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See Santa Fe, Episode 57: We’ll Always Have Santa Fe
The following episode transcript has been lightly edited for readability.
Kelly Greene: Welcome back to “See Santa Fe,” the official podcast of the Santa Fe tourism board. I’m your host Kelly Greene. Joining me today are Hank and Cristobal Sifuentes, owners of Santa Fe’s most popular new bed and breakfast, Casa Blanca, and I must say the breakfast is divine, later in the episode, Cristobal will share his recipe for perfect bunuelos, but first, let’s get to know our guests a little better. Hank and Cristobal, it’s great to have you on the pod!
Hank Sifuentes: Thank you Kelly, we are big fans. Love a pod!
Kelly Greene: Oh wonderful! Always good to hear we have listeners. So tell me, what did you two do before getting into hospitality?
Hank Sifuentes: Whoo! Way to start off with the hard hitting questions, Kelly!
Kelly Greene: I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that was–
Hank Sifuentes: What we did before is crazy story. You wouldn’t believe even if we could tell you, which we can’t. If we told you we would have to kill you!
Kelly Greene: Oh…
Cristobal Sifuentes: I think what Hank is trying to say is that, while we took a rather unconventional path to get here, we’re here now and we’re so happy to be part of the Santa Fe community. We love getting to help our guests feel at home in this wonderful city.
Hank Sifuentes: Yes, what he said. I was only joking about the killing. You know me, Kelly, I am big jokester.
Kelly Greene: Right. So Cristobal, you mentioned loving the community here, let’s back up for a moment, what brought you to our city?
**9 Months Earlier**
Hank stood quietly off to one side of the half of the room where the party was taking place. He watched as his new crew enjoyed themselves, drinking, laughing, singing happily. They had no idea what was coming. He took a swallow of whiskey from the plastic cup he was holding. He was going to need all the liquid courage he could get.
Cristobal glanced over at him and, sensing something was up, left the group he was talking to to join Hank. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowed with worry. “Why are you not enjoying the party?”
“What are you talking about?” Hank replied, his tone was tense and unconvincing– Hank had never been the best lair. “I’m enjoying it like so much.” He took another gulp of his whiskey.
Cristobal gave his partner a skeptical look. “Hank, you have not sung one song at karaoke.”
Hank sighed in defeat, realizing he might as well admit the truth. “Ok. Come here.” He took Cristobal by the arm and led him away from the party to another part of the large open room. After a deep breath, he began to explain: “We have problem. Batir and others from back home in Chechnya, they want to take us out. They threaten to kill all of us, even me and you, if… if I don’t get rid of our new team.” Cristobal’s expression was serious but attentive; Hank paused for a moment, knowing he was about to lose any sympathy Cristobal was feeling for him. “Soooo I make plan to drown our men in sand silo,” he finished quickly.
“Hank!” Cristobal cried in shock.
“But now I see them having such a good time, singing songs on the karaoke, I cannot do it!” Hank added, looking at his partner, desperate for forgiveness.
The other man softened. “It’s alright, my love, we’ll think of something.” He placed a reassuring hand on Hank’s cheek.
“But you don’t understand, they are here! Now!” Hank exclaimed fearfully. “We have no time!”
“Hank,” Cristobal said gently.
“And even if we do somehow out think Batir, Barry is still after us and he is crazy psycho killer,” Hank rambled on anxiously, his thoughts spiraling, “And even if we escape him, he maybe told whole FBI about us and–”
“Hank.” Cristobal cut him off, his voice firm and grounding. “Look at me.” Hank met his eyes, and the fear that Cristobal saw in his partner’s gaze broke his heart. “Right now we’re safe,” he told him, reassuring. “We have each other and we can find a way out of this.”
“But how?”
“What if we run before any of them can find us?” Cristobal suggested. “Go somewhere they’d never expect.”
