The nondescript charter flight to Buenos Aires airport is uneventful. I did this time keep my shoes and sport coat on. It isn’t difficult to locate Clyde, Winsel’s information is dead-on. I shadowed Clyde on one of his wet-work jobs. In this industry, the ‘wet’ of wet-work refers usually to blood spillage, often, all of it. At first I cannot believe the depth of the operation he is involved in. I could see Clyde was in great danger of quickly getting in over his head. I watch as Clyde executes the job with the deft precision only a seasoned professional can. His movements are swift and precise. In amazement, I observe as he meticulously removes the last traces of evidence; the entire job a work of art.
I wait for Clyde next to his ride, lest I startle him. “Majes, hi, what brings you to this lovely slice of paradise?”, calls Clyde, walking across the well manicured lawn. Pointing first at him, then to his truck, “Pool Cleaning?”, I ask incredulously. “Well, after the Hostel Habanera job in Mexico City, I couldn’t find work. By the way, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get off the Falklands without a passport? Anyway, I got to Argentina, and the town of Paraná, I hooked up with a gorgeous young lady, Nelly was her name”. Continuing, “Oh, sweet Nelly, luscious curves, the deepest brunette hair I’ve ever seen, feathered in a very 1980’s way. Nelly taught English at one of the software companies in Paraná. She stripped on the side and sang in a band in her free time. Ah, that sweet smoky voice”, Clyde laments, trailing off. Snapping back to reality, Clyde concludes, “When my money ran out, so did she, to Connecticut America I think. Man, I thought she was the one. Sheilas!”, concludes my friend with a heavy sigh.
I study Clyde, he looks good. A healthy glow to his bronzed skin, Upper body in better shape than either of us have been in years. I think this life is good for him. I seriously doubt he will respond favourably to Jae’s proposal. As he is loading the last of the hoses into the back of the Pool Cleaning truck, I begin my pitch. “Let’s go”, Clyde says, cutting me off. He drops the hose he’s clutching, climbs into my rental, leaving the truck, the hose on the street; and that chapter of his life behind.