Naccos, south-western fringes of Estado de Sipe Sipe
Mango Maduro was a small, mangy and scabby pub in the small settlement of Naccos, situated deep in the Selva where the great Madre de Dios River entered the country and followed the border with Tapenaga up until it flows in the Gulf of Cassiopeia. It's wooden walls, darkened by decades of smoking inside were reeking of tobacco, alcohol and the sweat and breath of so many workers that have crossed its threshold for a quick drink and a greasy meal after a shift. A slow, lamenting romance was played at a small hi-fi system at the bar, that was usually covered by the ambient noise of men and women drinking and chatting away in the warm evening.
Sebastian Costa was a man in his early 30s, with a fashionable haircut and a close trimmed beard, wearing a floral shirt and khaki chino trousers, with sunglasses which he was letting them fall on his nose, so as to see above them, without needing to actually take them off in the quite dimly lit establishment. Compared to everyone else inside the pub, he looked out of place, a city boy, or even worse, for the people of the Selva, a Montanero from the Sierra Dorada. He looked like he was teleported from some of Gallo-Germania's biggest tourist spots into the remotest parts of Entre Rios. The corners of his mouth were lowered, slightly showing his disgust for his environment. Immediately after he entered the pub, he first scanned the room and when he didn't see anyone recognisable, his face turned into an open disgust. He went first to the bar:
"Amigo, change the song to something more cheery. It feels like dying in here!" he yelled at the barman. At first the other person didn't responded as he was preparing a drink for a different customer. "Hey!" he shouted and hit the bar. When he saw him, the barman's face turned white. "I asked you to change the fucking music!" said Costa in a rasp, stern voice. "Sí señor, immediately..." said the barman with a low, humble and meek voice as he recognised Sebastian Costa. He went to the hi-fi system and replaced the previous CD with a different one, "Cumbia Roots" being written in a funky font on its cover. "And give me a Pisco bottle too," said Costa as he threw a 100 Quris note to the barman for the drink that cost 60 and immediately left as he received the bottle and a glass.
Sebastian went to a table close to the wall on the opposite side of the entrance and growled a bit, showing his discontent. He poured the grapey distillate in the glass and sipped, enjoying the flavour of the grapes from the Pampa, on the foothills of the Sierra Dorada, far away from this humid, tropical hellhole. The barman came again with a plate with a big carimanola, a fritter made of cassava and filled with mushy plantains, and left immediately after he muttered "on the house". Immediately as he left, Sebastian finally recognised the man he was waiting for, entering. As they made eye contact, the other man's face went a bit pale and he rushed to his table.
"Discúlpeme señor, I don't know what happened... there was an emmergency... I..." the man started muttering and apologising. "You fucking live in Naccos, malparido, how is it possible that I come all the way from Patacamaya and I arrive on time and you can't even fucking cross the street without being late?" Sebastian started screaming at him, as the man was continuing to apologise. As he calmed down and the man was still muttering, he took a knife that he had in his pocket and launched himself at the plate, a move that made the other man nearly squeal. "Calm the fuck down, Marco..." muttered Sebastian annoyed again, as he went towards the carimanola and cut it in two, offering him a half and then gesturing to the barman to bring another glass.
For the other man, Marco Gaona, this whole meeting was quite stressful. A mestizo from a criollo mother from Santa Cruz, disinherited because she eloped and had him and an indigenous father from Naccos, he lived quite a rough childhood in his hometown and in the bigger city of Sipe Sipe, where his father sent him to a boarding school. Being away offered him a chance to taste the gang life of the state's capital and since then he pretty much became one of the thugs of the small time gangsters from there, always hoping to earn enough money to leave for the pampas or the coast. When he started working for Sebastian Costa he thought that he managed to grab God by his heel, but he soon learned that it is best to not disappoint Costa as he is as generous in punishment as he is in rewards.
"I have talked with some of my... investors..." said Sebastian after he took a big bite out of the carimanola and then washed it down with pisco. "Considering the current state of Estado Sipe Sipe, they actually feel that the region of Naccos might be actually quite good for our endeavours, so they really liked your recommendation. Just imagine. The forestry industry will be booming here very soon, then the building one, as we will word to drain this shitty swamp and then the agricultural and processing one, after which we can retire, rich and feeling good as we have done more for this community than the state did in like what... three or four centuries?" he continued, feeling very proud of himself.
"There is still an issue, señor" said Marco slowly. "What? The civic boys? Nah, those are the easiest ones to deal with," Sebastian quickly responded. "No, I mean the locals," Marco continued. "What? the Yanacona? They aren't targeting us with the audience to the government, we haven't even started and if that guy, chief ... what's his name... Amaru makes us problems, we can solve him too, as knowing the Yanacona, are are probably a dozen of pretenders wanting to take his place," Sebastian responded again, interrupting Marco. "No, señor, I mean the locals as in the local groups. Chief Sumak Asto y Amaru went to Santa Cruz to call them out in front of the Consul. He wages his war against them, but they won't be liking us as newcomers to their own turf," said Marco. "This is where you come to play, mi pequeño amigo. I will provide you with the necessary tools and some helpers and what I want to do is to show the local gangs that we are here to stay and that we will actually be the big names in this shit hole of a state," said Sebastian with a smile on his face as he finished the carimanola and poured again pisco in his glass.
"They are quite independent, but the biggest name of them all is Martin Bienvenida. He is a smuggler from Ciudad de Sipe Sipe, pretty much smuggling everything he can from Entre Rios into Tapenaga and back. He has some guys on his payrolls," said Marco. "Then he is the guy we need to take care first, so that the others will just cower, " concluded Sebastian.
