1

CRASH

THE CRASH WAS LESS THAN A MILLISECOND in his memory before he woke and the curtain of white opened to reveal a red shore against an ocean of debris and Penelope dead under the caved-in windshield. He moved his hand toward her but could not reach as the pain surged up his decrepit spine. All he could think about at that moment was:

I should have rented driverless.

The tears plugged his vision, and he was pulled from the driver's seat and taken into the ambulance. A beautiful nurse spoke to him from behind the ringing in his ears, but he didn't look at her, he was looking for Penelope.

"Am I going to be okay?" he mouthed.

He must have said it, but he could only feel the acoustics rumble within the chamber of his sinuses. He could hear nothing but the echoes of the crash. And the piercing scream from before he woke in the car.

"I have a daughter," he said. The nurse touched his left leg, and that's when he realized he could not feel it. The nurse looked at him and pushed his hair out of his face because he would not do it himself.

"You'll be okay," she seemed to say.

But he didn't acknowledge this. Life was not fair at this moment. And he shook his head wondering about the future, and how it would have been, if he had listened to Penelope and just. bought. the driverless.

The ambulance ride was less than therapeutic. They took his blood pressure and checked his vitals and replenished him with fresh bodily fluids.

The whole time he just lay on his back, his eyes open. The ceiling looked nice. Nice and clean. Like someone regularly scrubbed the corners and swiffered the edges of the ambulance. In a way the square ceiling resembled heaven. And as the ambulance drove closer and closer on to the hospital, the ceiling seemed to lower, and cave in on him. Any second it would collapse and a wave of locusts bleeding at the mouths would swarm down on him, and push him through the belly of the ambulance and burst him into the passing road below.

2

HOSPITAL

THEY ARRIVED AT THE HOSPITAL. And he lay in his bed. The nurse left him and he was alone. But not for long. In a day, the nurse returned with a message. A man was there to see him.

Pat.

"Hey buddy," Pat said. Holding a stack of books. "Thought you might want some entertainment written in English. . ." Pat's head lifted when he spotted the television hanging up on the ceiling. Channel 2 Televisa. ". . . because you can't speak Spanish all too well."

The patient nodded. His guest had a point. He had no clue what was going on the television. He had meant to grab for the remote a minute ago but it slipped off his knee and the batteries spilled out on the floor. His fractured leg made it impossible to move, lest he bleed again.

"The boss wants us to go now," the visitor said, playing with a lopsided pink balloon that was too inflated on one edge to be a heart. "Who gave you this?"

The patient was hardly listening. He was too busy trying to learn Spanish. But perhaps he'd answer the visitor's question. "The nurse gave it to me."

The visitor took off his fedora in a sardonic display of respect. "The knockout at the front desk?" He popped out a smolder to the patient, walked over and slapped him on the shoulder. It was truly painful. "You sly dog. Have you made your move?"

The patient turned a brow to him. "I was just in a car crash."

"Right. That reminds me. How's your wife?" This question triggered a heat wave across the patient's body. A fire in him burned and he felt the chains of fate tighten around his stomach. He lay motionless. Merely let his head sink deeper into his hard pillow.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her."

"You don't know how your wife is?" the visitor pressed, placing his fedora back on.

This time the patient did not wish to answer. He merely nodded. And said, "I do know." That is all the patient said.

The visitor waited and his face turned white. His spirit dropped a bit. He meant to change the subject. "How's Elise?" The patient's daughter. Immediately he regretted his question.

After a pause the patient said, "Home."

"In Monsey?" Monsey is in New York. A large Orthodox Jewish population there. Good for family life. If you're religious at least. Or conservative. Or wouldn't mind the social isolation anyway. Regardless if your neighbors were human or reptile.

"No. We live in LA," said the patient

"Traffic's bad there, too."

"Not as bad as Mexico City."

"No, nothing like Mexico city."

"The nurse said you should be good to go by tonight. I'll drive."

The word 'drive' sent shivers up the patient's spine.

When night came, the nurse helped him into Pat's rental car, and brushed his hair off his face again because he would not do it himself. Pat watched nurse walk away before he drove the patient home. The traffic was brutal. An absolute traffic jam. "Mexico City has the worst traffic congestion in the world," Pat said. It was true. But the crash survivor already knew this. "So our job here is over. We can stay in Mexico City one night or we can fly to Bangkok immediately. Depends on when you want to order the flight tickets." He raised an eyebrow at a local bar passing them slowly on the sidewalk.

The patient shrugged. He didn't want to be anywhere but six feet under a rose garden. But then he thought of his wife. Then the car crash. Then his little girl, Elise. His leg suddenly came to life. Gravity pulled at it and it crackled like a bed of ice in summer.

"Let's go home."

Pat guffawed. "You don't want to enjoy Mexico City?"

The patient said nothing. For Pat, this was enough of a response. Pat rolled his eyes. In two hours they reached the airport. They got on a plane.

LAX bound.

3

PLANE

THE PATIENT AND PAT sat on opposite sides of the aisle. Which allowed Pat to sleep on his back with a belly full of wine and tequila. The patient stared out the window. The seat beside him was empty. That is until he felt someone approach and take the second seat beside him.

This was strange. The plane was to land soon. He turned slowly. He almost jumped. The man was whom he expected. A well-built man in a black suit, his jawline defined even in the dark plane. He passed him a phone. "Jack," said the man.

They did not shake hands.

"Yes?" asked the patient.

"Where's Penelope?" His face was unmoving. He watched the patient's expression with the most superior night vision. He was to remember every micro movement of Jack's face.

Jack the patient answered with a slight indignation. "Hospital De Jesus. Mexico City."

The man nodded. He was thinking before he shifted one seat closer to Jack. They were shoulder to shoulder and Jack pressed himself beside the window.

"What is it, Mr. Golem?" said Jack.

"I thought you'd know we're keeping a close eye on you." A grave dark cloud moved over Jack's head. Never had he wanted to hear those words come out of his boss's mouth. His real boss.

"What are you keeping an eye on me for?" His heart was suddenly beating fast.

"The murder of Penelope Ramirez."

Jack's heart skipped a beat. "There was no murder. Are you meaning to accuse me . . ."

"Don't say anything that can be held against you in the courts. The car you were in was both belted with explosives and its autonomic steering software was infected with a virus."

Jack's eyes lit up. This was news to him. "And you think I planted the virus and explosives?"

Absolutely. Mr. Golem straightened his tie like he was about to leave. "The second we land we're going on the Pacific Jet to headquarters. You aren't to leave my sight."

Jack looked around and saw Pat and all other passengers were still sleeping.

"Mr. Golem, you cannot arrest me on the sheer hunch that I had anything to do with the crash. Besides what does it matter to you that the Intel employee died?"

"Is your memory failing you, Jack?" This was a serious question.

"What?"

"I think the crash jarred your memory. Penelope wasn't just some employee."

Jack hesitated. "What do you mean?"

Mr. Golem eyed him, suspicious Jack was feigning ignorance. "Penelope's our spy."

Jack's chest suddenly caved in on him. Penelope? Suddenly he felt a pain in his head that made him believe he had lost his memory of the past few days. All he could remember of Penelope was that she worked for Intel as an Autonomous vehicle software security salesman and had gone to Mexico City with Pat and himself to sell the unhackable software to the Mexican government.

Penelope and Jack had just secured a deal with the Mexican government and were driving back to the hotel when the crash happened . . . or was it an explosion? Jack could not remember the details. He had indeed lost some memory. But why? Impact? His head had no concussion or bruises as far as he could tell. As far as the hospital staff could tell. His head seemed to hurt from the inside. But, no pun intended, this could all be in his head. The power of suggestion by his boss, Mr. Golem.

Mr. Golem studied Jack as Jack thought to himself. Jack noticed this after a minute and Mr. Golem seemed convinced that Jack was truly lost. Mr. Golem thought to himself for a moment then came to a decision.

"Did you have any suspicions when you were at the National Palace when you were selling the Autonomous software to the Mexican Presidential Guard? Did they trust you were a legitimate vehicle software security company?"

Jack thought long and hard. He had thought so. But strangely, part of his memory was failing him. Like a worm was swimming in his cranium. Wiggling in his prefrontal cortex and then slipping back into his occipital lobe. His memory failure was the strangest sensation.