“But what about the sand? What about being sand kings of LA?” Hank protested halfheartedly. “It was like Micheal Scott says, dream you had since lunch, how can you give up on it now?” he joked.
Cristobal gave a small chuckle at Hank’s attempt at levity, even at such a tense moment. He really did adore this ridiculous man. “Hank,” he said softly, sincerely, “my dream is you. It’s us.” He took Hank’s hand and squeezed it. Hank finally relaxed slightly and gave him a small smile. “Now, I’m going to grab all the cash we have left, and tell the others to run; you go get in the car,” Cristobal told him, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek. “We’re going somewhere we can be happy and safe.”
Hank hurried out to the car. Of course it was a disappointment to be starting over again when they had only just begun to build a new empire in LA, but he also felt a strange sense of relief to be leaving behind the pressures and worries that had plagued them since they returned to the city.
Minutes later, Cristobal was back, throwing a duffel bag of the remaining seed money and the first profits from the sand business into the back seat. “Here we go.” He grinned at Hank, as he turned the key in the ignition.
As they drove, Hank pulled out his phone to search for some entertainment for their journey. “Oh no, there’s a wait for the last Percy Jackson audiobook!” he cried, feigning disappointment.
“It’s alright, you can play your music,” Cristobal told him.
“As long as you don’t mind,” Hank replied.
“Not at all.”
With ABBA blaring on the speakers, they turned onto the highway.
**2 Weeks Later**
“You boys are sure lucky you were able to snap this one up,” their real estate agent, Rita, told them. Hank and Cristobal were sitting in her office, going over the final paperwork for the house. Today they would take home their new keys.
Rita was a funny woman and Hank hoped they would see her around town. Today he’d noticed a new sign in her office that happily proclaimed ‘It’s Wine-o-clock Somewhere!’ in a curly, childish font. This sign was Rita to a tee.
“We feel very fortunate to have the place,” Cristobal agreed. “We understand the market is hot right now.”
The place in question was a large, four-story house on the far side of town. It was older and in need of some paint, but once they’d gotten rid of the peeling wallpaper and the rather creepy collection of dolls left behind by the former owner, it would be perfect for what they had in mind.
“Your all-cash offer must have caught the seller’s eye,” Rita continued. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are your plans for the place? It’s an awfully big house for just the two of you?”
“We’re hoping to turn it into a bed and breakfast,” Cristobal explained.
“Oh how sweet!” Rita slapped the table with enthusiasm.
“It will be second bestest place on the Earth,” Hank told her.
“Second? Why not first?”
“First is the Dave and the Buster’s in Torrance, obviously,” Hank replied with great sincerity.
“Oh well you know there’s a Dave and Buster’s in Albuquerque, don’t you?” Rita asked, excited.
“No! Stop!” Hank cried. He turned to Cristobal, grabbing his arm. “We must go!”
“It’s real fun, I went for my niece’s birthday last month,” Rita continued. “About an hour drive, but it’s worth it,” she added with a wink.
“The Dave and the Buster’s is always worth it,” Hank said with a nod, his tone reverent.
“It sounds like we have our weekend plans decided!” Cristobal smiled. He loved jalapeno poppers as much as the next man but, in truth, he didn’t see a need to drive an hour to get them. But it wasn’t about the jalapeno poppers, really: it was about seeing Hank this full of joy, for that Cristobal would drive to the end of the Earth.
**3 Weeks Later**
“Hi! You must be tile guys, I’ll show you to bathroom, this way!” Hank cheerfully greeted the two men who had knocked on the front door of the house.
The renovations on the place were well underway; Hank and Cristobal had hired a contractor to help manage the project. Charlie was tough, no-nonsense and she had promised to get them the best deal while sticking to the necessary timeline. In another life, Hank was sure she could have been very successful leading a cartel.
Today the tilers were supposed to show up to begin work on the bathroom, so while these men were wearing suits, who else could they be? Maybe they were just very fancy tilers, Hank thought.
