been fighting with the bartender before Miklos tangled with him for example. But by the time I reached the sidewalk my head was bleeding and I had a wallet in my hand. Thank goodness it was mostly older clients or they would have beat us to a pulp. Or maybe they were beating Janos and Miklos mercilessly. The sidewalk is quiet and empty and I quickly take out the bills from the wallet and then throw it in the gutter. I raise my hood and walk quickly down Alvarado and turn onto Olavarria heading towards Colon. Before reaching Colon however I take Alsina and then turn onto Almirante Brown, Irish founder of the Argentine navy. Cute. I hear sirens now. Not good. Not sure whose wallet I grabbed or how much cash I managed to steal. Entre Rios, Luro, 25 de Mayo and now Mitre. I reach Peralta Ramos and Plaza España - back to where I was earlier this evening. My head feels swollen above my left ear. I feel carefully under my hood. It´s a smallish bump and the blood seems to have dried. I keep walking and pass the Unzue Orphanage - a reduced work crew continues to slowly work their way along the large structure; sometimes during the day I even spot one ot two of them. Through the front door and up the steps and home. Isa calls out from the bedroom,

Amor, que paso??

I don´t answer and head past our bedroom and into the bathroom. One eye is swelling and there´s a patch of dark red on my scalp. My nose feels very sore but no teeth are missing. I turn on the tap and take off my coat, sweater and tshirt and throw them out into the hall. I run the water till it´s warm and try to wash up as best as I can. I straighten up and take a towel and dry my face off. I know that Isa is standing there watching me but I focus on the mirror and finish drying myself off. Finally I turn and look at her,

Se complico amor.
Lograste algo ... ?

We take my clothes into the bedroom and then check the bills I stuffed quickly into my wallet. 835 Euros. I look at Isa and say,

If I get away with it it was worth it.

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In a dense fog we drift inside this taxi. Of strange new pain I now must make, if not my verse, then this diary, this blog. It´s a problematic canto, self-conscious and audacious, even by Dante´s measure. Canto XX of The Inferno deals with false prophets, seers, pronosticators. With Jesuit like severity Dante has Virgil change his own words and show seers in the worst possible light as they presumably dared to enter God´s terrain of knowing what is to come. But with burlesque delight he has their tears run down their backs and into their butts seeing their heads are twisted round. The strange pain in our case, however, refers to Isa´s frustrations. Third in her first semi pro game at the Casino. Less than two thousand Pesos and Piceno won. That´s driving her crazy even if she played fiercely with some poor hands. I´m so proud of her but right now I think it´s best just to hold her hand and listen to the driver - a Bon Jovi fanatic with big hair - tell amusing stories about his life as a taxi driver. Did he say his name was Pinamonte or am I conveniently imagining that? We´re driving past Plaza España and the fog slides past the lamposts, the light struggling to move through the diffuse murkiness. It´s another ridiculously cinematic moment and you expect a fog horn to sound at any minute. But ship´s horns are a strange metallic whine nowadays. We turn at Strobel and Pina or Pino brings the taxi to a halt. I pay him with a ten Peso note, letting him keep the change. We walk slowly upstairs and Isa collapses on top of the bed.

Quiero galletas.

So I get some cookies and we watch TV and eat cookies and she insists on máte despite the hour. Cronica TV with their sensationalist trash journalism is on and I secretly hope that Kabe shows up somehow in a news report, even if it has to be Cronica. Where is he? I know he scared me once, but now he haunts me. The journey back to Canada. The descent into Cagnazzo´s claws. The desperate search for some small con to earn our next couple of thousand bucks. Kabe changed our lives. And the thought grows that maybe he´s still collecting a percentage. Or perhaps he sold us to Cagnazzo ... ? Could that be? How much did he get I wonder ... in Pesos no doubt. So he´s perhaps still in Argentina. But then again he may have changed those Pesos and bought a plane ticket back to Israel. He would have known it was time to move on.

Nene por dios! En que carajo estas??

Isa is staring at me. I breath out long and slow and shake my head slowly.

Y ... en Kabe.
Dejalo ya. Mas bien pensa en como juntamos mas guita.

Her voice is calm and crisp. She seems to be adapting to our life of miserable swindles. But I never know how much it is actually eating her up. I lay my hand on her belly but she turns fussily to one side and stares at the television. I gently stroke the back of her head.

A ver si Cagnazzo nos llama amor.
Que se caga ese estafador!
Isa ... !

But what´s the point of arguing? She´s sick of my subservience to Cagnazzo and she´s worn out from the poker - altough I suspect she´s actually reasonably pleased at some level with her performance tonight. So I stay quiet and shift tensely in bed. Then I stand up and open up the closet and grab my hooded coat. I also take my deerskin gloves out of the second drawer of our dresser. I have no choice. I have to go out now in this god awful night and find something. Isa observes me quietly and finally when I have my wallet and keys she says,

No salis con demasiado guita amor. Por si acaso.

