Hall joined him in the front seat.
"Arriba España," Pepe muttered, starting the car. "That is no joke in the heart of any Delgado from the Asturias. That is an abomination."
"You're an Asturiano?"
"Look at me, compañero. Do I have the face of a Gallego? Do I have the head of a Catalan? Do I have the eyes of a Madrileño or the soul of a puta?"
"You fought in the war against the fascists?"
"Mother of God, he's asking me if I fought! Always until eternity they will ask, Delgado, did you fight? And what will I say?"
"Watch out!" Hall screamed. "You'll hit that pole!" He grabbed for the wheel. Big Pepe's steel arm stopped him.
"De nada," the driver laughed. "Didn't Fernando tell you I am a reliable driver?" The car missed the pole by inches, whirled around a corner on two wheels, and then rolled casually down the Avenida de la Liberacion. Another mad turn, and they were at the Bolivar.
"The Englishman, Fielding," Hall said. "He wants you to pick him up at the office and take him home."
"Bueno." Big Pepe put the car in gear.