@almaguer, please add English section to this since @wakeupkitty wouldn't want to read in another language because the language of the community was set to English (it makes sense since SEA was meant to be short for South East Asia, so English makes sense 😅 ). I have translated it to English, just paste it in the post, please. Thanks.

I am a gambler. My main business is to collect the bets that others leave unpaid. I specialise in shaving their heads. And cutting the hides off the cases that are written down in the book. The book is a kind of law. It has on the cover a curious text that says: Read on for more information.

Someone in the racket writes name and numbers. I just read ‘The freckled idiot’ in the ledger. This is a special case. I know him from the neighbourhood. He was a whiz at mathematics. He could figure out any integral equation in a matter of minutes.

Life had put him on the ropes. He had a brother who suffered from constant epileptic seizures. Money was always a problem. So he went straight to Dogan and sold his soul. He was carrying a few kilos of coke in his stomach. He was nicknamed the cash register. He could swallow several lumps like nobody else. He was on the verge of death several times. But he always remembered his brother.

So one day he comes and blows the head off one of Dogan's dogs. The drugs were about to fall apart in his belly. And the delivery van hadn't even turned up. He had to walk the whole way. Hiding the deathly colour of his face. Some stupid druggie was supposed to pick him up at the airport entrance. The flight was cancelled and rerouted to another four hours later.

Dogan patiently chewed his showy tobaccos; he had a unique way with the guillotine. That he loved his dogs, I doubt? But they were his fucking dogs. So he gave the order to take out the goods and cut off his arm, as a signal. El Pecoso had a moment of inspiration. He waited patiently for them to help him with the drugs. Then he took a scalpel and, with mathematical or surgical precision, managed to cut the thugs Achilles tendon. He took the extracted package and left the basement.

Maybe his brother had died the night before, in another city.
This morning they called me around six o'clock. I'm the guy they'd call if it was all a fuck-up. I always charge what's in the book. I've shaved conscientiously. I've put on my gloves, my hat and my black suit. I must appear impeccable.

My appearance is unique. Those who have seen me, unless they have the means to pay the debt at that moment, have not seen another sunrise. They have not seen another dawn.

I trace a cross, over the name to be charged. The night is exquisite. You can smell the strong smell of the city. The lights, the screams, the traffic. Everything is perfect and, in a while, I'll have a new scalp in the glove compartment of the car.