The fog seems even thicker now and I have the hood up as I walk down the sidewalk that runs along the retaining wall by the shore. Below I can hear the waves but can barely see the sand and only occasionally catch glimpses of waves breaking. Perhaps you might feel a little aprehensive should you be walking towards me - seeing you would be a tourist and likely alone. But I barely notice you. I have to reach the Casino as soon as possible. It takes me just over twenty minutes; round the bluff and past the Fisherman´s wharf if you will with it´s flashing blue Quilmes sign. And there it is. There were a few tourists hanging around the poker game and wandering off to the slot machines. They seemed European but I couldn´t catch their accents. I wonder if they´re still there. I slow down as I approach the brass entrance doors and turn and look quickly through the glass. I think I see a couple of them coming down the steps. I stop and wait till they come through the doors. I have to approach a few steps until one of them recognizes me despite the hood.

Hey!! How´s the wife?? She played excellent!!

Drunk. And even better, friendly. I grin wearily and nod my head.

You out for walk?? It´s ok??

The other one is even more drunk. They´re both about my age. Divorced? Wives at home? They sound like they might be from the Czech Republic or Hungary ... I smile what I hope is bravely showing my heroic love for Isa.

Yes ... she´s resting. It was a little tough on her. All the stress and attention ...
Yessss!!! Poor girl!!! You want a drrrink???

I pause what I hope is just a brief moment as I assess them and then shrug and grin. The taller, and drunker, one slaps my back and says,

You show us some good bars ok!??
Ok ...

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I´m up on the terrace, staring at the moon over the sea. It feels fake somehow. Too perfect - a scattered, glittering glow spreading out over the dark waters. Like a digitally enhanced scene in a movie. It cleared up today; I slept in later than usual after my collapse yesterday and the weather is a touch milder. There´s a story that circulates amongst some of the taxi drivers here that there are two cities in the world with absolutely indeciferable climates: one somewhere in Africa ( South Africa? Tunisia? Nigeria? Mozambique? - they have no clue ) and Mar del Plata. You´re cold when the sun is higher and you should be warm. You sweat early in the morning when you should be shivering, you never know how to dress. Well ... it´s true to an extent. I´m still not used to this strange climate. Perhaps it´s merely a matter of getting used to a temperate maritime climate. But is it really temperate? It´s colder than Buenos Aires, much colder at times. But I don´t see how it compares with what the climate must be like in Brighton or Cork let´s say. Not to mention Vancouver.

I look down to my left despite my vertigo. It´s a clinic specializing in transfusions. It´s painted a modest yellow with glazed windows and shutters hiding the patients most of the time. Apparently they raised the shutters so the people sitting in wheelchairs with IV´s in their arms could stare at the sea and the neighbours complained. It´s such a small town sometimes.

It´s not rage, this evil that creeps up in me. I have rage lodged in me, but I suspect less than I fear. But this is different. When I´m paralized in the grip of that strange power it´s more like a disease, a crazed fever, a trance. I only know that I have to fight it and try to struggle through each episode without acting because acting means hurting someone, mosty myself it seems. And it helps not at all my ability to be a con man. Maybe a violent criminal, but I´ll be damned ( unavoidable pun ) if I take that route. It would be a disaster anyway at my age and with someone like me. The breeze is soft while it´s cold edge insiduously works its way into my bones. I´m bundled up with scarf, coat and sweater underneath and I´m still cold and sweating all at the same time. I´ve been up here for a while, maybe an hour, but I doubt Isa will come looking for me. I think I mentioned the roof to her but I´ve been walking by myself a lot in the last few weeks. I soak up the lovely, haunting image of the moon and the dark southern sea for a few moments more before heading back downstairs. As I pass Pranav´s apartment I hear music. When did he get back? He comes and goes a fair bit and I sometimes lose track of him. Not a good thing - I need to know where he is or might be at all times but I can´t help it lately. Do I hear a woman´s voice as well? I stop on the stairs for a moment and lean back and try to listen. I can´t really make out the voices clearly so I head back down the steps. His door opens and I hear Isadora´s voice thanking him in her sweet, broken English. Just before the door closes I hear more voices from inside Pranav´s apartment. Sounds like a party. I´m about to quickly resume my descent but it´s a bit too late. Isa comes round the corner and stops with one foot on the steps as she sees me. Her coat open to let her swelling belly breath. I look up at her with what must be an angry puzzled look. She takes a few quick steps down and joins me and says,

Vamos, donde estabas?
En la terraza. Y vos??
Ya te digo. ( her look says please let´s not argue here )

We head silently down the steps and enter our apartment. I turn into our tiny kitchen and put the kettle on. What else can I do? Then I turn and face her. She´s still hanging her coat up on the hook in the entrance hall. She then hangs up her scarf with steady deliberation and finally steps into the kitchen.

