(Characters: Geoffrey, Andrew
Setting: Restaurante Terraza. 1 p.m.)
Geoffrey: Urrutia-Cadiz fell through the skylight.
Andrew: Last night.
Geoffrey: Through the skylight.
Andrew: Yes I got that I was asking when.
Geoffrey: Last night then.
Andrew: So there’s murder in the air.
Geoffrey: Your recommendations sir.
Andrew: Draw up a list of names.
Geoffrey: I can compile a beginning by supper.
Andrew: Excellent we’ll be having chuletas I believe.
Geoffrey: And we can check it twice.
Andrew: If Solange doesn’t
make your list I’ll be damned.
Geoffrey: Oh she’ll be leading the pack.
Andrew: Are you adamant when it comes to apple sauce.
Geoffrey: No just so long as the meat’s not souping in its juice.
Andrew: You like them well done I take it.
Geoffrey: I’ve no passion for raw.
Andrew: For raw.
Geoffrey: Too much like scooping out the liver of an enemy.
Andrew: Damn but you’re vivid.
Geoffrey: It’s the game it gets me going I suppose.
Andrew: You’re a long way from burnout to be sure.
Geoffrey: I don’t think it’s clouded my instincts any or has it do you do you think.
Andrew: No maybe not just don’t be.
Geoffrey: Don’t become too arrogant.
Andrew: Beware of what others may come to expect of you.
Geoffrey: I’ve tried not to let anyone down.
Andrew: And I don’t think you have it’s just that in this game loyalty can be seasonal whereas grudges are eternal.
Geoffrey: Tremendously Byzantine.
Andrew: Triumphantly even.
Geoffrey: Very oh you know.
Andrew: Byzantine what.
Geoffrey: No more Dante more Florence.
Andrew: The Guelfs and the Ghibellines.
Geoffrey: Them’s the ones.
Andrew: Well we’re not there yet for the moment our bright backstabbing bastards still call us ‘sir’.