"Por qué?" he mumbled, stalling for time. "What do you see him for?"

"I don't see him, lad, not yet. I want to see him. Go up and tell him I'm here."

If only there were someone down here to give him some advice! If he shot the man now, would Rico be pleased? El Conejo Grande had had the chance and had failed, and look what had happened to him.

He considered a murder, here and now, with care. There was no one else in the club yet but the bartender, a traficante himself, and a few of the bunnies; he could easily handle them. On the other hand, he'd get the Englishman's blood all over the rug, and Rico might not like that.

Perhaps Newcombe was here to seek mercy. The English were known throughout los llanos as a stupid and cowardly race. If he had come to beg for his life, Rico would enjoy it. His embarrassment the previous day had depressed him. To hear Newcombe pleading for his life before they killed him would cheer the boss. Perhaps he had better not get in the way.

Or should he solve the whole problem, here and now?

It was all too much for a simple coquero-and one so young, at that. He shrugged, slid from his stool, and climbed the stairs. At the top he glanced back to make sure that el Inglés had not changed his mind and left.

The idiot was still there. Alejandro knocked on the door. "I am Alejandro, señor!"

"Come in."

He found Lomas shirtless at his window, looking down on St. James Road as he pumped his morning iron.

"He is here, Señor Lomas! We have him!"

"Who?" His boss did not turn from the window.

"El Inglés!"

Slowly Lomas put down the weight bar.

"Newcombe?"

"Sí!"

Lomas turned from the window. He did not look well to Alejandro. He had been drinking since the fiasco at Spanish Galleon Cay and had snorted a line or two of pure Santa Clara coke already, although it was not yet ten. He didn't look as if he'd slept well the night before.

Lomas shrugged. "What is so strange? He has been here before. He was here this week, with the woman."

"But at nine o'clock in the morning? The tables are not open. He is not here to gamble. He wants to see you."

"Only nine?" Lomas looked at his watch, surprised. The coke, guessed Alejandro, had distorted his sense of time.

Lomas moved to the mirror above his private bar. He flexed a biceps, studied it, then made his pectorals firm.

"Shall I kill him, Don Rico?" offered Lomas. "I could put him on the boat-"

"No. Me! I will do it."

"Where?"

Lomas thought for a moment. "Before my grandfather's eyes." He shifted el Viejo's photo on the desk. "Remember the English muchacha who OD'd here?"