“Sir, we’re with the FBI,” one of the men informed him, taking a wallet out of his pocket and flipping it open to reveal a badge. “My name is Agent Dennis Harrow, and this is my partner, Agent Nate Basset.”
Hank swallowed hard, and his eyes widened. “FBI, wow, did we not turn in all our construction permits or…?”
“Sir we have reason to believe you are a mafia member who previously went by the name ‘NoHo Hank’ and you are here with your partner in crime and life, Cristobal Sifuentes,” the second agent said matter of factly.
“Mafia? Crime partner? North Hollywood?” Hank scoffed nervously. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he told them, with the attitude of a man who doth protest too much, “I’m just an aspiring B-and-b owner and my name is not even–”
“Hank, where did you put the fabric samples we picked up at the furniture store?” Cristobal called out as he walked in from the next room. “Oh hello, are you the tile guys?” he asked, seeing the two men standing on the porch, who Hank was speaking to.
“We’re FBI agents, are you by any chance, Mr. Cristobal Sifuentes?”
Cristobal looked shocked. “What? No, I’m definitely not–”
“Mr. Sifuentes, can I get you to come look at–” Charlie came stomping down the stairs into the front room in her work boots. As she noticed the two guests, she paused and looked at them with some confusion. “Are you here about the bathroom tile?”
“What part of these suits says tilers?” Agent Harrow snapped, sounding put out.
“Sorry man. Jeez, sensitive much?” Charlie asked, annoyed.
“Charlie, why don’t you and the team head home early for the day,” Cristobal said, taking control of the situation. “We need to speak to these men about a… business matter.” His eyes met Hank’s nervously. They were both having the same sort of worries about how they would get out of this.
“Alright, suit yourselves,” Charlie told them. “I’ll round the guys up, but when we’re a day behind because of this, it’s on you.” She pointed at Cristobal and Hank, raising her eyebrows and giving them a serious look.
Once the crew had cleared out, Cristobal showed the agents into the adjoining sitting room, which thankfully hadn’t been torn up yet, and Hank went to the kitchen to get some sort of refreshments.
“What are you doing in there?” Agent Basset called out to him.
“Just getting us some lemonade,” Hank replied, returning with a tray. He set it down on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa next to Cristobal and across from the agents.
The agents eyed them suspiciously and refused to touch the pitcher. Hank poured himself a drink, just to have something to do.
“Refreshing,” he said cheerfully, after taking a sip.
The agents were not amused.
After a moment of silence, they began explaining everything they had on Hank and Cristobal and the more they spoke, the more tense the two men got, especially Hank. The evidence was damning.
“I understand that you feel you have a strong case against us,” Cristobal said hesitantly when they had finished.
Agent Basset looked frustrated. “We have an airtight case against you what are you–”
Cristobal held up a hand to signal he had more to say. “But what if we could offer you something better than two former mafia members who are now just B-and-b owners?” he asked.
“What’s better than that?” Agent Harrow questioned with disbelief.
“The names and contact information for every member of the Chechen and Bolivian mafias,” Cristobal replied. He looked at the agents expectantly, knowing it was a strong proposition.
“We’ve already got other names from Berkman,” Basset replied, waving away the suggestion.
“Pfff! Barry’s names? Those are nothing,” Hank chimed in quickly. “Barry knows nothing. He is not on inside like we are. He is very much on outside looking in, wishing he were on inside like us so he could know names of real mafia hot shots.”
“But if we give you these names, you have to promise us immunity,” Cristobal told them gravely.
“We can never ever get in trouble for any mafia stuff we maybe did and maybe did not do in past,” Hank agreed.
The agents looked at each other, clearly both skeptical and unhappy about the possibility of Hank and Cristobal going free.
“You’d sell out your entire criminal organizations, your whole families, so you can stay here and open this bed and breakfast?”
“Yes,” Hank and Cristobal both said immediately and earnestly. They shared a look that seemed to communicate what they were each feeling: they had a new family now.