Aca.

A wad of hundred Peso bills. What the hell?

Y esto?? ( I blink at the money as I speak )

She looks at me angrily and then the penny drops. She was playing cards with Pranav ... and some friends. She went upstairs to make friendly, to try to make sure that Pranav was on her side and therefore on our side. And thus lessening the risk I face just a little. I gather Pranav and his friends don´t play penny ante. And maybe he had a lot of Pesos from goodness knows where. So she won herself some of that cash.

Mira. Pense que vos lo pediste un prestamo y ...
Lo gane nene! Jugando poquer!! Po-quer!!
Me di cuenta.
Aja ...
Y ... bien! Cuanto hay?

Two thousand pesos. So my hunch was right. Isa is good at Poker. We´ve played a little with Diego and Oriana and despite her denials and hesistancy she´s good at bluffing, good at sniffing out a bluff. The statistics confuse her a little if she tries to be explicitly rational but she´s got a precise memory and her instincts regarding the odds are good. She´s won her first real game and no doubt charmed Pranav and his crew. Are they from Dallas as well? I pour the near boiling water from the kettle into the glass coffee pot we use as a tea pot and suddenly feel very tired. Isa slips down the hall into the bathroom - likely to have that pee that she would be too embarassed to have in Pranav´s apartment. I feel worn out and listless; Isa´s success seems small and fragile and I can´t find the strength to protect her. I stare at the plump little bundle of bills wrapped in a rubber band lying coquetishly on the kitchen table. Raising my head, I see the 555 stop and take on two passengers. The avenue is fairly empty and the traffic flows in a stop start fashion. It´s the lights of course, but shouldn´t there be more vehicles? It´s not that late. I don´t understand the rythyms of this city, or this country. I pretend I do, but I don´t. I lower my head into my hands and close my eyes, even as I think it´s a silly bit of dramatism. I got to stare at a moon over the sea and my wife just won two grand - if in Pesos - in a poker game. Is our life that bad?

Nene??

Isa is behind me. She sounds nervous. When did she flush? I don´t turn my head to look up at her. At all I have in this country. Her love. I deal with Pranav and Cagnazzo and company to make money so we can live. Here. And it overwhelms me. Her love I mean. I don´t know what to do with it. It´s easier to worry about our next job than to digest what it means to be truly loved by this woman. And my trances ... that strange oxygen that feeds my motion ( forward? down? frozen in ice at the dead center of Dante´s Inferno like the those who betray their intimates? ) through this world of fraud and meager profit. Here you must do your dance in secret and pilfer -- can you? -- in the dark. Do these trances condemn me even as they move me in ways I can´t understand? I say,

I´m fighting it as best as I can.
I know baby ...

I pretend that her answer surprises me. How can it? When she loves me so? I lower my head onto the kitchen table and maybe even cry as I push the money gently to one side so that my tears don´t damage the notes. Isa waits a long moment before approaching me and hugging me.

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Oriana´s laughing with Isa, recalling a fish she kept hidden in a little tank under her bed, seeing that Isa had forbidden her to have the pet. And there in Oriana´s bedroom the fish had existed for a short while. Until Isa found it while cleaning out the mess in Oriana´s room. It´s a sweet moment but I wonder how angry Isadora had been at the time. She could have let her keep the fish ... no? Outside gray waves roll in menancingly. Not even the local surfers are out there today. It´s five months now since mid January and Isa still looks surprisingly slender. A few more weeks and she´ll really start to swell based on her experience with Ori. I can only nod my head and try to look in control every time Isa shares some experience about pregnancies with me. It´s raining and the drops spit and swirl in ways I don´t see in Renfrew; perhaps it´s the wind off the sea ... or the lamposts or the angle I turn my head while looking out our apartment´s kitchen window.

We have almost 5 thousand US at the moment and hopefully Pranav will continue to deliver. It´s Vanni that worries me. At some point I feel he´s going to press Cagnazzo to exclude us. And if Pranav keeps his cut, he won´t give a damn one way or the other. Yesterday I passed him as I headed up the stairs and he nodded but didn´t bother stopping. He seemed in a hurry and it would be easy for me to get paranoid. I feel balanced uneasily between curiosity and denial but in the end my mind circles around the possibilites without coming to any definite conclusion. I secretly wish that Cagnazzo would exclude us from this business after say, a major score by Pranav where we reap a nice mid five figures. More likely that I´ll end up begging him for a few thousand more as he tells me that I´m no longer needed in this matter. We managed to sell another apartment to a Mr. Ling however, who has a grocery store on Independencia. 55 thousand and we kept 2 thousand of that. So again, I need work.

