"Washed & Screwed"
(Or the Cash Under the Mattress)
A Farce in Two Acts
by BENJAMIN GAVARRE
"Washed & Screwed" (Or the Cash Under the Mattress). © 2026 by BENJAMIN GAVARRE is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0
CHARACTERS:
·
DON CARLOS ZORRILLO: In his sixties. Greedy, hypochondriac, a sugar-daddy
wannabe, and easily terrified. First-generation immigrant who thinks he's a
criminal mastermind.
·
PALOMINO: His assistant. A local second-generation
Chicano/Pocho from L.A. Shrewd, mocking, manipulative, and highly ambitious.
·
DON RUPERTO MORADO: A stuck-up, stingy, and greedy neighbor. Owns a
discount clothing store in the strip mall.
·
THE GLAZIER: A nosy, opportunistic local window contractor always
looking for a scam.
·
DON BETO PRADERA "EL
ALACRÁN": The sketchy local
botanica/pharmacy owner, corrupt and malicious.
·
SOFÍA "LA
ALCAYATA" (THE HOOK): A cold,
calculating, and young professional gold-digger. An aspiring Instagram
influencer.
·
INSPECTOR 1 &
INSPECTOR 2: Las Vegas mobsters
posing as cartoonish federal agents.
ACT
ONE
The
stage is split into two areas visible simultaneously.
·
Right Side (The Foyer /
Living Room): A small apartment
living room in East L.A. It features the main door to the street, a couple of
pretentious, fake Louis XV armchairs, and a side table.
·
Left Side (The Bedroom): Separated from the living room by an open archway.
This space is dominated by a disproportionately tall and thick queen-size bed.
It looks like a normal mattress, but thousands of dollars are hidden under the
sheets.
The
audience can see Palomino dealing with the annoying visitors in the living
room, while simultaneously watching Don Carlos Zorrillo’s panicked gestures and
groans in bed, creating constant visual irony.
(Lights
up on the Bedroom. DON CARLOS ZORRILLO, wearing silk pajamas, tosses and turns
in bed, groaning in agony. PALOMINO enters from the living room holding a
steaming mug).
PALOMINO.— I brought you your chamomile tea, Don Carlos. Let’s
see if this settles your stomach and gets rid of the bad air… And I’m not just
talking about your flatulence, boss… you know… Your gut is a disaster. If I
don't tell you, who will? You’re dropping bombs in here, for real.
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Shut up,
you insolent brat! Forget the tea! My stomach is fine! I am wounded in my soul
and my lower back… This is a curse! Sleeping on top of all this dirty cash is
pure torture. This mattress was stuffed by the Devil himself!
PALOMINO.— Come on, what did you expect? You get what you look
for, boss. It's the hundred-dollar bills. The stacks, the packs... If you don't
stack them right, the paper scratches. Or so they tell me. I wouldn't know...
don't look at me like that! Okay, maybe sometimes, when you spend hours in the
restroom because of that fake diarrhea... Just stop eating that expired ice
cream from the store, you gain nothing and it's bad for business. A bad
investment is a bad investment, you gotta face it and accept the losses. Eat
some white rice, like me. I eat rice with bananas, it's very cheap, it's
healthy... And about your back pain? What did you expect? If you let me
organize the money, it wouldn't hurt, but you’re too paranoid. You should just
sleep on the floor. I like the floor.
DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— It’s
cursed money, Palomino! Dirty
greenbacks. I don’t know how I agreed to launder so much cash for the
syndicate.
PALOMINO.— I warned you, Carlitos, but you’re too stubborn...
You tried to clean the money with that ridiculous "Flamin' Hot Cheetos
with Organic Cheese and Horchata Boba" joint. The neon sign had like three
typos! Where has that been seen? ¡No way! People in L.A. have bad tempers but
they know how to read, bro. They’re hipsters now! Hot Cheetos with warm mayo
and tapioca? Gross! People around here are traditional about their snacks,
that's why they go to the regular taco trucks. They hated the concept, to say
the least. We bombed.
