WE VISIT THE NATIONAL BANK AND EAT TOO MUCH MEAT!

10.22.10
The day begins with a trip to the National Bank to cash some checks. There’s no teller lines...everyone just gets a number and waits in a big room for the number to appear on a TV monitor. It’s a bit like being at an OTB: packs of people standing around, clutching tickets in their hands staring up at a TV screens in a place stinking of money and desperation. Jim almost causes an International incident because he’s texting on his phone...a big scary guy with a submachine yells at him to stop. Maybe they think we’re casing the joint...we get our dough and get the hell out of Dodge.

Back at the hotel. the ninjas appear and whisk us off for the ASADO. It only occurs to me later that I just got into a stranger’s car with no cell phone, a wad of cash in my pocket and no idea where we were going or who was taking us there. Sometimes you just gotta let it roll.

Now we don’t know what to expect of this lunch – i’m guessing they will be taking us to a restaurant – but instead we arrive at a the ARTE HOSTEL. It’s a typical youth hostel but it’s covered with amazing paintings, murals, sculptures and such. They lead us into an enclosed courtyard (this is where they’re going to whack us!) and waiting there is a table that must be 25 feet long covered with place settings, salads, wine, beer, sodas, chips and a lot more! In the corner of the courtyard is an grill that’s really an oil drum cut in half and one of the guys from the day before grilling about 20 different kinds of meat. It’s an amazing spread!

We re-introduce ourselves and proceed to have one of the most wonderful meals of my life. Just the perfect blend of food, drink and conversation. It’s all over too soon...we exchange contact info, kiss about 1000 times and then it’s back to the show. I do a bunch of portfolios reviews (tipsy ones!) and the day and night passes in a blur. At some point we hit an Irish pub (every city in the world has one!) and I’m in bed by 3AM.

10.23.10
Over breakfast, i look at about 80 portfolios in an attempt to trim down the number of people i will meet with one-on-one. Over the course of the weekend i’ll look at over 200 portfolios and meet with about 30 artists out of that number. It’s hard – you want to talk to everyone – but i really treat these trips as a talent search and so i need to focus mostly on artists i feel really have a chance of getting work in the American market. It’s still a great way to get discovered – my trips to Italy over the years have borne that out.

I don’t have review until 4:30, so the plan is to have lunch with MARCELO FRUSIN, his wife Jorgelina and their beautiful daughter, Sophia. Marcelo is the the artist we worked with on LOVELESS and HELLBLAZER. He takes us out to his favorite Asado place where we get Empanadas that are too die for. Azz and Marcelo mock me relentlessly because i won’t eat the BLOOD SAUSAGE ...apparently i’m not “MUY MACHO” enough! But, this is news?

Afterwards, we visit his apt/studio – another lovely view of the city – and then it gets serious. Marcelo is a HELADO (ice cream) snob. The ice cream in Argentina is incredible – this luscious mix of Italian Gelato and American Ice Cream – and it comes in flavors you can’t even imagine. He drags us to his fave spot and proceeds to order TWELVE different flavors. He’s like the Caligula of Helado...My favorite is a coffee colored one called SUPER SAMBAYON that tastes like WINE! By the end, my heart is racing and i have to unbutton my pants. Marcelo helps me buy some soccer jerseys for my kids (BOCA JR!) and gets me back to the show an hour late. As one of the other Argentines later says, “Marcelo has an interesting notion of time.” No kidding.

I have no idea what i’m telling these artists by now. But cut me some slack...It’s 5:00 PM and I’ve already had three steaks, three Empanadas, a bottle of wine, four espressos and TWELVE scoops of ice cream. It’s a miracle i’m not in the morgue.

Dinner is once again at EL CAIRO (i had fish and salad!) and we finish the night at a sushi bar (?) drinking FERNET & COKE...if you’ve never had it, it sorta taste like a melted tire. Not my favorite. Bedtime is 3:30...at least i'm consistent.

MONDAY: WORST TOUR EVER = BEST TOUR EVER!

CRACK BANG BOOM CON, Argentina -- PART ONE
(now with handy phrase guide!)

OCTOBER 2009
So i’m sitting in this lovely outdoor cafe in Lucca, Italy eating this insanely great sliced-steak with Eduardo Risso (co-creator/artist of 100 BULLETS) and he says to me out of the blue, “Would you be interested in coming to a comic convention in my hometown of Rosario, Argentina next fall?”...hmm...let me check my schedule...uhhh, YEAH!

10.20.10
Cut to: One year later and i’m stumbling bleary-eyed through the airport in Buenos Aires after a 11 hour flight looking for Brian Azzarello and CAFE CON LECHE (coffee with milk). Now Brian’s not the snuggliest guy on Earth but seeing a friendly face 5,000 miles from home is enough to get him to give me a hug as he helps our driver Daniel throw my bags into his tiny car. I note with pride that Azz has about twice as much gear as me...he might be low-key about it, but he’s a dapper dude and a bit of a clothes horse. Brian’s got the shotgun but since he doesn’t talk anyway, it’s not a problem that our driver speaks no English. Haha!