“Do we have a deal?” Cristbal asked, turning back to the agents.
“We’ll come back with the paper work tomorrow,” Harrow said resignedly. “Have the names ready.”
**4 Days Later**
Cristobal’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He held up an apologetic finger to the salesman standing in front of the wall of paint chips with him before pulling it out to read the text from Hank: Baby, how much longer will you be at paint store?
He typed and sent his response: I don’t know. There’s a young man trying to help me but all the colors are starting to blend together.
What felt like a single second later, he was getting a call from Hank. ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed to the salesman before turning away slightly to take the call.
“I told you I should have gone. You think eggshell and ivory are same thing,” Hank said when he picked up.
“They are the same,” Cristobal argued.
“Are not. Not even close.” Hank snorted. “Anyway, the new bed for the honeymoon suite arrived,” he continued, “and I think we need to break it in,” he added, suavely.
“Oh my, a pipe burst? That sounds like a serious plumbing emergency! I’ll be there as fast as I can,” Cristobal said loudly, turning back towards the store employee and holding a hand up to his face in a gesture of shock.
“Is paint boy still there? Tell him there’s three feet of water,” Hank replied over the phone.
“Three feet of water? Oh no, no I’m leaving right now!” Cristobal held a hand over the phone and spoke to the salesman. “I’m so sorry, I really must be going,” he said. “We’ll go with…” he glanced over the paint samples they had been discussing and pointed to one at random, “buttercup. My contractor will be in touch about how many gallons we need.”
With that he hurried out of the store and sped the whole way home.
**3 Days Later**
“Hank? There’s someone at the door for you,” Charlie said. “He wouldn’t tell me what it was about but he said he needed to speak to you now.”
“Thank you, Charlie, I’ll take care of it,” Hank told the contractor. He walked through the house to the front door, wondering what this could be about now. The renovations were running smoothly, all things considered, but fixing up an old house was a task with many inevitable hiccups.
He supposed these were the joys of homeownership that everyone warned you about. He could only hope this issue didn’t involve a load-bearing wall.
Hank strode through the front room of the house and opened the door to a face he’d never expected to see again.
“Batir!” he cried, trying, but failing to hide the rush of anxiety that had just flooded his body. “What are you–”
“Did you really think we would not find you here?” Batir asked, cutting him off.
“Well, I, I, I don’t know,” Hank stammered. It was hard to believe the man who had tormented him for so long was standing here on the porch of the house that had become his oasis.
“I, I, I don’t know,” Batir repeated in a mocking voice “Of course you don’t!” he snapped. “You have no idea what real mafia leaders will do because you are stupid.”
“I am not stupid,” Hank replied, standing up a little straighter.
“Yes you are”, Batir told him. “You are stupid, stupid man Hank. You throw away chance to rule LA, you try to sell your own family out to the FBI and now we have to lay low in Inland Empire.”
“Sorry about that,” Hank cut in.
“No sorry! You are not forgiven!” Batir shot back. “You do all that and for what? Ugly house in middle of nowhere?” He leaned back slightly, skeptically looking over the outside of the house again.
Hank felt a swell of anger and defensiveness. Batir had no right to stand there insulting his home and his life choices. He’d never once cared what Hank really wanted after all. “I will have you know Santa Fe is oldest capital city in US, AND it is major town of art AND–”
“Blah, blah, blah. I don’t care!” Batir interrupted him again. “You are so stupid, Hank, and you are weak. You could not run LA even if you tried.” He spat the last insult at Hank with disgust.
“No,” Hank replied, trying to sound aggressive but coming off somewhat petulant. “I am not weak,” he said, more confidently. “I am smart and I am strong. I knew what I wanted, I wanted life with Cristobal and now I have it. So take that Batir!” Hank’s voice had risen at this point and he was practically shouting. “Who is blah, blah stupid man now?” he cried. Then he paused as a thought dawned on him. “You didn’t come here to kill us, did you?” he asked, more curious than angry.
