My Little Pony: Amor Esta Magica

by WarThunderBrony

Pinkie Pie's plan

It was really really terrible when I went to see the notary the following day. "It's true, you will be fighting a losing battle there if you intend to sue him like this, without evidence," said the lawyer. "Hombre joven, you gotta understand that what the court demands of both parties is evidence. And without evidence, you most probably won't stand a chance against Francisco Perez, given that he too is a very prestigious businessman in these parts."

Now this certainly meant business. I had to find the information again somehow. But our family was poor like shit, too poor to afford another laptop; and the nearest cybercafe was in neighboring Estrela in Argentina; almost all the computers here in Bolivia were privately domestically owned.

So I had to improvise somehow. I remember I myself was once a worker in All Lee Enterprises, so I thought I could then write about my experiences as a worker there, in a little memoir. I set to work at once. In just one day, the memoir was completed, and all set to be submitted to Bolivian Daily News.

While I was travelling to the post office to mail my memoir to the newspapers, suddenly I saw someone -- or rather, some weird caballo-like creature -- flying down from the sky and floating right before my very eyes. This one was different; it had a few bubbles on its buttocks, as well as a grey fur coat, and a blonde mane, and a pair of wings. Her eyes looked a little... er... squinted, if that's the right word.

I stopped in surprise. "So, you are...?" I asked this new caballo.

"Alberto! Alberto! Why are you persecuting us?" asked the grey caballo, still flapping her wings and looking down at me with a really derpy expression on her face.

"Er... I'm not persecuting you, I'm just on the way to the post office," I said to her, remembering to be polite for fear that that huge white mare called the "Princess" might come at me again. "What can I do for you anyway?"

"Listen to me, Alberto," said the grey caballo, her face becoming serious. "Don't you dare submit your memoir to the news, unless you want to die. Just forgive and forget the past. Go get yourself a life."

"Sorry, senorita, but I've made up my mind on what I want to do," I said.

"Very well, suit yourself," said the grey caballo. "Do not blame us if there be any repercussions on the way." And with that, she flew away.

I was beginning to think that these caballos were totally loco in the cabeza. Why did they have to come to me of all people? Here I was, minding my own business, and they just had to interfere. Why was my luck so down on me? That fateful night in the Canaries had certainly been the decisive moment in time all right.

Nevertheless I chose to forget those caballos and concentrate on more important matters. I pressed on and marched straight to the post office, where I officially delivered the letter. Phewph, I thought, that was a weight off my mind.

Two uneventful days went by, then suddenly one evening when I had turned in early, Mama woke me up with a loud shout. "Alberto! The police are looking for you!"

I came suddenly wide awake and ran out of my bedroom, clad only in a towel, where I saw Mama wringing her hands and standing beside our landline phone, which she had clearly just dropped and left dangling.

"What's the matter now?" I demanded, cross at being awoken like that.

"So you tried to sue Francisco Perez, did you not?!" shrieked Mama. "What sort of a son are you?!! Why, why, WHY did you keep such a BIG matter from me??!!"

"Mama, are you quite well?" I asked, half concerned and half annoyed. "You better go and have a rest, you've been working yourself hard all night."

"Why don't you just get out of this hacienda right this minute!" wept Mama, pushing me out of the front door and crying crocodile tears. "I don't want to be your mama anymore!"

Forced to leave, I walked out of the hacienda with a hand carrier containing all my valuables and clothes. I knew that I had to go and see someone about this. And who better than Donita herself?

I gave her a call and we met at a small bar for a drink of aguardiente. While drinking, I shared with her what had just happened.

"Your mama is very kind," said Donita. "You should see MY papa and what he does."

"Indeed," I said. "What's he like as compared to Mama?"

"If you don't do it the right way, he wil beat you up and really get you," said Donita. "And he always does it with immediate effect. You're very fortunate to have a mama who can endure conflict for so long. Tell me what exactly did you do to make her upset?"

I told Donita everything.

"Perhaps you should yourself go to the police and see what exactly they want," she said. "I'll come with you."

We went to the local CID. The investigation officer told me that the news agency had called them up and wanted to demand that I either go and personally pick up the report from them or face the music. Faced with no other choice, we immediately went to get back the report from the news agency, and then set out onto the streets.

"So you can't go home?" Donita asked me.

