"Look at you now. Successful plastic surgeon. Living in this beautiful apartment," the Blonde continues. Dr. Benben grins proudly, and the Blonde wonders why he's renting. Dr. Benben's pleased expression immediately reverts to barely concealed fury. "My ex-wife got the house," he grits. And speaking of, where is Sean Young? Please tell me that wasn't it for her. Because I feel like, when you hire Sean Young, you really ought to use her nationally recognized brand of Crazy to your full advantage. The Blonde yips that property is a really good investment. Dr. Benben looks down at his watch. "I'm not boring you already, am I?" the Blonde asks. Dr. Benben assures her that he just doesn't want to miss their reservations. Also, he's beginning to wonder how long he can politely wait before he kills himself with a penknife. "Did I happen to mention I sell time shares?" the Blonde responds. "No," Dr. Benben says, with the tone of someone who's just been asked if he'd like to spend a holiday weekend locked in a windowless closet, reading instruction manuals written entirely in Pakistani. He then plasters an extremely phony smile across his face. Poor Dr. Benben. He simply cannot win. "Well, a person in your income bracket should definitely consider a time share," the Blonde hypothesizes. "Maybe we should get going!" Dr. Benben chirps with false cheer, and pulls her off the sofa. "Okay, great! You know what, I'll just grab some brochures out of my car, okay?" the Blonde tells him. "You do that," Dr. Benben groans, and gulps down an entirely full, very large goblet of wine. Dude, I have been getting so many telemarketing phone calls about time shares lately. I don't know what kind of crazy list I'm on, but come on, people. I am unemployed! The last thing I can afford right now is two weeks in the Poconos. Also, stop calling at 11 in the morning. I need my beauty sleep.
Cut to a graveyard in Ciudad Juarez. Chato and his daughter, Maribel, pull up on his motorcycle. They slide off and approach a grave, as slow Flamenco music plays in the background. I think this tune is called, "The Ballad of the Schoolgirl With the Hot, Evil, Somewhat Unbalanced, Possibly In Love With His Own Brother Father." She's a cute little girl, about twelve, in a Catholic school uniform. They talk in (subtitled) Spanish. "You think I'm buying you high heels?" he asks her. "You're too young for high heels." Maribel rolls her eyes. "Papi, all the other girls wear them," she whines. Chato thinks about this and wonder what Maribel's grandmother has to say about this. I'm sure she's told Maribel that high heels are very tacky with a uniform and appropriate only for Halloween or Tarts and Vicars parties. "She doesn't let me do anything. She's an old lady," Maribel tells him, disgruntled. Chato chuckles and explains that her grandmother is strict because she loves Maribel. They finally arrive at the grave and begin replacing the flowers. "Did I tell you about the time your grandmother caught me climbing through the window to visit your mother?" Chato asks, as they work. "She beat me with a wooden spoon." Didn't that just happen on Oz? Maribel giggles. "She was going to beat your mom, too, but she told her she was pregnant. And that's how I found out you were going to be born," he says, touching his daughter's face gently. Maribel smiles at him, and he tugs on her sleeve and pulls her down and they pray. Aw, I love the Softer Side of Chato. (That's like the Softer Side of Sears, but with more brutal beatings.) Behind them, the police pull up. "Papi, can I come live with you?" Maribel asks after a moment. Chato looks sad and tells her that it would never work. He spies the police over her shoulder, and reiterates that it really, really wouldn't be a good idea. Maribel climbs to her feet and sniffs sadly. "Don't you like being with me?" she asks. "I love being with you," Chato assures her. "But your grandmother can do a better job of raising you than I can." Poor little Maribel's face cracks. "No, she can't! I hate her," she sniffs, and adds that her grandmother doesn't care what she wants and neither does Chato! She begins to stomp off. The police take their chance and tackle Chato, throwing him to the ground and handcuffing him. "Take your hands off me! I know what this is really about!" Chato yells at them. Hearing the ruckus, Maribel turns and sees the struggle. She screams for her father. "Maribel, call your Uncle Miguel," Chato calls to her. "Call your Uncle Miguel!"