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Idiots,
all of them! But I offered discounts! I tried selling them guacamayas with pork
rinds and pico de gallo, I gave them a two-for-one deal on fruit salads with
heavy cotija cheese... and nothing! We went bankrupt. The neighborhood looked
at us like we were crazy, and the cartel guys got pissed when they saw zero
returns. They took most of the capital back, almost all the clean dollars, and
left us with two sports bags of cash that are now stuffing this bed. My bed!
Pure useless cash. To buy groceries, I had to pawn the commercial freezers, the
grills, and even the lightbulbs! Nobody around here breaks a hundred-dollar
bill, especially in this gentrified part of town. Look! Feel this mountain of
paper! I can’t deposit it, I can’t pay my bills. I can't even start a normal
business because how am I going to pay? With bags of cash? Yeah, right! They’ll
report me to the IRS, call the cops, freeze everything... and hell no, nel,
nunca!
PALOMINO.— And we can't even step outside. The local vultures
from the strip mall already suspect you have a stash, and they think you’re
about to kick the bucket. By the way, are you actually dying, Don Carlos? Are
you going to die? Don't die, my friend.
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Of
course not! Well, yes... I am dying, but from pure anger because everything
goes wrong! (The DOORBELL rings
in the living room). Quick, to the bed! Throw some baby powder on my face
so I look like a corpse. You go stop whoever it is! If they’re here to check if
I’m dead, maybe they brought a gift to show respect... Nobody gives anything
for free.
(Palomino
runs to the living room. Don Carlos Zorrillo drops onto the bed, opens his
mouth, and crosses his hands over his chest, mimicking rigor mortis. Palomino
opens the front door. It’s DON RUPERTO MORADO, looking stiff and holding a
shoebox).
DON
RUPERTO.— My good Palomino. I heard
that Don Carlos is about to hang up his sneakers and move to the local
cemetery... I brought him these sheepskin loafers, very exclusive, very
expensive.
PALOMINO.— (Sniffs
the box). Oh, Don Ruperto... smells like cheap plastic. These smell like a
downtown liquidation sale. This is that hard plastic that doesn't even bend,
right?
DON
RUPERTO.— Assembled in California
with international technology! Can I go in and give him my early condolences? (He tries to peek through the
archway into the bedroom. Don Carlos Zorrillo, seeing him out of the corner of
his eye, starts coughing like a tuberculosis patient).
PALOMINO.— (Quickly
blocks his path). Oh, Don Ruperto! Listen to those lungs. The boss has a
fire in his gut, and well... the toilet bowl is seeing the worst of it, it’s
disgusting... you feel me? The diarrhea... don't make that face. And he's
throwing up bile. Honestly, for a man whose feet are already turning cold,
shoes with laces are a nightmare. What he needs are slippers; bring some
slippers next time, deer hide or suede at least, size nine. And don't worry
about these... leave them here. (Tucks
the box under his arm). I’ll keep them to look sharp when I walk down
Whittier Boulevard, and I promise you’ll be front and center in the will.
DON
RUPERTO.— (Smiling greedily). Bless you, kid. Take good care of
him... don't give him any acidic food, and don't scare him to death... See ya,
I’ll bring the slippers later! (He
leaves in a hurry, looking frantic).
(As
soon as Don Ruperto leaves, there's another knock on the door. Palomino opens
it. THE GLAZIER enters, carrying an enormous, gaudy crystal ashtray).
THE
GLAZIER.— Palominillo, my boy! I
brought this little gift for Don Carlos. For his nightstand.
PALOMINO.— An ashtray? Are you flatly dumb in your head? The
boss stopped smoking. He used to do three packs a day, sure. If he drank, he
smoked more. If he ate tacos, he smoked... he smoked while chewing! You know
how it is. And he drank a lot... a lot of tequila and mezcal. I already said
that, right? Give me that thing so I can put my car keys in it. Let’s see, is
this real crystal or just cheap glass? Looks heavy, but you never know.
Alright, get moving! Why are you staring at me? Expecting something in return?
