Age Of Empires Starts To Load Then Stops

By Manuel Morini

Killing a guy is a boludez. You have to plan it carefully. Review each item so that nothing goes wrong. And, of course, choose the right guy to do it. It is true that I could. I have enough eggs. I already did before. But now I see it is not involved in this. So I needed a murderer. Not everyone. Someone who spoke little. Without much mark. A failed recently released from prison after a six-year sentence for assault with a deadly weapon. A desperate accomplices who already flanked by bad luck. That did not even have mother who mourn a tango. In short, someone like middling Amílcar Benedetto. Me dijeron que lo podía encontrar en el Rodney, frente al cementerio de la Chacarita. No sé, le deberían gustar los fiambres. Aunque cuando chupaba no probaba ni una papa frita. Así en seco, nomás. Se sentaba solo en una mesa. Pedía el tubo de tinto y se iba caminando de costado sin estridencias.

Obra de Eric Zampieri que ilustró la publicación de "Marketing".

Creo que hasta él mismo se tenía compasión. Lo que se dice, una basura human. The ideal type to kill someone, disappear, and not be related to the victim. Everyone could ask, review records, medical records, unpaid violations and even rejected lover. But nothing was going to appear. No one would consider to Amílcar Benedetto. That afternoon I looked at Rodney. I ordered a bottle of Carcassone. So much for what used to take. He was so happy that so touched me. But the bastard would not answer my questions. Remained quiet, watching me through the slits of his eyes. So I put the thousand dollars on the table. To break the mistrust and assure him that he was dealing with a serious guy like me. That bastard. Or mosque. Any unhappy me would have sucked balls in half. I imagine him reaching his fourth foul, hard as the mummy, close the door waiting to jump, laugh, sing, buy a box of Carcassonne, get drunk and vomited all over. But the next day came with a clean shirt, hiding the minute of vulgarity, of coarse we all fear to masturbation in public. Even with combed hair gel was asshole. He said then he had to kill a guy. What if I wanted the laburo not matter. To stay just with the thousand and sitehevistonomeacuerdo. What, he asked looking at the glass. Yes or no? "I replied. I want nine thousand more, I retorted. Yes or not? Nine more. "Nine more and then you take? Nine more and killed the family too. It is not necessary enough for me. Nine. Done. Who is this guy?, Asked again as if nothing. I said then that it was Dr. Juan Carlos Persian. A abogaducho who had arrived late to the lawsuits against the state, which had even written a book about national dignity in relation to Mercosur and had some friends do not know what game that could help you apply for a quartermaster suburbs. Benedetto kept looking at me without speaking. I was already warmed up. Asked and answered very little. And just when I got up to see no more I said yes. I assured him it would help at all. Up to crack. I think I suggested Formosa on the border with Paraguay. The next day I gave a fake card to rent a car might be a little walk around the house in Persian. To see it, and it was just familiar with the place. Each morning at nine, Persian opened the garage, pulled the car, left him warming up on the sidewalk, came to say goodbye to his wife and, at last start. Parsley perfect for uncertain times. It is true that there was a millionaire, but soon would be. It was a powerful gestation. An aspiring important. A guy who knows, it could be be mayor. And at home she would have some gems of the grandmother. O no further than the credit card was being Persian in your wallet, almost as a natural asset. A candidate desires. I do not know how he had been saving. Some people have a god apart. The thing is, Benedetto did everything I ordered. Times were studied. The helplessness of Persian. The exact spot where the car stopped. Everything. But there was something that Benedetto asked insistently. The gun. So no problem. I gave him a clean. We tested it on a field. He went to the hair. He filed down the serial number and a little hammer. So that was just jealous. It's better when you doubt. But Benedict did not. Was completely determined to win that ten thousand with dignity. Dignity have always thought, even underwear shit. And the day came. Benedetto rose early. I do not. Overall, I would not learn of the murder rather than radio. Gave a few laps earlier. It was not appropriate to be seen standing on a corner. But ten to nine stood there, waiting. When he heard the creaking of the door, grabbed the gun still in his pocket. Twinkling beacons told that Persian was rising. He glanced sideways and crossed the street a run diagonally to Persian, which was down from car. Do not know what strange fantasy types will kill you before they call the victim by name. What will it be? Why the last thing they see is the face of his murderer? "To feel that they're leaving your firm? Why were many films? I'll never know, but Benedetto was one of those. Shouted the Persian! And waiting Persian turned who knows what. At that moment they heard the cuetazos. Benedict seemed to trip over something. She did not fall, no. Trotted into Persian, but now a grotesque, like an invalid who have pushed his wheelchair. At this point, the gun hung Benedetto down your index finger. His legs wanted but could not. And no wonder. He had a black buco from the back to the chest. And there was. Falling against Persian watching him trembling, overwhelmed, trying to say something even if you leave that stupid squeaky voice which is reserved for moments of crisis. Someone ran a black uniform with a false Persian smoking in his hand. Watchful waiting the emergence of more terrorists, criminals, thieves, criminals, murderers, kidnappers or bum lurking around. But luckily no one else appeared. Persian type and ordered reassured loud and clear to the woman, who came of the house, getting back until they were sure that everything was fine. It was a real lucky that one of my employees were walking around. They look good with black, right? It gives them some authority. The color I chose. I have some major customers in the neighborhood who need my services. It was my employee who informed me of the incident handy before I could hear on the radio. So the afternoon went to talk to the doctor Persian. I promised to do a parallel investigation to the police. You know, today or they can be trusted with so many stepchildren between law and marginality. Although, in my opinion, the type that would know that days later called Hamilcar Benedetto, worked alone. I do not think he wanted to kidnap him. Most likely it was a careless he saw the car again. So yes, Persian could not be more unguarded. Is an important man now. Will win the mayor's office and I'm going to vote. My men could protect him. Would have one assigned to each member of your family. And in the front of the house would need lights for the night. It is not essential, but better. There are some automatic infrared light for reading. Phenomena. It is where you can get them at a reasonable price. Because ours is a growing security company. We are boys, but the second largest in the area. We have mobile communication weapons, insurance, license, everything. Everything you need to live in peace. This should not happen again. Can you imagine the disgrace that would have been if ...? Better not think about it. Would you be interested to talk about our budget? Something for all needs.

