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Drew Launay continues his reflections on life in Spain!

Every year at the beginning of February I get asked what costume I am going to wear for the carnival. Every year I shudder at the thought of having to dress up, make all sorts of excuses why I can’t roam the streets in some silly outfit, then eventually end up in my every day clothes and a stupid mask surrounded by Goths, Draculas, Fairies, and countless Bandaged Invisible Men. This year, however, I am ahead of the game, having met a fascinating young lady who is a master of disguise and is taking me in hand. Her name is Brenda, she is attractive, but tough. Blue eyed, cropped blonde hair, tall, slim, she could have been a fashion model, she could have been a television presenter, or a corporation executive with her wit and intelligence, but she is, in fact, a private detective.

She trained early as a police constable in London, started climbing the Scotland Yard ladder, but soon realized that the internal politics were going to slow things down due to an anti feminist lobby, so she looked around for a career change, realized when she was on holiday down here that there was an opening for an investigative agency, rented a flat in Nerja and set up shop.

She started with domestic trauma cases, separations, divorces, spying on restless wives and erring husbands. It was boring work and didn’t help her gain respect for human behaviour until one dull day the phone rang. She picked up the receiver. A certain Alfonso Barranco Diaz who lived on the Malaga heights and who wanted to see her straight away.

His house was bigger than she expected. Electronic gates swung open as soon as she was vetted by a security camera, a short driveway led to a towered mansion with gardens sloping down to a tennis court, swimming pool, mini golf course. There was money there.
Señor Barranco Diaz let her in himself and took her to an all chintz drawing room. He was fifty, she guessed, stocky, tense, balding, with hooded pale grey eyes that suggested a sadistic streak. He reminded her of a malevolent reptile.
‘You helped my cousin get rid of his mistress two years ago by photographing her in bed with his brother,’ he said pouring her out a drink.
‘He recommended you highly. But this is different. This is not about anyone doing anything they shouldn’t. This is about people doing noithing they should.’

She smiled politely and waited for more.
‘I am an arms manufacturer,' Barranco said. ‘I manufacture and sell weapons to anyone who wants to buy them, but two of my best clients have stopped buying, cancelled orders worth millions, both within two weeks of each other. No explanations from anyone, and I want to know why.'
Brenda took down the relevant details and Barranco advanced Brenda the expenses she asked for, in cash, a big bundle of notes from a safe behind a portrait of his wife and small son, and she promised she would keep him posted with regular progress reports.

Before setting out on a case Brenda always made it a policy to check on her clients, just to make sure that they were on the right side of the law. So she first drove to look at the Barranco Diaz factory, situated in the middle of the Poligano Industrial Estate near Malaga airport.
It proved to be a normal looking place, nothing that would arouse suspicion, several warehouse looming behind closed gates and the name painted large on the front wall - BICICLETAS BARRANCO S.A., the cover.
The next day she drove to Marbella to see Client No 1, Señor Santiago Navarro Ortega who bought small weapons from Barranco and sold them all over the Far East.
He was not at home, so she booked into a small hotel, then parked her car opposite his beautiful mansion and sat there for two days before he showed up.
He arrived in a chauffeur driven limousine with his pretty oriental wife, his little daughter and a mountain of luggage. Tall, bronzed and immaculately dressed at all times, he was ceaselessly active from then on, going to his yacht in Puerto Banus, out every night to restaurants and discos and every day visiting art galleries all along the coast.

He was often accompanied by his wife, but not always, and Brenda followed him everywhere sometimes disguised as a man, other times wearing a tatty old wig and sweeping the streets outside people’s doors, other times in a bikini and hardly dressed at all.
In an exclusive art gallery she overheard him tell the owner that he had a Francis Bacon painting which he wanted to exchange for a Raoul Dufy or two. Her was tired of violence and the Bacon was violent. He wanted bright colours and a feeling of nature and peace around him.
Brenda rang him from her hotel and lied. She told him she had been given his name by the gallery, that she came from London and was interested in buying the Bacon. He invited her round immediately.

The villa was palatial. Marbled entrance hall with majestically sweeping staircase, massive chandeliers from high decorated ceilings, tapestries, old masters, antiques.
The Bacon canvas , in the modern study, was indeed violent, a crazed bishop screaming his head off. But she rather liked it.
‘I’ve had this sudden change of heart,' Santiago Navarro Ortega admitted. ‘Maybe it’s the male menopause, but I’ve made my money and now I want to enjoy it.’
His four year old daughter came in, dragging a huge teddy bear behind her. He picked her up and hugged her. ‘One day I realized I had a daughter but I hardly ever saw her, you know? I’d never even bought her a toy, always had a secretary to do it for me, then I discovered the joy of giving. Come and see what I mean.'

