“A beautiful view, no, Senor?” the owner asked as we stood on the second floor balcony.
I glanced back inside the apartment. Though it had obviously been a poor man’s version of one of the many mansions built here in Iquitos during the heyday of the “rubber baron” period over a century ago, the tiles were so filthy I could only guess their original color. Furthermore, there was no water in the bathroom or kitchen and the walls begged for a fresh coat of paint.
“Well, Senor?” he asked.
I turned my attention back to the owner. He was a short, rotund man with a head full of thick black hair that glistened in the sunlight peeping through the limbs of an ancient mango tree across the street. I stifled a chuckle. His chubby brown face and thick black mustache drooping over thin lips reminded me of a Mexican bad guy I’d seen in a John Wayne movie decades earlier.
“Indeed, it is, Senor,” I replied, resisting the urge to call him Senor Bandito.
I liked the view from the balcony so much I agreed to rent the apartment for six months. Based on the owner’s promise to fix the place up, of course. Our contract stated that the apartment would be ready for me to move in no later than three days. When I returned to the apartment three days later, though, absolutely nothing had been done. Senor Bandito promised that he would definitely have it ready for occupancy in three days. But when I returned three days later only the walls had been painted.
No longer trusting the landlord, I went to see my friend, Mike Collis. I’d only known Mike for a week. But I had liked the huge Brit from the first day I’d met him. Mike agreed to accompany me to the apartment and talk to Senor Bandito. He took the man aside. Though I couldn’t make out what they were saying, their body language told me that Mike was reading the riot act to him. Five minutes after arriving, Mike and I had left the apartment and were heading back to his place.
“You won’t have any more trouble with that bloke,’ Mike assured me. “The apartment will be ready in two days.”
I didn’t know what to expect when I took the bus to the apartment two days later. To my shock the place was spotless. Not only that, when I stepped out on the balcony I noticed that a spanking new sky blue canopy hung out over the railing. As I was leaving, Senor Bandito called out to me in a friendly voice, “If you need anything else, Senor, just let me know.”
I went straight to Mike’s place. He didn’t seem surprised when I told him about Senor Bandito’s change of heart. When I asked him how he convinced the landlord to do the right thing, he replied matter-of-factly, “I told him that you work for a Columbian drug cartel. And if you have any more problems with him, you’re going to report him to your boss in Bogota.”
P.S. I’ve known Mike Collis for more than eleven years. And my respect and admiration for this gentle giant grows with each passing year.