“No,” Batir sighed. “You are not worth the bullets.” He shook his head sadly. “You are disappointment Hank, to the family and to Chechnya.”
Hank looked at Batir and in that moment he saw, not an intimidating gangster who needed to be impressed, but a bully who had no power over him anymore. “You know what Batir? I do not care,” Hank told him, his voice calm now. “I am not disappointment to myself and Cristobal says that is all that matters,” he continued, smiling defiantly. “So if you are not going to shoot us, you can leave now. Good bye and good luck being sad, bitter, no fun man with nobody to love!” Hank gave a small sarcastic, gloating wave before slamming the door in the other man’s face.
“Hank?” Cristbal called out, coming down the stairs into the front room. “I heard shouting, who was that?” he asked, walking over to Hank.
“Nobody,” Hank told him, taking Cristobal by the shoulders and pulling him in for a soft peck of a kiss. “Nobody we need to worry about now.”
**6 months Later**
“Ready and open eyes!” Hank cried, removing his hands from in front of Cristobal’s face. “You like it?” he asked anxiously. “You like the name?”
Hank watched his partner as he surveyed the front of the house, and the new addition to the lawn: a large sign Hank had had installed that morning. The house was ready to welcome guests, but as Hank had learned from the internet all good B&bs had needed a name. He’d had the sign put in so he could present Cristobal with his suggestion.
“I’m… I’m not sure I understand…?” Cristobal asked slowly, reading it again. “It’s a yellow house.”
“Casa Blanca! It’s like the movie!” Hank explained excitedly. “And look, I have even thought of slogan.” He reach into his pocket, pulled out a pamphlet he’d had mocked up, and held it out for Cristobal to see.
“We’ll always have Santa Fe,” Cristobal read. He chuckled. “Hank did you fall asleep when we watched Casablanca?” It was clear Hank didn’t understand the quote was about longing and a love that could never be, not about a couple who got to spend the rest of their lives in their favorite city.
“Maybe I snoozed just little bit. I understand it is classic but it is no Gilmore Girls,” Hank replied. “But I remember ending,” he continued earnestly, “Paris is the couple’s special place. It is where they are happy, together. This will be our Paris.”
“Here’s looking at you, Hank,” Cristobal told him, grinning.
“What? Who’s looking at me?” Hank asked, missing the reference.
“Nevermind,” Cristobal said, still grinning as he shook his head.
“No really who is it? Is it you?”
“Yes, Hank, it’s me.”
“Of course it is you and you are looking at me because now I am sexy small business owner,” Hank agreed, smiling slyly. “I will make this most successful B-and-b in whole state of New Mexico!” He declared dramatically.
“Oh Hank,” Cristobal laughed.
“What?” Hank looked suddenly confused and somewhat concerned again.
“I love you,” Cristobal told him warmly. This strange but wonderful man was all his and he was all Cristobal wanted.
Relief flooded Hank’s face. “I love you too,” he said softly.
**1 Month Later**
“Hello, can I help you?” The young man at the front desk was good-looking and perky.
“Yeah, I’m checking in for Block,” Barry replied.
The man typed away on his computer for a moment, giving Barry a chance to glance around the front room. It was nice, more stylish and less kitschy than what he would have expected from Hank so maybe that was Cristobal’s influence. “I’ve got you here, you’re staying for just one night?” The front desk worker looked up from his screen to address Barry.
“That’s right. Listen, I actually know the owner of this place, I was wondering if he’s here today or…?”
“Both the owners live in the guest house on the premises,” the man promptly told him. Barry couldn’t believe this guy was so helpful and so willing to give up his boss’s personal information. He was also starting to wonder why he was so damn smiley.
“Oh really? That’s so convenient,” Barry said with a disingenuous cheerfulness. “Say, would you mind calling Hank or going and telling him that Barry just checked in? I’d really love to see him?” he asked.
