President Pero stood down from the jeep. He had pondered the need for a pair of trumpeters, to herald his arrival; but decided against it. King Pero needed no ceremony, he got straight to work.
The foreigners were back and wanted more. His father, who had started pulling strings to have him promoted in the military with an eye on the Governor’s post; sent him again.
Trumpets squalled as Pero defeated the glass entrance doors and strode over to them in the hotel lobby, slipping his sunglasses on over his disjointed nose. This was his world, not theirs. They would take what was given, like scraps to dogs. His father would be proud of his son’s prowess.
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The Royal Bloodline of King Pero
Pero’s grandfather Antonio Felipe Pero, originally came from a small island off the coast of Brazil. Eager for more land and place to settle his burgeoning family, they made the long journey to the city before the Valley. Across lands, seas and oceans they travelled before finally coming upon their promised land.
Pero’s grandfather was independently wealthy; he came from a long line of minor Portuguese aristocracy, which at some point was married into the family of Philip II, King of Spain. Although his wealth wasn’t considerable, Antonio was an industrious man, a trait he shared with his son; Antonio Felipe II – Pero’s father.
Pero’s father was a shrewd businessman with a knack of being in the right place at the right time. When land in the Valley came up for auction; it was his bid that won. Together with other land owners; they formed a consortium of businessmen. A legitimate enterprise with offices in the city. The consortium grew, refined, manufactured, packaged and distributed heroin world wide. They were very successful. Pero’s father knows everyone and everyone knows him.
Antonio Felipe II is known as being a proud man; never to the point of arrogance, yet distant with people he believed were beneath him. He was proud of two things, his father and his family name. Pero had every intention of adding a third. In clearing the slums, there would be land available once more in the Valley and he, Pero, will have been the mastermind of elegant acumen who would purchase said land. In his family’s name, of course.
Although Pero was clearly in no way a king nor president or governor, he felt one day that he would reclaim the throne of Portugal, his family’s birthright. He simply needed the money and manpower to achieve it. He had never actually stepped foot in Portugal, but had fond memories of the place nonetheless. He also knew that sooner or later he would be inheriting the family concerns. His father, although a robust man, would inevitably come to a less than savoury end, much like his grandfather.
Whilst the shelf life of business men in the city tended to be short, Pero had no intention of staying there. To him, this was nothing more than a rung on the ladder to greatness. His promised destiny.
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With the foreigners satisfied with Pero’s terms; they left once more. Flying back to their land a deal signed, sealed and delivered. Pero sighed. This was not work for a man, a man should be killing. In the fields and villages; he should be spring cleaning. He breathed heavily on his Captain’s badge, cleaned the fog with a cuff and straightened his hat.
The King walked back out into the lobby of the hotel, his long moustache wilting in the humidity. These were his people, the people of his country. He was their father. Who would he let live? Only those that came to Pero, on hands and knees begging for mercy. Pero would be merciful. He would gift them their lives. For today the people love Pero and see him as perfect in every way.
Long live King Pero III! Long live King Pero III! Long live King Pero III!
He waved benevolently to the people assembled in the lobby and smiling, he departed through the glass doors.
The Angry Farmer 