Bengavarreobras: "Washed & Screwed" (Or the Cash Under the Mattress)

miércoles, 2 de septiembre de 2026

"Washed & Screwed" (Or the Cash Under the Mattress)

"Washed & Screwed"

(Or the Cash Under the Mattress)

A Farce in Two Acts

by BENJAMIN GAVARRE

CHARACTERS:

· DON CARLOS ZORRILLO: In his sixties. Greedy, hypochondriac, a sugar-daddy wannabe, and easily terrified. First-generation immigrant who thinks he's a criminal mastermind.

· PALOMINO: His assistant. A local second-generation Chicano/Pocho from L.A. Shrewd, mocking, manipulative, and highly ambitious.

· DON RUPERTO MORADO: A stuck-up, stingy, and greedy neighbor. Owns a discount clothing store in the strip mall.

· THE GLAZIER: A nosy, opportunistic local window contractor always looking for a scam.

· DON BETO PRADERA "EL ALACRÁN": The sketchy local botanica/pharmacy owner, corrupt and malicious.

· SOFÍA "LA ALCAYATA" (THE HOOK): A cold, calculating, and young professional gold-digger. An aspiring Instagram influencer.

· INSPECTOR 1 & INSPECTOR 2: Las Vegas mobsters posing as cartoonish federal agents.

ACT ONE

The stage is split into two areas visible simultaneously.

· Right Side (The Foyer / Living Room): A small apartment living room in East L.A. It features the main door to the street, a couple of pretentious, fake Louis XV armchairs, and a side table.

· Left Side (The Bedroom): Separated from the living room by an open archway. This space is dominated by a disproportionately tall and thick queen-size bed. It looks like a normal mattress, but thousands of dollars are hidden under the sheets.

The audience can see Palomino dealing with the annoying visitors in the living room, while simultaneously watching Don Carlos Zorrillo’s panicked gestures and groans in bed, creating constant visual irony.

(Lights up on the Bedroom. DON CARLOS ZORRILLO, wearing silk pajamas, tosses and turns in bed, groaning in agony. PALOMINO enters from the living room holding a steaming mug).

PALOMINO.— I brought you your chamomile tea, Don Carlos. Let’s see if this settles your stomach and gets rid of the bad air… And I’m not just talking about your flatulence, boss… you know… Your gut is a disaster. If I don't tell you, who will? You’re dropping bombs in here, for real.

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Shut up, you insolent brat! Forget the tea! My stomach is fine! I am wounded in my soul and my lower back… This is a curse! Sleeping on top of all this dirty cash is pure torture. This mattress was stuffed by the Devil himself!

PALOMINO.— Come on, what did you expect? You get what you look for, boss. It's the hundred-dollar bills. The stacks, the packs... If you don't stack them right, the paper scratches. Or so they tell me. I wouldn't know... don't look at me like that! Okay, maybe sometimes, when you spend hours in the restroom because of that fake diarrhea... Just stop eating that expired ice cream from the store, you gain nothing and it's bad for business. A bad investment is a bad investment, you gotta face it and accept the losses. Eat some white rice, like me. I eat rice with bananas, it's very cheap, it's healthy... And about your back pain? What did you expect? If you let me organize the money, it wouldn't hurt, but you’re too paranoid. You should just sleep on the floor. I like the floor.

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— It’s cursed money, Palomino! Dirty greenbacks. I don’t know how I agreed to launder so much cash for the syndicate.

PALOMINO.— I warned you, Carlitos, but you’re too stubborn... You tried to clean the money with that ridiculous "Flamin' Hot Cheetos with Organic Cheese and Horchata Boba" joint. The neon sign had like three typos! Where has that been seen? ¡No way! People in L.A. have bad tempers but they know how to read, bro. They’re hipsters now! Hot Cheetos with warm mayo and tapioca? Gross! People around here are traditional about their snacks, that's why they go to the regular taco trucks. They hated the concept, to say the least. We bombed.

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Idiots, all of them! But I offered discounts! I tried selling them guacamayas with pork rinds and pico de gallo, I gave them a two-for-one deal on fruit salads with heavy cotija cheese... and nothing! We went bankrupt. The neighborhood looked at us like we were crazy, and the cartel guys got pissed when they saw zero returns. They took most of the capital back, almost all the clean dollars, and left us with two sports bags of cash that are now stuffing this bed. My bed! Pure useless cash. To buy groceries, I had to pawn the commercial freezers, the grills, and even the lightbulbs! Nobody around here breaks a hundred-dollar bill, especially in this gentrified part of town. Look! Feel this mountain of paper! I can’t deposit it, I can’t pay my bills. I can't even start a normal business because how am I going to pay? With bags of cash? Yeah, right! They’ll report me to the IRS, call the cops, freeze everything... and hell no, nel, nunca!

