Almost half the souls in this printless Spanish town were hotly determined to spill my blood in the streets - for one violent reason or another.
It was a helluva setup for an FBI man - out to snap the weak link in a huge and dangerous narcotics chain.
My name's Bishop. I came ashore disguised as a sailor out to make an easy smuggler's buck. They were waiting for me - in every bar and back alley - a pack of murderers in full-throated cry, forewarned - and forearmed with a sinister assortment of blunt instruments.
I tell you, it was a damned energetic night, because then two dazzling dames got in the act, wrangling over me like dogs over a bone.
Just call me Pied Piper Bishop, legging it furiously through town for my life, while out behind me streamed an assortment of cutthroats - followed by a blonde and a brunette - both magnificently heaving.
Ole - what a view!