Mezcla

An Urban Legend

I thought it was unusual when the builders didn't turn up one morning. They were usually yelling at each other by 7 am. It was strangely quiet. No cement mixers grinding away or dump trucks rattling around.

'It must be another fiesta,' The Boss suggested. 'They haven't had one for at least a week.'

At 10 am Paco knocked on the front door. Yes, by then we actually had a front door.

'Matt!' he said, looking frazzled. 'The company is bankrupt. You must come with me to the notary tomorrow afternoon to sign the deeds or the creditors will take your villa.'

'You are joking, right?'

'No, it's no joke. The company has big debts. They will close the business at the end of the week.'

I looked at The Boss. She seemed remarkably calm.

'We better do it,' she said. 'I don't want to lose the house after all the work we've done.'

'And you would lose your deposit,' Paco added.

That settled it.

'Have you made the appointment with the notary?' I asked him.

'Yes, come to the office at five and I'll take you.'

'Ok, I'll tell our lawyer to be here tomorrow at five.'

'Lawyer? All you have to do is pay the rest of the money and sign. You don't need a lawyer.'

'Oh yes, we do!'

The reason we insisted on a lawyer was quite simple. We had become very friendly with John and Liz, a retired English couple who lived nearby. Over drinks one evening, John had told us an urban legend which was reputed to be true ... but I'll let Mickey the Snitch tell it in his own words: 

'After the Lambeth job went all wrong, me and Jerry had to skip the country sharpish, before the boys in blue had a chance to eyeball the tape from the security cameras.

We poled up on the Costa del Crime with a few hundred quid between us and zero prospects, hoping to call in some favors from old acquaintances. It didn't take us long to realize that handouts were going to be hard to come by, and we were going to need a blag to tide us over.

The problem was, we had to keep a low profile or Interpol would be on our backs, so we needed something subtle, and subtle wasn't exactly mine or Jerry's stock in trade. We were on our uppers and thinking about doing over the local tobacconist when we happened to overhear a very interesting conversation.

We were sitting at a cafe, checking out the tobacconist, when this group of people at the next table caught our attention. They were two old couples, well into their seventies, and one of the old girls was cuddling a hairy lapdog like it was a baby.

'I tell you Barney,' one of the geezers was saying. 'This little fella has changed our lives. I never thought much of dogs before, but Mavis and I just fell for him as soon as we saw him. He's cost us a fortune in vet's bills and whatnot but he's worth every penny. We'd give up anything for him, wouldn't we Mave?'

Mave was obviously in full agreement and they went blabbing on and on about how precious their little Muffin was to them.

'Yeah, but you wouldn't really give up everything for him though would you?' Barney argued. 'I mean you wouldn't give up your house for instance?'

'The villa, for Muffin?' The geezer replied instantly. 'No contest, the villa's only bricks and mortar, we could never replace Muffin!'

I looked at Jerry and Jerry looked at me and when they left, we followed.

Within a few days, we'd established their routine and had made our plan to snatch Muffin. We discovered that the back garden of their villa backed onto wasteland and was surrounded by a balustrade with gaps just about wide enough for Muffin to fit through. All we had to do was tempt the four-legged hearth rug close enough to grab, which we did with a chicken leg just as it was getting dark one evening. While Jerry dognapped the pooch, I taped a ransom note to the balustrade and we scarpered.

The geezer and Mave turned out to be as good as gold. They followed our instructions to the letter and didn't call in the law. They said all they wanted was their precious Muffin back safe and sound and that they didn't give a damn about their villa. They must have been very well-heeled. Everything had to be nice and legal of course and they even lined up a notary they knew to do the paperwork, so we set up the exchange at his office.

The day arrived and everything went according to plan. Jerry and me had flipped my double-headed coin and, naturally, I won. So the villa was put in my name with him thinking he'd get his share when I sold it. Mave and the geezer were as cool as cucumbers. No raised voices, no recriminations, nothing. They took Muffin, shook hands with us, and said it had been a pleasure doing business. I can tell you, I was touched. It was the first time I'd been thanked by a victim of crime.

Me and Jerry moved into my villa and spent the next couple of months getting cozy. With no rent or hotel bills to pay things were looking up and we were still congratulating ourselves when the demands started rolling in. All from banks, and all demanding money. Lots of it.

We took them all to a mate who could read Spanish and knew the score, and he explained it all to us. As far as he could tell there were seven mortgages taken out on this villa in the three days before we went to the notary and now I'm lumbered with the lot. That dodgy notary never explained that I'd be liable for all the existing debts on the blasted villa. They add up to about five times what the place is worth and unless I come up with some repayments soon I'll be declared bankrupt and taken through the courts. And then the long arm of the law will know where I am.

Jerry did a bunk and left me to sort out the mess and I can't figure any way out of it. Like an idiot, I used my real name and address and I even gave the notary copies of my passport. I've been taken to the cleaners by a gang of geriatrics, and all I can think to do is get myself a mutt from the dog's home and start blabbing about it in front of every mug in town'.

***

In fact, it did turn out that there were two outstanding mortgages on our villa, but our lawyer made sure they were paid off, so his exorbitant fee was well worth it.

Now that we legally owned the Villa MacBride, and our builders had all disappeared to pastures new, we could finally get the place properly cleaned up and think about doing the few remaining jobs ourselves. And that meant we discovered the joys of living with one of The Boss's long-held aspirations ... marble floors ...