‘Así así.’ Reuben shifts his legs on the bench, and risks a look in our general direction. ‘Listen, we can speak English, you know; Reuben speaks great English.’

‘Okay,’ Duval agrees.

Reuben makes a sucking sound between his teeth. ‘This is not a good place.’ He jumps off the bench and heads down a succession of side streets, ducking and diving, hugging the walls and checking over his shoulder to see if we’re following him. Finally, he rounds a corner and disappears.

Duval stops. ‘Where’d the bastard go?’

There’s a low whistle from a doorway. Reuben beckons us close. ‘Look, I know the man you’re looking for, sure.’ His eyes flick this way and that. ‘But first I have to give some money to a friend.’ He unfurls his fist. Two dollar bills are screwed up in his damp palm like spent tissues. ‘I’m short. Eighteen dollar.’ He turns out his pockets to prove he’s in good faith and I notice he’s a little deformed with arms unusually short for his body and a monkey head too swollen for the emaciated frame it’s perched on. ‘Help me out, okay, man?’ His eyes are ancient in a youngish face.

Duval hands him a twenty. Reuben’s mouth splits into a grin. He claps Duval on the back. ‘You’re a good guy! I knew I could trust you! You can wait here for me.’

‘How long?’

He shrugs. ‘Maybe one hour, but no more than two.’ He attempts to break through us, but Duval catches his arm.

‘We’ll wait, but not here. Give us the name of a bar.’

Reuben runs his tongue round his mouth. ‘Okay, dude, sure. Why not?’ He cocks his head to one side. ‘Go to the Alubia. There is a chica there who likes Reuben. Tell her I sent you.’ Then he ducks out of reach and scurries off.