I took her hand and sang to her:

Would you dance, if I asked you to dance?
Would you run, and never look back?
Would you cry, if you saw me crying?
Would you save my soul tonight?

Would you tremble, if I touched your lips?
Would you laugh? Oh please tell me this.
Now would you die, for the one you love?
Hold me in your arms tonight.

I can be your hero baby,
I can kiss away the pain.
I will stand by you forever,
You can take my breath away.

And as I finished the last lines, I grabbed Donita and held her tightly.

"I guess we'll have to sleep out here tonight," said Donita. "I'll call the caballos to come and keep us company."

"No, Donita, don't," I begged her.

"Why?" she asked, startled.

"Er... just don't, por favor," I said. "I want an intimate night with you alone."

"Si, mi amor," said Donita.

* * *

DERPY HOOVES: Rainbow Dash came to me. I told her about all that had happened between me and Alberto earlier on.

"This sounds serious," Rainbow Dash said to me. "He's clearly very overcome by all that he's been going through. What exactly did you say to him?"

"Well," I said, "I did tell him that what he was doing was going to get him killed if he did not back down and let bygones be bygones. He insisted on doing it his way, he was like, I must do this by hook or by crook, I don't care about the price I have to pay, that kind of sentiment if you know what I mean. So I just told him, Alberto, suit yourself, don't blame us if there be any repercussions. And now this is what happened to him. I don't know how we can help him. And for the love of me, I seriously don't know what sort of potential Her Royal Highness Princess Celestia sees in this Alberto. If I were her, I'd long since have given up on him and let him go to the devil. Him, and his emotions, and his preoccupation with suing that Perez guy!"

"Hmmm, Derpy, you seem to be consistently ending up like this yourself," Rainbow Dash said, looking solemn. "Maybe the way you said it was too direct. You obviously chose to approach him at the wrong time, when he was in the wrong frame of mind. So obviously he reacted that way. Think about it. If Her Royal Highness says that Alberto can be helped, I'm sure as hell that she has a point."

And with that, Rainbow Dash flew off. I slowly trudged back to my hut. I knew there had to be some way to help our poor human friend. As I sat down on the hay, I sang softly in the darkness:

There was a time when I was down and out,
There was a place when I was starting over.
I let the vow break, I let the heartache in.
Who's sorry now?

There was a place where I was standing still,
And for a while I was infatuated.
And then he found me, I let this stranger in.
Who's sorry now?

What, what kind of fool,
Tears it apart, leaving me pain and sorrow?
Who's let him know,
Wondering why, when will I see tomorrow?
I'll be remembering when
There was a time when I was down and out,
There was a place when I was starting over.
I let the vow break, I let the heartache in.
Who's sorry now?

Was there a moment when I cut him down?
Played around? I only apologise;
Too many hearts they say, has to know,
Has to show, when someone is in your eyes.
What kind of fool,
Tears it apart, leaving me pain and sorrow?
Who's let him know,
Wondering why, when will I see tomorrow?
What kind of fool, who's sorry now?

Just then I heard a knock on the door. "Come in!" I said.

It was Braeburn, my next-door neighbour. "Ah, Derpy, you're in," he said. "Pardon my frankness, but you look like you're in tears. What seems to be the trouble? A man named Alberto, is it?"

"Yeah," I replied. "He's perpetually making things tough for us whenever we want to help him. Twilie and Dashie already had quite a lot of headaches. Today I saw what exactly they meant. I only wish we could give up on him. But Her Royal Highness won't let us; she says we have to rescue him, don't know what it is that she sees in him."

"Did you guys have some meeting on it?" Braeburn asked.

"Well, we did," I said. "Pinkie mentioned me and Dashie going to rescue Alberto from Yungas Road. But from what I see, Alberto's a smart man. For one thing he wouldn't be so foolish as to risk his life on the world's most dangerous road."

"Pinkie Pie is a prophetess," said Braeburn, looking serious. "She may well be a little hyperactive and gung-ho, but she's still a prophetess, and hence she surely knows when and how to be serious. From what Big Mac and Applejack and I have seen in her, her predictions almost always come true."

"Have some cider," I said, taking a glass of apple cider and offering it to Braeburn.

"Sure thing," said Braeburn, guzzling down the cider. "And about this Alberto guy. He's certainly tough. But that doesn't necessarily mean he's impossible. If I were you, I'd be a little more subtle when dealing with him. You know, life's like a gamble, you never know how a mere acquaintance may react when you act one way.