Too small. Our apartment really is too small. Two bedrooms and one bathroom and with a baby coming ... I shift to one side so that I´m facing towards the wall. Where there once were cushions we now actually have a sofa and I can curl up fairly comfortably and read a book or stare at the ceiling. Behind me Isa and Ori are chatting in the kitchen. I fade in and out of their conversation. With the renovations above there was some problems with the plumbing and several large stains have crept across the ceiling leaving dark patches with ragged brown edges. At some point we´ll have to have someone strip the blisters off and plaster and repaint but after helping with the renovations upstairs neither of us feels like having workmen in here. A dark cream color ... the walls. Crudo is what they call that tone of paint here. A house on Stuart Street in Kingston. Parties where I was horribly uncomfortable in the late seventies. Well ... I was horribly uncomfortable for most of my three years at Queen´s. Should have stayed at U of T. That´s Toronto for anyone more familiar with Austin, Texas. I think it may have been a little easier in hindsight. But that khaki yellow color brings me back to Kingston. And those houses and the parties I´d desperately head to, hoping that somehow it might be different this time. Butter knives stuck in the elements on the stoves. What a disgusting habit. Hot knives. Smoking hash off of red hot butter knives. And now they help run companies or investment banks ... Well, maybe I exagerate a little. But most of those Queen´s graduates surely are doing better than me. House(s). Cars. Wive(s) / Husband(s). Children. I have no idea how that world works. I´ve been marginal and isolated for so long and yet I can´t help think of what some of their lives might be like. I wish Isa wouldn´t smoke. That smell brings back memories; most of them not very comforting.

My neck is getting sore. I roll onto my back so I can stare directly at the ceiling without twisting my head and neck. With a lazy, false ambition I imagine myself prepping and painting the ceiling. I´ll need dropsheets, some plastic ones as well to cover the computer, paint, rollers, brushes handles, putty knives ... It´s just mind play, however. I won´t be painting that ceiling and I drift towards other thoughts, imagining myself in an Eastern European country in the late eighties - the former Yugoslavia perhaps? The kitchen window is behind me and I´d have to sit up and turn around to see it but I can visualize its heavy frame ( cast iron? ) and rusted hinges and the balcony/patio it overlooks and the angled view one has of the sea to the right of our neighbour´s apartment. There´s a small hotel at the southern end of Plaza España - Hosteria Split on Yrigoyen just before the street ends at Libertad. A shabby, unassuming little structure tucked between apartment buildings. What would the windows be like in an aparment in Split, Croatia facing the Adriatic? Or is it just luxury condominiums nowadays? Do the apartment buildings there even face the sea??

I need to imagine something more exotic. Once you enter the world of fraud - can I use that word instead of crime please? - the only thing that keeps the routine of looking for a target and trying to exectute your plan interesting is the fear. At least for me. And I don´t enjoy the fear. It takes a toll on me even if I am more alert; by neccesity if nothing else. So I need to be somewhere else for a while to ease the constant worries of revenge ( Pranav, Vanni, Cagnazzo, Scarmiglione ... take your pick ) and money. Maybe Toby went to live in Croatia. Maybe he´s there now in Split, cashing in his krugerands and swimming in the Adriatic. Perhaps he´s sitting on a terrace or at a sidewalk cafe and look who´s coming to join him. Walking slowly in the summer heat. Kabe. They embrace and Kabe sits down and Toby orders him a beer ... or wine? Sangria mabye? Let´s pretend you can order a sangria in Split. Or something similar if not exactly the same. And speaking quietly and efficiently they hatch an elegant conspiracy. Lovable rogues. Why not? Why can´t I imagine them there? This building is nothing but a vessel full of fraud anyway. Like Fra Gomita, the jovial friar taking his bribes and letting his prisoners escape before meeting the end of a hangman´s rope for his uncovered corruption. And if Toby is whatever I need him to be ... so what? Kabe is real. And he´s somewhere, alive. I´m sure they came to some sort of rough deal with him. Why bother killing him? And he might be with someone like Toby, working up some sort of con. But it´s no longer an escape, this wandering path in my mind. I remember my fear and rage and Kabe´s precise cruelty. The memory assaults me like a slap, stinging my consciousness. An open hand against my cheek, repeating the blows. That sound. Yes ... the shutters. Like they were being slapped. Rattling and creaking their anguish in the chaotic wind. Shaking everything. Shaking me. A force up from the abyss, from the deep. Later, Isadora wipes the sweat off my face as I lay in our bed. I think Oriana did most of the lifting to get me there. She´s incredibly strong like her father. Although it may have been Isa that tried to hold me down as I shook as those highs winds worse within possesed me. I have to believe I´m learning how to fight it. But it´s incredibly frightening. For us all.

