Ebria
Established Nation
The Old Condor
3rd of August 1920
3rd of August 1920
The Litoral Express was the flagship train of the Ferrocarriles Correntinos, originally a privately owned railway company but nationalised after it went bankrupt during the 2nd Civil War between 1890 and 1892. The train was hauled by an Aurarian made steam locomotive, with an interesting cab first arrangement, which was pulling a postal carriage, two baggage carriages and fifteen coaches, out of which one was a restaurant one. It was a day train, with no sleeping carriages, that was leaving Independencia, the capital of the Litoral del Norte Province at 6 in the morning and was travelling through Callao, which it would reach around noon and then continue south, along the coast, towards Bella Vista, the capital of the Litoral del Sur Province, at the other end of the nation, close to midnight after nearly 18 hours. The first three carriages were the luxurious 1st class, which were covered in wood panels, quite airy and with comfortable armchairs and elegant tables and curtains at the windows, followed by three 2nd class carriages, quite comfy too but less elegant and much more crowded and then the 3rd class, which were overcrowded and had uncomfortable wood benches. The restaurant carriage was between the first and second 1st class carriage, with the baggage and postal carriages at the end of the train.
In the 1st class carriage which was also the 1st to the locomotive, stood stood in one of those armchairs señor Cayo Romero Molina, a man in his late 40s, balding, clean shaven, wearing a light beige suit, to cope with the Correntine tropical heat. He was by many standards quite an ugly man, short, skinny, with his forehead and eyes wrinkled by his nearly continuous frowning. His small, black eyes were very small and quite distanced, and with his large nose bridge, it gave his face the impression that he was disproportionate. He was quite conscious about that and while he should have been wearing glasses only when reading, he preferred to keep them on most of the time, to hide it. He was a mestizo of Ypu ancesty, his family coming from deep inside the Selva, but he was still a haciendado. A minor one, with his estate, Sepulveda, dealing more in timber from the jungle. This did give him a decent income that moved him in the lower upper class of the United Provinces, but still, his ancestry made him nothing more than a cholo in the eyes of the criollos living on the coast. His original timber trade also kept him from being a part of the main political machine of the nation, cafe con leche, where the coffee haciendados and the gauchos were influencing politicians in Callao. He want to play the game too, but he was always pushed back into his place. He had to rise from the position of a small timber haciendado, which he considered a mediocre status, and his luck came with a posting in the AFC, Administración Federal de Seguridad, the secret police. He pulled some strings and he was known for loving some intrigue and thus he was in. That was 20 years ago. In two decades he continued his career and just up and up until he reached the top of the organisation.
A long whistle from the locomotive and the sudden motion of everyone in the carriage to quickly close the windows as the train entered a tunnel startled don Cayo, who was daydreaming about the documents he needs to sign off once he managed to reach the Ministry of Internal Affairs, but as he barely slept in the night before, was slowly feeling his eyes heavier and heavier. He looked around at his adjutant, who was blankly looking outside through the window, at the nothingness of the dark tunnel. He then looked at the watch he was carrying on one of the inside pockets at his chest. It was close to 9:30. "Alfonso, I'd say it's time for some breakfast, don't you think?" he asked but then rose from his seat without expecting an answer. "Si, señor," his young adjutant could only mumble and then follow him. Alfonso was the complete opposite of don Cayo. Coming from a family of recent immigrants, him being the first in his family born in Corrientes, he still had the looks of a Jute, being tall, sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, while his skin was tanned by the equatorial sun. Probably in Gallo-Germanian standards, he would be described as extremely handsome, but the mestizos and the indigenous people of Corrientes would describe him as being too pale and his weirdly light coloured hair as ugly.
Followed by Alfonso, don Cayo made his way through his carriage and into the next one, which was the restaurant car. Here many of the tables were occupied, as it was the last time slot for breakfast. Don Cayo was ready to let out a curse, but he stopped when he saw somewhere in the back a table that looked empty. He managed to make his way there, but right when he was right in front of it, he saw a woman was sitting alone there. She immediately recognised him, and when he did too, he again could barely hold a profanity.
"Don Cayo, buenos dias!" she saluted him gleefully. "Hortensia," he nodded back, forgetting any formality. "I see it's quite crowded today, do you like to share the table and have breakfast with me?" she asked. Before nodding in approval, Cayo looked around, hoping that maybe there will be a chance to see another table, but there wasn't any free, so he sat. "Alfonso, go find another place, I will need to discuss some sensitive stuff with the señora," he said frowning at his adjutant. She laughed and then commented with a sad face: "poor boy will have to skip breakfast, as there are clearly no other tables available." Cayo sighed, "he's young, he won't die without a coffee and a croissant," he commented taking out his small silver cigar case, taking out a slim cigar and handing Hortensia another one. A waiter came and took their orders, Cayo ordering a butter croissant with guava jam and a cup of coffee, while Hortensia ordered a cinnamon bun, a coffee and an orange juice.
