After Remendo polished off the first bottle of wine and the day had turned to night, the bartender asked him the one question everyone asks a stranger in a bar. "What brings a man as wealthy as you into a small town like this?"

"Pit stop on my way to Gibraltar. From there, it's to Africa."

"And what's in Africa?"

Remendo paused to keep the barkeep on edge. "Wide open spaces and large dangerous animals."

"The adventurous type, eh?" The bartender gave a laugh after this. "I don't see a gun with you. How you gonna hunt them?"

"I'm not." Remendo switched back to the aguardiente and pounded a shot. "If I get into an altercation, I'll use my hands and hope for the best."

"A survivalist then?"

"A death wish." Remendo then finally pushed the shot glass away from him and drank the strong alcohol straight from the bottle and made sure he felt the sweet burn.

"Listen," the bartender said after a long pause. "I don't usually give out advice, but why would you want to die in such a terrible fashion?"

Remendo held his arm out and looked into the clear bottle filled with clear liquid. "Because nothing else has worked."

Before the bartender could respond to such a gruesome man, a second stranger entered with the widest smile one could imagine. This was a very svelte man who had a very expensive taste in clothing. He wore a vibrant purple naval uniform adorned with many medals that must have been won in some sort of war. No country of origin could be deduced, but none the less it looked very important. He then yelled something that only Remendo could understand: "Give me a bottle of vodka!" It sounded vaguely Russian, but that only mattered to him. The man said it again a bit louder if it was possible.

"This is Spain, if you haven't realized it yet," Remendo replied in the new man's native tongue. "No one can understand you."

"You can," the new man responded. "That's got to count for something."

"Not in the land of giant windmills."

"Well here, tell him I want a shot of vodka." The man used various hand gestures to try and convey his thirst.

"Tried earlier. Barkeep can't stand the stuff so he doesn't keep it around."

The man looked confused. "He said that?"

"No," Remendo responded. "But I figured when he said, 'We don't serve Baltic ass-drippings around here' that that is what he meant."

"Ah." The man's smile started to fade, but not even to its half point. "Well what's the strongest thing they've got in this hole?"

Remendo sighed. "I'll ask, but he'll probably want your name."

The man stood up and bowed as he said, "Kontr-Admiral Bohdan Pushkar. And yourself?"

"Remendo."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"Well then, Remendo, help me get my whistle wet."

Remendo turned to the bartender and said, "Mr. Pushkar here would like to know what your strongest drink is." The barkeep pointed to the bottle Remendo himself almost drained. "Then what's the second strongest?"

"Does the man have money?"

Remendo turned back to Pushkar. "Do you have some form of money?"

"But of course, my large friend!" Bohdan proceeded to extract a large pouch of Pieces of Eight. "I would not travel without carrying some sort of bounty."

"I think I've got just the thing." The barkeep pulled out a glistening green bottle without a label.

Remendo had a confused look on his face. "What is this?"

"Some strong shit." The barkeep smiled.

Remendo turned around to the thin officer. "It's all yours."

"And what do I owe the man?"

Remendo and the bartender turned to each other and back to Bohdan. "Seventeen Spanish dollars."

"For a single shot?!" There was no smile on Pushkar's face.

"No," Remendo replied. "For the bottle."

"Ah! Then I except your offer," Bohdan said and slammed down the seventeen eight-real coin.

The bartender took the money and handed him the glass the large man had drank out of earlier.

Bohdan Pushkar then turned to the other guests to this establishment. There were only four other patrons: a whore and a potential client, an aging farmer whose wife was the loudest person in creation, and last, but most noticeable, an old maid that missed her boat. She looked only twenty nine, but it was enough. All the men in the town were either already married or too young to make a proper husband. She had one of the German beers the barkeep had mentioned earlier and it looked like it wasn't her first. Perfect. He walked over to the table with the damsel and sat down.

"She doesn't speak Russian," Remendo reminded him without moving from the bar.

"It's Ukrainian, you lummox!" the offended Kontr-Admiral told him. He then turned back to the lady with his smile plastered back on and spoke in perfect Spanish, "Sorry about the interruption, Madame. I am Kontr-Admiral Bohdan Pushkar and am interested in your company."

"Hang on." Remendo stood up and turned to his deceiver. "You speak Spanish and you had me be your middle man? Why?"

"Because," said Pushkar as he reverted back to his native tongue. "I needed to know if the people here were trustworthy, and you passed." Remendo sighed and turned back to his bottle of aguardiente. "I am a little put off by your refusal to share that grand liquor, but I understand. You've been sucking it down and I'd probably do the same if I were in that seat."

"Tricky bastard," Remendo whispered.

"So." Pushkar spoke to the lady again. "May I ask your name?"

"If you want the prostitute, she's preoccupied at the moment, but I'm sure she'll be with you soon," the woman said. "Miguel has no money after he bought the pig, and as soon as she finds that out-" At that moment Rosa the whore slapped Miguel the farm boy and left the bar. The woman turned back to Pushkar. "She's all yours," she said and took another swig of beer.

"I am not interested in the company of a whore," Bohdan responded. "I am, however, interested in the company of a beautiful woman such as yourself."

"And why would you want that?"

"Because I have heard of the passionate nature of Spanish women and wish to merely sample such a dish."

"So you do want a whore." She looked back at her beer. "Or a meal. You use your romantic metaphors too liberally." She took a swig.

"May I at least gain the knowledge of your name?"

After a hesitant pause she stated, "Armida."

"Does that come with a last name?"

"You're going to have to push harder than that for it."

"Then that shall be my goal for the night." Bohdan pushed his chest out and sat down with a great sense of pride.

Armida smiled for the first time in a month. Remendo took another shot of his "World Famous Father Rodriguez's Devil Spit" and shook his head in disbelief.