Brenda followed him upstairs to a nursery, the biggest room in the house. It was crowded with every conceivable toy and countless teddy bears of all shapes and sizes. To her surprise Santiago Navarro Ortega picked up a white one and hugged it. ‘ This is Paula...Paula Bear....and this very old one is Fred...Fred Bear. You get it? The joke? The Engleesh play on words? I mean...it’s better than selling guns, no?'
' Is that what you do?' Brenda asked, managing surprise.
‘That’s what I did !’
She said she’d let him know about the Bacon, explained that it wasn’t for her but for a collector in New York, and left.
Back at the hotel she felt depressed. On the face of it the man seemed genuinely gentle and wanting a peaceful life. He was pulling out of arms dealing because he had had enough, but such a simple explanation would hardly satisfy Barranco.

So she booked herself on the next available flights to Bolivia to visit Client No 2 - Señor Batista Lopez.
Sitting in the passenger lounge at Atlanta airport waiting to board the connecting plane to La Paz, she realized she was worrying far too much about this assignment. The idea of having gone freelance was to enjoy life, travel abroad as she was doing, all expenses paid, not become more stressed, more anxious. So she relaxed and looked forward to visiting a new country.
The small town of Fagasta, up in the mountains and right on the Tropic of Capricorn, was exactly what she had feared. Hot, humid, poor and plagued with mosquitos, a one-eyed town where she didn’t belong.
She took the precaution of bringing a dark wig so as not to stick out like a solitary sunflower among black tulips, and she had also rehearsed a new identity.
The ‘travel writer’ cover she had once used in Italy hadn’t helped because journalists had the reputation of not minding their own business, so this time she decided to go for the ‘cosmetics saleslady act, armed with a suitcase full of samples. The local women, she guessed, would welcome her, and love the lipsticks, the eye shadows and the face creams she would offer, while the men would hopefully fall for her femininity. The only hotel was mean, the owner sweaty, his wife fat, but she started on her, helping to paint her face and make her look more attractive.
She worked for a week in the little town, not selling but taking orders, explaining that a truck load of her goods would come down from Los Angeles when she had enough orders. She then visited the big house on the hill, the object of the mission.
It was a rambling hacienda surrounded by high ochre walls. She was frisked by several surly armed guards at the gate before being allowed in, but then was welcomed warmly by the lady of the house who had heard about her from all her excited servants.
Rumours, she had made sure, had spread about her connection with Hollywood. She was not only a beautician, but a studio make-up artist who had worked on Penelope Cruz, Madonna and Johnny Depp.

As she was going through her well rehearsed sales patter, for the benefit of La Señora, her three sisters, four cousins, five aunts, the husband came in, unable to resists having a peek at the visiting female.
He was everything a South American arms dealer should be. Thin black moustache, thin black eyebrows, supercilious smile, smarmed back hair, white suit, white shoes, cigarette in cigarette holder and three henchman behind him at most times. How would she be able to talk to him, question him? Would she have to stoop to conquer?
She asked La Señora about past revolutions, about future politics, but the woman knew nothing of such things. This was a macho world where the females were deliberately kept ignorant.

So she had no option but to fall back on her charm. It would have to be sex. Barranco was paying her for results by whatever means. She would have to take the risk.
On her way out, making sure he was close by, she complained about the heat and took off her black wig and beamed at him, all pretty blonde and vulnerable. It worked like a charm. He was unable to resist her, and invited her immediately to dinner, not at the family hacienda, but down the mountain where he had another residence.
A car was send to collect her at the hotel and she was driven to a little palace on a lake.
There were twenty two rooms or so, and as many bathrooms, a ballroom and an Olympic sized swimming pool. A party was in progress when she got there, all very rich and very beautiful people, and Se¢or Lopez offered her champagne and led her to a table for two under a moonlit palm tree. It was all terribly predictable.
They danced, he held her tightly, they had dinner by candlelight, and he asked her if she would like to see his ‘collection’.
They had talked of hobbies over the mango sorbet, he had told her he was a compulsive collector, and she had guessed that it would be either antique pistols or ancient armour, swords and daggers and spears rather than stamps.
He dismissed his bodyguards, walked her down a long corridor, stopped in front of a set of double doors, and threw them open with a flourish.

The room beyond was a total surprise.
‘I had this place built specially. It’s a collection I only started a year ago, originally to amuse my children.'
She had never sene so many in her life.
’I have managed to acquire the whole range from the time they were first produced in 1902. This is a genuine Steiff.’
It was a rather thin and sad looking creature, with light donkey brown fur and black boot buttons for eyes.
'Richard Steiff made the first rod jointed teddy bear when his wife founded a manufacturing company in Germany. And this is a miniature Piccolo bear, made in Nuremberg in 1923,' he explained, showing her a tiny teddy. 'And this a Chad Valley, from England.'