You gotta know when to hold it,
Know when to fold it,
Know when to walk away,
Know when to run!
You don't ever count your money
when you're sitting at the table;
There'll be time enough for counting
when the dealing is done!

"Yes, that I know," I said, "but what about Pinkie Pie claiming that me and Dashie are the most appropriate ponies to take this case on?"

"OK, OK, you win," said Braeburn, a little annoyed. "I'll tell Pinkie Pie to be the one to take over the case. But if she says you have to come in, then you'll have to. Remember: Everypony is doing this together as a team. Not as individuals."

* * *

ALBERTO: The next morning when I woke up, I discovered that Donita was not there. I was alone, lying along the mountainous streets of La Paz, clad only in briefs and covered in a huge Aymara quilt.

I saw a mysterious piece of paper scotchtaped to this quilt. I noticed that there was handwriting on it, obviously it was a note. I took the note and read it:

BEWARE! You are about to be taken to Sucre to be shot! On the journey, pretend to be asleep. The driver, who is a friend, will drop you off at a nightclub in town where you will seek refuge with someone who will surely buy the story you are selling, as sure as you are reading this note.

A friend

"A friend"? What friend?? This was getting all the more mysterious. Was this just another of those spoofs at work again? No way, it couldn't be; the handwriting was unusually neat, not the way your typical fraud would write; also, unusually, it was written in -- get this right -- PINK-colored ink. Of all colors! As an indigenous Bolivian myself, I knew that there was no such thing as PINK-colored ink in all of Latin America, due to our former colonial masters' hatred of the pink color... so how the heck could this note have gotten past the customs authorities?? No way, there was certainly something desperately wrong here.

And what made things worse was that they had planned to take me to, of all places, Sucre, the center of Inca culture in this land. Too much! This was carrying the border way too far, I had to offess.

The driver arrived in a van soon after, as the note had predicted. "Senor Garcia?" he asked.

"Si," I replied.

"I'm from the CID in Sucre," said the driver, producing his credentials. "Come on board please. We need you to follow us to assist in our investigations."

I slowly climbed on board the container at the rear of the van. The doors of the container slammed shut behind me. I pretended to be asleep, giving the "friend" who wrote me this mysterious note the benefit of the doubt, knowing it was my only chance.

After what seemed like an eternity in this windowless darkness, the container doors opened, and I could see a huge nightclub entrance. And right before me, his hand on one of the container doors, was the driver. "You're safe now, Garcia," he said, smiling amiably.

"Just curious, but have you anything to do with this?" I asked him, producing the note with the pink handwriting.

The driver got worked up. "Put that note away quick! I'll talk!" he whispered in an urgent tone. I knew he was referring to the obvious pink color of the writing, so I hid the note in my wallet.
"I am in all sincerity a police officer," said the driver. "You are apparently wanted by the CID for a few counts: one, you illegally escaped the mandatory national service during a period of civil disorder; two, you were about to be sued by Don Francisco Juan Perez, one of the most influential businessmen in all Latin America, for slander. However, upon hearing your situation from ... er... somebody, and since I was also assigned to be your investigation officer, I decided I'd take you to safety and then tell my superior that this case is closed and that I've settled it with you. Please go in peace, amigo mio; and from now on, do not sin any longer, por favor."

"But who is the person who wrote me the note?" I countered. "Do you know him?"

"Er, it's a 'she'," said the driver. "She is inside this cabaret. She will take over from here. I have to go now. Adios, amigo mio."

And so saying he hopped into his van and drove off. I walked into the nightclub, wondering who exactly was this person that the driver had spoken of, the one that had written me that mysterious pink-colored note. I could see a band on stage playing loud, raucous music, pretty obviously, and people dancing to the music; and ... welp, I could have sworn I heard another neighing sound, or did I?

And voila, there she was, walking onto the stage; the most pink-colored caballo I'd ever seen, with a sketch of three balloons on either side of her butt. She was wearing a pink party hairband, and as she stood in front of the microphone, this is the song that she sang:

Well, she got her daddy's car, and she cruised through the hamburger stand now.

Seems she forgot all about the library,
 like she told her old man now.

And with the radio blasting,
 goes cruising just as fast as she can now.
And she'll have fun, fun, fun till her daddy takes the T-bird away.

