Rickard unhooked his elbow from the man’s grasp. He turned to stare into Guarapo’s blunt features. “I want to meet with your boss, Sugar. When I’ve done that if you want to renew this conversation then let’s do it. However, for now vete al infierno! I’ve more important matters than to butt heads with someone who smells like a donkey’s ass.”

Guarapo blinked slowly. Then a smile grew, showing discolored teeth. Guarapo lifted his assault rifle so that it was braced across his chest: a reminder of his power. “You are either insane or you are a very brave man.”

“Maybe I’m both.” Rickard gave a subtle dip of his head, inviting Guarapo to follow his gaze. The tip of Rickard’s ceramic knife was a mere hair’s breadth from the self-styled soldier’s groin. “Do you still want to contest which of us has the biggest cojones, Sugar?”

“Coño!” Guarapo swore. Then his self-satisfied grin wavered and he edged slowly away.

“I didn’t think so.” Rickard turned away from him and continued walking. Behind him he could hear the muttered curses of all four men. Then Guarapo swore savagely—something about shitting in Rickard’s milk—and all four of them hurried to surround him again. This time they all moved off, and Guarapo attempted to regain some of his composure in front of his men by edging ahead so it looked like he was leading. Rickard allowed him the illusion.

There had been no real threat of violence during their exchange; Rickard knew that he had been undergoing a test. One that he’d passed. It was probable that Alvaro Silva had ordered Guarapo and his men to gun him down where he stood if he backed down. Test number two would come soon.

On the approach to the ranch house, some care had been taken to mow the lawn and a path of white gravel had been laid all the way to the front door. It was an attempt at giving the place an illusion of respectability, but it was purely masculine; no hint of a woman’s touch could be discerned in the sterile flower beds or the hangings in the windows. It did not look like Alvaro Silva had lived here very long and Rickard guessed that the warlord had taken ownership following a bribe from an official or having extorted it from its previous owner. Maybe said owner was in one of those flower beds he’d passed.