Of course, the young man was happy to do this. Of course he was.
Barry stood there waiting for a moment, looking around again. There was a table to one side of the room with lemon water and tasteful flower arrangement, but on the wall above it was a sign with one of those God-awful, trendy cursive fonts that confusingly proclaimed: “We’ll always have Santa Fe.” So Hank did get to make some design choices after all.
“Barry!” Hank cried as he entered the room, his voice shooting up an octave. “So good to see you! Such a surprise to have you here!” He approached Barry tentatively and held his arms out as if he was going to hug him.
“Cut the bull shit Hank,” Barry replied flatly. “Last time we spoke, you tried to have me killed by two idiots with a podcast.”
Hank lowered his arms quickly and looked more uncertain. “Yes, but if shoe were on opposite foot would you not have done the same thing?” he asked. “Mafia game is tough, not a place for having friends.”
“Yeah, when I thought about it that’s what I decided,” Barry told him. “But I still want you to comp my room for tonight,” he added, putting some fierceness behind the demand.
“Of course, it’s on us,” Hank agreed quickly. “Where are you headed after?” he asked, nervously trying to steer the conversation into lighter territory. “You have big plans? Across the country road trip maybe?”
“Yeah, I’m sort of fleeing the law and seeing the sights at the same time. It’s been fun actually.”
“Sounds like big adventure, we’re so glad you could include stay with us.” Hank was not really glad to see Barry but at least he would only be there for one night. And he hadn’t shot Hank yet. That had to be a good sign.
“Aw of course, and hey, I’m looking forward to it, this place has great reviews!” Barry commented, his tone turning friendlier.
“Yes, we are very proud of that,” Hank said, still feeling a little unsafe in the room alone with the hitman. “We hope you enjoy your stay and give us five-stars when you leave!”
“Sure thing man,” Barry replied. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your Yelp score.”
As Hank walked back to the guest house after showing Barry to his room, he breathed a small sigh of relief. Now that the FBI agents, Batir and Barry had shown up at their front door, there weren’t any more unexpected visitors to worry about.
Maybe now he and Cristobal could finally have the private, simple life they longed for.
**Present Day**
Kelly Greene: Hank, Cristobal, it’s been a pleasure to have you join us.
Hank Sifuentes: No, no, Kelly, our pleasure, all ours.
Kelly Greene: My last question for you is this: if someone is coming to stay in Santa Fe, aside from the bunuelos, which I can vouch for, why should they pick Casa Blanca?
Hank Sifuentes: Casa Blanca was best decision we ever made. We just try to make sure our guests feel same way.
Cristobal Sifuentes: I think the thing that makes staying with us special is that we really care. When you put your heart into something it shows, and this place is our heart.
Hank Sifuentes: Oh baby, you are my heart, and you are so cute when you get excited about the business. It’s actually very hot.
Cristobal Sifuentes: Honey, we have an audience.
Hank Sifuentes: Kelly can cut that part out, she’s cool. Right Kelly?
Kelly Greene: Actually this is streaming live.
Cristobal Sifuentes: Aren’t podcasts usually pre-recorded?
Kelly Greene: We also live-stream online, we’re a sort of radio-podcast hybrid.
Hank Sifuentes: Well, that’s what you get for hiring two guys to be on your podcast.
Kelly Greene: I didn’t hire you. We don’t pay our guests.
Hank Sifuentes: It’s insider joke, Kelly, don’t worry about it. Anyway, point is I love my husband, anybody who wants to know, now they know!
Kelly Greene: And I think we’ll leave it there. Thanks for tuning in to “See Santa Fe.” I’m Kelly Greene.
Cristobal: And I’m Cristobal Sifuentes. You can find Casa Blanca online at Casa-Blanca-Santa-Fe-dot-com.
Hank Sifuentes: And I’m Santa Fe Hank! You can find me right here, being happiest Hank on the Earth.