PALOMINO.— And we can't even step outside. The local vultures from the strip mall already suspect you have a stash, and they think you’re about to kick the bucket. By the way, are you actually dying, Don Carlos? Are you going to die? Don't die, my friend.

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Of course not! Well, yes... I am dying, but from pure anger because everything goes wrong! (The DOORBELL rings in the living room). Quick, to the bed! Throw some baby powder on my face so I look like a corpse. You go stop whoever it is! If they’re here to check if I’m dead, maybe they brought a gift to show respect... Nobody gives anything for free.

(Palomino runs to the living room. Don Carlos Zorrillo drops onto the bed, opens his mouth, and crosses his hands over his chest, mimicking rigor mortis. Palomino opens the front door. It’s DON RUPERTO MORADO, looking stiff and holding a shoebox).

DON RUPERTO.— My good Palomino. I heard that Don Carlos is about to hang up his sneakers and move to the local cemetery... I brought him these sheepskin loafers, very exclusive, very expensive.

PALOMINO.— (Sniffs the box). Oh, Don Ruperto... smells like cheap plastic. These smell like a downtown liquidation sale. This is that hard plastic that doesn't even bend, right?

DON RUPERTO.— Assembled in California with international technology! Can I go in and give him my early condolences? (He tries to peek through the archway into the bedroom. Don Carlos Zorrillo, seeing him out of the corner of his eye, starts coughing like a tuberculosis patient).

PALOMINO.— (Quickly blocks his path). Oh, Don Ruperto! Listen to those lungs. The boss has a fire in his gut, and well... the toilet bowl is seeing the worst of it, it’s disgusting... you feel me? The diarrhea... don't make that face. And he's throwing up bile. Honestly, for a man whose feet are already turning cold, shoes with laces are a nightmare. What he needs are slippers; bring some slippers next time, deer hide or suede at least, size nine. And don't worry about these... leave them here. (Tucks the box under his arm). I’ll keep them to look sharp when I walk down Whittier Boulevard, and I promise you’ll be front and center in the will.

DON RUPERTO.— (Smiling greedily). Bless you, kid. Take good care of him... don't give him any acidic food, and don't scare him to death... See ya, I’ll bring the slippers later! (He leaves in a hurry, looking frantic).

(As soon as Don Ruperto leaves, there's another knock on the door. Palomino opens it. THE GLAZIER enters, carrying an enormous, gaudy crystal ashtray).

THE GLAZIER.— Palominillo, my boy! I brought this little gift for Don Carlos. For his nightstand.

PALOMINO.— An ashtray? Are you flatly dumb in your head? The boss stopped smoking. He used to do three packs a day, sure. If he drank, he smoked more. If he ate tacos, he smoked... he smoked while chewing! You know how it is. And he drank a lot... a lot of tequila and mezcal. I already said that, right? Give me that thing so I can put my car keys in it. Let’s see, is this real crystal or just cheap glass? Looks heavy, but you never know. Alright, get moving! Why are you staring at me? Expecting something in return? Expecting me to tell you your ashtray is beautiful? (Pushes him toward the door).

THE GLAZIER.— But let me see him, just so he knows I came! Don’t treat me like I’m some kind of…

PALOMINO.— A hooker? No way, I don’t even know how you could think that. I’ll tell the boss so he puts you first in line in his will. We good, yes or no? I already told you you’re in his prayers. If not, I’ll remind him. Next time, you’d better bring me a mirror, a full-length one, like six feet tall… or how tall do you think the boss is? Ah, I know, he’s kind of short, so make it seven feet so we can all fit in the picture. I already wrote it down in my little notebook. Come on, if you breathe the sick man’s air, you’re gonna catch the… Just leave. Go home. Beveled edges and a silver frame, you get me? Move it, Mr. Glass… or whatever you said your name was. (He pushes him out).

(The doorbell rings again. Palomino opens it reluctantly. DON BETO PRADERA "EL ALACRÁN", the owner of the botanica, arrives with a dropper bottle and a bottle of Don Julio tequila tucked under his arm).

