“Ms. Grunblatt’s line.”
“Ms. Grunblatt, please. Roscoe—”
“Ms. Grunblatt’s not available at the moment.”
“When will she be available?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“May I leave a message?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Please tell her Mr. Roscoe J. Danton of The Washington Times-Post is on his way to the embassy, and needs a few minutes of her valuable time. Got that?”
“Will you give it to me again, please? Slower?”
[THREE]
The Embassy of the United States of America
Avenida Colombia 4300
Buenos Aires, Argentina
1410 5 February 2007
It was a ten-minute drive from the Plaza Hotel to the American embassy.
The taxicab meter showed that the ride had cost fifteen pesos. Roscoe dug out his wad of pesos, handed the driver a twenty-peso note, and waited for his change.
Five pesos is too much of a tip.
Two pesos ought to be more than enough.
The driver looked at the twenty and then up at Roscoe. When Roscoe didn’t respond, the driver waved his fingers in a “give me more” gesture.
Roscoe pointed to the meter.
The cab driver said, “Argentine pesos.”
He then pointed to the note Roscoe had given him, and said, “Uruguay pesos.”
He then held up his index finger, and went on: “One Argentine peso is”—he held up all his fingers—“five Uruguay pesos. You pay with Uruguay pesos, is one hundred Uruguay pesos.”
Roscoe looked at his stack of pesos. They were indeed Uruguayan pesos.
That miserable sonofabitch remise driver screwed me!
He counted the Uruguayan pesos he had left. He didn’t have enough to make up the additional eighty pesos the cab driver was demanding.
He took a one-hundred-dollar bill from his wallet.
The cab driver examined it very, very carefully, and then first handed Roscoe his twenty-peso Uruguayan note, and then three one-hundred-peso Argentine notes. He stuck the American hundred in his pocket.
Roscoe was still examining the Argentine currency, trying to remember what that sonofabitch remise driver had told him was the exchange rate, when the cab driver took one of the Argentine hundred-peso bills back. He then pointed to the meter, and counted out eighty-five Argentine pesos and laid them in Roscoe’s hand.
Roscoe then remembered the exchange rate. It was supposed to be 3.8 Argentine pesos to the dollar, not 3.0.