10
Golfito, 2003.
Around eight PM Baldwin’s men gathered in front of the hotel ‘Miramar’. Faded glory from the banana history which had made Golfito the center of the world. At least for a short while. The barman of the ‘Big Ben’ had witnessed the men all day. He left his bar unmanned to talk to them.
“Hello lads. You’re American right?” the man with the red dreadlocks asked no one in particular.
“Says who?” Axelrod asked.
“Wow Dwight,” said Lazaro, “he’s only asking. No need to attack mister Marley here.”
“No offense,” said the bartender with his British accent. “I am Ben Moore, owner of the ‘Big Ben’ restaurant. We serve great steaks, got nice cold beer and I can give you a special price if you all join in.”
“What does the ‘Big Ben’ stand for?” Gerd Heckenrath asked.
“Yes, well,
