“You sure this is a good idea?” said Jimmy to Ruby as they drove down the streets of Coyoacán.
“Trust me, Diego’s a friend, and he knows how to hide people.”
Jimmy grunted. They pulled up to a large villa on the corner of Londres Avenue.
“It’s…it’s…so blue,” said Jimmy.
“Frieda owns the place, they painted it like that ages ago,” said Ruby.
“I’m more worried about those guys on the corner,” said Geronimo.
“Russians,” said Dr. Orange. “You can tell by the cigarettes.”
They parked the car and walked over to the house. “What are you doing?” one of the Russians barked at them. “Do you have business?”
“I’m one of his backers from America,” said Ruby, handing him a calling card.
After a while, they were beckoned inside. They met Diego Rivera in the courtyard, sitting near a man with gold-rimmed spectacles and an unruly brush of white hair.
“Hello, Mr. Trotsky!” said Ruby brightly.
The man stood up slowly and a bit painfully. “Please, Comrade will do. But call me Leon.”
“Dr. Orange,” said Julius in French. “Big fan.”
“Ah, one of our German comrades!” said Trotsky in the same language.
“What exactly brings you here?” said Diego.
“We’re visiting everyone I know in Mexico, then making our way down to South America.”
“Well…I guess you can stay for a while. What hotel are you at?”
“Actually, we just arrived, and haven’t found a place.”
“It’s just been so entertaining, and so busy, we haven’t had a chance…”
“Perhaps we could find a comrade to help you out.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“No, not any imposition at all. After all, a comrade should want to help out the Party. As should we all. Help out the Party. You know what I mean.”
Geronimo gently nudged Ruby. “Oh, of course. Let me just dig out my checkbook,” she said.
“Your accountant must have a heart attack a week,” muttered Jimmy.
They holed up for a while with Frieda Kahlo and Trotsky. Geronimo went out to find a church and sat through Mass and went to Confession.
[Me: The priest starts to cry…]
Jimmy smoked in the corner while absently running his rabbit’s foot through his hands. He drank a brandy slowly, deep in thought.
Suddenly he sat up. “Janet’s still at the hotel,” he said, and rushed for the door.
Jimmy drove faster than he should have through the streets of Coyoacán. He parked a few blocks from the hotel and then casually sauntered past the front door of it.
A couple of guys were sitting in the lobby, obviously packing.
Jimmy whistled nonchalantly and swung down an alley. He walked halfway down it, then jumped up and grabbed the railing of a balcony. He swung himself up and climbed to the roof. Scurrying over the ridgepole, he slid down the other side and jumped the alley to the roof of the hotel. He worked his way across the balconies until he reached Janet’s room.
“Jimmy, what are you doing out there?” said Janet when she saw him.
“I didn’t like the look of the lobby. Don’t worry, we’re not going the way I came.”
“How are we going to get out?”
“There’s always a back door.”
Janet grabbed a bag and they slipped into the hallway. Jimmy led them to the maid’s room and then down the back stairs. They slipped out the door to the street. Jimmy jammed the door shut behind them with his penknife.
“Isn’t that the fire door?” said Janet.
“Let’s hope nobody smokes in bed.”
As they walked down the street, they saw a police car pull up in front of the hotel. Some detectives came out of it, holding what was obviously a warrant, and a picture of Jimmy.
[I was experimenting with the Heat rules from NBA this session; JP made a Disguise check to beat the TN 5 Heat. A one point Law spend recognized the warrant for Jimmy’s arrest.]