DON BETO.— I’m here to see the corpse-to-be. I brought him "The Drops of Happiness." Organic peyote extract mixed with liquid clonazepam from Tijuana. So he goes to the next world laughing. He shouldn’t take it on an empty stomach, and it’s better if he’s not alone, just in case he gets a stroke. You’re the executor, Palomino. Do you know if he put me in his thoughts and his will? If not, give him a few drops and have him sign me in; then you can give him the rest of the bottle. If he doesn’t want to take it straight, give it to him in his boba tea, or better yet, in a shot of tequila… I brought the tequila right here. You know the drill: a few drops and then the whole thing… so he may requiescat in pace!

PALOMINO.— (Snatches it from him). Holy cow! What a piece of work… what a jerk… Hand them over. Just like airport customs, Betito: any suspicious bottle gets confiscated. And don’t even try, the boss isn’t seeing anyone. You have no heart; nobody would accept what you’re proposing, it’s not in good taste, and besides, it’s a crime. So don’t even say it because I don’t even want to look at you. Leave! But if you come back, bring me some of those Baja cactus buttons that make your head spin… To get me feeling good, you know? Real good… some green peyotes, the ones without spines, and I’ll tell my boss to include you. But without any of those drops. Get out, hit the road!

DON BETO.— (Annoyed, peeking through the archway). You want to keep the whole cake for yourself, don’t you, you greedy servant? Look at you, licking your chops! You arrogant fool. You’ll see how everything catches up to you! You’re going to regret this, you will see.

(Palomino gives him a push and slams the door in his face).

(Lights up on the Bedroom. DON CARLOS ZORRILLO jumps out of bed, dying of laughter).

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— What a bunch of stupid scammers! They swallowed it hook, line, and sinker!

PALOMINO.— But they aren’t going to sit still, boss. They are like humidity, mange, or a bad rash… It never goes away. (Faced with his boss’s glaring look). What… I talk too much, don’t I? Okay, okay… I’m shutting up. I swear.

(Lights change: downstage or the sidewalk of the strip mall. Don Ruperto, The Glazier, and Don Beto gather under a streetlamp next to the parking lot).

DON RUPERTO.— That piece of trash Palomino is pulling the rug out from under us. He’s going to keep everything. I’m sure his boss is bursting with cash. I can smell money like a vulture… and no, I’m not one, I’m a good person, I’m a family man, I go to church on Sundays, I vote Democrat because I’m a minority but I think like a Republican…

DON BETO.— We need to send in the neighborhood’s heavy artillery. We have to call "The Hook."

THE GLAZIER.— Sofía? She’s a beast! That Instagram queen is cold and calculating. Well, the schoolgirl look is just for show now. She kept the money from the furniture store owner on the corner, she kept the money from the contractor with the lots in Huntington Park, she kept the cars from the owner of "El Buen Gusto" taco truck… His family hates her, the taco truck family, of course… but she just gives them a "whatever" face and keeps driving down Whittier Boulevard in her fully customized luxury trucks. Even if she wears designer clothes, she’s a bit flashy, but she works for us! She’s a genius. If anyone can get a signature out of the old man while bypassing that Palomino, it’s her. She’ll put us in the will in exchange for her cut.

ACT TWO

(The same set. The foyer. The doorbell rings. PALOMINO opens the door and SOFÍA "THE HOOK" enters. She wears a tightly tailored school uniform, high socks, and a completely innocent, fake look on her face).

PALOMINO.— Well, look who’s here! I’m glad to see you, gorgeous. Are you here to say a prayer for the old man? Or would you rather say hello to the brand-new owner of this whole place? (Itries to corner her against the sofa).

SOFÍA.— (Dodging him with a mock-elegant slap). Back off, you social climber! Palomino, I don’t dance on a flat floor. No kiss without a checkbook, no heat without a fire, you know? Fire… I’m here to see Don Carlos! (Sofía crosses the archway into the bedroom without waiting for permission).

(Lights up on the bedroom. DON CARLOS ZORRILLO, seeing her, suddenly looks full of life. He quickly smooths his hair with spit).

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Sofía! My favorite girl for a good cause. Come, lie down here with this poor sick man who is barely breathing.

SOFÍA.— (Sitting on the bed and bouncing around). Oh, Don Carlos! What is inside this mattress? Bricks? It’s rock hard and it makes a loud crinkling paper sound.

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (With a sly grin, lifting a corner of the sheet). It’s greenbacks, my queen. Dirty, stained... but dollars after all. If you give me a few sweet kisses, I promise you’ll leave here with a thick stack for your little cravings.

