I think I know where Bato is

I have a theory. Somewhere, assuming somebody is hiding him, there must be a man who has known Bato for over 30 years. Wonderful friend, very loyal. Says he’d take a bullet for him.

Now, Bato, the government is offering P50 million for info leading to your arrest. Suddenly, you’re asking this man to do something extraordinary.

You’re asking him to turn down P50 million.

Not lend you P500 or pick you up at the airport. Not to feed your dog for the weekend. Do you realize what you’re asking?

Impossible! For P50 million, Judas would be furious. Thirty pieces of silver? That’s all I got? Terrible deal.

If your friend keeps your secret, what happens? He gets to keep your secret. Fantastic. What a prize. Another month of buying you groceries.

Bato! Never trust a man who says he’d die for you. Ask if he’d stay poor for you. Much tougher question.

Especially when that friend has a wife.

“Babe, we’re helping Bato.”

“Wonderful. How long? Is it dangerous?”

“Possibly.”

“Are we getting paid?”

“No.”

“How much are they offering for info?”

“P50 million.”

Now you have a marriage problem.

How do you explain to the wife why you can’t afford a new ref while there’s P50 million sitting in your guest room?

Poor Bato.

First day: “Senator! What an honor! Anything you need, just ask. Make yourself at home!”

By the 14th day, you’re making yourself at home. You’re leaving the lights on; you’re watching TV until three in the morning. They wonder why the towel is so sticky. You finished all the Selecta ice cream and put the empty container back in the freezer.

Then on the 17th day he looks in the bathroom. Then the electric bill. He looks at you, sitting on his sofa in your underwear, eating the last piece of chicken with bare hands.

He begins to understand why the government is willing to pay so much money to take you away.

“Ronald, please flush the toilet. We have discussed this.”

By the fourth week, dinner has become a very quiet affair.

“Senator, would you pass the chicken?”

“There’s no chicken left.”

“Yes. We noticed.” Unbelievable.

Then the wife develops a sudden interest in real estate. Every evening she’s showing her husband houses on her phone. Beautiful houses; houses they can’t afford. And she’s speaking just loudly enough for you to hear.

“Look, babe. Four bedrooms; three bathrooms. We could have a guest room.”

Bato: “That’s nice.”

“Yes, Senator. A guest room. For guests who eventually leave.”

Nothing. The hint goes right over your head.

Even little Kyle, the youngest child, has started dropping clues. Very bright boy. Children are wonderfully honest that way. Perhaps his father is coaching him; we don’t know.

Netflix night. Everybody’s watching a comedy, having a wonderful time, even Bato is laughing.

Then Kyle says, “Knock, knock!”

Bato dives behind the sofa.

“Who’s there?” asks the father.

“Police!”

Bato starts crying.

“OK, senator,” says Kyle. “Another joke.”

“Fine.”

“Knock, knock.”

“Pastilan! ICC.”

And now the father is laughing, really laughing, a little too hard if you ask me.

The mother isn’t laughing anymore. By the fifth week, the host’s wife announces that she’s done.

Now she has nothing to lose and is very interested in starting over with P50 million.

I sincerely hope Bato is surrounded by people of exceptional integrity. Wherever he may be.

Exceptional integrity — very rare these days. Extremely expensive.

Because P50 million can buy a lot of integrity. A beautiful house in Tagaytay. A Land Cruiser. A Mercedes for the wife. Cartier for the mistress. Cartier for the wife when she finds out about the mistress.

Two more houses so nobody has to live together anymore.