This may be due to the judicial police squad with enough firepower to blow away a small Mexican drug cartel. It could be the large men in undersized shirts and jackets with various bits of electronic equipment in their ears. It could be the bulges in their clothes in places which even the clientele of the Baramara would find strange. Or it could be that such watering holes are not what they used to be and have to tart themselves on the market for whatever they can get!
In the gloom, if you could be there, you would see the figure of
Kissinger, Henry A. - Chairman, Kissinger Associates, Inc.
radiating sufficient gravity to cause a perturbation in Einstein's calculations. He is muttering incoherently in a signature gravelly voice to his most attentive audience, himself.
A man approaches. Apart from the adjustment in the massed cohorts and weaponry all is well! He is in his fifties, but looks good, has grey and black hair swept back. He has a mischievous smile playing round the corners of his eyes and his mouth.
Enry, viejo perro, como se saja? Madre de puta, estas bien?
Speek en Englesh pleese, for the tape!
Ho K Enry, whatever you say, conejotito!
The reason I drag you out of the Bilderbergs is I want to ask you a question.
Dit you put the pressure on the Espanish Supremes to have me fired so you can come to Sitges? There, I seddit.
Henry descends into a monologue which is inaudible and unintelligible but sounds like a cement mixer with a bad dose of indigestion. The youngish guy says that he will take that as a yes then.
He reminds him he is off to the Hague and that it might be a bit premature to plan any Christmas shopping in Madrid or Paris!
The various forces pack up the sub-nuclear arsenal attendant on each and sweep up behind their charges. Some of them head for a better class of bar!