Expecting me to tell you your ashtray is beautiful? (Pushes him toward the door).
THE
GLAZIER.— But let me see him, just
so he knows I came! Don’t treat me like I’m some kind of…
PALOMINO.— A hooker? No way, I don’t even know how you could
think that. I’ll tell the boss so he puts you first in line in his will. We
good, yes or no? I already told you you’re in his prayers. If not, I’ll remind
him. Next time, you’d better bring me a mirror, a full-length one, like six
feet tall… or how tall do you think the boss is? Ah, I know, he’s kind of
short, so make it seven feet so we can all fit in the picture. I already wrote
it down in my little notebook. Come on, if you breathe the sick man’s air, you’re
gonna catch the… Just leave. Go home. Beveled edges and a silver frame, you get
me? Move it, Mr. Glass… or whatever you said your name was. (He pushes him out).
(The
doorbell rings again. Palomino opens it reluctantly. DON BETO PRADERA "EL
ALACRÁN", the owner of the botanica, arrives with a dropper bottle and a
bottle of Don Julio tequila tucked under his arm).
DON
BETO.— I’m here to see the
corpse-to-be. I brought him "The Drops of Happiness." Organic peyote
extract mixed with liquid clonazepam from Tijuana. So he goes to the next world
laughing. He shouldn’t take it on an empty stomach, and it’s better if he’s not
alone, just in case he gets a stroke. You’re the executor, Palomino. Do you
know if he put me in his thoughts and his will? If not, give him a few drops
and have him sign me in; then you can give him the rest of the bottle. If he
doesn’t want to take it straight, give it to him in his boba tea, or better
yet, in a shot of tequila… I brought the tequila right here. You know the
drill: a few drops and then the whole thing… so he may requiescat in pace!
PALOMINO.— (Snatches
it from him). Holy cow! What a piece of work… what a jerk… Hand them over.
Just like airport customs, Betito: any suspicious bottle gets confiscated. And
don’t even try, the boss isn’t seeing anyone. You have no heart; nobody would
accept what you’re proposing, it’s not in good taste, and besides, it’s a
crime. So don’t even say it because I don’t even want to look at you. Leave!
But if you come back, bring me some of those Baja cactus buttons that make your
head spin… To get me feeling good, you know? Real good… some green peyotes, the
ones without spines, and I’ll tell my boss to include you. But without any of
those drops. Get out, hit the road!
DON
BETO.— (Annoyed, peeking through the archway). You want to
keep the whole cake for yourself, don’t you, you greedy servant? Look at you,
licking your chops! You arrogant fool. You’ll see how everything catches up to
you! You’re going to regret this, you will see.
(Palomino
gives him a push and slams the door in his face).
(Lights
up on the Bedroom. DON CARLOS ZORRILLO jumps out of bed, dying of laughter).
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— What a
bunch of stupid scammers! They swallowed it hook, line, and sinker!
PALOMINO.— But they aren’t going to sit still, boss. They are
like humidity, mange, or a bad rash… It never goes away. (Faced with his boss’s glaring
look). What… I talk too much, don’t I? Okay, okay… I’m shutting up. I
swear.
(Lights
change: downstage or the sidewalk of the strip mall. Don Ruperto, The Glazier,
and Don Beto gather under a streetlamp next to the parking lot).
DON
RUPERTO.— That piece of trash
Palomino is pulling the rug out from under us. He’s going to keep everything.
I’m sure his boss is bursting with cash. I can smell money like a vulture… and
no, I’m not one, I’m a good person, I’m a family man, I go to church on
Sundays, I vote Democrat because I’m a minority but I think like a Republican…
DON
BETO.— We need to send in the
neighborhood’s heavy artillery. We have to call "The Hook."
THE
GLAZIER.— Sofía? She’s a beast!