SOFÍA.— (Her eyes widen at the sight of the cash, but she stays cool). Mmm... smells like mildew and illegal business... but well, with a good iron, it’ll straighten out. How about we iron things out first, and then we launder them? I have some very good, spicy ideas... Tell me about that Horchata business... is it true you have a lot of boba balls hidden around here? I love a good, sweet beverage with plenty of extra toppings... (She lies down beside him. They begin whispering, giggling, and playing around excessively).

PALOMINO.— (Who has been spying from the archway, biting his nails). That old sugar-daddy wannabe! He’s throwing away my inheritance! That miserable fox... Two of a kind, a fox and a skunk, nobody can beat them. No, this doesn't stay like this!

(Suddenly, violent pounding on the front door. Angry voices are heard outside).

PALOMINO.— (Runs to the foyer, peeks out the window, and rushes back to the bedroom terrified). Boss! The three vultures are here together! And they brought a local Notary from the neighborhood! They’re demanding to see your final will or they’ll report you to the federal authorities!

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (Separating from Sofía, his eyes gleaming with dramatic mischief). Perfect! The comedy has to reach its final curtain, I can’t keep living like this anyway. Tell them I just kicked the bucket from a massive heart attack! Tell them I’m dead, completely stiff from the physical effort, and that I’m gone!

PALOMINO.— What?

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Take this fake will I had right here in the nightstand drawer. It says I leave absolutely everything to you. I’m going to hide under the mattress. I want to see their faces when they realize the servant got the whole fortune! It’s going to be beautiful! Come on, you dummy, move!

(Don Carlos Zorrillo squeezes himself under the massive bed with a lot of trouble. Sofía, catching the game on the fly and seeing her golden opportunity, discreetly grabs a giant bundle of cash that was left loose, puts a black veil over her head, and starts sobbing tragically).

(Palomino runs and opens the front door. DON RUPERTO, DON BETO, and THE GLAZIER—Mr. Glass himself, by the way—burst in).

DON RUPERTO.— Out of the way, Palomino! We’re here to see the old man and make sure he signs a final will.

PALOMINO.— (Fingering / faking a broken voice, covering his face). You’re too late, gentlemen... The Lord has called him to his holy glory... Just now, while he was playing around with Miss Sofía... getting his horchata warm, putting fuel to the fire, you know... Well, his heart just gave out and he’s stone-dead... He hung up his sneakers, went feet-first... What else can I say? He passed on to a better life!

(The three vultures run into the bedroom. They see the messy bed and Sofía crying at the top of her lungs, exaggerating the drama).

DON BETO.— And the will? Where is the damn paper?

PALOMINO.— (Taking the paper from the drawer). Right here, sealed and signed by the boss before he kicked the bucket... right after warming up the horchata, you know... with Sofía... and I’m not going to repeat myself because I don't talk too much, even though sometimes I do... And it reads like this: "I leave all my property, accounts, the Hot Cheetos and Boba business, and this sacred matrimonial mattress to my loyal servant... my boy Palomino."

DON RUPERTO.— This is a scam! A total fraud! You stole my imported shoes!

THE GLAZIER.— You usurping servant! And I didn't bring you your mirror so you wouldn't see what a rat you are!

SOFÍA.— (Acting dramatically, she gets up from the bed). And he left me defenseless! I was the unofficial widow! This is garbage... I’m leaving, I can't handle so much pain! (Sofía sneaks out of the house, winking at the audience, knowing exactly what she is going to do).

PALOMINO.— (Puffing his chest, arrogant, pointing to the street). Well, you heard it, you bunch of freeloaders. Get the hell out of here; get out of my house. Out! Or I'll call the cops... and accuse you of robbery, trespassing, statuary... statolary... violation of my rights, you know! Out!!!!

(The vultures, indignant and cursing, leave fuming. Palomino escorts them to the front door and slams it shut in their faces).

(In the bedroom, Zorrillo pokes his head out from under the bed, covering his mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. Seeing that Sofía is gone, he comes out completely).

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (Coming out, dusting himself off). Damn, bro, what a blast we had! Did you see their faces? Pure art! Hey, Palomino... I'm going to put on my old trench coat. I'm going to look for them at the downtown bars just to walk right past them and laugh my ass off in their faces... I'm going to mock their miserable lives right to their noses, you'll see. Losers!

PALOMINO.— (Returning to the bedroom, with a strangely cold and distant tone). Whatever you say, Don Carlos. Go have fun.