Golem seemed to sympathize. But with a stone cold look he straightened his tie and stood as to actually leave this time. "Get home," he said. "Get your rest, say hello to your wife and Elise. Tell Katelyn I say hello. I'll give you some time to recover from the shock and gather your memory. You should have a clear mind between a few hours to perhaps a day. I'll give you a call and if you can't remember anything, I'll have to take you in. You are under surveillance now. You were the only one in the car and your buddy Pat sleeping over there is just a civilian. We ran his profile. If indeed the Mexican government has something to do with this then we have a bigger problem on our hands. I'll be in touch. But you better remember what happened soon. Otherwise you'll be in bigger trouble than you were when that car exploded."

With that, Mr. Golem buttoned his suit and turned. But then, Jack pulled at his arm.

He had one last question to ask. "Golem."

Golem turned. His face was blank with suspicion and business. He had lost trust in Jack.

"Is Penelope dead?" Jack asked only that. His voice wavered. It was painful to say.

Golem looked at him as if Jack truly was a liar. With a glare, a personal hate, Golem answered with a hard, definite, "Yes." And there was no coming back. Mr. Golem turned down the aisle and disappeared into the darkness of the plane. Jack's lungs gave out, and he rolled like a marble toward the window. The wing of the plane flashing red. His body was growing denser by the minute. And he had felt his time had surely run out.

4

HOME

IN AN HOUR THE PLANE LANDED and Jack and Pat grabbed their luggage and drove home to LA. Pat loved the city. Jack hated it. The night air was fresh but the stench of money mixed with poverty had an unsettling acidity to it. Skyscrapers passed by and Pat let himself off at a local bar. He'd see Jack at the party tomorrow. They might as well go because they had returned home so soon.

Jack remained in the passenger seat of the autonomous vehicle and drove with their luggage home. The car lifted off at a 45-degree angle as the hills turned into mountains. And the view of La La Land turned from beautiful to sickening while the altitude sickness almost became a reality for Jack.

When the Soroche wore off, the car came to a gated community, and off in the neighboring hills Jack could see the craterous full moon glistening over the land like the spectacle of God. And it was watching him. Spying on him. The gate sensed the magnetic key in the car's glove compartment and opened. The car pushed them onward up mount Olympus and eventually homes came into view. Higher and higher the car climbed and the homes grew larger and larger. The mansions peaked to ridiculous colossal magnitude and finally it reached the home at the very top. A pink and white Malibu Barbie-esque mansion. It was a sight to behold but a sight Jack was sick of. Then again Jack was sick of most things these days and perhaps, he wondered, his worst sickness was ingratitude. Ingratitude seemed to be the dominant plague of La La Land and perhaps America in general. He would not be surprised the rest of his symptoms were an effect of that in the first place.

The car rolled up onto a beautiful cobblestone driveway and parked. The door opened for him automatically and he stepped out. "Trunk," he grumbled and the trunk popped despite his slurred speech. The car had remembered his signature grumbling.

Jack pulled out the luggage and noticed Pat's luggage was heavier than his by far.

"Probably panties," Jack sniggered to himself.

He carried the load to the front door, unlocked the lock and stepped inside.

It was a dark eco-friendly palace inside and the hallway opened up to the mouth of a circular granite staircase. The staircase was in no way safe for children or the elderly and was in dire need of a safety carpet. Jack left Pat's luggage in the closet and carried his own up the lavish fleet of stairs. Step by step a soft red LED light followed his ascent and lit the steps at his feet as he climbed. Reaching the top, he passed a hall of rooms and left his luggage in one of the closets.

He made his way to a room with a pink door that had a hello kitty sticker and photograph of a purple dinosaur on a sandy beach somewhere in Paraguay. He entered the room where a bed of stuffed animals featured a young girl in Power Puff Girls pajamas lying at the center of the bed. He knelt over her. And he kissed the little girl's forehead.

Elise. Three years old. Today was her birthday. He petted her long blonde hair and took a moment to adore his child. Afterward he left, and the door closed behind him, silent as a feather.

He made his way down to the end of the hall, where a floor to ceiling window feature the ocean on the other side of the mountains, the moon waving at him with a more prominent craterous chin than before.

He opened the door to the right, and stepped inside.

A lavish master bedroom with a bed that seemed even larger than a king-sized bed sat in the silver moonlight of the balcony, and the city lights on the driveway side of the mountain glittered like orangey gold on museum display. And the woman who lay in that bed lay sprawled like a starfish; her shirt was loose because it was his shirt. And he rolled onto the bed and climbed over her to press his nose into her chest. His shirt smelled like her perfume.

And he pressed his lips and then gnawed at her hills. And the land came to life as she moaned. And he peeled off the blankets and threw off the sheets. The heat of summer blew in like tear gas through the cracks of the balcony doors. Two volcanoes. And they erupted.

Their sleep was short that night. But it was deep until morning.

5

WIFE

THAT MORNING JACK WOKE to the blaring sun in his face and the joyous ringing to the telephone under his pillow.

Jack grabbed at his phone the second he felt his wife shift and groan. "What?" he said.

It was Pat. "Buenos días to you too, hombre. Where the hell am I?"

"I don't know where you are, Pat. I only know where I am."

"I'm on the corner of Devonshire and Reseda. It's the most dangerous intersection in LA but can you still pick me up?"

"No. I can't."

"You can't or you won't?"

"I won't."

"Come on, Jack, I'd take public transport but I lost my wallet."

"Take a ride share or an Uber. Who the hell carries wallets anymore?"

"I'd get a ride share but I don't have my phone."

Jack paused. "Then how are you calling me?"

Pat paused. "Alright. I'll get a ride share."

"See you at the party, Pat."

"See you, Jack."

Jack hung up and threw the phone out the window. Immediately it flew back up through the window and onto the soft carpet. They had a trampoline in the backyard.

Katelyn moaned and rolled onto her husband. Her lips kissed upwards his chest and her hand climbed downwards. "You're up so early," she said.

"It's not early," said Jack. But she squeezed her hand and said:

"Well you're up anyway." Her teeth were brighter than the sun when she smiled. "How was your trip? You sell any cars?"

"I don't sell cars, I sell software. But yes we sold more than we planned."

"Mm," she said. Then came the real question. She looked him in the eyes. A mix of anger swirled like venom in the black of her left pupil. But a tender cream of powerless jealousy eroded the white of her right eye. "How's Penelope?" she said.

Jack froze. His wished he hadn't been looking at her. Her stare was like a truth serum. All encompassing and horribly pointed with arrows of accusation. But he knew not to hurt her with truth. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. "My co-worker?" he asked.

She looked at him hard then lowered her gaze. She rose up, disarmed. "Never mind." She pulled herself out of the cloud-soft bed and crept out of the room.

He did not follow. He merely turned his face to the sun. Opened his eyes to it. And waited until he was blind. Inside the darkness he could see the National Palace of Mexico City with perfect clarity. A sudden kick in his brain flashed the image of the car flipping, and hails of glass from the windshield precipitating over Penelope's dark brown hair. Until suddenly a red river oozed out of her ear. And he was stuck between the glass sand. And the red shore.

6

DAUGHTER

HE CAME DOWNSTAIRS WHEN HE COULD HEAR the sound of women kicking their high heels into the hallway downstairs.

Katelyn's friends were nothing to brag about. All rich and state-certified mall shoppers. Debutantes without politeness and the highest pitched voices that would crack the thickest water glass. Upon reaching the stairway alone he could feel the gossipy spit spray unto him from below, peeling the wall paint with their thick saliva. Ten of them with their matching Versace purses ran single file under the royal staircase and into the living room. Where the blast of reality television welcomed them.

