None of the guards spotted the fake uniforms we wore under our dress clothes or questioned the bottle of sweetsmelling "perfume" in my cosmetics bag when they opened my purse for a manual search—even though its nozzle had been modified to squirt a stream of liquid rather than a fine spray. One of them raised an eyebrow at the Masked Matador cartoon-character phone in Fede’s suit pocket, but readily accepted his explanation that he’d been forced to use his children’s phone to call in his bets after his own cell phone had broken down earlier that day. The guard popped open the back of the plastic figure but saw nothing suspicious about it and handed it back to Fede with a shrug.