Well the girls can't stand her,
 cos she walks, looks and drives like an ace now.

She makes the Indy 500 look, like a Roman chariot race now.

A lotta guys try to catch her,
 but she leads them on a wild goose chase now.
And she'll have fun, fun, fun till her daddy takes the T-bird away.

Well, she's making a turn,
 and it looks like she's coming around now.

And I'm a little concerned,
 cos the town is closing on down now.
Well, I jump in the bird
 for some good-time getting around now.
And we'll have fun, fun, fun till her daddy takes the T-bird away.

Well, you knew all along that
 your dad was gettin' wise to you now.

And since he took your set of keys
 you've been thinking that your fun is all through now.
But you can come along with me
 cos we gotta a lot of things to do now.
And you'll have fun, fun, fun now that daddy took the T-bird away.

For once I did not feel pissed off by these caballos. Rather, I was beginning to feel more creeped out than pissed off. I mean, put it this way: While certainly very figurative, the words of her song clearly pointed out my extravagant way of life, so clearly that I was literally fixated on her all the while. What made it worse was that the people in this club all seemed to be enjoying themselves; those on the dancefloor as much as those on the stage. These caballos are no ordinary caballos, I said to myself.

After that act, I requested permission to go backstage to meet the pink caballo. The security guards initially said no, but I saw the pink caballo herself telling the guards that she wanted to "see that man by the name of Alberto". So the guards let me into her dressing room.

"I'm Alberto," I said. "How can I help you?"

"My name is Pinkie Pie, and I heard about your case," said the pink caballo. "So I spoke to the boss of this club, and she says she'd like to see you in person tomorrow at this very same place. She told me meanwhile to give you 500 quetzals to find lodging for tonight in the nearest Hotel 81."

Wow. Generosity for the win. This Pinkie Pie was most certainly no ordinary caballo. For once I was starting to see the good in the heart of at least Pinkie, if not the other caballos I'd encountered up till this time. In fact, I could clearly see from recent events that she was the one who had written me that note.

"So... who is the boss and where is she now?" I asked her.

"She will see you tomorrow here," answered Pinkie. "She did not come down today."

I was about to ask if this boss was another caballo, but remembering what the "Princess" had told me back then, I simply murmured, "Muchas gracias."

Taking the 500 quetzals in hand, as well as my luggages, I went to the nearest Hotel 81 and paid for a one-night stand. The following day I came back to the nightclub and -- it was empty.

I knocked the nightclub door. No-one answered, so I pushed open the door of the nightclub, which had apparently been left ajar, to see if there was anyone there. There wasn't. Everything looked neat and orderly. I walked in and looked around, waiting for the boss.

Suddenly I heard a banging sound behind me. I turned around, expecting to see another caballo. Thank goodness it was not. It was this young lady, around my age, who had apparently just fully pushed open the door of the pub till it hit the door stopper and made a banging sound. I trembled upon seeing her, knowing that this was none other than the boss herself.

"Kindly remember that there are some places in this nightclub which are not to be disturbed," said the boss, in a tone that made me think of sour lemons. I said nothing in response but slowly followed her out, where she poured me and herself some aguardiente.

"So... who are you and how did you know about my case?" I asked her.

"My name is Rosalinda," said the boss, "but you can call me Rosa. I am the owner of this nightclub. I called on you, Senor Alberto, because I want to buy your story."

Was this for real?? I rubbed my ears. "Sorry, what was that again?" I asked her. "Did I hear you right?"

"I said, I want to buy your story," repeated Rosa. "I believe your story has a lot of potential. If no-one else wants to buy it, I will."

"Are you a reporter in your own right, or do you know any reporters who would buy this story?" I asked her, getting increasingly curious.

"I am a reporter in my own right," said Rosa. "I also run my own news firm. Just so you know, I used to work in similar industries as you did, and the way I was treated was just about the same if not worse. While I am not exactly a campesino like you are, I do feel for you campesinos who are constantly made to do the tough jobs for such low pay. It can be really daunting. And hence, I can make your story sound very convincing."

"Did you ever work for Francisco Juan Perez?" I asked.

Rosa hesitated a bit. "Er.... you could say that," she said. "But all along I'd been suspecting that he was doing something illicit behind the backs of his workers. Only upon hearing about your testimony, was my suspicion confirmed. So I knew I had to get back at him somehow."

