American tabloid

BOYD, YOU FUCK.

Stanton said the fix was in. Ten grand would buy Carlos a temporary visa. The Guatemalan foreign minister was set to publicly state:

Mr. Marcello was born in Guatemala. His birth certificate is legitimate. Attorney General Kennedy is wrong. Mr. Marcello’s origins are in no way ambiguous.

Mr. Marcello split to America-legally. Sadly, we have no records to corroborate this. The burden of proof now falls upon Mr. Kennedy.

Stanton said the minister hates Jack the K.

Stanton said Jack fucked his wife and both his daughters.

Pete said, Jack fucked my old girlfriend. Stanton said, Wow- and you still helped elect him!

Stanton said, Have Chuck grease the minister. And by the way, Jack’s still clicking around on a go-date.

Pete hung up and looked out the window. Guatemala City by twilight-strictly the rat’s ass.

o o o

They all dozed off early. Pete woke up early-a nightmare had him balled up under his sheets, gasping for breath.

Chuck was out on his bribe run. Carlos was on his second cigar.

Pete opened the living-room curtains. He saw a big hubbub down at ground bevel.

He saw a string of trucks at the curb. He saw men with cameras. He saw cables stretching into the lobby.

He saw people gesturing up.

He saw a big movie camera pointing straight up at them.

Pete said, “We’re blown.”

Carlos dropped his cigar in his hash browns and ran to the window.

Pete said, “The Agency’s got a camp an hour from here. If we can find Chuck and fly out, we’ll make it.”.

Carlos looked down. Carlos saw the ruckus. Carlos pushed his breakfast cart through the window and watched it bullseye down eighteen stories.