Queer

You're not queer.

Usually, if I get this far with an American kid,

I can get the rest of the way, but with you there's some...

obstacle.

Your mother wouldn't like it.

I had a friend, um,

a homosexual Jewish friend who lived in Oklahoma City.

I asked him, "Why do you live here?

"You have enough money,

"you could live wherever you like."

You know what he told me?

"It would kill my mother if I moved away."

Good luck, Lee.

- Gracias. - Gracias.

Everything in this country falls apart.

Wouldn't surprise me

if I picked up a boy in the Alameda and his...

Someone stole my typewriter.

It was that Brazilian, or whatever he is.

You know him. Maurice.

The wrestler?

You mean the gym instructor, Louie?

No, no, no. That's another one.

No, Louie has decided

all that sort of thing is very wrong,

and he tells me that I am going to burn in hell

but he is going to heaven.

-Serious? -Mm-hmm.

No, Maurice is as queer as I am.

If not queerer... Excuse me.

But he won't accept it.

I think stealing my typewriter

is a way he takes to demonstrate to me

and to himself that he is just in it for all he can get.

Uh-huh.

As a matter of fact, he's so queer

I've lost interest in him.

Not completely though...

Hello.

Nazis.

I'll probably invite him back to my apartment

instead of beating the shit out of him

like I should.

...think how much it would cost you

to shoot a major in the Mexican Army!

You know what? I'm going to get a bottle.

Well, um, no.

You see, we're hoping to work on the plans

for this boat we're going to build.

A boat?

Yes. At Zihuatanejo.

All right. Well, how about meeting me for a drink

tomorrow at the Rathskeller? Say around five?

I expect I'll be busy tomorrow.

Yes, but you have to eat and drink.

Well, you see, this boat is more important to me

than anything right now.

It will take up all my time.

Suit yourself.

Thanks for running interference, Tom.

I hope he got the idea.

I like the guy, but I can't stand to be alone with him.

He keeps trying to go to bed with me.

That's what I don't like about queers.

You can't keep it on the basis of friendship.

One absinthe.

Hola, Lee.

Fuck you, Tom!

So touchy!

I don't take it personally.

Yup.

- Mezcal! - Si, senor.

Why so sad?

I'm not sad.

Not really.

I'm okay.

You been aqui before? Mm?

-Yeah, of course, you have. -I've been aqui.

Do you carry a pistol?

Yes, I carry a pistol.

I have to go.

There's a brawl out of the Chimu.

I'm going there to drink something.

-Adios. -Adios.

Get a load of this.

"After he killed his wife and three children,

"he takes a razor and puts on a suicide act,

"but resulted only in scratches

"that did not require medical attention."

What a slobbish performance!

And on the subject of murder, I'm going...

Sit down on your ass!

Or what's left of it after four years in the Navy.

Lee.

I gotta go.

What are you, henpecked?

Yeah, no kidding.

I've been out too much lately, Lee.

Lola's, Ship Ahoy,

the other places...

My old lady says

I gotta be home for dinner every night.

Fuck, Jim!

Lee, wait...

Hi!

Hi.

I just... Uh, I just wanted to tell you that, um...

Mary was in Lola's a little while ago.

And she asked me to tell you

that she'd be in the Ship Ahoy later on,

around five.

Oh.

Thank you.

-Will you be around tonight? -Yes, um...

I think so, yeah.

Who is he?

I have no idea.

- Tequila. - Yeah.

Another.

Another.

You're drinking so fast, Mr. Lee!

Two rum and cokes.

Come sit with us over there.

How did you check the accuracy

of your information? That... That doesn't...

-Actually, uh, we didn't. -What?

So the Counter-Intelligence Corps got sucked in

on a lot of phony deals when I was in Germany.

And, of course, we cross-checked

all information with the other informants,

and we had our own agents in the field.

Now, most of our informants,

they would come back with some phony information,

but this one character, he made it all up.

I mean, he had our agents out looking out in the field

for a whole fictitious network of Russian spies, right?

So, finally, reports came back from Frankfurt...

-it's all a load of crap! -Oh.

But instead of clearing...

Instead of clearing out of town

before the information could be checked,

-he came back with more. -Oh.

You're here?

Yeah, I have a sack here.

Uh-huh.

Good night.

-Good night. -Night.

-There she is! -Yes.

The trouble with me is, I like the type that robs me.

Where you make your mistake is,

bringing them back to your apartment.

That's what hotels are for.

Well, you're right there, but half the time

I don't have money for a hotel.

Besides, I like someone

around to cook breakfast and sweep the place out.

Uh. You mean clean the place out!

I don't mind the watch and the radio,

but it really hurts losing those boots.

They were a thing of beauty and joy forever.

I don't know whether I ought to say things like this

in front of Junior here.

- Go ahead. - No offense, kid.

Did I tell you how I made the cop on the beat?

He's a vigilante, the watchman out where I live.

Every time he sees the light on in my room,

he comes in for a shot of rum.

About five nights ago,

he caught me when I was drunk, and stoned,

and horny.

Well, one thing led to another

and I ended up showing him how the, uh...

cow ate the cabbage.

The night after I make him,

I'm walking by the beer joint on the corner.

He comes out borracho and says, "Have a drink."

I said, "I don't want a drink."

So he takes out his pistola and says, "Have a drink."

I proceeded to take his pistola away from him.

He goes back into the beer joint

to phone for reinforcements.

So I had to go in and rip the phone off the wall.

Now, they're charging me for the phone.

So, I get back to my room, which is on the ground floor.

He'd written "El Puto Gringo" on the window with soap.

I didn't wipe it off.

I left it there.

It pays to advertise.

Would you like more?

Yes.

Excuse me.

You think he's queer?

Now I've been seeing him for a few weeks.

-Seeing him? -Yeah, spending time with him.

Like... I can't tell.

You could always just ask.

No, no, no, no, no! No!

Well, he must be queer if he's talking to him.

Dume's part of that little clique of queers

who go to that beer joint on Campeche,