Maria Bizzarra-Rama #2

The Favor of Fools

Setting: El Labrador, the "Freedom Fortress" Hotel Bar, dusk outside, neon warm inside.

Maria Bizzarra-Rama stirred her third drink with the little plastic sword she’d swiped from a diplomat’s fruit tray. She leaned back in her barstool, one stiletto heel kicked out, wine-red lipstick smudged in the shape of a crooked grin. Across from her sat Greg Gutless, slouching with his hands wrapped around a glass of sparkling water like it was his last tether to Earth.

“So,” Maria drawled, gesturing with the sword, “we flew halfway across the world, nearly got strip-searched at the airport, and what do we get from the great Kingdom of El Labrador?”

Greg adjusted his tie, which was visibly too tight. “A polite but firm 'no interview, no cameras, no questions,’ and a pamphlet about how the prisons are revolutionary.”

Maria drained her glass and slammed it on the bar. “I’ll tell you what’s revolutionary: room-temperature wine in a country with no winter.” She motioned to the bartender. “Another. And one for Greg. He needs to stop sweating like a Sunday school teacher in a biker bar.”

Before the drinks could arrive, two off-duty prison guards slid onto the barstools beside them. One was tall and rail-thin, eyes sunken and tired; the other stockier, with thick forearms and a nervous twitch in his left eye. Their names were Javier and Luis, both still wearing boots flecked with prison yard dust.

“Americans?” Javier asked in Spanish-accented English. “You were the ones from Faux Noticiosa?”

Maria smiled. “That’s us. He’s Greg Gutless. I’m the Bizzarra-Rama.” She extended a hand, which Javier shook. Luis nodded nervously.

“You want to know what it’s like in there?” Javier asked.

Maria raised an eyebrow. “I’d kill to know.”

Javier and Luis glanced around, then leaned in.

“We want to quit,” Luis muttered. “But if you quit the fortress… they make sure you go in instead. Everyone knows it.”

Greg perked up. “Wait, are you saying you’ve seen…”

Javier cut him off. “I’ve seen men go blind from the lights. I’ve seen them faint in chains, left on the floor for hours, no food, no water. Men with missing fingers who don’t remember how they lost them. They strip your humanity before they strip your clothes.”

Greg turned slightly green. Maria leaned forward, fascinated.

“Go on.”

Luis lit a cigarette with shaking hands. “There’s one man… they call him the mule. He was arrested just for having a phone with Signal installed. They made him sleep standing up for a week. Every night they blast music so loud your teeth vibrate. Then silence. Then screaming. Then silence again.”

Greg stood suddenly. “Excuse me,” he choked, and stumbled to the bathroom.

Maria sipped her wine. “Don’t mind him. He just realized reality has teeth.”

Javier looked over his shoulder. “Look. You really want to know what’s happening? We can get you in. One of you.”

Maria’s eyes sparkled. “I like you boys.”

Luis leaned forward. “It has to be tomorrow. Sunrise. We’ll be on gate detail. You’ll be dressed like one of us. Just act like you’re hungover and don’t speak. If they ask your name, say ‘Ramirez.’”

Maria nodded solemnly. “And you’ll get them out?”

Luis didn’t answer.

Greg returned from the bathroom, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Maria smiled. “Greggy! You’re in luck. We have a way in.”

Greg blanched. “Me?”

Maria stood and draped her arm around him. “It has to be you. You’re… forgettable. That’s a compliment, dear. Plus, Grump will love it. He’ll call you brave. You might even get your own desk!”

“I—I don’t know—what if I get stuck?”

Maria whispered, “Greg. History is made by men who wet themselves a little and go anyway.”

Greg looked at her, then at the guards, then at the bottle of wine on the bar. He sighed.

“Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”