His wife was chatty. He couldn't blame the LA contagion that plagued much of the feminine elite. The men were no better. Their husbands were slime balls and it wasn't their fault either because the economic social ladder was wet with the kissing of Asses. The political climate didn't help any of them to speak up against it either so it was hard to tell who was actually genuine underneath the conformity umbrella. Best to escape the bullshit, Jack thought, and say good morning to his lovely princess who was no doubt pure at age three but over whom he had no true power in the future to fend off the commercialism and consumerism of her peers and social media life. If conservatism were not almost solely exclusive to the religious elite, like say the Orthodox Jewish population of Hancock Park, he would surely have her pinned to the classic book of virtues. Seeing it as futile, he thought he'd let nature take its course and merely love his daughter with swarms of kisses before she turned 7 and her superficial environment got the best of her. Before her private school peers and television turned her into a monster. Put-offish and entitled, selfish and narcissistic she would no doubt become, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many bookshelves he filled her room with (three of her four walls were filled with them, no television, no computer). Unless he sent her to a school in West Africa now, she would never have the gratitude gained by seeing how the other half lives.

He knelt down like he did last night onto his beautiful girl to kiss her. Three years old today. A little light peeking in through her baby pink curtains. Her blonde hair shining with innocence. He felt a knot in his throat, feeling that he had already lost her. He petted her and said, "Good morning," beneath his breath. Choked, he stood and looked around the room. Clean. And very pink. His wife had decorated it. Just like his wife would decorate her future life. And it was then that he wished he truly had never married for money. And had stayed in Mexico City. Never to have left with Katelyn from the bar in the Club Med vacation resort in Ixtapa, Mexico and had never flown to get married at the flyaway wedding with her when she was 19 as her mother had so insistent. Damn his life. Damn him for not seeking virtue and integrity when he was younger. Breasts were all it took to lure him.

He left his daughter. And closed the door. Wishing for her that it would never open.

7

FRIENDS

REALITY TV CELEBRITY KIM KARDASHIAN'S VOICE shook the railings with a sonic boom. The women were squealing downstairs and he let gravity pull him downward with the least bit of effort.

Where the hell was Pat when you needed another guy in the house? Jack was seriously considering fetching him from the hellhole intersection that was Devonshire and Reseda. But too late. Jack was downstairs and one of Katelyn's friends, Leah, spotted him. Fucking Leah.

"I wish the president would grab me by the pussy," said one of the other girls.

"Jack!" said Leah. She nearly slipped while she chased him down across the wooden flooring. A Sex on the Beach in a martini glass loosely spilling over her fingers splattered on the floor behind her. Her acrylic fingernails illuminated under electric blue nail polish that made Jack think of a wicked witch. "Darling!" She kissed him straight on the lips and the women laughed heartily. Including his wife.

"Leah, you bitch. Get away from my husband." The women paraded over and Katelyn, who was actually the shortest of the group and had the shame never to tell any of them that she had any Mexican or Native American heritage in her blood, jeered and pushed Leah out of the way, causing her to spill even more. "This is the last time you come over and steal alcohol from my cupboards at 8am. Ha ha." The ha ha was fake and so was her smile once her eyes turned to glisten at Jack. But of course only Jack knew that she was only playing the part. Only Jack really knew his wife. The rest of the bunch were too thick to notice. And too selfish to care. Too catty to listen. And too sheltered to understand.

"Sorry," said Katelyn to me. She had a beautiful smile. Cute and held back. She was a sweetie pie, she really was. Too bad her life didn't portray her as such.

Leah jumped at her immediately and kissed Jack's wife on the lips. The women cawed and Katelyn pushed her off-a real smile was on her face now. She was laughing, and sure, Jack couldn't help but smile but really though there was something wrong about this drunk woman kissing his wife at 8am and his wife inviting her over to do so in the first place. It was irresponsible perhaps. That could be the word. And Jack looked upstairs hoping his daughter had not seen this.

In fact however there was Jack's daughter Elise standing at the top of the stairs, speechless on her third birthday, wondering what the hell just happened. What the hell just happened? Jack could hear her thinking just now. What the hell mom? Dad, are you going to just stand there and watch a horde of bisexual women kiss my married mom? Your married wife? Or is polyamory part of your marriage proposal? Signed at the top of your lover's contract?

I didn't realize what I was getting myself into, Elise, I'm sorry.

Think better next time, Dad.

There won't be a next time. I married your mom. And divorce would be most painful on you than on us. Believe me, your mother and I would move on fast but you my sweet pea, never would.

I understand, Dad.

Jack's wife saw him stare at his daughter and was horribly embarrassed. To hide her feelings like she always did, she touched his shoulder. Jack looked down on her, figuratively and literally, and Katelyn tried a smile. She really tried. She really hoped Jack would smile back at her. And as her husband, Jack did. She kissed him on her tippy toes. And afterward they looked up and their daughter seemed less confused. Still confused. But less confused.

"It's my birthday!" she realized. And the horde of witches ran up the stairs with their party hats and roll-up whistles, and the tickle attack manifested in seconds.

My poor daughter, Jack thought. These women would raise her more than he ever would.

Jack peered back down at his wife and she seemed wet at the eyes as though to say, Please still love me. Jack could not manage to kiss his wife but he did pull her in close to his chest. And she hugged him tightly. Like her dog, she expected his love.

8

POLYAMORY

LATER THEY MADE THEIR WAY into the living room and kitchen.

"There's something special about Saturday mornings," Katelyn said.

I looked at the bitches in the living room. I added, "Even when your life is a vacation."

Katelyn laughed. She always laughed at my jokes. They weren't jokes. But how could Jack possibly hate her friends? she may ask. Jack should love everything she loved. It's only fair, because she loved everything Jack loved. But, Jack thought, that's only because Jack had a genuine love for only the most genuine of things. Not reality TV shows like Say Yes to the Dress. Although, unfortunately, the show did have a way of sucking you in. At least after you've been forced to watch the first hundred episodes because your wife lured in with the double package of sex on the carpet thrown in while the daughter was asleep upstairs. Yes, irresponsible is the word.

As Katelyn and Jack made burritos the women and my daughter and some of her friends were trying on party dresses from party city while Say Yes to the Dress blared on the wall-to-wall screen in the living room. The door kept ringing so we just left it open as swarms of family and friends and neighbors who were neither our family nor friends crawled in along with the rest of the neighborhood bugs. A wasp had to be lured out through the backyard.

The pool was filled to double its capacity within two hours and the cops came and stayed after they got the noise complaint and then Katelyn tipped them and invited them to stay, respectively. They were drunk within the hour and asked if they had any weed. No, they did not, Katelyn had trained Jack to say in case anyone were to ask.

The drugs were in the garage. Home remedies for a couple stranded in a community I which it did not belong. What would work better probably were some books and spiritual exercises: aka learning how to be alone and be content being alone. But being social has a way of degrading that necessary skill of loving oneself by oneself.

Eventually Pat arrived, fedora and all. The bow tie was a nice touch. "Where's my little angel," he yelped and Elise screamed at the top of her lungs and ran out of her group of friends to hug her "Uncle Pat!" He was not her uncle Pat. If she had any bit of his genes and intelligence she still wouldn't have learned how to walk.

He picked her up and swung her around and Jack nearly squeezed the burrito he was making to shreds with the thought Pat might drop Elise or fling her at the neighboring wall.

"You found your way back," Jack said, his expectations overcome.

"Yeah," said Pat. He was just as surprised as Jack was. Then he spotted Katelyn in her gorgeous but modest red dress and all cognition was lost. Jack could practically see Pat's frontal lobe fall off his forehead once Pat ran to Jack's wife and begged she give him "some sugar!" She squealed with both glee and fright but was an excellent sport about him kissing her back and forth on the cheeks until she simply had to push the bastard of herself. Katelyn looked to Jack as though wondering why he didn't pull out the family gun and kill this man. Or perhaps she was wondering if it was her fault she had let Pat make a fool out of all three of them.

Jack looked to his daughter Elise who seemed used to the outward polyamory by now and left with a joyous unhinged shrug to her friend group that galloped out to the pool in their summer bathing wear.

9

LOCKED

TO MAKE THINGS EVEN Pat had a beer and gave Jack a hug but when politics about the president and golden showers commenced like every Saturday they had get-togethers, Jack said "how dirty" his eyeglasses were and decided to run upstairs to "find the cleaner."

