recovered, go to another (applause): After that day, I do not know if my wife believed what I said come on, that all my misdeeds (removing the straw, that there could be no deception ) had been the work of truffles, "but at least it warned me that it did not want to talk about it, raining, snowing or shine, which, for practical purposes, came to the same thing: I could go home and recover my rights as husband and father (more applause).
And so the days pass again, as usual. Only now was unemployed, so I had more time to enjoy my kid and also, and this was the bad part, to eat the chola. Then why not do it, with loose ends that were left on my last adventure? Which are as follows:
* A holy what the fuck was O'Brete made a killing machine?
* Why chase after the road ended up in your trunk?
* Why in the trunk were two other guys gagged?
* How Makendo and his men knew where they were our families?
* Even knowing, how the hell got into our airspace?
And the latest:
* Why Makenda had thrown her husband out of house? The latter
I could ask my wife, who was always there for her. But as I said before, Teresa had forbidden me to speak again of anything concerning the two Bohemians, and although neither could be sure that the two were related, I preferred not to open the jar of essences that Loose lips sink ships.
Then there was the option to directly call O'Brete, although every time I pulled the phone from his pocket (and that only when doubts and eating is that I live), just reading your name on the little screen me remember his smile sardonic and cruel, while the Truffles I broke the cuckoo, and withdrawing, of course.
Which leads me to another thought: what is a man without peer? A shadow, a mediofistro. That having a child is fine, agree, but it can not have everything the same happens with your wife. And yes, okay, Makenda came to dinner with us from time to time, and the president, seeing myself as adventurous and so cool, got a little buddy. But what else? Nothing, zero ranker.
With Laredo Martin could no longer count as more than before, in secret, and maybe even worse. Or do you think happened when Lupe came to the attention of the guy who had fucked last Sunday afternoon was not his ex, but a psychopath? He took me, obviously. And your sister the same, and as a logical consequence, for nothing, being banned for Martin. Pepe did not want and besides being my wife would not let me. And Mariano, either, and if I wanted would have been impossible, he had left the building.
So there I was, eating up the Chola and also, why deny it-boring a cojón.
But one afternoon, while with Manolillo in the park, there O'Brete appeared with a bag of beers, as usual. I picked up a stone, and lifted pointing:
- Hey, bastard, come on. They still have the shamelessness to appear here ...
- Amigo Manolo forgive.
- Excuse me? And some balls! You are the worst, O'Brete!
- O'Brete the worst, yes. But O'Brete want to explain.
I knew how much I char, nothing was going to recoup what my ojaldre. But as I said: I was bored hilt. And curiosity. Oh, and curiosity ...
- What will you tell me, somamón?
- Everything.
Yet he threw the stone, which gave the whole head. Some ladies and maids are turned.
- Manolo bastard O'Brete said.
- I owed it, so the bum.
- now at peace. Manolo Makenda convinced to stop O'Brete to return home.
- In peace, and a cock. First I have to explain anything you ask.
O'Brete got a beer for everyone, and we lit a cigar on a bench. And then, without me saying a peep, he began to long for his big mouth, cake as his own, going back in your account until the first days of his life, which I summarize as good as I can and hopefully you last time.
the unlikely
O'BRETE LIFE. PROLOGUE.
first thing I said, to make things very clear, is that a fucking O'Brete trolacas. Historically, ever since the first time I explained his misadventures in Africa was me getting bent, and if I ever came half-truth of his mouth, it was because the circumstances forced him to go letting go Cebit, for pulverized. Summing up: the poor black boy zandareado for life (see Lost: life of Mr. Eko) passed a camel in distress, struggling camel camel in distress can come to Spain by boat to hunt and sell Makenda of cocoon troubles could come to Spain by boat to hunt and sell Makenda camel in distress can come to Spain to hunt and sell Makenda but eventually redeemed by love, and from there to the same but in a bigamist ... And I ask: Can there be anything more liar and scoundrel who O'Brete? Resounding yes: Galing. That is, not really. Because there were still more fibs, after those, and although it is hard to believe, there were still more whoppers (and much worse, if possible).
the unlikely
O'BRETE LIFE. CHAPTER ONE: CHILDHOOD.
O'Brete Do you know what was real? Did you mean? Hang on, which are curves: Makendo brother! YN'Gondo, his nephew!
What a soap opera. If they are right when they say that truth is stranger than fiction ... or at least the equal! Because the story of Mr. Eko was spitting, but not to him ... but his brother Makendo! Come on, that when Galing and Makendo eran dos pimpollos, les pasó lo mismo que al nigeriano de Perdidos: eso de que llegan unos paramilitares al poblado, obligan a un pobre chavalín a que mate al cura, y su hermano, para ahorrarle el trance, comete el asesinato por él y es secuestrado por aquellos, para sus milicias del mal… ¡pero el que mató al cura fue Makendo! ¡Y el que de mayor acabó de cura no fue él, sino O´Brete!
O sea, que lo que me faltaba por escuchar: además de bígamo, narco y mangasobrinos, ¡O´Brete era ex-sacerdote!
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