Wow. This was truly a woman who could certainly identify with me in just about every way. I don't know if it was the drinks, but I was honestly beginning to start having feelings for her at this point.

I passed Rosa the original copy of my story, all handwritten on paper. "Here it is," I said. She took the manuscript, scrolled it up and kept it in her handbag.

"You can be sure that it'll be in the local news tomorrow," said Rosa, flashing me a warm winning smile. I smiled back politely.

* * *

PINKIE PIE: Braeburn had approached me and told me to settle the matter for him, claiming that Derpy was not emotionally ready to handle this yet. So, using the most fun possible method, I took over the Alberto case.

In my opinion at least, this case was dead simple. What Alberto was looking for all along was some approval. He was already adequately rejected as it was, and he certainly didn't have very much time left to go, considering that he was still on the run from the Bolivian People's Army and would surely be taken back in -- and given the mandatory detention for AWOL from army -- sooner than expected. And people were still rejecting him. If there was one thing he needed desperately to boost his morale, it was approval.

So I'd approached Rosalinda Perez, the daughter of Don Francisco and the owner of the Carmen nightclub in downtown Sucre. Rosa herself was already having much conflict with her horrible father as well as with all the equally horrible managers he set over all his lowly workers. And she too was a part-time reporter, running her own firm. If there was anyone who had enough credentials to convince the Bolivian news to accept this story, it would surely be Rosa Perez.

I knew the outcome of this story being in the papers, but I also knew that it was the one thing to be done in order to gratify Alberto's childish and occasionally unreasonable whims.

After I came back to Equestria via the portal, Twilight Sparkle asked me, "Did you succeed?"

I told her, "Yes, I did, for now at least. The ball is now in Alberto's court. Let's see how he takes it from here. He has to learn to stand on his own feet."

"You're right there, Pinkie," said Twilight. "But he does need a lot of guidance still, lest he makes the wrong moves again. He's made wrong moves once too often, as we all know. So I suggest we continue observing his every activity until the Princess feels that he's ready."

* * *

ROSA PEREZ: Papa and I never got along well together from day one. I could tell that he had a reputation as an old-fashioned boss, considering the types of managers he employed to take care of numerous faculties in his multinational company. His attitude towards his managers and their relations to their lowly staff -- "Have no pity! Act brutally!" -- had creeped me out from the very start.

Many of Papa's employees came from the township of Estrela del Mar in northern Argentina; the most prominent of these included 22-year-old Benedicto Lee-Guzman, Papa's Number Two and also the General Manager of the entire All Lee Enterprises chain; and the young 19-year-old Dario Coleda, the Finance Manager, who had dropped out of school at a young age.

Under his wings, Papa had also employed quite a few local Bolivians. One notes his head cook, 23-year-old Chef Jaime Lozada of Callao in northern Bolivia, who is also an expert at disguise. Papa had also employed such Bolivians as his purchasing manager, 20-year-old Ramon Prada, an Inca from the township of Chaco; his advertising manager, 19-year-old Natanaele Duarte, another school drop-out from the township of Capo dal Santo who had been working as a showboy in various nightclubs for five years now; and the sales manager, 23-year-old Daniele Spintos, who came from La Paz and also served as Papa's head thief, stealing antiques for Papa's personal gain.

Papa's managers were not limited to just those from Argentina or Bolivia. He'd also gotten such equally nasty managers as the "Long Tall Texan" Alvin Matthew Simoneau, 22 years old, another advertising manager; his fellow Colombian Jose de la Cruz, also 22, a breakdancer who originally hailed from the village of Dunedain but now a decurion in the Bolivian People's Army, also Papa's assistant advertising manager; Monsignor Rafael Ruiz, also 22, a Jesuit priest from Venezuela, Papa's head chaplain; the Ecuadorian Cuartas siblings Natalia (22), Artur (20), and Alegria (19), Papa's directors of security; 20-year-old Saudi national Ali Baba bin Mohammed Firda'us, a bomb-factory owner who had helped Papa rise to power via the means of supplying him oil from his country; the Calcuttan native Bangalee Muthusamy, 22, Papa's head steward and also part-time advertising manager; Aussie-Asian Jeremiah Lee-Harper, 31, Papa's new Project Manager who had replaced Alberto; and the 24-year-old Kazakstani Saldi Saldiyevitch Grushevsky, a devout Sunni Moslem and a textile merchant who'd helped Papa design the uniforms of all the workers in his firm.