Escaping into the wilderness of solitude and bliss that was the upstairs, he slipped into the shadows in the hallway and entered his bedroom. Searching for the glasses cleaner he checked the nightstand and wardrobe surfaces, his bathroom and then all the drawers of his bathroom and bedroom, until suddenly he came upon one drawer on his wife's side of the bed. He spotted something that made him freeze. A lock. A lock on her nightstand drawer he had never noticed. No way had it been there before his trip to Mexico City selling autonomous vehicle software to the Mexican National Guard. He tried to pull the drawer for he was sure the glasses cleaner would be inside but it didn't budge. He yanked at the lock but his wife's drawer would not budge.

Jack found himself standing defeated in the dark of his bedroom. What the hell was this secrecy? In his home? In his bedroom? There was not a single lock in the entire house.

Why here? Why all of a sudden? He stepped back and pondered whether to ask her now or after the party or not at all.

Did his wife have a right to privacy? Yes. But didn't his marriage deserve honesty?

Perhaps he was overreacting and could assume the drawer was for jewels and expensive accessories. But then he turned and saw her jewelry boxes by the mirror.

Could it be for documents? No, they had an entire file room across the hall in the office.

His heart skipped a beat. Maybe just a diary. But she should trust he would never look at that.

Never mind this senseless speculation. He went back downstairs to the party.

10

VISITOR

HIS MIND QUICKLY FORGOT ABOUT THE DRAWER the moment Katelyn's rich mother and father caught him in a social pit.

Katelyn's parents had adopted her and were very nice. Though in the back of his mind he couldn't help but remember how Katelyn's mother used to hit her when she was young. Her and her lesbian sister whom was not invited to the party. Even though Jack liked her lesbian sister very much. He thought Katelyn's sister was the only genuine adult for miles. A real person.

This time he waited until all the downstairs bathrooms were occupied so he could excuse himself upstairs again to "use the restroom." Katelyn spotted her husband's escape but merely watched rather than chased him because at the moment he reached the tallest step the doorbell rang. And Katelyn answered it.

Jack turned to see who it was but couldn't tell at first because the growing birthday party had spilled into the hall and blocked his view. He almost decided to continue to the bathroom when suddenly he noticed a pair of silver shoes enter his house. Indeed, the familiar ensemble rose up to the face of a man whom Jack knew well.

This man was the same man on the plane. His boss. Mr. Golem.

11

LIE

JACK'S HEART STARTED BEATING AGAIN. He felt Mr. Golem had trapped him in his own home. Mr. Golem was a trespasser and was now eye to eye with his wife. He was not a guest. Mr. Golem was a dangerous man. Once a paid murderer of the state, and now state delegator of murder. But he was speaking to his wife, and this was to stop at once. If Golem had any ounce of respect in his entire body.

Jack returned down the stairs. His heartbeat shattering the airwaves of people bolstering under summer heat and escapist intoxication. He slithered through the crowd of well-dressed strangers wearing pastel colors reminiscent of the eighties and came finally to a close at the intersection of his wife and his secret boss.

They had been speaking quietly and assertively. But suddenly they both looked up as though at someone they had never seen before. Jack might have thought he had suddenly grown horns.

His attention bore directly on Mr. Golem.

"Hello," he pretended a smile to his wife until Katelyn uttered the damnable lie that made Jack aware of the pickle he was in.

"Jack, this is my friend, Jacob Wolfenstein," she said. (Jack's smile dropped.) "We've known each other since grade school and I see his wife Margaret at the country club on occasion." Jack's eyes moved to Mr. Golem when she said this but he froze as he realized her mistake. He slowly looked to her. Betrayed by her lie.

"What did you say?" said Jack.

She was shocked that he would answer her peaceful statement with so much focus and scrutiny. It was an embarrassing moment for all three of them. Her face flushed. "I said, this is my friend Jacob Wolfenstein. From grade school."

Jack looked over to Mr. golem who also knew he was in no way even related to anyone named Jacob Wolfenstein. Mr. Golem gave Jack a slight smile as though to say Well. It seems your wife is indeed lying to you.

Suddenly unable to trust both sides of his shoulders, Jack was horror stricken. Losing his breath he thought he might start panting like a dog. He held out his hand, which was all he could do in the wake of his wife's public lie. "What a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Wolfenstein."

12

STRANGER

ALMOST REGRETFUL, Mr. Golem shook his hand. "The pleasure's all mine." He nodded. "You have a lovely home."

Quickly Katelyn said, "Thank you," but Jack was quick to bite back:

"Her dad bought it." Jack lowered his eyes and Katelyn knew somehow he knew she had lied about her history knowing Mr. "Wolfenstein."

Addressing to Jack, Mr. Golem said in a stern tone, "You wouldn't happen to be leaving to the airport at this very instant would you?" His eyes proved that he was not asking a question, but rather giving Jack an order.

Katelyn did not understand. "What kind of question is that? Today is our daughter Elise's birthday. My husband has no reason to go to the airport."

As though he could not hear his wife, Jack answered, "Now would be a peculiar time to take a vacation."

Mr. Golem's face did not move. "I think now's the perfect time, Mr. Dantes."

Jack licked his lips because suddenly they were dry and cold. He looked to his wife nervously and then back again at Mr. Golem. He could not deny an order from his superior. No matter the circumstance. Even his daughter's third birthday party. The best he could do was leaave quietly, sort out this mess concerning suspicion of his causing the accident that killed Penelope and hopefully come back home before his daughter's bedtime. "I would have to find my passport before I can think about leaving," Jack said.

Mr. Golem agreed. "Then you better find it."

That second was tense. And at that moment Jack looked over Mr. Golem's shoulder and spotted a stranger in the crowd. A man he did not know talking in a group of people suddenly lifted his eyes to spot Jack and send him a message. We've got our eyes on you, Jack.

Mr. Golem had not come alone.

Jack's eyes panned to the other corner of the room, and this time, another stranger in the crowd looked up at him. The man locked eyes with Jack for as long as it took to make sure Jack got the message.

Jack returned his attention to Mr. Golem. Jack nodded. And suddenly took a step back to the stairs.

Katelyn looked horrified, as though seeing Mr. Golem hypnotize her husband. "What's going on," she whispered to "Jacob Wolfenstein." But Jack could not hear her and hurried up the steps toward his room. He ran across the hall and into the master bedroom.

He shut the door.

13

PASSPORT

JACK BOLTED QUICKLY TO HIS UNDERWEAR DRAWER and dug his hand in deep to pull out a colt .45. Already loaded he cocked it. He looked at himself in the mirror and held the gun in one hand. Panting like a dog. He grabbed his wallet, his passport, put on his own summer fedora to hide eyes and put on his sunglasses to disguise his face.

He ran to the back window and was about to open the doors to the balcony when suddenly he turned to the sound-- of his bedroom door opening. At the sight of him in sunglasses holding a gun-- his wife dropped her glass of wine on the carpet. And gasped.

Goddammit, was Jack's first thought. He pulled the gun behind his back. But that was useless.

"What the hell, Jack?"

Katelyn was trembling and edging backwards to leave out the bedroom door. That was the last thing Jack could let her do at this moment though and he bolted toward her slammed the door shut. The guests wouldn't be able to hear from the party music, he thought.

"Jack," said Katelyn, ghost white from the sight of the gun. "Where did you get that gun? What's going on?"

Jack closed his eyes. He never wanted to tell her like this. Maybe when they were old and he was retired but not like this. Never like this. She saw in his face that he had a dirty secret. Katelyn began to sweat tears as her heart pounded.

"What is it?" she cried. "Please tell me. Is this about Jacob Wolfenstein downstairs." But she cut off her speech the second Jack looked up and dropped the gun to the floor so he could grab her by the arms with both hands. His eyes went wild.

"That's not Jacob Wolfenstein. And don't you dare tell me again that you've known each other so long. That you're such best friends. Don't you dare lie to me."

Katelyn was shaking with her back against the door, quaking as though about to convulse. "How would you know I'm lying?" Her eyes were pitiful like a gruesome monster from her childhood had finally caught her. Jack let her go, remembering the abuse of her real father in Mexico before she was adopted and abused again by her foster mom downstairs. They'd made amends sure but feelings like that don't just go away.

"Because. . ." Jack said. Stepping back, gasping for air, Jack answered how he knew she was lying about knowing Jacob Wolfenstein from downstairs. How he knew she was wrong about knowing who Jacob Wolfenstein even was.