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Marketing Notes for a detective story in Dago

By Manuel Morini

I
According to some writers, the complete five pages a day is a good handicap. Some contemporary even dared to say that a perfect paragraph is sufficient. What does the rest of the time? They can plan writing or meditating, watching movies, teaching the craft or playing golf. Iain Banks, for example, type furiously for six months and the rest he spends on vacation. A real lucky.
For my part, but not to the letter, follow the precept of García Márquez's wait for inspiration to work.
Five A4 pages, double spaced, size 11, is the size of "Marketing." A day's work. Not bad. (Another correction, of course) The inspiration had come from the hand of a notice in the newspaper. Police Story Contest organized by "La Voz del Interior, Cordoba, Argentina.
Why not?, I thought. I have several plots, more or less made, originally published in the form of comics. I just have to move some of them. I do not have a chance of winning. Suspected fraud in the contests. And even if it were not, people like Juan Sasturain, Ricardo Piglia, Mempo Giardinelli and others can bring their mite generously as those who do not want the thing. What makes an award more or less? Everyone should have some archiving unprecedented three-month extension may be bright as the pan from the puloil. The thing was complicated.
Still, she might like someone, I thought. The awards are three, but published the twelve shortlisted. The number twelve was more than fine for me. And the publication in the newspaper, let alone.
Finally, the jury Silvia Iparaguirre, Luis Guzman and Editor in Chief gave a "Marketing" in second place. A plaque carved in 1500 mangos / dollar, a vernissage with snacks, a short story to a reporter, hugs, and a tour of the brand new presses.
My proud bearing of the time contrasted with the emotional attitude that fell upon hearing the news from across the line. He had won a prize. Then the contests were not all fixed.

II
not checked yet, but literary theory should occupy the same amount of volumes that the fiction of that study. Nor do I have any idea that should have been written in these 2300 years since the publication of "The Poetics." One, of dubious scholarship, compared novel I have a boxing match. The first should win on points, the second by KO, perhaps validated by the momentum of his youth compared to other short forms as fable.
Regarding the story, one of the most famous is the "Iceberg Theory", outlined by Hemingway. States that should only be seen (or read) a seventh of the event, what matters is what is not said, what is omitted. The demonstrated in "The murderers. " Rodolfo Walsh tried to "that woman." Enough examples.
However, the police, this seems to suffer a reversal of terms. What should be displayed in excess. Winding are planted false clues. In some, even their casting can be almost as large as that of a novel.
So heavy tangle of intrigue that forces the iceberg to sink its peak, for launching, during the "mise en scene, its huge base of fossilized shellfish and algae withered. By definition, any theory is plausible refutation.