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The wood panelling is dark and the customers rather pale in Kerry Keel, Mar del Plata´s ¨ Real Irish Pub ¨. Isa had agreed to join us immediately - ´a donde van?´ read her message and I knew she´d want to join us. So, despite Pranav´s impatience, we had waited in front on the sidewalk on Alvarado and when Isa had arrived in her own taxi, headed upstairs. The prices are surprisingly reasonable but it´s clearly a watering hole for people with money and they tend to be paler in Mar del Plata. Families at the tables, not too many younger customers. Large windows looking out on the plane trees on Alvarado. I feel suffocated but the cream ale I order for me and Isa is lovely. It gets better with every sip like a true beer. Pranav has worked his way through a couple of Guiness already but at least he´s had a sandwich to absorb some of the booze. We had wanted to share a pizza between the three of us but he had ordered without even asking us - Isa was clearly offended but she wanted to get along so she hid her displeasure behind a sarcastic smile. I don´t think Pranav even noticed, or perhaps didn´t care. He seems to find Kerry Keel interesting but it´s hard to tell. His glances are quick and indifferent and I´m not sure what he´s looking for. I suppose he notices the women in the place. I don´t even bother looking; there´s no point starting another argument with Isa. It´s taken some work to get past that stage, but I think we´re managing it. Most of the time. A blond waitress brings another Guiness to our table. I look at Isa while the blond leans over Pranav and sets down the pint. Pranav glances at her and then looks at the two of us with a wry smile I don´t like. I decide to try some conversation.

So, your family is Gupta? ( I recall from the contract signing )
Uh ... no. It´s Patel.

Did I offend? Anyway, he lied. But it doesn´t matter if the contract is strictly legal or not. The apartment is his and he´s our partner. Maybe I shouldn´t dig for information. I try changing tack.

So, where´d you go to school? ( Did he go to university? )

Baylor.
Oh ... must be a good school, huh? I went to Queen´s ... in Ontario.
Yeah, you´re Canadian. Pizza looks good ...

He directs the comment at Isa and she cuts him a piece, glad to have the conversation turn to food rather than far off universities she couldn´t care less about. Why do I bother trying to uncover details about Pranav? The hypocrisy of it is self evident. I set him up. My every word was a lie to him and all concerned and now all that matters is whether all of us can work together. Does my hypocrisy weigh on me like the lead cloaks the hypocrites are forced to wear in Canto XXIII? No, but it does slow me down by introducing unecessary worries. The only truth that matters ... damn I wish I could reduce it to a cold calculation but I can´t.

Thankfully we don´t have to sit in smoking. It´s been fairly easy for Isa so far but I keep waiting for a nicotine fit. We talk about the game for a while and what he thinks of Piceno, the hothead. I joke that I keep trying to convince Isa to learn how to play poker and it´s true. I just have this feeling that she´d be quite good at it. Pranav gives her a long steady look and I try not to feel annoyed.

I´ll teach you anytime Isa.
Oh, thank you but I think no - she answers in her heart breakingly sweet accent with a shy little laugh mixed in. She desperately wants to ensure Pranav won´t hurt me or her. His eyes glisten.

No problem. But anytime you change your mind ...

I glare at Pranav and then stand up to go the bathroom. Of course, I lean over and kiss Isa tenderly on the lips before going off to pee. Like most public bathrooms in Mardel, the washroom at Kerry Keel is divided into three spaces; washbasin, single urinal and toilet - each in it´s own little cubicle. I´m at the urinal and just finishing up peeing when the door swings open and Pranav brushes past me towards the toilet.

Sorry man - his voice sounds relaxed rather than apologetic.
No problems man - I answer a little sullenly.

Strange. Are we talking about his invading my peeing or are we talking about Isa? Maybe both. He calls out from behind the partially closed door,

I think I´m gonna go clubbing later. The bartender says the´re some cool places around Aylum ... ?
Yes, it´s pronounced Alem. That´s the zone yes ... ( when the fuck did he talk to the bartender? Has he been to Kerry Keel before tonight? )
Should be fun ... but I think we´ll be heading back soon.
Yeah, I would too ... ( a final dig but I don´t respond )

Later, after Oriana arrives to collect some things and head off to Diego´s ( plan b she calls it; we´re plan a ), I slip inside Isa as she lays on her side, her stomach slightly swollen and her breasts just a touch larger. She reaches back and strokes my hair but I¨m not sure if she comes. I squeeze her as hard as I dare until she falls asleep. It takes me a while longer.

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La ciega grande queda en mil.

The dealer is speaking at Pranav who understands perfectly as we have seen. How much time has he spent in Mexico? Panama? Elsewhere? A 1,000 pesos for the big blind and the pot is 25,000 pesos. He´s just moved into the chip lead. At least I think so. I´m back behind the rope about twenty feet from the table. For some reason I balked at paying the registration fee so I have to watch from here. I think it´s the cost of insurance on our used Corolla that was the final straw. Within short order Pranav had found another 10 kilos of cocaine. We had had to drive to Buenos Aires to collect it and Sergio, with I suspect Sargento Vanni´s help, had found us a 2006 Corolla in good shape for 10,000 US$. So after the drugs were ¨colocado¨ on a ship they had grossed close to US$ 300,000. But Isa and I recieved only another 10 grand on top of our 15 grand. We have less than 10 thousand left now. So, I hope to hell Pranav continues to deliver.