"Because I'm Jacob Wolfenstein."

14

SECRET

BREATHING HEAVILY, Jack saw his wife awaken in horror to the realization he was not at all that she thought he was.

"I don't understand," she said.

She seemed to shrink into a mouse, recoiling into the door like a ghost. They both peered down at the gun sitting idly like a rattlesnake on the floor.

Then Katelyn remembered why she came up to see him in the first place. "You're not going on a plane with that man are you? Who is he?"

Jack said, "He's my boss. And yes I am. If I can't run away."

Katelyn trembled and broke as if this was the summons to her husband's death. "I thought your boss was Mr. Gregory from the vehicle software company."

"That's my undercover boss. My real boss is Mr. Golem. And I don't know how long he's been talking to you or why or if you have the bravery to tell me the details, but he's not a man whose afraid to kill everybody to keep his secrets as secrets. But if you know anything, and you tell me now, you might just save my life."

Katelyn burst into tears. Jack realized his hands were shaking and knew now that Katelyn absolutely did know something. "What do you know, Kate?"

Katelyn sunk to the floor like a child. "I don't know anything."

"I said what do you know, Goddammit!"

Katelyn screamed as he came to pull her off her ass. "Leave me alone!"

Jack pulled her over and spotted the drawer with the newly installed lock on it. "What's in the drawer? Why'd you put a lock on it? Where's the key?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. She collapsed onto the bed. Her whole environment spinning around her, cracking at the edges of her perfect world, giving out to the weight of the truth.

15

TRUTH

"I NEED HONESTY, KATE."

Otherwise Jack might not make it out. "Whatever Golem said to you I need to know now."

But Kate would hear none of it. She almost laughed if it wasn't for her tears. "Honesty! You know nothing about honesty."

Jack stood up. Fire in his eyes. But at a standstill. Jack could only wonder what it was his wife knew.

Kate wiped her eyes and stood tall. "Tell me the truth."

Jack would not budge. "About what? I already told you my profession."

"First of all, no you did not."

He didn't? He was sure he did, but in case she had bad memory he would entertain her with a second discourse.

"Who are you?" she said.

He took a moment. Unbelievable, he thought. "Katelyn. . ."

She looked at him with intensity. And here was the honesty. The brutal total truth. In the silence, they could hear the music change downstairs. And Jack answered.

"I'm a spy."

Instead of a sudden realization about everything that has been happening, Katelyn looked at him with greater confusion. "A spy for what?"

"A spy for what?" Jack thought. For who else? The music grew louder downstairs so he spoke up.

"Our country. America."

Katelyn looked at him like a hypocrisy detector. "But that makes no sense. You hate America." Nothing could be further from the truth.

Jack said, "I don't hate America. I hate the people."

Changing the ridiculous subject entirely, Katelyn showed her teeth. "Spy or not I know exactly what you've been doing abroad. And I know who you've been sleeping with."

Jack doubted it. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes . . ." tears hit the whites of her eyes. Swimming. Misting. "Penelope."

Jack shook his head. "You don't know anything. No proof. On the contrary, I know about you and Pat. You hypocrite." But Katelyn laughed. Such a ridiculous claim.

"Me and Pat? Get real."

"Get real? I know."

"You have no proof and it's false anyway. On the contrary I HAVE PROOF."

"BULLSHIT," said Jack. His eyes aflame. The anger steaming out of his ears.

But his worst nightmare came true when she pulled a key from her bra. She turned to unlock the drawer. And dammit, it opened. Before he could look over her shoulder she grabbed a pile of papers-- no, PHOTOGRAPHS-- and revealed them while tears trailed like cheetah tracks down her face.

"You fucked up," she said.

16

PHOTOGRAPH

JACK LOST TWO INCHES. There he was on the photos, on a Mexican beach at the Resort at El Pedregal. Intimate after midnight. And sure enough the woman in the picture. Was Penelope. In her entirety. He could not believe his eyes. Someone had been spying on him. And he himself could barely remember the date it could have been taken.

Jack tried to grab the photos but Katelyn pulled them away. Utterly heartbroken. Shaken. Angry. To Hell with you, said her stare.

Jack stepped back. Until he felt the mirror behind him. He stepped on the gun. But he looked down and picked it up. He put his shades back on. "I have to go," he said. There was no use of him staying here anymore.

"No," said Katelyn. She felt powerful now. "You're not going anywhere. I'm not done."

But Jack was done. Jack turned his back on her and made his way for the door.

"STOP," she shouted. He hid the gun in his shorts and opened the door to the landing. She chased him down the hall to the head of the stairs and shouted, "JACK!" Before suddenly they both looked over the edge and stopped. The entire hall was filled. And silent. The music had stopped and a sea of two hundred faces were looking up at the them.

17

AUDIENCE

IT WAS THE GOLDEN HOUR and streams of light pushed hard through the master window above the entrance, giving the granite stairs a sparkle.

The entrance door was open. And suddenly Jack spotted cops and FBI professionals waiting for him at the entrance.

Pat's voice shouted upward from below. "Jack, what's going on? The FBI's here."

Leah's voice spiraled upward as well. "Katelyn, is everything alright?"

Both Jack and Katelyn's hearts were beating fast. Jack knew this had to do with Penelope's death. But why this called for such enforcement directed at him and at his home, the urgency of it all, he did not understand.

He felt his pelvic veins pulsing against the barrel of the gun at his waist. But he wasn't stupid enough to use it.

"Mommy!" he heard Elise shout. Jack spotted Elise beside two FBI officers. She was holding Pat's hand. "Why are you crying?"

Jack looked and surely Elise's mother Katelyn was crying and had her face buried in her hands.

"Jack," called Mr. Golem from the floor. He and the two strangers from the crowd he had originally arrived with began climbing the steps. "It's time to go. Did you get your passport?"

Jack found it hard to swallow. "One second," he whispered. But his mouth was too dry. No one heard him. He wanted to disappear. "Let me get it." He turned and walked back into the hall.

"Jack--" said Katelyn.

"Stop, Jack," said Mr. Golem. "That's an order." But Jack upped the pace.

"RUN, JACK," Katelyn said, before she was pushed aside by Mr. Golem and his goons. But she didn't have to say a word. Jack had accelerated at the speed of a Porsche-- he slammed the door behind him, whipped out his gun, toppled a chair behind him, and shot at the balcony glass doors because they would be locked. He jumped through and kicked himself over the ledge and fell ten feet into the deep end of the swimming pool. There were screams but he kicked himself to the surface, caught his sunglasses and hat, pulled himself over the concrete edge and ran over the gate to descend the hills behind his home. The ocean was a marvel, pulling him to freedom. But his leg gave way, a bullet pierced his calf and he tumbled down grass and then dirt and then rock with increasing speed. The ground punched him with each roll. He could still hear his wife shout, "RUN, JACK!"

18

RUNNER

HE TUMBLED FOR YARDS until the leg that was shot caught onto a rock and he was able to catch himself upon his bleeding hands. Sand shifted beneath him but he was able to drop himself onto his back. The road was beside him now, and some passersby parked along the ocean called out to him something possibly like:

"Hey are you alright?" or "You climb much?"

He stood at a limp and suddenly spotted a young girl around 21 with a Santa Monica City College shirt who was waiting for an autonomous Uber that was suddenly pulling up along the road.

"Wait!" Jack hollered. The young girl spotted him but gave him an odd put-offish look. Jack nevertheless limped across the road, dodging the cars like a real life game of Frogger. When he made it across he thanked the girl for waiting.

The girl said to Jack as he walked up next to her, "Why'd the chicken cross the road?"

He shot her a blank look. "To get to the hospital."

This shut the girl up. They got inside and he passed her 20 bucks.

"Why are you giving me this?"

"I didn't bring my credit card," he said.

"Who uses credit cards?" the girl asked. She put her phone up to the monitor and the car immediately started driving them. "Where are you going?"

"The train station."

"Wait. I thought you were going to the hospital?" she said. Suddenly she spotted just how badly blood was oozing down his leg. "Wait. What the hell? Were you shot?" She jumped and was about to press the stop button on the monitor. But he pushed her hand away.

