“And what really pisses me off,” Jorge said, “is he’s a brother.”

“Your brother?”

“No way, man. I mean a brother of Ecuador. He tol’ me he was giving me the work because we come from the same country. He say he is a peasant who come here and make good, and he want to help me, a brother peasant, become rich like him.” He swigged his Bud and slammed it on the table. “All bullshit! The real reason he hire me and my guys is he know he can rip us off.”

“You said he owes you six thousand.”

“Right. And I never would have let the bastard get so far behind. But he keep telling me that business is slow, that his own customers are not paying him, but a big contract is due at the end of the year and he will settle up everything then with interest. And because he is a fellow Ecuadorian, a brother peasant”—he spat the word—”I believe him and keep coming back with my crew, night after night, week after week.” Another sip, another slam on the table. “More bullshit! He never intend to pay me. Never!”

“Here’s where I start to lose you,” Jack said. “You must have some sort of contract with him.”

Jorge nodded. “Of course. I always get one.”

“But you tell me you’ve tried every legal means of getting the money back. Seems to me if you have a contract—”

“Can’t,” Jorge said, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“My crew. Two of them are cousins of my wife.” His gaze shifted away. “They are not, um, legal.”

“And this Ramirez guy knows that?”

“He know it from the start.”

“Ah-ha.” Jack leaned back and took a sip from his Snapple. “The plot sickens.”

“Eh?”

“Nothing. So how do things stand between you two now?”

“I finally tol’ him I can’t go on working for him without some payment. He give me that same dance about the contract coming in, and when I tol’ him it was supposed to be in by now, he get mad. We go roun’ and roun’ about the same old stuff, but I do not back down this time. I was not going away empty-handed as I had every time before.”

“So what did he do?”

“He fire me.”

Jack had to smile. “He fired you! That took balls.”

Jorge bared his teeth. “It is worse. He tell me I do inferior work. Me! Let me tell you, Mr. Jack, my work is de pri-mera!”

Jack believed him. He could see the fierce pride in his eyes. This was a man trying to build something; more than a business—a reputation… a life. Jack sensed his anger, and something else: hurt. He’d been betrayed by someone he’d trusted.

“Jorge,” he said. “I think you’re right. I think our friend Ramirez was planning to rip you off from the start. And I’ll bet that even as we speak, he’s hunting up a new office cleaning service.”