I try to count his stack of chips but I´m confused by the colors and not exactly sure which chips are worth what. His stack does look slightly bigger than the guy two places to his left.The game is really between the two of them. The kid is younger than Pranav with several days worth of stubble and a long sleeved cream tshirt. I think he´s a pro, and I recall his storming out of a game at the Pokerstars tourney a year or so back. Pranav suckered him early and seems to be rolling over everyone else. And when the bald man at the far end called, Pranav had a flush. At least that´s what someone standng next to me murmured. So Pranav´s getting dealt good cards and he´s good at bluffing. He´s got the table terrified of him. Save for the hothead.

I turn and look longingly at the bar, an elegant but unassuming projection that divides the poker and roulette tables from the slot machines. The ceilings are high and coffered and the carpets a respectable green. It´s a large room, NeoClassical style, and was once impressively elegant and now feels comfortable and barely expansive. I´d love a fernet and coke but I´m curious to see how Pranav does. How good a player he is. It was a tense ride to Baires and back but I had to do it. Beyond the opportunity to let Pranav bring down more of his merchandise, I had to see how angry he was with me and how dangerous he might be. And to show Cagnazzo, Sergio and Vanni that I was up to the task. I let him drive part of the way back and we had stopped at a YPF at General Guido. A small town in the middle of the pampa and on the highway to Mar del Plata. The train also goes through here. If you care to ride it. It´s dark with a cold wind and the traffic rushes past in occasional bursts. I fill the tank and Pranav stretches his legs. He goes into the station to buy something. I don´t think he smokes. Might be candy. And he returns. I had to let him go in Buenos Aires and trust that he´d return. And he did. I pull out the nozzle and head inside and pay. The keys are in the car. When I return Pranav asks me,

How much will they let you keep?
20 grand, maybe a little more.
Who the fuck is Cagnazzo?
You´ll meet him.
He runs things?
Yes, he does.
What does he do?
Everything. He´s a lawyer. And a Peronista.
Oh ...

So our working relationship was basically sketched out on that ride. Good. The hothead calls and Pranav lays down two aces against his pocket kings. Deadly. Is he out? He slumps in his chair for a moment and then springs angrily to his feet. A little operatic in his anguish. He leaves the table without shaking Pranav´s hand. But Pranav collects his chips and counts them without a smile, looking bored and alert at the same time? Does that make sense? Must be a gamer´s thing. I catch his eye and grin. He returns my glance with a neutral look, betraying little. I turn and head to the bar. Isa let me have a couple of hundred pesos for my outing. This whole operation has her terrified. Her voice still trembles with a sweet fear dripping from her lips. It breaks my heart, if I let it. So I had to appeal to her tougher, pragmatic side. I think she´s getting used to the idea that we may be making up to 10 thousand US a month and now have a car. But she´s worried and Vanni scares her more than Pranav.

An elderly couple occupy two stools but I have three to choose from. I take the one furthest from the entrance. It´s not cheap to drink fernet here but I suspect I´ll soon be celebrating with Pranav so why not start now? By the time the drink comes I hear scattered applause and see him up and stretching and shaking hands. It must be over. He heads to the window and then drifts over towards the bar and slides onto a stool next to me.

What you want?
Quilmes - he says to the bartender and he means the 3/4 litre bottle.

Thankfully, he´s not a smoker. I decide not to clink glasses. Too cozy.

So what do you think of the casino?
A bit stale. It´s ok ...
Yeah ...
You don´t play.
Uh, no. I´m no good at cards.
Too bad.

The hothead approaches. He´s now got on a black sweatop with a hood and I feel a touch aprehensive. But he shakes Pranav´s hand and congratulates him.

Che, vos si jugas bien. Fucking awesome it was.
Thanks man. The cards were sweet tonight.
Seeeep ... you play again?
I think so, yeah.

He kisses Pranav on the cheek and leaves. Someone calls out ´Piceno´ and he waves back as he heads for the exit.

You´ll have to get used to the kissing.
I noticed. Lots of Italians huh?
Careful, they´re proud Argentinos.
Whatever, let´s grab some food and party.

We finish our drinks and I pay. Did they pay him in dollars? Or pesos? As we head down the marble steps towards the front entrance doors I call Isa. Maybe she´ll join us. Although she shouldn´t drink ... I just want to head back home and make some soup and read a little but I´m curious about who Pranav exactly is. Outside we hail a cab and head towards Guemes and the tony part of town. In the cab my cellphone beeps. A message from Isa.