"Relax. I was climbing my way down the hill as a shortcut."

Her eyes accused him of insanity. "Why are you such a lazy dumbass?" she asked as she peered up through the window at the giant hill on the opposite lane from the Oceanside.

Jack changed the subject. "Do you have a clean piece of clothing I can wrap around my leg?"

She stared at him awkwardly.

"What?" he said.

"Sorry. To be honest all my clothes are a day old." She must have slept over at some guy's house. Shamelessly she noted, "Except my underwear. That's clean."

Jack looked at her. Thinking.

"What?" she asked.

"Thong or regular?"

The girl gave Jack a blank look of you've-got-to-be-kidding-me. "Regular."

Within five minutes he had her classic black Victoria's Secret underwear wrapped around his leg, over his pants. (Progressives at this era tend to be conveniently nonchalant about fashion choices.)

"Thanks," he said.

"Thank goodness I wore a sundress today. It wasn't windy either. But I had the worst day today."

Couldn't be worse than Jack's.

Seeing Jack's doubtful face she insisted, "No, really. My date was such an asshole. He took me to this five star restaurant, then to a movie on the beach, then for ice cream--"

"That sounds nice to me," said Jack. "What's the problem?"

"Then he told me who he voted for in the 2016 election."

That explains it, Jack thought. "I'm sorry to hear about that. Are you planning on seeing him again?"

Never, said the look on her face. The social climate bred a divided nation.

19

TRAIN

SHE HUGGED JACK GOODBYE at the train station.

He felt his pockets to remind himself he left his phone back home. Which was why no one had tracked him.

He bought a train ticket with spare cash and headed south toward San Diego. It would take him 2 hours and 40 minutes but it was rare that the train was ever on time. At least one person jumped in front of the tracks every weekday. Unfortunately for people trying to get to work.

Once he got onto the train he realized the most peculiar thing . . .

The train was empty.

The train made its first move from the station and Jack stood to search for someone to check his ticket. But there was no one.

"Hello?" he shouted. He went to buy food on the first floor but there was a sign at the food counter that read that it was closed for "the holiday." What holiday?

Suddenly he thought he heard someone from behind him. He turned around and spotted the back of a woman with long dark hair scurry around the corner and up the stairs to the second platform.

"Excuse me," he said. He ran after her. "Miss, wait! Do you know where everybody is?" But she eluded him like a mouse escaping a cat. He reached the second landing but found her nowhere in sight.

He was alone again.

Jack was experiencing such a peculiar day. The same dark cloud that passed over him on the plane when Mr. Golem had first accused him of murder suddenly passed over him again.

Jack gained a strange feeling of bile swimming like slow tar down his gut. And the lights of the train flickered and every other light bulb suddenly went out. And the train turned to shadows.

20

SHADOW

HE LOOKED UP AND SAW ONLY two ceiling lights were on. One light was a spotlight directly over him. The other only light-- which he panned his eyes to see down the very caboose of the train-- was shining over a passenger seat, where he spotted the back of the same woman's head, her dark black hair shining with gloss.

He felt his heart sink deep into his gut. He was panting again.

"Hello?" he said. Not loud enough. He edged closer, his hands touching the backs of the chairs, and he entered the dark. The chairs disappeared into the black and the only light behind him turned off as he came closer. He could have been walking on a bed of spiders and wouldn't know because his focus was so tied to the head of the woman. Entranced, he felt his body dissipate into the air as his conscience drifted toward her.

Familiar. The back of her head was like an old family photograph you'd never seen before but maybe once at the age of two. The light above her caught fire and radiated light like a furnace that smoldered her dark hair to a charring crisp. And row-by-row he finally came to her, and reached her, seeing that over her shoulder she was reading something in her hands.

The Count of Monte Cristo.

"It was this or the Economist," she said, sensing his smell. "But I thought the world was so strange, that I'd try fiction for a change." Her accent was thickly Spanish. And beautifully exotic to the native ear. Jack sat down at the sound of her voice. Thoroughly engaged a seat behind her. Chained to his chair. Scared and listening. Could this be her?

21

PENELOPE

SHE LAUGHED.

"Edmund Dantes was wrongly accused of his crime and sent to a terrible jail for 8 years." She still had her back to Jack. But she turned the book to the aisle so he saw its open pages. It was a thick, nearly 1,000 page epic. "But you see, when he escaped, he came out smarter, and returned home richer than before. And he delivered good fortune to his friends, but brought down his enemies with vengeance. Or justice. Whichever way you see it." She laughed. And turned her face finally. Her big brown eyes locked on him as though to hunt him like a wolf after a lamb. His body fused with the chair, and his lungs opened wide. Penelope.

"You're dead," Jack said. Not exactly the brightest conversation starter.

Her charming smile exceeded his hesitation. "Do I look dead to you?"

Before answering he felt a pain in his chest. And he grasped it. He stared wonderfully at her gorgeous round eyes, wet with youth. He shook his head. "Oh, how I wish you weren't."

She smiled at him. A smile so imperfect, that it was. She shrugged innocently, unknowing. "Maybe I'm not. Do you know where I am?"

Tears were swimming at the brims of his eyelids. He nodded. "Yes. You're in Mexico City."

She smiled as though that was their answer to solving everything. "Then come find me." The train pulled them closer south but the darks from the windows around the cart showed nothing. It wasn't even nighttime.

But a curious brow unfurled over her gaze and she looked slightly away from Jack. Pondering. "But Jack," she said, lowering her face, remembering something sad. A betrayal. "Why did you leave me there in Mexico City? Why didn't you wait for me? Look for me?"

His eyes burned with regret. His jaw dropped but nothing came out. He could merely shake his head.

I don't know, he thought. Why didn't I? What was I thinking?

"Were you afraid?" she said. Her eyes reviewed him like a stranger.

"Maybe." He said. His limbs felt weak.

"Afraid you'd get caught?" she pressed. She knew this question would dig into his stomach like a dull dagger. And she twisted it. "Afraid they'd find you out for who you truly are?" So successful, she was, that a tear pelted south his chin, and dropped.

"But we're the only ones who know who you truly are, Jack. Me and you. It's time to set things right."

Jack leaned forward in his seat but she stood up and threw the book across the aisle. She pushed him over to the window seat and the last light dimmed in a reddish glow. Her smile vanished as she crept along the leather seats to crane her neck over his lips. She whispered in his ear, "Find me Jack."

"What?" he said. His ears started ringing. And the red light grew more intense and his vision was giving way all at once.

"Find me," she said, stronger and more urgent than before.

"Penelope," said Jack. His hands convulsing as he grasped his wounded leg in pain.

She bit his ear, and he fell deep into darkness before the ringing stopped. Silence.

"Find me, Jack. Before they kill me."

22

SEARCH

THERE WAS THUNDER IN HIS HEART. But a strike of lightning snapped his vision into the sight of a bright twilit summer sky. He was on his back. On the dirt.

"Sir, sir, can you hear me." A woman in paramedic uniform was speaking over him and a crew of people surrounded him. And around them was a crowd of onlookers. And behind the onlookers was a stopped train. And behind the stopped train was a lush landscape of dry desert hills. Yellow with thirst.

"Where am I?" he said.

"San Diego. You collapsed upon standing."

"Collapsed?"

"You have a serious leg wound, sir. We're taking you to the hospital to get it checked out."

"No ma'am, thank you. I've got it from here."

"You haven't a choice in the matter, sir. You're seriously ill."

"I have no identification," he lied.

"We found your ID, sir."

"It's a fake," Jack lied.

"A fake sir? Are you an illegal immigrant?"

"Yes."

"Are you a citizen of Mexico, sir?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm from Mexico City," Jack lied.

"I'm afraid we'll have to send you back, sir."

"That's fine," he said.

The personnel looked at him sadly. "Were you shot crossing the border?"

"Yes. That's it."

"I'll tell you what," said the empathetic paramedic. "We'll get you cleaned up before we send you back."

"Okay."

"Don't be concerned, dear friend. Our country is in divide but the best of us care for you and your people. Don't be troubled. More people are going back to Mexico than there are people entering the US since the past 70 years. Now is the best time to leave. Your country's economy is accelerating faster than basically all Latin America. Be proud. There's nothing more entrepreneurial than immigration, sir. Your country deserves the help of people like you."

