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Beatnik detective Sunny Pascal is an expert at two things: cocktails and finding trouble. And when the filming of John Huston’s The Night of the Iguana hits a few snags with its sexed-up, star- studded cast in a Puerto Vallarta paradise, producer Ray Stark brings Sunny in to chill out the set. But matters get tipsy when someone’s found deader than dead, shot down by a gun belonging to one of the cast members.
Now Sunny’s got to keep his Hollywood stars out of jail long enough for him to solve the case. But the trouble doesn’t stop with murder. The Mexican mafia and local newspapers wage a tension war against the hedonistic Americans, and if John Huston has anything to say about it, Sunny’s got to be the one to keep the show on the road. Only Sunny will be doing it his way: with a martini in one hand and a Colt in the other.
Prolific Mexican comic book writer and Turn of the Screw Award–winner F.G. Haghenbeck gives us the spins with Bitter Drink, a tense tale of crime, passion, and cocktails.
his dispute with you some other way.” Not the most reassuring words. Huston returned to his actors, and I was alone for a while. I could see in the jungle, beyond the thatched roof where my princess charming had awakened me, a group of Indians watching me with the same expression they’d no doubt had when they used to watch the Spaniards. You could see the question in their eyes: “What the fuck are you doing here?” They had been relegated to manual labor on the set, these former owners,
pilots of World War II, since anyone who tries it gets bombed. To enhance the effect, down it in a single blow. __________________ After a shower at the hotel, I dressed, and loaded my gun. I was ready for my date. It was late at night when I went in search of transportation to Mismaloya. There wasn’t much action at the dock. No boats were running to my destination at this time of night. I asked around, trying to find someone, among the few drunken sailors I encountered, who’d rent me a boat
make it a big one, ’bout seven pounds.” He turned back to me as if we were old friends. “Anything else?” he asked, adding, “I think we’ll have enough on our plate with the fish; it’s to die for. If you want, we can order some empanadas as an appetizer.” “I’m good,” I said, as casually as I could muster. “Bring us an order of crab empanadas while we’re waiting for the fish. And since you’re on your way to the kitchen, another round for me and Mr. Pascal, here. We’re dehydrating in this heat.”
OUNCES LIGHT RUM COLA (USUALLY COKE) 2–3 DROPS LIME JUICE 1 LIME SLICE Serve one to two parts rum in a highball glass with plenty of ice. Fill the rest of the glass with cola. Add the drops of lime juice and stir. You can garnish with a slice of lime. One of Compay Segundo’s songs wouldn’t hurt, either. This drink was born during the Cuban War of Independence in 1895, when the American soldiers who fought against the Spanish army created it to toast their triumph, crying out “CUBA LIBRE!
interest, the others, their assistants, were recyclable. Liz Taylor wore a cotton robe that stuck to her perspiring body, and Richard Burton had completely unbuttoned his shirt against the oppressive heat. Behind them a retinue followed like a royal procession. They were accompanied by, among others, their agents Hugh French and Michael Wilding, Taylor’s first husband, now reduced to picking up after the horses in the parade. A man just a hair smaller than a concession stand stopped at the foot