That Instagram queen is cold and calculating. Well, the schoolgirl look is just
for show now. She kept the money from the furniture store owner on the corner,
she kept the money from the contractor with the lots in Huntington Park, she
kept the cars from the owner of "El Buen Gusto" taco truck… His
family hates her, the taco truck family, of course… but she just gives them a
"whatever" face and keeps driving down Whittier Boulevard in her
fully customized luxury trucks. Even if she wears designer clothes, she’s a bit
flashy, but she works for us! She’s a genius. If anyone can get a signature out
of the old man while bypassing that Palomino, it’s her. She’ll put us in the
will in exchange for her cut.
ACT
TWO
(The
same set. The foyer. The doorbell rings. PALOMINO opens the door and SOFÍA
"THE HOOK" enters. She wears a tightly tailored school uniform, high
socks, and a completely innocent, fake look on her face).
PALOMINO.— Well, look who’s here! I’m glad to see you, gorgeous.
Are you here to say a prayer for the old man? Or would you rather say hello to
the brand-new owner of this whole place? (Itries to corner her against the sofa).
SOFÍA.— (Dodging
him with a mock-elegant slap). Back off, you social climber! Palomino, I
don’t dance on a flat floor. No kiss without a checkbook, no heat without a
fire, you know? Fire… I’m here to see Don Carlos! (Sofía crosses the archway into the bedroom without
waiting for permission).
(Lights
up on the bedroom. DON CARLOS ZORRILLO, seeing her, suddenly looks full of
life. He quickly smooths his hair with spit).
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Sofía!
My favorite girl for a good cause. Come, lie down here with this poor sick man
who is barely breathing.
SOFÍA.— (Sitting
on the bed and bouncing around). Oh, Don Carlos! What is inside this
mattress? Bricks? It’s rock hard and it makes a loud crinkling paper sound.
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (With a sly grin, lifting a corner
of the sheet). It’s greenbacks, my queen. Dirty, stained... but dollars
after all. If you give me a few sweet kisses, I promise you’ll leave here with
a thick stack for your little cravings.
SOFÍA.— (Her
eyes widen at the sight of the cash, but she stays cool). Mmm... smells
like mildew and illegal business... but well, with a good iron, it’ll
straighten out. How about we iron things out first, and then we launder them? I
have some very good, spicy ideas... Tell me about that Horchata business... is
it true you have a lot of boba balls hidden around here? I love a good, sweet
beverage with plenty of extra toppings... (She lies down beside him. They begin whispering,
giggling, and playing around excessively).
PALOMINO.— (Who
has been spying from the archway, biting his nails). That old sugar-daddy
wannabe! He’s throwing away my inheritance! That miserable fox... Two of a
kind, a fox and a skunk, nobody can beat them. No, this doesn't stay like this!
(Suddenly,
violent pounding on the front door. Angry voices are heard outside).
PALOMINO.— (Runs
to the foyer, peeks out the window, and rushes back to the bedroom terrified).
Boss! The three vultures are here together! And they brought a local Notary
from the neighborhood! They’re demanding to see your final will or they’ll
report you to the federal authorities!
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (Separating from Sofía, his eyes
gleaming with dramatic mischief). Perfect! The comedy has to reach its
final curtain, I can’t keep living like this anyway. Tell them I just kicked
the bucket from a massive heart attack! Tell them I’m dead, completely stiff
from the physical effort, and that I’m gone!
PALOMINO.— What?
DON CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Take this fake will I had right here in the nightstand
drawer. It says I leave absolutely everything to you. I’m going to hide under
the mattress. I want to see their faces when they realize the servant got the
whole fortune! It’s going to be beautiful! Come on, you dummy, move!
(Don
Carlos Zorrillo squeezes himself under the massive bed with a lot of trouble.
Sofía, catching the game on the fly and seeing her golden opportunity,
discreetly grabs a giant bundle of cash that was left loose, puts a black veil
over her head, and starts sobbing tragically).
(Palomino
runs and opens the front door. DON RUPERTO, DON BETO, and THE GLAZIER—Mr. Glass
himself, by the way—burst in).
DON
RUPERTO.— Out of the way, Palomino!
We’re here to see the old man and make sure he signs a final will.