Jack was speechless. This was a kind crew. "Yes. Thank you."

They picked Jack up onto a gurney and headed him to the nearest hospital. There he stayed for a few hours, no documentation needed while under the empathetic paramedic's supervision, and he was sent by police car back to the border. Autonomous police car.

23

BORDER

AT THE BORDER THE AUTONOMOUS POLICE CAR pushed him on through without question and he paid for the car to take him to the airport. From there he flew from Tijuana to Mexico city. Having used his Mexican passport, the second he landed he knew his time was running short. They would know where he was.

Mr. Golem would be out for him.

Jack came to the Hospital De Jesus. The time was night again.

He approached the lobby and rather than speak to anyone and check in, Jack thought he might try to simply pass the front desk staff unannounced. But quickly the nurse at the front desk stopped Jack. "Perdón, Señor. A quién estás visitando?" Excuse me, Sir. Who are you visiting?

Jack turned on his heel and looked at her like a deer caught in headlights. "Err--" but Jack remembered to catch his repose coolly. He summoned his Spanish. Easy. "Mi novia." My girlfriend.

But this attempt seemed futile as the nurse reviewed him head to foot. He was empty handed. No flowers? "¿No flores, Senor?"

Jack turned red and looked at his empty palms. "¡Soy un tonto!" I am a fool!

"No." The nurse shook her head. "Eres un cabrón." You are an asshole.

Jack could hardly disagree. "Gracias." Thank you. Rolling his eyes Jack turned on his heel again to search for Penelope. But the nurse whistled at him.

"No se le permite ver a los pacientes." You are not permitted to see the patients. The woman gave him a hard look that compiled a mountain of threats.

Jack was taken aback but was not about to let some nightshift nurse tell him what he could and could not do. "¿Oh, si? ¿Y por qué es eso?" Oh yeah? And why is that? He started to walk backward toward the patient room and the woman could tell he was not about to take her seriously. But she needed no backbone for the challenge once she turned her eyes behind the wall and said something quietly that summoned footsteps. A security guard with a skull tattoo on his neck and a gun at his hip met her at her side. They both looked at Jack with serious looks that said, "We know you're not from here pal, but you're making a mistake if you take one more step."

Jack stopped. He knew he could take them both but not without causing a commotion that would draw attention. For Mr. Golem to catch him here so soon would be an embarrassing note on his espionage career and would get him killed regardless. Okay, said his face. "Comó veo mi novio?" How do I see my girlfriend.

The nurse looked at him with dubious sympathy and gestured him over with the patronizing wave of her finger. "Inicia sesión, cabrón." You sign in, dumbass.

Jack complied and stepped over to the front desk. She gave him a friendly wink of truce and he passed her a halfhearted smile.

In Spanish she offered, "Tough day?"

He nodded, allowing himself an authentic frown. "Tough week."

He looked up after signing in and she passed him a clipboard to fill out.

"Fill this out over there and come back when you're done."

Jack did as she said and nodded to the fat and friendly security guard with the gun and the mustache that reminded him of the Pillsbury doughboy and sat down to fill out the paper. It was basically a compliance notice to follow visitation rules and he signed and dated at the bottom. Returning to the desk he handed her the paper reluctantly and she smiled and asked the question finally. "Who are you here to see?"

"My girlfriend," Jack repeated.

The nurse rolled her eyes with friendly sass. "No shit, Sherlock. What's her name?"

Jack had wanted to avoid telling anyone why he was here. He had wanted to look for Penelope himself and leave. That'd be it. No drama. Invisible. But this woman demanded her name and the deputy looked at him with a waiting eye that insisted he act normal. Jack felt his throat grow dry but he stared at the nurse intently and mustered the courage quickly to say her name. "Penelope."

The nurse's eyes opened a bit wide. Maybe sympathy, maybe surprise. Jack didn't know. But he could tell she recognized the name and her expression was not that of a normal nurse. But because she didn't answer him vocally perhaps she had no clue about who Penelope was and was merely waiting for her last name. "Ramirez," Jack finished.

The nurse was suddenly animated again as though breaking out of a trance and looked at her computer. She started typing. The fake kind of typing. And Jack felt the dark cloud falling over him again. Although this time, eyes were on him. He looked over. The security guard was eyeing him hard. Either with sympathy, or fear, or protection.

"Sorry, I don't see a Penelope Ramirez in our system." The nurse looked up as if that would be enough to send Jack away. And if this were yesterday she'd be right.

But she was dead wrong today.

24

NURSE

"SHE'S NOT IN YOUR SYSTEM?" said Jack. His voice was solid.

The security officer was silent but still watching Jack.

And the nurse eyed Jack like she had no clue why he would question her. "I'm looking at our charts right here, sir."

"Oh you are? May I see?"

"Step away from the counter, sir."

"Sir," the security guard imposed. "Lower your voice." He had his hand out, not yet touching the gun at his hip. Jack knew if he weren't white this would be a more violent situation.

"It's late," said Jack, calmly, sanely, as friendly as he could muster--smiling with the fakest smile he could chuck at their faces-- "I just thought maybe you'd been here for hours and you might need a fresh pair of eyes to read the monitor."

"No thank you, sir, my eyes are still working fine." The nurse was suddenly royally pissed off.

"Then check again."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Check again."

"I've already done that--"

Jack leaned his face in. His eyes reflecting the hot ceiling lights on her lying restless face.

"Check again."

The woman was dumbfounded. Frozen. But not complying. The air was crisp and dry like the desert, and at that moment both she and Jack looked over at the pointed gun in the security guard's hand.

"I'm going to need you to step away from the counter and leave this hospital immediately, sir." The security guard's hands was shaking slightly. Either the coffee or perhaps he'd never had to draw a gun on a man in the hospital before. He was just a security guard after all. But no, Jack thought, the reason this man's hand was shaking was with all that power in his hand he had no justice to back it up. He'd pulled a gun before. But he wasn't good at enforcing a lie. He believed in justice. And this was not it. Justice would be escorting him to see Penelope. This was not it.

But Jack decided not to move. Or he couldn't move. He was too busy trying to rip the man's head off his neck with his yet unrealized psychic abilities. . .

"It's okay, Rodolfo. I'll check again," said the nurse, feigning compromise. Next comes the humility and flattery. "This man's right, maybe my eyes deceive me. Heaven knows they begin to play tricks at this hour."

The security guard replaced his gun at his hip. His face red. He eyed Jack sternly.

The nurse typed more slowly this time. She took her time to either make her search seem authentic and careful, or perhaps she was actually checking this time. Once her eyes scrolled down to the bottom of the screen, she scrunched her lips and looked up at Jack to no avail. "Oh--" then she looked back at the screen. "Looks like she was here after all. But she was discharged earlier this afternoon. Must not have been on my shift."

This reaction was a surprise to Jack. And was a huge nightmare if it were true. "She left?!"

"Penelope Ramirez was discharged at 1pm today," she read.

Jack failed the first three attempts to mutter a word. "She couldn't have left by herself!"

"No, of course not," said the nurse.

"Who took her?" demanded Jack.

"I'm afraid that's confidential."

"She's my girlfriend!" said Jack quite authentically, he would've thought, "I was suppose to discharge with her."

"I'm sorry, sir--"

"You need to tell me who took her-- or else her life's at stake." His voice echoed around the room like an empty amphitheater. "So tell me now!"

The guard looked to the nurse awaiting her signal to arrest this man. But the nurse's chest was heaving in and out from the stress of the situation and finally came to a conclusion, "Her mother."

25

DOUBT

THIS WAS ALL SHE SAID. As though a short response would mend the breach of patient privacy.

Jack stopped for a second. Her mother? Could he believe that? Thinking on it, he did remember Penelope's mother lived in Mexico City as well. But was he that fortunate for her mother to have somehow gotten word that Penelope was in the hospital? Did Pat call? No, he didn't know Penelope like he did. Was Penelope conscious enough to contact her or give the nurse her emergency contact? Jack had hoped she would remain in the hospital for if she had gotten better she could have called him . . . But he never got the call. So was this truth or deceit?

