Paris of the South Part 1

    A man of short plump stature squeezed his ample frame through a pair of ornately carved doors. His black hair was parted down the middle, plastered to his head. He dabbed at the sweat that beaded on his forehead, then shoved his handkerchief into the pocket of an ill-fitting brown suit jacket. In his left hand he carried a briefcase.

     

   The chamber in which he had entered…….nay the mausoleum……was crafted of marble. Marble columns framed the walls. The floor was so highly polished that he could vaguely see his reflection as the waddled towards the large dark wooden desk in the middle of the room; his footsteps resounding of the cold unforgiving walls.

                 

    As the portly man stopped before the desk, he twirled his handlebar mustache nervously. A tall efficient looking man was seated behind the desk working in a feverish methodical manner. His appearance was crisp and neat. His light brown hair had begun to recede and was flecked with grey. A black woolen suit and matching tie clothed his lanky frame. The room was silent for what seemed like an eternity, and then the man behind the desk laid down his pen and folded his hands in front of him. Looking up with curt arrogance he sneered, “Yes? What do you want?”

               

   Finding it hard to speak…..the husky man stuttered “Huuuuh—huuhh…..well……I……..”

   

“Get on with it man!” The tall thin man boomed.

            

“Señor Ortega sent me.” The hefty man finally spluttered, clutching at the briefcase in his thick left hand.

                 

“What is your name?” The man behind the desk asked, feigning interest.

                 

Sticking out his large chest, the portly man proudly proclaimed “Señor Villanueva, my name is-“

                 

“Your name is unimportant,” Señor Villanueva replied quietly, his attention now fixed on the briefcase.  His eyes alight with curiosity “Is that it then?” he whispered.

                 

“Yes Señor…..” replied the plump man confused.

                

 A claw like finger shot forward “Place the briefcase here,” Señor Villanueva bit out with authority, pointing at the middle of the desk.

                

 Hurriedly doing as he was bid, the stout man fumbled placing the briefcase in the middle of the desk. He then stood back, nervously bouncing on his heels.

               

   Señor Villanueva leaned forward and flicked open the clasps, he took a deep breath and then opened the briefcase. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, he had searched the world over and now finally it was his. Complete power and prestige now lay before him, all he had to do was reach out his hand and take it.  

                 

  Whilst Señor Villanueva was ogling his new possession, the curious messenger had moved closer. He was just inches from the briefcase, when Señor Villanueva slammed it shut; almost pinching the large man’s inquisitive nose within the hinges.

                

 Señor Villanueva looked up with rage and venomously whispered “Leave.”

                 

The portly man backed up slowly “Señor?” he asked uncertain.

                 

Señor Villanueva stood up, placing his hands on his desk and boomed “Leave, damn you, leave!”

                

 The bulky man licked his rubbery lips nervously, turned around and hightailed his large backside out of the room as fast as his stumpy legs could go. He squeezed his large frame through the door and slammed it shut behind him.

                

 Rejoicing in his success, Señor Villanueva leaned back in his chair, placing his immaculately clean shoes on his desk.