“Azuquita” was, almost certainly, his most faithful gunman. What was beyond any doubt was that he was the bloodiest of all his men.
—Buonasera, Don Tommaso! Thank you very much for receiving me—the hitman greeted ceremoniously, while bowing to
his boss and on his knees, he kissed the ring on the ring finger of his hand
right.
—There, there, there, fratello, you may stand up! —Il Capo, condescending, with papal airs, returned the greeting, indicating that he should take a seat, in the Louis XV style armchair next to his throne— First of all, “Azuquita” I apologize a thousand times for having made you wait weeks for this audience. Problems. You know how this business is. Thank goodness we are solving them. But tell me “Azuquita” how is Donna Alessandra? How are you, Dante, my beloved godson?
It’s ironic to call him that, “Azuquita.” Unnecessarily cruel, implacable, cold, like an iceberg. The antipodes of sweet.
“Alessandra, Don Tommaso,” the bully replied, “expecting a family next August. Dante, your dear godson, Don Tommaso, sends you to ask for your blessing. Quite a little man!”
—Seeing the family grow, “Azuquita”, is a biblical blessing. I congratulate you! As for Dante, give him this little gift from me —Il Capo, extended his right hand with an envelope addressed to the boy— And Concetta, the oldest? –
—Every day you become more beautiful, Don Tommaso. You look just like your mother! By the way, Don Tommaso, it is for her that I asked you for this audience. It is to ask you for something, you know, Don Tomasso?…
The Capo interrupted him indignantly:
—If someone has dishonored her, I authorize you to “eliminate” him, now!
And if you don’t want to take charge yourself, I’ll give the order to any of the boys.
—No, Don Tommaso. It’s not because of what you’re thinking. It’s because her friends at school, at the club, in the neighborhood are rejecting her. They say it’s because she’s the daughter of a gangster.
The relentless gunman burst into tears. He took a deep breath, took a few seconds, calmed down, sat back in his chair and took up the thread of his lament.
—You know that, Don Tommaso. I am a serious man. Honest. Very Christian. Hard-working. I don’t drink. I don’t play womanizers. I save. I don’t even smoke. With the “little” I have saved, I think I can retire from my profession. Maybe a gym. Or open a shooting gallery. That’s why I came. I need your authorization. Your permission. Without your blessing, I don’t dare. Maybe I could move to another city or return to Italy. That way my children could get up “normally.”
As if propelled by a catapult, Il Capo stood up. He extended his arms to his faithful, “worker”, friend, compadre, jealous depository of very compromising confidences. Then he solemnly declared:
—You have my full permission, “Azuquita”. Even the permission to move wherever you want.
The two men said goodbye with a kiss on each cheek, loud hugs as they patted each other on the shoulders, and sealed them with a firm handshake.
The next morning, very early, “Azuquita” was found dead, lying on the steering wheel of his car. On his way back from dropping his children off at school, he stopped the vehicle to wait for the traffic light to change – the man was also a zealous follower of the rules of land traffic – and right there, at point-blank range, they put a bullet in his neck.
In Venezuela, a narco-tyranny rules, which is a very active part of several international organized crime groups.
The narco-tyrants, entrenched in Caracas, have known to the point of satiety – even a morally and mentally crippled man from Cúcuta has been aware of such a scandal – that if they did not announce, last night, the electoral fraud that they have been plotting for years, they would soon be corpses. Just like “Azuquita”. An international organized crime company, it is not General Motors, nor Samsung, where its executives can resign, change employers or retire, just like that.
What Interpol, what DEA, what FBI, what Marines, what Prosecutor’s Office of the International Criminal Court, what arrest squads of the moderately civilized countries, when it comes to locating, capturing and executing criminals!
To the last drain on the planet; from Caracas to Pyongyang, from Patagonia to Alaska, their angry drug partners from the FARC, the ELN, the Cali or Los Pepes Cartels, from Sinaloa or Tijuana, from Juarez or Hezbollah, from the Iranian, Chinese, Byelorussian, Russian, Castro-Cuban mafias and camorras and ¡Pin, pun, pan! will go in retaliation for being forced to detach themselves from that teat they have in my beloved Venezuela. In addition, it is known that the drug tyrants of our country are runners, talkative, handsome when they are “supported” and valid in numerical superiority, but with fearful sphincters, in man-to-man combat. Stripped of all authority, they will cower at the first policeman they come across and start singing like real Pavarottis. Because of the danger of much less serious denunciations, every gangster knows that he will be sent straight to the other world.
Your comrade Lula Da Silva has already told you: You have no other way out. Respect the popular will, yes or yes! and accept the consequences of your grave actions. The proclamation of the fraudulent electoral victory at midnight yesterday is nothing more than another chapter in the drama, and this one is far from having reached “the end”. I feel very sorry for you. You hate crime but pity the criminal. Although we doubt that an Our Father will serve to make the Lord take pity on the souls of some heartless people.
@omarestacio