PALOMINO.— (Fingering
/ faking a broken voice, covering his face). You’re too late, gentlemen...
The Lord has called him to his holy glory... Just now, while he was playing
around with Miss Sofía... getting his horchata warm, putting fuel to the fire,
you know... Well, his heart just gave out and he’s stone-dead... He hung up his
sneakers, went feet-first... What else can I say? He passed on to a better
life!
(The
three vultures run into the bedroom. They see the messy bed and Sofía crying at
the top of her lungs, exaggerating the drama).
DON
BETO.— And the will? Where is
the damn paper?
PALOMINO.— (Taking
the paper from the drawer). Right here, sealed and signed by the boss
before he kicked the bucket... right after warming up the horchata, you know...
with Sofía... and I’m not going to repeat myself because I don't talk too much,
even though sometimes I do... And it reads like this: "I leave all my
property, accounts, the Hot Cheetos and Boba business, and this sacred
matrimonial mattress to my loyal servant... my boy Palomino."
DON
RUPERTO.— This is a scam! A total
fraud! You stole my imported shoes!
THE
GLAZIER.— You usurping servant! And
I didn't bring you your mirror so you wouldn't see what a rat you are!
SOFÍA.— (Acting
dramatically, she gets up from the bed). And he left me defenseless! I was
the unofficial widow! This is garbage... I’m leaving, I can't handle so much
pain! (Sofía sneaks out of the
house, winking at the audience, knowing exactly what she is going to do).
PALOMINO.— (Puffing
his chest, arrogant, pointing to the street). Well, you heard it, you bunch
of freeloaders. Get the hell out of here; get out of my house. Out! Or I'll
call the cops... and accuse you of robbery, trespassing, statuary...
statolary... violation of my rights, you know! Out!!!!
(The
vultures, indignant and cursing, leave fuming. Palomino escorts them to the
front door and slams it shut in their faces).
(In
the bedroom, Zorrillo pokes his head out from under the bed, covering his mouth
to keep from bursting into laughter. Seeing that Sofía is gone, he comes out
completely).
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (Coming out, dusting himself off).
Damn, bro, what a blast we had! Did you see their faces? Pure art! Hey,
Palomino... I'm going to put on my old trench coat. I'm going to look for them
at the downtown bars just to walk right past them and laugh my ass off in their
faces... I'm going to mock their miserable lives right to their noses, you'll
see. Losers!
PALOMINO.— (Returning
to the bedroom, with a strangely cold and distant tone). Whatever you say,
Don Carlos. Go have fun.
(Zorrillo
puts a trench coat over his pajamas and leaves humming happily through the
front door. Palomino is left alone in the middle of the bedroom. His attitude
completely changes).
PALOMINO.— (He
looks at the fake will. Then he looks at the fat bed. He walks slowly and
caresses it). The paper is legal... The witnesses saw him go into the
notary... The whole neighborhood thinks Carlos Zorrillo already kicked the
bucket or that he's dead: period. And what need do I have to be a dead man's
servant, if I can be the owner of the circus? Besides, he treats me badly, he
called me a servant... Well, he's going to see how this little dove turns into
a hurricane... I mean, into a hawk, but what am I saying! Into an eagle, a
falcon... No, not a vulture, there are already too many of those in this town.
(Palomino
pulls a sports bag from under an armchair in the foyer, takes it to the
bedroom, lifts the mattress, and looks with delight at the stacks of bills,
laughing madly, he celebrates on the bed thinking all that money will belong to
him... but greed always bursts the bag... And without him putting a single
stack of dollars into the bag, Palomino begins to see his dream vanish...)
(Lights
up on the foyer. Zorrillo comes running back, terrified. He tries to open the
front door, but it's bolted. He rings the doorbell desperately. He pounds on
the wood).
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Palomino!
Palomino, open up, for your mother's sake! Some big, bald, weird guys have been
following me since the end of the boulevard! Open up! I never made it to the
vultures, I couldn't make fun of them... God punished me for crossing the
line... My sweet Palomito, open up, for your life, they're huge and look like
hitmen...