None of these managers ever had good relations with me. In fact their attitude to their subordinates really pissed me off. Papa had never let me see his workplace at all ever since I was a little girl; his original reason had been because I would "surely not like" that kind of work, which he claimed was "men's work". I'd believed him for a long time until word started going around about it. With Alberto's confession to me, I knew my suspicions of my father had surely been confirmed. Hence, I agreed to undertake Alberto's project.

The mention of Alberto's name and case had first come to me from this pink-colored horse who approached me to ask if she could sing at the next big fiesta in my nightclub. I asked her, what could she give me if I let her do it. That was when she told me about Alberto's case, and I jumped at the chance to finally do justice where it was truly needed.

I submitted Alberto's report to the newspapers. Of course they were initially most unwilling to accept it, but when I told them who I was, they reluctantly took the report and published it. The next day, it was in the papers everywhere in the nation.

Papa gave me a call and asked me to meet him at the Una Republica Ristorante, an open-air high society restaurant located at the roof access of one of our highest skyscrapers, an office building in La Paz. When I met him, I could see he had ordered my favorite dish -- honey glazed smoked duck steak.

"Yes, Papa? You asked to see me?" I said as I sat down.

"Woman, do you have anything to tell me?" asked Papa, smiling and taking out a copy of the article that had been published. "How do you explain this?"

"Papa, I've been wanting to tell you this for the longest time," I said, rather annoyed. "I never did so because I trusted you, being your daughter. But now, I think the time has come for you to hear what I have to say."

"Say it then, por favor," said Papa, still smiling and puffing on his cigar.

"I have not seen it, but for many years now I've heard word going round about the way you treat your employees," I said. "And now, thanks to my new friend, I have found out that the rumours were true after all. I cannot believe you kept such a big matter from me!"

"That cunt was asking for trouble!" Papa suddenly burst out at me, slamming the table and causing our chalices of brandy to break. "And I thought I already told you a million times not to interfere in a man's affairs, you slut!"

"The evidence was from a reliable source," I said. "Alberto was your ex-employee. I cannot believe that you ill-treated him and demoted him, despite him doing nothing but serving you long and well!"

"Don't you DARE mention the name Alberto to me again!" screeched Papa, his voice hitting a really high note for someone his age. "You already know well that he was asking for it! And, woman, I advise you to stop pursuing this matter any further, unless you want more trouble to fall on your head!"

"Rest assured I will continue to look into the matter and dig out further evidence to expose the truth!" I said, controlling myself greatly. "I am not afraid of anything! If you are not happy, just have me up again!"

I rose to my feet. So did Papa. For 30 seconds nothing seemed to happen. Then Papa slapped me with full force across my face. It hurt, of course; but I did not cry.

"If you're not happy, have me up," Papa echoed my words.

I turned to go. "Next week, you will have something else to write," said Papa; "you'll be writing this: Celebrity slaps his daughter in public!"

It was then that I finally burst into tears and headed straight for the nearest Ladies' restroom...

* * *

ALBERTO: And so, within two days I had found myself a new job. Rosa had officially made me a full-time barista in her nightclub. As I had nowhere to stay since Mama threw me out of the house, Rosa also allowed me to sleep in one of the dorms of her nightclub, giving me my own mattress and wardrobe to put my belongings. I could see that, being the owner of such a prestigious nightclub, she was clearly pretty well-to-do for someone her age; she was only 32, one year younger than I.

But there were a couple of things very distinctive about her that I'd noticed from the day we first met. One of these was her accent; she was clearly not from these parts. Another thing was her face. I have no idea why but it looked so damn familiar. What was it about her that made her look so sweet and gentle, yet so sinister and unpredictable? Was it something that many call "chemistry"?

A few more uneventful days went by. After work one evening, Rosa came to me and said, "Alberto, there's a celebrity here in Sucre who's celebrating his 80th birthday this evening. Would you like to go along with me?"

"Sure," I agreed.

This celebrity that Rosa spoke about turned out to be none other than an Argentinian businessman named Ferrando lo Pescadoro, who also hailed from the township of Estrela del Mar, which was only a few miles south of the Bolivian-Argentinian border; he now lived in Sucre, and was of Italian descent. What struck me about Ferrando lo Pescadoro was his surname; it was so rare, yet so familiar.

