‘This took place in the bar Venecia. Go and ask anyone; ask around what happened in that bar; they’ll tell you. Those were the times when everything was unsettled here, and we had a bomb warning every week somewhere. You ought to be very careful in those days; but, well, they killed you all the same, if they wanted to.
‘So, this feller was called Mateo, and he was all day intoxicated. y andaba siempre intoxicado. He was a real boozer; and round the bed too, for that matter. Listen; listen here to what he did. That night he had entered the Venecia, and he must be half drunk for sure. Now, he goes to the bar and tells the man, a tall man: “gimme a long drink”; but the guy doesn’t move and replies: “sorry, man. I can serve you a juice or a coffee if you want, but not booze, ‘coz you don’t go half straight”. Well said, huh? Sensible. But, doh!, that’s not what Mateo expected to be said. He wanted to keep drinking; so he inists: “I say, gimme a fucking drink”. But the bar tender stands, sorry but no, you’ve drunk too much already.
‘Then some other customer must have teased Mateo, telling hime something like: “look at this chakurra*!, get outta here”; so, the man stays calm, points to him, then to the waiter, and blurts out: “you and you, I’m going to kill you both son-of-a-bitches. Get me a taxi!” And when the cab arrives, he gets in and rides to the quarters, grabs the revolver and tells the driver to take him back to the Venecia.
‘This Mateo was real bad at shooting, and in the practices he never scored a bull’s eye. The lieutenant was always telling him off, and teasing him. Now, listen; on seeing the taxi back, the Venecia’s tender comes forward to face Mateo, who, from the very door, tells him once more: “so, are you going to serve me that booze, yes or no?” But the other was not a yellow; a plucky guy he was, and replies: “I said no; go home and sleep it off”. Then Mateo draws the gun and aims the customer who had called him chakurra. This one swiftly hurries away and shelters behind the barman, who gets shot in the throat; the bullet goes through him and hits the other right in the head. This done, Mateo goes back to the quarters, gets into his room, locks the door and swallows a full bottle of whisky.
‘Damn! He was looked for all over town the whole night but wasn’t found, until finally they forced open his room’s door and there he was, still drunk, chuckling. The lieutenant was back down, messing his hair: “God damned, Mateo! What a trouble you’ve put me in! How do you think I can justify this?” But the guy kept chuckling: “He, he, Sir: didn’t you say I was bad at shooting? I’ve shot them both with one bullet; now, can you beat that?”
‘Sure, man; ask around about the bar Venecia case. That was a well-known one.’
*chakurra means “dog” in Basque, and so they name the national policemen.
