No Lo Puedes Encontrar Ni Devolverlo Essay
The poor man didn’t know where C.E. Mason was taken. Although a bit more pressure encouraged him to blurt out: “Creo que a Venezuela.” To Venezuela.
“¿A que lugar en Venezuela?” Where in Venezuela?
“A esta dirección?” the man said. To this address, pointing to a sheet of paper on a nearby table.
Roger was opposed to gratuitously forfeiting of human life, so he hit the frightened man on the head with the top of the handle of the boot knife on just the right spot and intensity as to knock him out. And then Roger confiscated the videotapes of himself approaching the gate and entering the house. Later, the man would have the unenviable life-threatening task of convincing his bosses—the drug lords—of the lie that the gringo’s location in Venezuela had not been compromised. Historically, the drug lords had demonstrated no empathy for people who betrayed them. If they got a whiff of duplicity and disloyalty, the man’s status, it would be fair to construe, would be that of a dead man walking. In any event, after that night, the only calculus for a long life for those two men would necessitate getting lost in the crowded amorphous underbelly of the city. However, this was far from Roger’s concern. The guard’s…