RSClef43

Let´s imagine the Aerolineas Argentinas 737 circling over the water and heading through its final descent towards the runway with Pranav staring out the window at Parque Camet and Caisamar and the pasture and then the runway. As I fall back through Dante´s Inferno, unable to move on to Purgatory, his flight touches down. It´s a mild late May day - a near heat wave for this time of year - the warm temperatures clashing with the autumn leaves. He descends the steps noting the airport is quite small and out of date. His luggage arrives after a delay and he heads outside to hail a taxi. But first he makes a phone call on his Movistar Nokia ´ liberado ´ - which means it´s second hand and better not ask too many questions about where it came from.

Yeah, I´m at the airport.
Which one Pravnav??
This one ... here ... Mar del Plata.

I close my hand over the phone and whisper frantically at Isa and Diego,

Esta aca ya! En el aeropuerto!!
Como? Ezeiza?

Isa answers looking surprised.

Nooo!! Aca! Mardel!

I uncover the phone. Pranav is saying something about the wind or the weather. Not sure which.

Sorry bout that Pranav. Tell the taxi driver to take you to Strobel y la costa.
Huh? You said Felix Camet ...
Yes, but that´s how you say it, ¨Strobel y la costa¨.

I hear him talking to the driver.

Ok. We´re on our way. Damn it´s nice weather!
Yeah, it´s a mild spell. Enjoy it while it lasts Pranav, see you soon.

He´s already hung up. Without a word I turn and help Diego move the dresser into place against the bedroom wall. It´s a dark green and still gives off the odour of fresh paint. Isa is arranging a print on one wall and Multicanal installed the internet and cable connections yesterday afternoon. Pranav has been phoning us almost daily, driving us nuts. I´ve warned him that it´s best to bring cash or a certified cheque at least. Thing is, a cheque would likely go through Rojas´s or Cagnazzo´s account and who knows what would be left for us? With the payment in cash, we should at least get a few grand. He seemed flippant about it. ¨ Don´t worry man ¨ was all he said. I move to the kitchen but see Isa is busy arranging things and I feel I´d be in the way. So me and Diego decide to shift the living/dining room table slightly; Diego scavenged it from behind an upscale building near Guemes. Isa bustles in from the kitchen and moves it back to where it was. Me and Diego stand helplessly and watch her. I wait till Isa pauses for a moment and then say,

Bueno, lo espero en la vereda.

A knock on the door as Isa is about to answer me. It´s Sergio, who is either Rojas lawyer or more likely, Cagnazzo´s contact/colleague in Mardel who has taken over the handling of Rojas´s affairs. Rojas voice echoes behind him in the hallway. He´s chatting with some of the workmen who are finishing up the bachelor apartment. He glides into view, all smiles. Good. I kiss cheeks and use the moment to escape downstairs to be there when Pranav arrives. Step by step I descend, my senses buzzing. This next move is dangerous, and I hope it works. But I´m in deep already as it is. I take two steps at a time just before the entrance hallway and move briskly towards the front door.

The sea is dark gray and the waves are brittle and collapse crispy in splashes of foam. I turn and look north up Camet and see a taxi approaching slowly. Must be him. It pulls to a stop and after a short pause the passenger door opens and Pranav steps out. He´s buff and young. That might be a problem. No, don´t worry about that. If he was a little taller I´d peg him as a club bouncer. Spends time in bars, definitely a party boy. I approach the cab, nod at the driver who´s getting a duffel bag out of the trunk and shake Pranav´s hand.

You made it.

He´s laconic in that Texas way ( hey ... is his answer ) and he takes his bag up easily and after surveying the front of the building ( it looks like Mexico he says ) we head up the stairs to the front door. I look behind me quickly and carefully and yes, they´re there. Like I said, this is going to be dangerous. I open the front door and we head upstairs to the apartment, me chatting affably as I can about the weather and the city. They say that in poker when you´re in the zone, you anticipate what´s going to happen without even being sure how or why. And I´ve placed a really big bet.

Si puedes firmar aqui ... y aqui ... y tambien aqui - Sergio intonces officiously. He´s counted the money already. I´ve never seen thousand dollar bills before. All cash, all real it seems. Did he just bring the cash with him? Or take a day trip to Montevideo? Where is that cash from? Pranav looks alert despite his slumped posture at the kitchen table. He´s definitely a gamer. The tension in the kitchen has dissipated a little by now, with the cash crisply filling an envelope that sits on the table and the contract signed and sealed. The sudden knock on the door is loud and intense. Isa jumps slightly and Rojas and Sergio look at each other and then at me. And then at the door.

Policia!! Abren por favor!!