Rosario is a three-hour drive from Buenos Aires, so i grab a quick cat nap -- one thing i’ve learned on all these trips is that while food, beer and coffee flows freely, sleep is always in short supply. Word is that Risso will pick us up at the hotel at 6:45 but dinner isn’t until 10...yikes...i haven’t eaten since the night before so I load up on hotel PAPAS (chips) and COCA (Coke) and hit the streets.

Rosario is strange spot...a city that’s transforming from an industrial port to a tourism economy but lacking in things that tourists want to see. It’s got the feel of a European city but it’s a little frayed around the collar. Its right on the Paraná River (which is like a block from my hotel) so there’s plenty to see and do on the water. I wander a little around the downtown, hit an ATM (4 pesos to the dollar!) and get back just in time to meet Eduardo. He gives me the usual kisses (if you’re not into kissing people DO NOT travel to Argentina) and introduces me to the con crew who will be running my life for the next week...His oldest boy Nico is there, Edus (who translated ALL of 100 Bullets and is one of the show organizers), Juan (who we later find out is a descendent of mafia kingpins!) and the man himself JIM LEE and his lovely wife, Carla. This is the first show ever in Rosario and the biggest show in years in Argentina, so Jim is a huge draw for them...so no pressure, Jim!

First they take us to see the flag monument...this impressive sort of Fascist-looking monument that celebrates where someone came up with the idea for the flag. Every town has one. We have a funny debate about who’s the best football club in Rosario (Centrale vs Old Boys!) and take a few snaps.

From there we head off to two gallery events that will kick off the con. One is inside a shopping mall (what?!) and celebrates the work of humorist Fontarossa -- who’s work in any language is hilarious. There we meet up with artist Leo Fernandez (NORTHLANDERS) and his lovely family. Then it’s onto another gallery show where we meet up with the Brazilian twins, Gabriel Ba & Fabio Moon, Ariel Olivetti, Marcelo Frusin, and my new soul mate, David Alabarcez (former assistant to Risso and all around bon vivant).

There’s a lot of speech making at both events. Unlike most American shows, shows abroad tend to be cultural/tourism events, sponsored by the local government ad businesses, so usually there’s local politicians and cultural ministers on hand to say a few words. In Lucca, i got locked in the bathroom during the same sort of speeches and no one came looking for me for 20 minutes! Anyway, we play the part of the ugly Americans abroad and use this time to raid the bar and hors d’oeuvres table...it’s Malbec (the wine of Argentina!) and some little baloney sandwiches...no one’s complaining.

FINALLY, its time for dinner and some CHOPP (draft beer). It’s like 11 pm and we’re just sitting down. Azz gets a steak but Risso is disgusted by it : “Oh no, Brian...this is terrible!” all the Argentines around the table agree with him. We don’t know any better and besides i haven’t eaten a solid meal in over 24 hours. I’m so hungry i order the “cheese and candy” for desert. It’s a piece of white cheese with a sweet potato jelly on top. It tastes about how it sounds. Asleep at 2 AM. Not bad for Day 1.

MONDAY: WHY IT ALWAYS PAYS TO TALK TO STRANGERS...

Brian Azzarello and artist Eduardo Risso, the creators behind the critically acclaimed fan favorite and New York Times Bestselling series 100 BULLETS and WEDNESDAY COMICS’ Batman story are reuniting on a top secret Vertigo project for 2011!

More details to come!

The World's 5 Weirdest Sports Crimes

My Vertigo Crime graphic novel THE EXECUTOR stars a washed-up NHL player who finds himself skating outside the law when he returns to his home town, to find out why his late and long-estranged high-school sweetheart named him the executor of her will. I wrote it in 2007. Imagine my surprise when Brian Azzarello's Vertigo Crime book FILTHY RICH came out last year, and I discovered that it too stars a former pro athlete.

Coincidence? Yes - but not that surprising. Pro sports is a strange business, full of narcissists, monomaniacs, hypocrites, concussion victims, parasitical enablers, yes-people and hangers-on, all steeped in vast amounts of money. No wonder so many athletes have gotten into extra-legal shenanigans over the years ... many of them far weirder than the crimes of normal people. These are the five wackiest athlete-turned-criminal stories that I know:

5. The Missile Crashes: Melissa "Missy" Giove

Nicknamed "The Missile", Missy Giove was a world-champion downhill mountain biker, known for her 11 World Cup wins, her Reebok ads and the dried-piranha necklace she always raced with. (The fish, "Gonzo", was a former pet.) She retired in August 2003, apparently on top of the world -

- but six years later was busted in upstate New York (where The Executor is set) for conspiring to possess and distribute more than 400 pounds of marijuana. The cops also found more than $1 million in cash at a co-conspirator's home. It seems her no-half-measures attitude stayed with her when she moved from extreme sports to extreme smuggling. Giove pled guilty in January, and will be sentenced later this year.

4. The Deadliest Hands: Luis Resto

Luis Resto made legal history in 1986 by being found guilty of criminal possession of a deadly weapon. A gun? A knife? Nunchucks? A flamethrower? Nope: his hands.

