Nuevo Laredo was dusty and dirty. More so with the approaching thunderstorm. The wind that ushered in the dark clouds threw grit in my eyes as I walked to get some food at about ten in the evening. I put on my sunglasses as I forced my way up the streets towards the bus station. An array of unexciting eateries were waiting by the bus station, their standards based on one-off long distance customers rather than repeat business. I ate a surprisingly pleasant meal in the cleanest looking outfit, and then walked outside into the height of a thunderstorm. A bar looked at me with welcoming eyes, and offered refuge from the deluge.
Bar Palace was less welcoming on the inside than the outside, but only by virtue of its roof. It was the size of a large classroom, and the light was provided by a small bulb above a shelf of bottles behind the bar, a light illuminating the tightly fitting pool table, and the twinkle of bulbs in the juke box. The juke box filled the bar box with Mexican music. The winning atmosphere half filled the bar box with Mexicans. The walls were patchy. The bar itself looked like it had been locked in a cell with a starving goat. The barmaid may have been nailed to it at the time. Form hadn’t followed function in this bar – form was still hiding around the last street corner, not wanting to be associated at all with function. There were boxes of beer stacked by the juke box. Perhaps the goats had eaten the store-room. There were mops, brushes, and buckets strewn about. It was a dive.
I ordered a drink, and after several minutes of miscommunication got something approaching a rum and cola. I sat at the bar, watching the clock. I watched as the barmaid marked the level of rum in the bottle, maybe to make sure non evaporated between drinks. The place grew on me. Or it could have been mould from the ceiling. I ordered a Presidente and cola. The drinks were two and a half times as expensive as the bar I’d found the previous night, and the range of options was very limited. The storm had stopped. These were all the excuses I needed to head out. Back to the Brothel Citadel.
What happened in the shady Boys’ Town? Would it involve donkeys and margarine? Who is the mysterious Leo character? All this in the next episode of…