PALOMINO.— (Glued
to the door, speaking as if he were miles away from Zorrillo). Ah... I'm
sorry, good sir! We are all very sad here, for the death of Don Zorrillo… he
was a good man and never treated those who served him poorly. He never said
nasty words to his best employee Palominito, he never called him a servant or
anything offensive to his best helper, who considered him a friend, but you see
how life gives you surprises, right?... (Palomino opens a peephole in the door). You have
the wrong house, good sir! We are holding a wake for the body of Don Carlos
Zorrillo here! And I am his sole and legitimate heir!
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Don't
try to be funny, not now, Palomino, it's me! Stop playing around, I'm not in
the mood for your jokes right now!
PALOMINO.— (With
corporate coldness). May the "Boss" rest in peace. The dead to
the grave and the living to the rave. (He shuts the peephole in his face and runs back to the
bedroom to keep packing the money).
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (From the street, pale. The comedy
completely turned against him. His rage is immense). Me? You're going to
treat me like an old flip-flop, you filthy servant? Well, if I go down, you go
down with me, you filthy bastard, you piece of...! (He runs off infuriated).
(Brief
blackout to denote the passage of a few minutes. General lighting up again).
(Palomino,
in the bedroom, already has the sports bag stuffed to the brim. He is crossing
the foyer ready to escape. Suddenly, the front door is kicked wide open).
(DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO, DON RUPERTO, DON BETO, and THE GLAZIER storm in, and behind
them, two tall men dressed in black suits... They are very stiff men, with dark
glasses and a leather briefcase. They are supposedly THE INSPECTORS).
DON
RUPERTO.— There's the thief! I told
you!
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Look at
him, Mr. Inspectors! He was trying to escape with the loot!
PALOMINO.— (Terrified,
dropping the bag). Boss, don't be a dumbass! You're going to sink us both
with the IRS! Think about the feds!
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (Blinded by spite and anger).
I'd rather the government take the shirt off my back than have a filthy rodent
like you spend my dollars on street food and women! Look, Mr. Inspectors! Come
to the bedroom!
(They
all storm into the bedroom. Carlos Zorrillo, dramatically, grabs the mattress
and flips it completely over. It still has stacks of bills that Palomino
couldn't pack away).
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Look!
Dirty money! Narco money! It's in the mattress and the rest is in those bags
that this thief packed away... Take it, take all the money, but throw this
wretch in jail for the rest of his days!
(The
two Inspectors look at the money on the mattress, they look at the bags. They
exchange a glance and take off their dark glasses simultaneously).
INSPECTOR
1.— (With a heavily exaggerated gringo accent). Okay,
Mister Carlos Zorrillo. We appreciate it veery much.
INSPECTOR
2.— Yes. In the name of the
Treasury Department... and the Iunaited Esteits ov America... the Di-I-Ei...
The DEA confiscates this dirty mattress and bags!
(Palomino
and Carlos Zorrillo's eyes go wide, completely frozen in terror).
PALOMINO.— The... the DEA? Boss! You brought the gringos, but
these are mobster gringos, they're not even from the DEA!
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— Son of a
bitch! I thought they were just pencil-pushers from Sacramento!
INSPECTOR
1.— (Pulling out shiny handcuffs). Yes, mister. You are
coming with us, we are going to take you to meet the fishes. For money
laundering and simulating a defuncshion.
(From
the foyer, SOFÍA "The Hook" enters triumphantly, now arm in arm with
another Gringo Mobster holding a massive hand cannon or even an AK-47. She is
chewing gum and sporting extremely expensive sunglasses).
SOFÍA.— Oh, Don Carlitos... I told you so. I never take a
step without my boots. When I left here and saw this ship was sinking, I went
straight to these big boys from Las Vegas who were already looking for you for
being so ridiculous. They even got me a super fake but super well-made visa,
now my name is Martha Stuart, can you believe it? I'm going with them to Las
Vegas as their accomplice and new friend, losers! (She blows them a mocking kiss and struts out).