(Zorrillo puts a trench coat over his pajamas and leaves humming happily through the front door. Palomino is left alone in the middle of the bedroom. His attitude completely changes).

PALOMINO.— (He looks at the fake will. Then he looks at the fat bed. He walks slowly and caresses it). The paper is legal... The witnesses saw him go into the notary... The whole neighborhood thinks Carlos Zorrillo already kicked the bucket or that he's dead: period. And what need do I have to be a dead man's servant, if I can be the owner of the circus? Besides, he treats me badly, he called me a servant... Well, he's going to see how this little dove turns into a hurricane... I mean, into a hawk, but what am I saying! Into an eagle, a falcon... No, not a vulture, there are already too many of those in this town.

(Palomino pulls a sports bag from under an armchair in the foyer, takes it to the bedroom, lifts the mattress, and looks with delight at the stacks of bills, laughing madly, he celebrates on the bed thinking all that money will belong to him... but greed always bursts the bag... And without him putting a single stack of dollars into the bag, Palomino begins to see his dream vanish...)

(Lights up on the foyer. Zorrillo comes running back, terrified. He tries to open the front door, but it's bolted. He rings the doorbell desperately. He pounds on the wood).

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Palomino! Palomino, open up, for your mother's sake! Some big, bald, weird guys have been following me since the end of the boulevard! Open up! I never made it to the vultures, I couldn't make fun of them... God punished me for crossing the line... My sweet Palomito, open up, for your life, they're huge and look like hitmen...

PALOMINO.— (Glued to the door, speaking as if he were miles away from Zorrillo). Ah... I'm sorry, good sir! We are all very sad here, for the death of Don Zorrillo… he was a good man and never treated those who served him poorly. He never said nasty words to his best employee Palominito, he never called him a servant or anything offensive to his best helper, who considered him a friend, but you see how life gives you surprises, right?... (Palomino opens a peephole in the door). You have the wrong house, good sir! We are holding a wake for the body of Don Carlos Zorrillo here! And I am his sole and legitimate heir!

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Don't try to be funny, not now, Palomino, it's me! Stop playing around, I'm not in the mood for your jokes right now!

PALOMINO.— (With corporate coldness). May the "Boss" rest in peace. The dead to the grave and the living to the rave. (He shuts the peephole in his face and runs back to the bedroom to keep packing the money).

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (From the street, pale. The comedy completely turned against him. His rage is immense). Me? You're going to treat me like an old flip-flop, you filthy servant? Well, if I go down, you go down with me, you filthy bastard, you piece of...! (He runs off infuriated).

(Brief blackout to denote the passage of a few minutes. General lighting up again).

(Palomino, in the bedroom, already has the sports bag stuffed to the brim. He is crossing the foyer ready to escape. Suddenly, the front door is kicked wide open).

(DON CARLOS ZORRILLO, DON RUPERTO, DON BETO, and THE GLAZIER storm in, and behind them, two tall men dressed in black suits... They are very stiff men, with dark glasses and a leather briefcase. They are supposedly THE INSPECTORS).

DON RUPERTO.— There's the thief! I told you!

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Look at him, Mr. Inspectors! He was trying to escape with the loot!

PALOMINO.— (Terrified, dropping the bag). Boss, don't be a dumbass! You're going to sink us both with the IRS! Think about the feds!

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (Blinded by spite and anger). I'd rather the government take the shirt off my back than have a filthy rodent like you spend my dollars on street food and women! Look, Mr. Inspectors! Come to the bedroom!

(They all storm into the bedroom. Carlos Zorrillo, dramatically, grabs the mattress and flips it completely over. It still has stacks of bills that Palomino couldn't pack away).

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Look! Dirty money! Narco money! It's in the mattress and the rest is in those bags that this thief packed away... Take it, take all the money, but throw this wretch in jail for the rest of his days!

(The two Inspectors look at the money on the mattress, they look at the bags. They exchange a glance and take off their dark glasses simultaneously).

INSPECTOR 1.— (With a heavily exaggerated gringo accent). Okay, Mister Carlos Zorrillo. We appreciate it veery much.

INSPECTOR 2.— Yes. In the name of the Treasury Department... and the Iunaited Esteits ov America... the Di-I-Ei... The DEA confiscates this dirty mattress and bags!

(Palomino and Carlos Zorrillo's eyes go wide, completely frozen in terror).

PALOMINO.— The... the DEA? Boss! You brought the gringos, but these are mobster gringos, they're not even from the DEA!

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Son of a bitch! I thought they were just pencil-pushers from Sacramento!

