Train robber with connections visits me in the hope of buying a bar

WE smoked joints the size of cigars and found everything, including the whole world amusing

I was sitting at my desk, talking on the phone, taking notes and trying to find a lost key under the folders. My head was down but I heard a voice.

“Hello, I don’t suppose you know who I am, but friends of mine who were inside with me have told me you’re the man to see.”

Well, who are your friends, I blurted without looking up? When he told their names I knew automatically who he was. “What can I do for you?”

“I would like to buy a bar to earn my living and rent somewhere – can you help me?” Just then I found the key I had been searching for, hung up the phone and scribbled a short note to myself. “Yes I can help you with a beach bar, interested?” Within minutes I had sorted out all his necessities. 

When I looked up again he was still standing above me staring down at me with studious eyes. I was ashamed of myself for keeping him standing and apologised profusely. His friends were my friends and honoured to help. 

“Neither of us ever shared the story again to anyone who lived here.

“At five tomorrow I will have a guy here at the office that owns a perfect beach bar for you. He is a good friend, but is in bad health. You can do a deal with him directly without me or sales commissions. At the same time I’ll give you three phone numbers to call for long term rentals, mention me they will help. I want nothing out of this except the occasional free beer.” And that’s how it all started, that quick and that easy.

We met infrequently after that, unless I acquired a great thirst or Gordon needed a rental.

Then one special day I was left without a partner to celebrate my 10th anniversary of surviving in Spain. My wife was away in America helping teach our children English and all my other close friends were lost somewhere in transit. I jumped in the car and roamed about ending up in La Parata where upon I ran into Gordon drinking alone. 

I announced that I wanted to buy him some Champagne, sat with him and we started drinking in mutual celebration. When the bar ran out of the bubbly, Gordon suggested we vacate LP and go to his flat in Guardia Vieja. The idea struck me as perfectly timed.

We smoked some joints the size of cigars and found everything, including the whole world amusing. When we ran out of beer Gordon suggested that he go down stairs and get more, but “watch the dog,” he warned. 

Well, I was talking and petting the dog being as casual as possible until that stray heard Gordon’s voice down below. It broke from me, bounded to the terrace and leaped over it to search for Gordon a full storey below. Poor thing broke all four legs which naturally ended our celebratory happenings. 

Neither of us ever shared the story again to anyone in the quarter of a century more he lived here.