Sergio is very fast. He´s already staring angrily right at me. I return his look as steadily as I can and lift my eyebrows in what I hope is an ironic gesture that confirms to him that yes, it was me. I walk to the door and let in Sargento Vanni and two other policemen. He´s squat and ugly and direct, although at first he was officious and puzzled at my approach. It was outside the comisaría on Independencia just past San Martin. Two days ago, I had decided to follow my hunch. A little research on the money laundering laws and what that might mean to a real estate contract - not to mention a large amount of undeclared cash - and I rolled the dice. But that´s not my bet. To make it all work, Pranav has to be more than a gamer from Dallas. He has to have a much bigger reason for moving to Argentina. I let the three in and they nod at Sergio and Rojas ( especially Sergio ... their instinct tells them he´s the capo here ) and then Vanni turns his eyes on Pranav, like a wild boar cornering a prey.

Vos sos Pranav? Si? ... le pido que abres tu valija, por favor.

Silence in the room. Pranav feigns ignorance but I know he understands perfectly the question. Does he speak a little spanish? I´ll bet he does. And I´ve bet he has something in that bag. Vanni nods at one of the officers who grabs the bag quickly and opens the zipper. It doesn´t take long. Inside some pants and wrapped inside several shopping bags are several packets. White powder. How many kilos? Rage and terror in Pranav´s eyes which are now focused on me. He´s like a cornered wolf, but he knows he´s helpless. Isa is stunned and Diego stares uncomfortably at the packets. We all stare. Sargento Vanni taps the table quietly. I turn and look at Sergio and now my eyebrows do lift in a very sarcastic gesture. It´s your move Sergio ... and he takes the lead.

Señores. Sentamonos todo. Y hablamos un toque.

Sergio speaks easily and casually and smiles at the seargent. The two other policemen finish going through Pranav´s bag and find one more packet. They then move into the living room. I guide Isa towards the stove and help her put the new kettle on and we fill up a mate ( not quite the welcome ceremony Isa had planned ). I let Sergio talk. He surprises me by turning to Pranav and asking in accented English,

How much more cash you have?

Pranav glares a moment but then sullenly replies,

30 thousand.

So we begin to negotiate. Between sips of mate, although Vanni looks a little impatient and wants to get this done and be on his way. Like any job. Listening, I gather a kilo of cocaine is worth tens of thousands of dollars at street level. I hear cinco tossed about so it seems there´s at least five kilos of coke. Placed on a ship headed to Europe, maybe worth a hundred grand?

Where you get this from?

Pranav shrugs at Sergio´s question and answers,

Up north.

A curious silence follows with Sergio beaming at Pranav maliciously until he finally breaks and snorting disgustedly admits he has a pipeline to and/or from Mexico and that he flew in through Mexico City and Panama. Pranav wants in on the European trade through Argentina it seems. It seems a very roundabout way when you have so much cocaine coming into Argentina from Bolivia and Peru. How does he get it in? Pranav only gives vague details and Sergio suddenly decides not to push anymore and offers the following,

No se como haces entrar esta merca, ni me importa. Solo quiero saber si podes garantizar por lo menos cinco, mejor diez, kilos por mes. Podes??

Pranav nods inmediately. Ok, his spanish is actually pretty good. Five to ten kilos a month. 100 to 200 grand. A month. Vanni taps his fingers menacingly on the table but Sergio fondles the seargent´s arm and purrs,

Treinta para vos. Trienta para nosotros y el pibe este se queda con el cuarenta porciento. Si le apretamos bien aca mismo ... no habra mas guita ... no??

Vanni glares uglily but nods satisfied. The policemen stand quickly and bundle the merchandise into a small dark bag. Sergio shakes Vanni´s hand and they kiss but I´m not done. I want to accompany Vanni downstairs. I stand up quickly and open the door and wait for the Vanni and his two subordinates. As they pass into the hallway I look at Sergio and then Rojas and say,

Lo nuestro ahora Sergio. Veinte mil.

Sergio grins fiercely at me. Rojas has been quite but looks reasonably relaxed, given the circumstances. Sergio says,

Te doy quince ahora. Lo resto cuando nos juntamos todos.

I nod and close the door behind me and Vanni and his boys walk quickly ahead of me down towards the front door. When we reach the ground floor I open the door but remain inside the entrance hall and say,

Yo me encargo de Pranav. Acá, tomá mi numero.

It´s my cell phone written on a small piece of paper. Vanni snatches the paper from my hand without even looking at me and grunts something I don´t quite catch. I wait a long moment and breath slowly before heading upstairs again. Sergio opens the door and I see the bottle of Reginatto on the table. Isa´s idea for when we signed the contract. Pranav´s glare is a little more sardonic and a little less hateful than eariler but he´s still furious. And he´ ll be living upstairs from us. I open the bottle and we all drink, sipping cautiously and quietly from the glasses Isa bought on Rivadavia just a few days ago.