It makes a little more sense in context. Resto was a boxer who on June 16, 1983, ended the career of undefeated prospect Billy Collins Jr, thanks to his trainer Panama Lewis, who had removed the padding from Resto's gloves. Both were charged and found guilty with assault, conspiracy, and possession of the aforementioned Deadly Hands.

Resto later admitted that Lewis also placed plaster beneath his hand wraps, and had reduced his padding at least twice before. The HBO-aired documentary Assault in the Ring theorizes that Resto and Lewis won a large amount of money for a third party who had met with Lewis prior to the fight. That kingpin remains unnamed to this day.

3. The Scorpion Stung: José René Higuita Zapata

René Higuita was a goalkeeper for the Colombian national soccer team, a dangerous profession all by itself: in 1994 Andrés Escobar, a defender who had accidentally scored on his own net in a World Cup game, was shot 12 times and killed by a hit man who bellowed Goal! after every bullet. Talk about adding insult to injury.

Higuita was world-famous for his "scorpion-kick" save (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCxe4r6SjH0) and eccentric habits - his nickname was El Loco. Maybe that's why, when drug baron Pablo Escobar kidnapped shady businessman's Carlos Molina's daughter, Higuita agreed to be the one to deliver the ransom money.

It all seemed to turn out surprisingly well; Molina's daughter was returned unharmed, nobody was killed, and Higuita received $64,000 for his services. But, unfortunately for El Loco, profiting from a kidnapping is illegal in Colombia. He was promptly jailed for seven months. But at least the friendships then forged may have lasted; ten years later Higuita tested positive for cocaine while playing in Ecuador.

2. Miami Vice, Eat Your Heart Out: The 80s Racers

Race cars and drug smuggling have long been closely associated. NASCAR legend Junior Johnson developed his racing skills while outrunning the police with a trunk full of moonshine. (And you thought Dukes of Hazzard was fiction.) In his first year in NASCAR, Johnson won five races; then, in the off-season, he was busted working at his father's still, and served eleven months before returning to the track.

But moonshining had nothing on the 80s, when a whole passel of top drivers doubled as big-time drug smugglers. Of particular note was the Blue Thunder racing team, led by 1984 Camel GT champion and 1986 Indianapolis 500 rookie-of-the-year Randy Lanier, the great-nephew of legendary mobster Meyer Lansky. Lanier was convicted of importing and distributing more than 300 tons of marijuana.

Meanwhile, the father-son racing team John Paul Sr. and John Paul Jr. were getting into even stranger trouble. In 1979 they were caught with 1565 pounds of marijuana, but sentenced to a mere three years of probation. Then, in 1983, John Paul Sr. shot a witness in another drug trafficking case, fled to Switzerland under a false passport. After being captured and extradited back to the USA, he was sentenced to 25 years; John Paul Jr. refused to testify against his father, pled guilty to racketeering, and was jailed for five.

Thirteen years later, John Paul Sr. was paroled. He soon met a woman named Colleen Wood, who moved in with him on his yacht - and promptly vanished without a trace. John Paul Sr. was questioned but not charged. Two years later, in 2001, he disappeared himself, and to this day his whereabouts remain unknown.

1. Child of God: Robert Rozier

Alaskan-born Robert Rozier was a defensive end for the St. Louis Cardinals. After the NFL, he drifted into petty crime, until in 1982 he met the leader of a Miami religious sect called the "Temple of Love": a man who had been born Hulon Mitchell Jr. but now called himself "Yahweh ben Yahweh."

The Temple of Love owned a huge temple, an apartment building, restaurants, stores, houses, hotels, and hundreds of vehicles - all told, it was worth an estimated $100 million. It and its leader were widely admired and respected; indeed, In 1990, the mayor of Miami declared October 7, 1990 to be "Yahweh ben Yahweh Day."

But it turned out sect wasn't really the right word for the Temple of Love. Cult was more like it; and homicidal black supremacist cult more accurate yet. To join "The Brotherhood", the Temple's innermost sanctum, as Richard Rozier did in 1985, you had to murder a "white devil" and return with a body part to prove it. Rozier was only too eager to please. He ultimately admitted to murdering seven people.

Only a month after "Yahweh ben Yahweh Day", Mitchell Jr. was indicted in what a judge would later call

arguably the most violent case ever tried in a federal court: the indictment charges the sixteen defendants on trial with 14 murders by means such as beheading, stabbing, occasionally by pistol shots, plus severing of body parts such as ears to prove the worthiness of the killer. They were also charged with arson of a slumbering neighborhood using molotov cocktails. The perpetrators were ordered to wait outside the innocent victims' homes wearing ski masks and brandishing machetes to deter the victims from fleeing the flames.

Rozier plea-bargained a mere 22 years in prison for his seven murders, and served only ten before being released into the Witness Protection Program. Three years later, in a final twist, he was arrested in a suburb of Sacramento for passing bad checks, convicted, and sentenced to 25-to-life under California's three-strikes law.

...So go read THE EXECUTOR and FILTHY RICH, and remind yourself midway that it's true what they say: real life really is much, much stranger than any fiction.

--Jon Evans