Showdown in Buenos Aires, A Friend Suspects Man of Being Kenneth Lay

by Kevin Egan

A friend of mine recently returned from Argentina.  While there, he heardmore than one rumor that former Enron CEO, Kenneth Lay, was living in the country under an alias and in disguise.  Not one for conspiracy theories, he shunned the idea and proceeded to enjoy his vacation in the lovely city of Buenos Aires. 

Kenneth Lay, Master Criminal.

Kenneth Lay, Master Criminal.

 

While eating in a small café and getting drunk on local wine, my friend noticed a man, well dressed, in a striped white suit, with a long beard and bushy eyebrows.  At first he couldn’t place the face but then after recalling the rumors about the deceased executive, he suspected that the man before him might actually be Kenneth Lay. 

My friend swallowed what was left of his wine, paid his bill and began to follow this man around town.  The man stopped in many shops, conversed with local business men, and then casually strolled down the streets Buenos Aires is famous for, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.  My friend, by this time, seemed certain that it was Kenneth Lay he was following.  He told me the man in question had an air of indestructibility about him, as if he had pulled off the greatest caper known to man and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it.  My friend felt enraged and searched for the local authorities, in order to arrest this person he thought was Lay and finally bring justice to those whose lives had been destroyed by his irresponsible business practices.

The first police officer he had found took his accusation very seriously.  My friend speaks incredibly good Spanish and was able to paint an extremely vivid picture of who Lay was and the crimes he had committed.  Several other cops were waved over and a fury began to erupt within them, feelings if it was they themselves who had lost their retirement money in the great debacle of the early twenty-first century. 

Then an officer, who I suppose would be the equivalent of a police captain, caught word of the outrage that had his subordinates in an uproar and quickly dismissed any accusations in regards to the mysterious man.  He said he recognized the man my friend thought was Lay and had known him for a couple of years as a very polite and trouble-free gentlemen.  He didn’t feel there was any reason to disturb the man with such ludicrous charges and insisted that everyone drop the matter immediately. 

Smelling a rat that transcended national borders, my friend, along with the original officer that he had spoken with, remained on the trail of the man, hoping to find something that would expose his masquerade and, again, bring justice to the workers that will struggle for the rest of their lives because of the mischievous and dastardly deeds committed at Enron.

They followed him into coffee shops, gift shops, what appeared to be a brothel, a train station and finally a park, where he met a man in a thin grey suit, who did not look as if he was a native to Buenos Aires.   The two amateur sleuths snuck as close as they could to the two men, without seeming as if they were up to something.  Bits of conversations could be heard but there were also times when the sound of children playing and birds singing drowned out what seemed like crucial indictments of the man’s guilt.  Words like “Bush” and “Suckers” were, however, heard clearly numerous times, inciting more rage from my friend and his companion.  In fact, the police officer could not refrain from standing and shouting at the man, calling him the Spanish equivalent of “a villain,” “a bastard” and “a treacherous scoundrel.”

The man in the thin grey suit reacted quickly.  He pulled out a gun with a silencer attached to it and shot at the police officer, hitting him in the shoulder.  The officer shot back, but because of the injury he sustained, he missed, hitting a nearby tree.   The man in the suit then pressed a button on his cellphone and within seconds, a person wearing a dark helmet came speeding by on a Vespa.  The Vespa slowed down just enough for the man in the suit to climb on back and disappear into a crowded street.

The man suspected to be Lay, watching his associate escape, fled himself, pushing several children out of his way, knocking most of them to the cement ground.  My friend, after ensuring the police officer was okay, chased after the man, almost touching the shoulders of his suit jacket as they both reached an intersection in which a bus and a large truck had collided maybe twenty minutes before.  The man, however, took advantage of the massive crowd of people lingering in front of the truck and quickly squeezed between them, breaking away from my friend and then shooting down an alley.  By the time my friend was able to maneuver his way through the conglomerate of Argentinians, the man suspected to be Lay was gone.  And so was my friend’s hope to bring justice to those workers back in America. 

You could imagine my surprise when my friend returned to the United States and filled me in on the details on his adventure.  I could barely believe it myself.  Except I am a conspiracy theorist and his tale only incited the rage within me even more, since it is my belief that Kenneth Lay is still alive and had faked his own death in order to escape a prison sentence for the dastardly crimes he had committed against the U.S. financial system, as well as Enron employees. 

Anyone know the number of a good Nazi hunter?           

 

     

 

           

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