‘Lleva los pasaportes.’

‘Where is yours?’

‘US and UK, bedside drawer.’

‘Los dos están en el cajón al lado de la cama. Y las pastillas, Manita, para mi corazón. Pon la  dirección del hotel en el GPS. Llámame con cualquier problema. Ven tan rápido como puedas. Gracias. Nos vemos pronto.’

The Chinese woman was no wiser: Ever was only a bit more so.

He now addressed the Chinese lady.

‘I’m going to get the luggage while my friend here can just get her breath back. It’ll take me a few minutes, do you have some water perhaps for her?’

‘I can take her to the room.’

Oh God is nothing simple?

‘No, won’t be long.’

Working out that Manita would be at least forty minutes. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

‘OK, to the room. And some water. Please.’

Ever and Lomita and the Chinese lady walked to the tiny collapsible metal-gated door of the elevator that did not look capable of carrying its ambitious load. It was, according to the notice inside, a four-person maximum. What size people crossed one of Ever’s lobes, not sinking too deep as a thought. There was no room in brain or elevator.

Only one floor.

Fine.

It clanked and groaned with complaint to the one floor. God help the trip to the second. Ever made a note to walk down. And directly opposite was the room.

One bed, one window, one chair and a bathroom down the hall. Chinese scroll calligraphy hung on the walls. Twice.

‘Thank you. Perfect.’

Confirmed Ever.

Lomita was reluctant for him to go; the Chinese lady exited, giving him the key.

‘Ten minutes. I’ll be back in ten minutes.’

Lomita clutched him and he could feel the tremor that wasn’t essential. At this point he was proud of his composure. But it was superficial as his bowels gurgled and his head pained. Lomita sat struggling with her heart that was not telling her the beat of life was inevitable and straightforward. It wasn’t her drum she was beating to.

He ran down the stairs and out of the Isis Hotel, going immediately into the Milagro’s store. Purchasing calm from the universe.

‘A box of matches please.’

He handed over a dollar bill.

‘Oh and a bottle of water.’

‘Still?’

‘Yes.’

‘In the refrigerator behind you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Three fifty-five.’

He pulled out a five-dollar bill.

Another thanks, and left.

*

Now he was running towards the car.

On entering the haven, it was there, anonymously, he looked around for any old dry material. Other than plastic, concrete and metal he could find nothing that would absorb. He thought of the bomb and his mother, he remembered laying the trail that had been so effective. No gunpowder.