He had them all, it seemed. Cuddigund Cuddler bears, Shaggy Dark Brown Mohair bears, Golden Artificial Silk bears, Clown bears, Bobby Bruins, jumping bears, talking bears, plastic nosed and cotton plush bears.
' How many have you got ?' Brenda asked, astounded.
'Over a thousand,' Señor Lopez answered proudly, and he picked up a Big Softie, stroked it , hugged it and even gave it a kiss.
‘This one was sent me by a competitor in Marbella, Spain.’ he explained.
An arms dealer collecting teddy bears. It was amazing. And what surprised her most was that after switching off the lights and saying goodnight to them all as though they were children, and closing the door, he did not guide her to the expected bedroom, nor to a couch, but back to their table where, over coffee and liqueurs, he started telling her what a loyal husband he had been, how much he loved his wife, how he had come to dislike his way of life, and that he was now giving up dealing in lethal weapons and considering growing roses. Back in her flat in Nerja..Brenda blankly looked out of the window. She had discovered nothing. Santiago navarro Ortega in Marbella and Batista Lopez had both simply talked of the desire to give up their connections with arms dealing. At no time had there been a hint of them buying arms elsewhere, both had claimed that they wanted to change their lifestyles, and the only other thing they had in common was a liking for teddy bears. How could she ring up Barranco and tell him that?

She would have to give up on this assignment, admit defeat, wave her fee and just be thankful she had had a trip abroad.
She looked through her mail,. The usual bills had come in and a letter from her sister reminding her of her niece’s birthday. Well at least she knew what to buy her.

She went shopping in Calle Pintada and stared in disbelief at the number of teddies on display. She chose a middle sized one, had to admit that he was rather sweet and cuddly, and had it packed quickly in a gift box as she felt the temptation to hug him and, in her mind found she could not resist giving him a name - Don Osito
That night she went to bed and found herself stupidly thinking about
Don Osito all alone in his box in the other room. She had never had a pet in her life, neither cat nor dog, nor guinea pig, and now she was worrying about a teddy bear sleeping alone in a box ! She turned over and over unable to sleep, so finally went to get him, tore at the gift wrap, opened the box and had to smile at him.

‘Ola Don Osito' she said picking him up. 'You are a lovely little chap. I must say.' And she kissed him on the end of his little nose.
She could hardly believe what she was doing. She took him with her to bed. She placed him next to her, his head on her pillow, and tucked him up nicely. An ideal night companion, she thought, no need to make him a cup of tea in the morning, nor worry about....well worry about things one worried about in a normal relationship.
She switched off the light and snuggled up to Don Osito and smiled in the dark at the sheer comfort and security of it all. Was it possible that teddy bears were a calming influence in the world? She sat bolt upright at the idea.
The teddy bear population had to be immense. Everyone she knew had at least one. Certainly every English household had them, the French as well, the Germans, probably the Russians. All American children had them, and if there were teddy bears in Bolivia there had to be some in every South American country. Was it possible that the simple presence of one innocent teddy could radiate peace and love?

The next day, doubting her own sanity Brenda, not only took Don Osito with her in the car, sat him down next to her and clunk clicked his seat belt so that he wouldn’t fall forward, but she went to buy another teddy beat in a rather neat sailor’s suit and drove to Barranco’s mansion.
A little nervous, which was unlike her, she told Barranco all she had done, admitted failure, promised to pay back some of her expenses when she could, then gave him the teddy bear. 'A present for your son'.

'I’ve never allowed my boy to have such things,' he protested. 'I don’t want him growing up a sissy.'
She shrugged and suggested he give it to someone else.
She left the house and returned to her flat with Don Osito and, for the first time, realized how stark and uncomfortable her home was. It would be nice to have a comfortable sofa, and more cushions, curtains instead of blinds and paintings instead of maps and charts, and she spent the following two weeks redecorating.
One day, a few months later, she received a communication from Barranco. It wasn’t a fax, nor e-mail, nor a telephone call, but a hand written letter telling her that, after a great deal of thought, he had decided to give up the arms trade and only concentrate on bicycles. There was no particular reason for doing this, he just felt it was the right thing to do at this moment in time. He also thanked her for the teddy bear in the sailor suit which he had kept for himself because it made him feel happy and she could forget paying back the expenses, He wished her good luck for all her future assignments.
Grateful, wanting to show her appreciation, Brenda went back to the Baranco bicycle factory with the intention of buying a mountain bike, but the sign outside no longer read Barranco Biciletas but Barranco Teddy Bears.
And when she went inside to buy one , more out of curiosity than anything else, she found that the thousands of fluffy little creatures that stared back at her from the countless shelves resembled Barranco himself, with narrow grey eyes. They were not at all like malevolent reptiles however, In fact they all seemed to be smiling at her as though congratulating her for having achieved something really worthwhile.
And also in the display were teddy bear suits, for children and grown ups. So she bought two of them and that is what we are wearing for the carnival and, I am told, we will be taking it in turns to push Don Osito in a pram when we join the parade. Grumph !....Squeak !