INSPECTOR
2.— Listen carefully, Carlos
Zorrillo. The Boss in Las Vegas is not happy with your business model.
Laundering cash with "Hot Cheetos and warm mayo" was an insult to the
organization's intellect. You've made fools of us all.
INSPECTOR
1.— Yeah. And those who
disrespect the Boss, we take them to sunbathe in cement shoes at Lake Mead.
Capisce?
INSPECTOR
2.— And you, little vulture
friends... (Firmly points at
Ruperto, Beto, and the Glazier). Get moving. We are going to hire you to
provide services for us over in Nevada, you'll be the direct liaison with the
headquarters in these areas. Let's go, everyone. Walk!
(The
Inspectors quickly handcuff Palomino and Carlos Zorrillo. The three
neighborhood vultures get on their knees and give thanks for the new
connections, starting to pick up the bag and the stacks of bills from the floor
to take with them).
PALOMINO.— (Whimpering,
looking at his handcuffed hands). Guys, please! I don't know how to swim in
cement... I can be a good liaison too. I have great skills! I speak English.
Listen to me: I can be very useful for the boss in Vegas!
INSPECTOR
1.— (Looks at him curiously). You speak English, kid?
PALOMINO.— But of course! My English is impeccable! I can
organize the businesses, the books, wash the casino floors... For pity's sake,
don't leave me here and don't throw me in the lake!
INSPECTOR
2.— Not bad. The Boss has
been very stressed about the stupid things you two did. If we bring him a funny
guy who speaks Spanglish to serve as a jester, maybe he'll have a laugh. Come
with us, Palomino. You’re saved from the cement, but you’re coming to Las Vegas
with us and Miss Martha Stuart.
PALOMINO.— (Forgetting
his crying, fascinated). Sure, amigos! Let's go together! To Las Vegas,
baby! (He turns to look at
Carlos Zorrillo with contempt and mockery). See you never, Pepe Le Pew!
You're left alone for being greedy and for humiliating me! Suck on that, boss!
(The
Inspectors, the three vultures—Ruperto, Beto, and the Glazier—and Palomino
storm out carrying the bags and laughing, leaving the stage empty. Carlos
Zorrillo is left completely alone in the center of the wrecked bedroom. He
slowly approaches the full-length mirror left by the Glazier. He stares at
himself, ruminating on his loneliness).
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— (Smiles at the mirror with a
bitter, brilliant cynicism). Well, I'm left all alone and without a dime.
Running on fumes. I'm totally screwed... The mafia, Martha Stuart, the damn
vultures... (He lets out a
genuine burst of laughter). But at least they took that loudmouth Palomino
off my hands! I got my revenge, I humiliated him to the very end, and now he
left with the people who will use him as a jester! He deserves it for being a
traitor! (Laughs harder,
looking at himself in the mirror). I'm happy... I have no money, no
freedom, no friends... but look how I laugh with happiness! Hahahaha!
(Suddenly,
his face in the mirror disfigures. The laughter chokes into a whimper).
DON
CARLOS ZORRILLO.— No...
I'm not happy... I'm so alone! I lost my only friend! (He falls to his knees in front of the mirror, crying
like a child). Mommy! Mom, where are you! Everything goes wrong for me!
Waaahhhh! (He sits up abruptly,
with absolute stoicism, wiping his tears). It doesn't matter. I am Carlos
Zorrillo. I always pull through. I land on my feet. (He collapses again in front of the mirror).
Waaahhh! Why me? Noooo!
(Carlos
Zorrillo exits the stage alternating between haughty laughter and inconsolable
crying, as if two masks were fighting over his face. The bedroom is left in
complete solitude; the bed is destroyed in the center, showing only the rusty
springs).
(An
ironic danzón music begins to play, which suddenly turns into a catchy, happy,
and festive mambo. The entire company comes out happily to take their bows).
FINAL
CURTAIN.
"Washed & Screwed" (Or the Cash Under the Mattress). © 2026 by BENJAMIN GAVARRE is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0