Where the bar was in the carriage, one of the waiters turned on a radio and managed to find the frequency for the El Ecuador radio station, which was at that time playing some lively cumbia music, mixing the serrano pipe flute with an Aurarian guitar and the voice of a woman singing a love song, but much of it was covered by the general clamour of the people talking in the carriage and the sounds of the train going south towards the capital.
"So, what makes a lady like yourself travel all alone? Everybody should be careful those days..." he said as he blew the smoke from his cigar. He looked at Hortensia, she was a woman in her early 30s, but she looked more like she was in her mid 20s. He observed that while her facial features did show that she was mestizo, a chola, he thought, she was wearing her makeup in such a way to hide it, while not looking vulgar. She was wearing a summery light dress, that was somewhat blue, but somewhat it had slight purple-ish tones, like the flower she is named after, he thought again. She laughed at his question. "It is quite sad that exactly the person that is supposed to lead the security of this country tells it's citizens that they should be careful nowadays," she said as she cut the cinnamon bun and took a slight sip of her coffee. "I am doing my best to protect this country against conspiracies, I am not the police," he responded a bit irritated. She laughed again, this time as she did she slightly touched his arm that was resting on the table. Something that somehow irritated him even more. Does she not observe that we are in public? he wondered.
"But you didn't really answer my question," he insisted, as he took some of the jam and put it on a bit of the butter croissant. "Well, considering that I can't keep anything secret from you..." she laughed again. She does have a nice laugh and a beautiful face though, he thought. "... I was visiting a friend in Costa Oeste," she said smiling, this time more shyly. "A friend? Was he a generous friend?" He asked letting out a malicious subtle smile. "Yes... Quite generous, if you must really know," she answered back, this time irritated. "Do I know him?" he insisted even more. "If you're good at your job, you will probably find out, if not, I prefer to not share the identities of my... friends..." she said, this time with a forced smile. Cayo laughed. A luxury one, but still a prostitute, he thought.
"Speaking of friends... how is señora Yvonne? I know she was preparing for some big changes," he asked. "It always ends up either in dour moments or back to business with you, you are never in for the pleasure, don Cayo. That is why you are greying and getting older by the day, before your time," she said smiling at first but them making a bored face. "I actually wanted to speak with you, to prepare you for the proposal señora Yvonne wants to present you," she continued. "Señora Yvonne has acquired some new... associates.... this time men... some cholos that moved in from the mountains to the coast and observed that milk and honey isn't actually flowing on the streets of Miraflores. But let's say that Yvonne gave them a sweet gig at her establishment and their serrano vibes actually attract a lot of new customers... some... many others... men too," she said with a slight smirk. Cayo wasn't really that surprised. In his experience working to uncover the secrets people had, he observed how many things were happening in Callao after sundown, thus he wasn't impressed by this. "So, what's the said proposition?" he asked. "Yvonne will want to ask for more money from you to continue to give you info on her customers, especially since she expanded now her business..." she said, unsure how will Cayo react. He just laughed. "Do you know how other broth... establishments function in Callao and around it? They pay me, so they can function unhindered. Señora Yvonne should be happy that she is privileged enough that she is the one that is paid to further her information, rather than force to pay for protection and also supply me with information," he said annoyed, but he took a deep breath and sipped away his coffee. "She is more privileged that she is situated on Calle 9, close to the Plaza 15 de Septiembre, in a walking distance to the Casa Verde and the Palace of the Congress," said Hortensia with a slight smirk.
Cayo was finishing his croissant, but her last reply got his attention. "Does she?" he asked. She immediately observed the change in his attitude. "Let's say that since she got the new boys, there are some congressmen that prefer to come for a visit after a meeting," she said. "I see," he mumbled as he finished his coffee. "I have a proposition for you too," she said. She did have his attention. "Yvonne will try to get some more quris out of you, but how about, you will give me some and I will be your more trustworthy channel of information, than her?" she said. This time, he really felt probably for the first time since he knew her that she felt unsure of what she was saying. "You're becoming quite avaricious, aren't you? Am I not already sponsoring you? Monthly stipend, parties, a villa in Chorillos," he said and paused for a while, thinking. She was waiting for him to give her a definitive answer. "But of course, Yvonne is much worse than you and she isn't as nice, just an angry, avaricious, old hag," he said laughing. She was still waiting for him to answer, not touching the remnant of her breakfast nor her orange juice. "You know what? I will meet soon with Yvonne and I will hear her out, but instead of giving her extra money, only for her arrogance, I will change the terms of the deal and will give her less, and if you are a good girl and give me all the information I want, I will forward you the difference that Yvonne will lose," he said smiling. She smiled back.
"Señores, señoras, I am afraid the current timeslot for breakfast has expired. I will humbly ask you to finish your breakfast and return to your carriages as we are to arrive in Callao in two and a half hours!" one of the waiters announced loudly, covering the voices of the people in the carriage and the radio. He rose up from the table. "It was a pleasure, señora Hortensia," he said as he kissed her hand and made his way back to his seat, where Alfonso was waiting for him.
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