Outside on the streets of Saguero, Fernando ambled past closed shops, deserted cafés. After asking around, he knew the general direction of his destination. But the path there he took at random, letting his intuition guide him as much as his senses. His night vision had always been good. Even in the darkness of this

Alejandra giggled, as if Fernando were joking. “What do you like then? Tell me.” “Order,” he said. “Reason. I like for things to be in their rightful place. For people to behave like rational beings, not dumb blundering animals. When they don’t, it irritates me. It should irritate everyone. But it doesn’t. And that irritates

Fernando turned to see who’d tapped him, though he’d half-guessed already. It was the beautiful girl from the dance floor. Up close, she looked every bit as lovely as she smelled. Her eyes were blue and electric, her rosy lips framed in the most luscious pout. She was slender yet shapely. Cream-complected. She wore a

It was quieter and less crowded up on this second floor, if only by a little. Taking a quick look around, Fernando gestured to Tito and Pepe. “Go find us a table. I’ll get us some drinks.” Nodding to him, the two took off. Shed of them for the moment, Fernando made his way over

Fernando could hear the din of the dance music before they stepped one foot inside El Mar. Blue strobe lights streamed through the smoky interior. Their watery beams cast a deathly pallor over the club goers who milled about in straggling bands. Staggering, jostling and shambling, they swayed to the music or from drunkenness or

The city of Saguero wasn’t much of one. Only in comparison to a place like Cortez. It was simply more crowded, somewhat less crumbling and sad. It was dingy and shabby. A mean-looking town. Dogs and derelicts scuttled about the streets, weaving among the working-class folk who trudged on by foot or sullenly biked, or

Following Chico’s lead again, Fernando and his friends crossed over to the buckling garage. For all that it was open at both ends, the garage was a big, dim, musty space, cluttered up wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling with almost as much junk as the yard outside. Rap music pounded from huge speakers at the far end,

Fernando regarded this kindly matron as she regarded him in turn—Chico’s mother, his own mother’s cousin. Looking at Emmanuella, Fernando saw no resemblance whatsoever between her and Carmencita, except perhaps for an utter absence of pretension, which would have endeared her to him even were she no relation of his own. Fernando curved a smile

* * * Fernando and the others followed Chico back to his home on the outskirts of town. The home was little more than a hovel, built from the rusted bones of what looked to be an old farmhouse slatted up with mismatched boards and sheeting, crippled under the weight of the years and its