INSPECTOR 1.— (Pulling out shiny handcuffs). Yes, mister. You are coming with us, we are going to take you to meet the fishes. For money laundering and simulating a defuncshion.

(From the foyer, SOFÍA "The Hook" enters triumphantly, now arm in arm with another Gringo Mobster holding a massive hand cannon or even an AK-47. She is chewing gum and sporting extremely expensive sunglasses).

SOFÍA.— Oh, Don Carlitos... I told you so. I never take a step without my boots. When I left here and saw this ship was sinking, I went straight to these big boys from Las Vegas who were already looking for you for being so ridiculous. They even got me a super fake but super well-made visa, now my name is Martha Stuart, can you believe it? I'm going with them to Las Vegas as their accomplice and new friend, losers! (She blows them a mocking kiss and struts out).

INSPECTOR 2.— Listen carefully, Carlos Zorrillo. The Boss in Las Vegas is not happy with your business model. Laundering cash with "Hot Cheetos and warm mayo" was an insult to the organization's intellect. You've made fools of us all.

INSPECTOR 1.— Yeah. And those who disrespect the Boss, we take them to sunbathe in cement shoes at Lake Mead. Capisce?

INSPECTOR 2.— And you, little vulture friends... (Firmly points at Ruperto, Beto, and the Glazier). Get moving. We are going to hire you to provide services for us over in Nevada, you'll be the direct liaison with the headquarters in these areas. Let's go, everyone. Walk!

(The Inspectors quickly handcuff Palomino and Carlos Zorrillo. The three neighborhood vultures get on their knees and give thanks for the new connections, starting to pick up the bag and the stacks of bills from the floor to take with them).

PALOMINO.— (Whimpering, looking at his handcuffed hands). Guys, please! I don't know how to swim in cement... I can be a good liaison too. I have great skills! I speak English. Listen to me: I can be very useful for the boss in Vegas!

INSPECTOR 1.— (Looks at him curiously). You speak English, kid?

PALOMINO.— But of course! My English is impeccable! I can organize the businesses, the books, wash the casino floors... For pity's sake, don't leave me here and don't throw me in the lake!

INSPECTOR 2.— Not bad. The Boss has been very stressed about the stupid things you two did. If we bring him a funny guy who speaks Spanglish to serve as a jester, maybe he'll have a laugh. Come with us, Palomino. You’re saved from the cement, but you’re coming to Las Vegas with us and Miss Martha Stuart.

PALOMINO.— (Forgetting his crying, fascinated). Sure, amigos! Let's go together! To Las Vegas, baby! (He turns to look at Carlos Zorrillo with contempt and mockery). See you never, Pepe Le Pew! You're left alone for being greedy and for humiliating me! Suck on that, boss!

(The Inspectors, the three vultures—Ruperto, Beto, and the Glazier—and Palomino storm out carrying the bags and laughing, leaving the stage empty. Carlos Zorrillo is left completely alone in the center of the wrecked bedroom. He slowly approaches the full-length mirror left by the Glazier. He stares at himself, ruminating on his loneliness).

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (Smiles at the mirror with a bitter, brilliant cynicism). Well, I'm left all alone and without a dime. Running on fumes. I'm totally screwed... The mafia, Martha Stuart, the damn vultures... (He lets out a genuine burst of laughter). But at least they took that loudmouth Palomino off my hands! I got my revenge, I humiliated him to the very end, and now he left with the people who will use him as a jester! He deserves it for being a traitor! (Laughs harder, looking at himself in the mirror). I'm happy... I have no money, no freedom, no friends... but look how I laugh with happiness! Hahahaha!

(Suddenly, his face in the mirror disfigures. The laughter chokes into a whimper).

DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— No... I'm not happy... I'm so alone! I lost my only friend! (He falls to his knees in front of the mirror, crying like a child). Mommy! Mom, where are you! Everything goes wrong for me! Waaahhhh! (He sits up abruptly, with absolute stoicism, wiping his tears). It doesn't matter. I am Carlos Zorrillo. I always pull through. I land on my feet. (He collapses again in front of the mirror). Waaahhh! Why me? Noooo!

(Carlos Zorrillo exits the stage alternating between haughty laughter and inconsolable crying, as if two masks were fighting over his face. The bedroom is left in complete solitude; the bed is destroyed in the center, showing only the rusty springs).

(An ironic danzón music begins to play, which suddenly turns into a catchy, happy, and festive mambo. The entire company comes out happily to take their bows).

FINAL CURTAIN.