I soon found out why. Donita happened to be there, and she saw me with Rosa. "Hi," she said. "How have you been?"

"Good, I guess," I replied. "This is my new boss, Rosa. Rosa, this is Donita, my companera."

"Enchanted," smiled Rosa.

"Pleased to meet you," said Donita, addressing Rosa.

I politely excused myself from Rosa's presence, and went over to talk privately with Donita.

"Just a question," I asked Donita. "How come you didn't tell me your Papa was a celebrity?"

"As I mentioned, Papa is very strict," said Donita, "and normally he doesn't allow me to tell others who he is until and unless he knows them well. Even many of my former schoolmates still don't know who my Papa really is."

"Oh, I see," I smiled. "And I see you have a brother too."

"Yep," said Donita, who brought over her big half-brother. "This is Napoleone," she said. "And Napoleone, this is Alberto."

We shook hands. But when I saw Napoleone's face, I did not see the good characteristics that I'd otherwise have seen in Donita. In Napoleone's face I beheld lots of suspicion and furtiveness that could not be explained any better.

Donita pulled me aside. "Napoleone is 10 years older than I am; he's my half-brother from a different mother," she said. "Papa had two wives. The first, Napoleone's mama, died in a mysterious car accident of which the assassin still remains at large; the second, my mama, died of breast cancer 6 years ago."

I was so shaken by Donita's tragic story that I held her hand tightly.

Other than Donita, I also noticed a few other familiar faces. I could see that Francisco Juan Perez himself was among the guests, as was his wife Angela Guzman. Best part was, many of his henchmen were among his entourage, most of whom I certainly recognised all right. I knew the guy with the long chin was the Argentinian national Benedicto "Benz" Lee-Guzman, Francisco's adopted son and also the General Manager of All Lee; Justino Diaz, Benz Guzman's best friend and also the third-in-power in All Lee; Jaime Lozada, Francisco's head chef; Alvin Matthew Simoneau, that long tall Texan who did nothing but smoke opium and play "Jubeat" on his iPad all day; Jeremiah Adolpher Lee-Harper, that cunt who had taken over the very position that Francisco was going to give to me; and Huascar Leon, who had previously been eyeing Donita and ended up getting me involved in a manslaughter case in Las Palmas merely a couple of months before.

The time soon came for Ferrando lo Pescadoro himself to make a speech. "Muchas gracias todo el mundo," he said. "I'm so thankful that all of you have come here. I turned 80 yesterday and I am still in fine fettle even though I do have a walking stick. Much of the success I behold today is attributed to all who have contributed to Brony Pony Enterprises throughout the past 50 years since it had been set up. Gracias to you for your valuable contributions."

Applause from all sides. I just stood where I was, holding Donita's hand and gaping.

"My son Napoleone and my daughter Donita have been the most valuable pillars in the success of Brony Pony Enterprises," went on Ferrando. "Ever since my second wife passed away of breast cancer years before, it was Napoleone and Donita who have given our company the prestige it has today. Kudos to them too. And one of the biggest contributors is here today; I refer to Senor Benedicto Lee-Guzman, Senor Justino Diaz, and Don Francisco Juan Perez, the two top men representing All Lee Construction Enterprises -- and I see that they've brought their entire entourage with them." More applause and wolf whistles.

"May I have the honour, senores," said Ferrando, "to invite Don Francisco up here to say a few words. Don Francisco."

Applause again. Perez walked up onto the stage.

"Brony Pony Construction Enterprises was initially a rival company of ours," he said. "But after I married Angela, things began to change. I made things up with Ferrando, and supplied him with great financial aid. At the time, Brony Pony Enterprises was facing a major loss following great retrenchment. But I willingly supplied a few of my staff as well as lots and lots of financial aid. Today, after nearly 2 decades, I can see that Ferrando did not use that aid in vain. He has since become a very successful businessman. On behalf of All Lee Enterprises, we want to wish you a most blessed 80th, Don Ferrando. May the Lord grant to you and your loved ones his divine peace that surpasses all understanding all the years of your life."

Applause again. By this time, I could see that some of Perez's people -- notably Justino Diaz, Benz Guzman, Bangalee Muthusamy, and Huascar Leon -- were looking in my direction and seemed to be potting something. I trembled...