III
also be noted Edgar Allan Poe as the originator of the modern short story, so is the police and sniffing its antecedents in the Gothic style of Horace Walpole, ghosts apart. However, American crime fiction seems to have other records, traced to the stories of Francis Bret Harte, where gangs of lawless bandits whipping across the West. We see it in the inaugural novel "Red Harvest", 1939, by Dashiell Hammett.
was agreed that the Modern Black Novel is the daughter of pre-war capitalism. Denounces abuses, the concentration of wealth, social corruption. The crime is committed for or against these forces. The hero, meanwhile, does not rely entirely institutions. Move it his personal ambitions, between whom there is always money, but vigilante justice.
But what is the "Argentine police? On that occasion, the chronicler of "La Voz del Interior" spread the good health of the genre. Twice Week Editorial Gijón with Umbriel, yes, the editor of "The Da Vinci Code" in English-Argentines rewarded by Rolo Diez "Papel Picado" and Guillermo Orsi for "Dog Dreams." Need more names? Juan Sasturain, Jorge Manzur, Black Tizziani, Juan Carlos Martini, Jose Pablo Feinmann-and-follow signatures form a checkerboard negligible for a South American country.
Carlos Gamerro or Daniel Link, with Sasturain, although the latter modestly call it "Decalogue", strive to develop a theory of narrative "noir" vernacular with more than one match between them.
For example, if the crime novel has its roots in the American West, ours should have them in the Pampa. Only our cowboy "Martin Fierro" rather than wear a star on the chest is a deserter from compulsory levies. That is, your character must be a marginal.
Another condition would be that if not the police who committed the crime, at least occurs with his consent. The points are and they are still funny and many accurate. In pursuit of realism required by the police, the story of Argentina must be written under those conditions.
however, rule out the experiments as "Breathing" or more ago, the deductive "Don Isidro Parodi." Actants, the stories of entresiglo in the sense "Proppian" of the term-no variants are too many Americans. Etchenique, star of "Perderores Manual" originally written in serial fashion for a newspaper, you may continue to be a retired, but first and foremost a detective.
structures or in relation to almost all accounts kept strictly that of the nineteenth-century novel, is finally adopted by the mainstream cinema, it tells what you want to tell.
In definitive, I understand the rules to write a credible police story as an attempt Argentine dissection and not as a massed forward. What genre stiffen while, according to Juan Jose Saer, all literature is experimental?
A single police has been best seller in recent years although it can not be described as "hardboiled" or "black." It was the Premio Planeta 2003 "Crimes Imperceptible" Guillermo Martínez.
By having to Oxford as a backdrop, Alex de la Iglesia knew he could sell it as a film for whites. The Frodo Elijah Wood was the letter. A good product, maybe the best so far by the English director.
addition to the software flaw to chat (well) on literature in Telefé, Juan Saturain directs the collection of novels "Black Absolute", which to date has released two titles. A spiritual boost from here.
Still, do not see a body with a history of coaching as American crime fiction, and here, yes, I think, lies the difference. Even in Spain there is an honorary award for best crime novel published during the year and have won for an American to a French. The British detective writers associations are more than one.
to ours, I see more as voluntarism genaracionales isolated as pivots. Perhaps the market is smaller. Perhaps, the tenth of the total U.S. population that we do not generate as many writers, and less police. Perhaps, publishers are encouraged to publish unknown. Perhaps not known to write a police encourage.
I do not feel the same conviction of journalist from "La Voz del Interior." But beware, the Argentine detective story is not dead. As always, the best is yet to be written.

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In May, Eura Editoriale, Italy, launches Dago unpublished comic book "Under the Sign of the Bull", written by Manuel Morini, a member of the Writers Bureau, and drawn by Marcelo Valentini, on the creation of Robin Wood and Alberto Salinas.