Mango Maduro was a small, mangy and scabby pub in the small settlement of Naccos, situated deep in the Selva where the great Madre de Dios River entered the country and followed the border with Tapenaga up until it flows in the Gulf of Cassiopeia. It's wooden walls, darkened by decades of smoking inside were reeking of tobacco, alcohol and the sweat and breath of so many workers that have crossed its threshold for a quick drink and a greasy meal after a shift. A slow, lamenting romance was played at a small hi-fi system at the bar, that was usually covered by the ambient noise of men and women drinking and chatting away in the warm evening.
Sebastian Costa was a man in his early 30s, with a fashionable haircut and a close trimmed beard, wearing a floral shirt and khaki chino trousers, with sunglasses which he was letting them fall on his nose, so as to see above them, without needing to actually take them off in the quite dimly lit establishment. Compared to everyone else inside the pub, he looked out of place, a city boy, or even worse, for the people of the Selva, a Montanero from the Sierra Dorada. He looked like he was teleported from some of Gallo-Germania's biggest tourist spots into the remotest parts of Entre Rios. The corners of his mouth were lowered, slightly showing his disgust for his environment. Immediately after he entered the pub, he first scanned the room and when he didn't see anyone recognisable, his face turned into an open disgust. He went first to the bar:
"Amigo, change the song to something more cheery. It feels like dying in here!" he yelled at the barman. At first the other person didn't responded as he was preparing a drink for a different customer. "Hey!" he shouted and hit the bar. When he saw him, the barman's face turned white. "I asked you to change the fucking music!" said Costa in a rasp, stern voice. "Sí señor, immediately..." said the barman with a low, humble and meek voice as he recognised Sebastian Costa. He went to the hi-fi system and replaced the previous CD with a different one, "Cumbia Roots" being written in a funky font on its cover. "And give me a Pisco bottle too," said Costa as he threw a 100 Quris note to the barman for the drink that cost 60 and immediately left as he received the bottle and a glass.
Sebastian went to a table close to the wall on the opposite side of the entrance and growled a bit, showing his discontent. He poured the grapey distillate in the glass and sipped, enjoying the flavour of the grapes from the Pampa, on the foothills of the Sierra Dorada, far away from this humid, tropical hellhole. The barman came again with a plate with a big carimanola, a fritter made of cassava and filled with mushy plantains, and left immediately after he muttered "on the house". Immediately as he left, Sebastian finally recognised the man he was waiting for, entering. As they made eye contact, the other man's face went a bit pale and he rushed to his table.
"Discúlpeme señor, I don't know what happened... there was an emmergency... I..." the man started muttering and apologising. "You fucking live in Naccos, malparido, how is it possible that I come all the way from Patacamaya and I arrive on time and you can't even fucking cross the street without being late?" Sebastian started screaming at him, as the man was continuing to apologise. As he calmed down and the man was still muttering, he took a knife that he had in his pocket and launched himself at the plate, a move that made the other man nearly squeal. "Calm the fuck down, Marco..." muttered Sebastian annoyed again, as he went towards the carimanola and cut it in two, offering him a half and then gesturing to the barman to bring another glass.
For the other man, Marco Gaona, this whole meeting was quite stressful. A mestizo from a criollo mother from Santa Cruz, disinherited because she eloped and had him and an indigenous father from Naccos, he lived quite a rough childhood in his hometown and in the bigger city of Sipe Sipe, where his father sent him to a boarding school. Being away offered him a chance to taste the gang life of the state's capital and since then he pretty much became one of the thugs of the small time gangsters from there, always hoping to earn enough money to leave for the pampas or the coast. When he started working for Sebastian Costa he thought that he managed to grab God by his heel, but he soon learned that it is best to not disappoint Costa as he is as generous in punishment as he is in rewards.
"I have talked with some of my... investors..." said Sebastian after he took a big bite out of the carimanola and then washed it down with pisco. "Considering the current state of Estado Sipe Sipe, they actually feel that the region of Naccos might be actually quite good for our endeavours, so they really liked your recommendation. Just imagine. The forestry industry will be booming here very soon, then the building one, as we will word to drain this shitty swamp and then the agricultural and processing one, after which we can retire, rich and feeling good as we have done more for this community than the state did in like what... three or four centuries?" he continued, feeling very proud of himself.
"There is still an issue, señor" said Marco slowly. "What? The civic boys? Nah, those are the easiest ones to deal with," Sebastian quickly responded. "No, I mean the locals," Marco continued. "What? the Yanacona? They aren't targeting us with the audience to the government, we haven't even started and if that guy, chief ... what's his name... Amaru makes us problems, we can solve him too, as knowing the Yanacona, are are probably a dozen of pretenders wanting to take his place," Sebastian responded again, interrupting Marco. "No, señor, I mean the locals as in the local groups. Chief Sumak Asto y Amaru went to Santa Cruz to call them out in front of the Consul. He wages his war against them, but they won't be liking us as newcomers to their own turf," said Marco. "This is where you come to play, mi pequeño amigo. I will provide you with the necessary tools and some helpers and what I want to do is to show the local gangs that we are here to stay and that we will actually be the big names in this shit hole of a state," said Sebastian with a smile on his face as he finished the carimanola and poured again pisco in his glass.
"They are quite independent, but the biggest name of them all is Martin Bienvenida. He is a smuggler from Ciudad de Sipe Sipe, pretty much smuggling everything he can from Entre Rios into Tapenaga and back. He has some guys on his payrolls," said Marco. "Then he is the guy we need to take care first, so that the others will just cower, " concluded Sebastian.
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