The guard and the nurse merely looked at him as they saw a million questions ricochet within his skull.

"Sir?" the nurse leaned in as though inviting him to leave.

Jack looked over finally at the dark hallway to the patients' rooms but in default stepped backward toward the entrance. "Okay," was all he said.

The nurse looked happy for once at the resolution. That is until Jack sidestepped and plopped himself in a waiting chair. "If you don't mind I'm going to wait here for an hour or so in case she comes back."

The nurse looked utterly befuddled. "But why would she come back?"

"I don't know. Problems with insurance? Forgot something. Have a question . . . ," Jack said.

"She could always call, sir," the nurse insisted. "There's no reason for them to come back.

"Maybe a relapse or heart palpitation, maybe post-traumatic episode . . ." Jack continued as though he hadn't heard her. "There are a million reasons why really . . ."

"Sir," she said, "she has no reason to return once she is discharged. We let her out of our capable hands once and only once we were certain she wass perfectly fine--"

But Jack stopped her and leaned forward in his chair with a look of both omniscient knowing and stubborn indignation. His thin, tired eyes were threatening, "I just have this-- wild-- feeling. That she's coming back. And I don't know why but, I actually have the even-- stranger feeling. That she's still here." Those last words wiggled through the air like a flying serpent and wrapped itself around the nurse's neck until her face turned red. She looked to the security guard finally and he obliged to walk around the desk and threaten to kick Jack out. But Jack shot to his feet. His hands out, his eyes on the gun.

"Alright," said Jack, "alright." He made up his mind to come back tomorrow. To sleep on a park bench or something and then return to check the patient rooms once the stubborn nurse and security guard were either replaced or too busy to notice him.

But he was caught up before stepping around the corner when three men lumbered in through the entrance and stepped briskly up to the nurse and security at the counter. The three men looked like they owned the joint.

Watching the nurse grow pale after being so red, and seeing the security guard run briskly over behind the counter to offer what seemed like protection to the short in stature nurse, Jack found himself terribly interested and he sat back down on the waiting room chair. No one gave a damn about him being there. He was a fly on the wall.

One of the three men stepped forward and said, "Dos horas mas." The nurse looked reluctant and gave a stare to Jack. She seemed to be considering him. But what did two more hours mean? Jack thought. Jack thought he could see the man toss a roll of bills to the security guard and say, "Puede mantener la boca cerrada, ¿verdad?" You can keep your mouth shut, right?

The security guards eyes popped into his head like a turtle's head into its shell. He didn't touch the money but let it sit on the counter behind the computer out of sight.

"Volveremos en dos horas," said the man stepping back with the two thugs. We will be back in two hours. "Dos horas," he repeated. The three cackled. They gave Jack an uninterested look and walked out.

Jack quickly left after them, looking back only once to see the nurse and security guards divert their eyes. They split the bribe under the table.

26

WINDOW

JACK SLIPPED OUTSIDE. He had expected he would see the stars in the atmosphere and feel the dry hot air but instead he saw only a ceiling of clouds tent over the sky. The weather was 64 Fahrenheit, and the ground was wet from the rain. No doubt it would start again soon. The humidity was 67% and the wind 13 mph. Knowing he couldn't trust the nurse now, he decided not to leave through the parking lot but to creep along the shadowed edges of the hospital building and make his way into the bushes. Soon he saw windows pass him by. First administrative offices, then a primary care waiting room, then a psychiatric ward, then pediatric care where a single wall-sized fishbowl of all colored fish illuminated under a tiny purple light. He then crept passed a patient room, unlit. Then another patient room, unlit. Then a third--

And he stopped. His eyes caught sight of a hand through the window, bandaged and cut between the thumb and index finger. But the nails a modest French gloss that reflected the parking lot lights identically on every finger glistened. He looked closer and moved his shadow to let the light spray up the arm and across the collarbone and the untouched neck of a Spanish beauty whose head was turned but whose long black hair cover her chest. The rest of her body was covered by a scarlet blanket which he had seen before. UNAM, a university of Mexico City was written over the blanket.

This was her.

He tapped on the window. "Penelope," he whispered. No movement. He tapped again just a bit harder. "Penelope," he whispered. No movement. He knocked loud this time to wake her, but she would not budge. "Penelope."

He decided a different route. He examined the window and realized it was cracked ever so slightly. Grabbing for the wet ground, his fingers dug into the mud beneath the grass and he pulled up a dull but large rock from the dark. He banged it against the brick wall below the window, and banged it thrice until it broke in two. Digging again for the pieces that spilled, he found a sharp jagged remain and used it to cut the window mesh. A round semicircle was cut and he was able to then push his hand through and pull the unlocked sliding window to the right to open it wider. Once it budged a few inches he was then easily able to pull it open from the gap. That's when he said Penelope's name one last time, and heard a moan.

Sweetheart. Penelope, it's me. Jack. I'm here for you. You're not alone. With his clean hand he felt through the mesh and grabbed her arm. "Penelope." She did not groan again. She lay perfectly still. His heart started to throb again. He quickly crawled his fingers down her bandaged arm to feel her wrist. Her pulse was slow. He said her name again. Her arm was so cold. He lifted her blanket over her to cover her arm but saw she was wearing nothing. Not even a patient's dress. Although he could understand, her clothes were likely destroyed and those patients clothes were basically paper. He grabbed her hand tight. "Everything's going to be okay." He said it. But it was more a gesture to himself than to her. He didn't know if everything would be okay.

Suddenly she moved.

Jack shook. Her face turned slowly. And what he saw made his eyes grow wide. The entire half of her face on his side was covered in hospital bandage gauze, and the other side had a purple stitch curved under her eye from the bridge of her nose to her ear and then back down to the edge of her mouth, where her lips began. Jack was frozen in horror.

He felt the rain start again, falling onto his head drip after drip. He knew she could not see him, try as she might to open her eyes to his dark silhouette. It was all he could do to hold her hand. And then she muttered something. Indeterminable.

"What?" he said. But she merely muttered even softer in response. She knew he was there, he could tell as she tried to motion her hand within his grasp. So he tightened his grip over her rough, dry fingers. A light smile curled ever so softly under her gauze, but quickly he saw the tears roll down over her lips. And her chest heaved and she moaned, wailing at the lowest possible volume. Eyes always closed, she muttered again, but this time she thought she'd said his name. His full name. But maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part.

What was he to do? Pull her out of the window? Throw her on his back and run her from the hospital with the IV tied around his neck? Call an autonomous rideshare? It sounded crazy but that might be the best possible answer. Then again, if he left her there for a couple hours, at least he would know where she was. He could call Mr. Golem by a local telephone. But why didn't Mr. Golem come to see if she was here in the first place. Why did Jack need to discover this on his own? Did Mr. Golem know she was here? Or did he even care what happened to "his spy"?

That was when Jack questioned. . . if she really was a spy at all.

His hand still on hers, he studied her frailty, and pondered the idea of her frailty. By the looks of it, it looked like the most she was capable of was selling car security software internationally. She was just a security salesman. That was an idea.

Disappointed, he was about to let go. That is until he moved his fingers to caress her palm before he went. That's when the sudden caress of his fingers under her palm struck and was obstructed by the familiar crinkle of paper wrapped within her fingers. Curious, Jack hesitated before pulling the paper out from under her curled fingers and was careful to take out the wrinkles in the folds with his thumb the window mesh so as to protect it from the rain which fell down harder as the seconds drew on. One second, two second. In the streetlight he turned the note and found the words "Avenida" Avenue "Presidente. . . Masaryk. . . 390A." An address.

27

NOTE

JACK LOOKED AT PENELOPE. CONFUSED. Was that all? He flipped the paper over but there was nothing behind it. Then he flipped the paper back over but nicked a fine crease at the edge which read, "Presidential Suite. 8th Floor."

Was this a note for her? Jack thought. Or for me? He crinkled the note and pulled his hand out of the mesh and stuffed the note in his pocket. At least he knew where to go next.

Suddenly he heard a motion like footsteps from outside Penelope's room and quickly stepped back. Her door swung open and the lights turned on and three people entered. Jack ducked and shifted to the corner of the window away from Penelope. He threw an eye over the windowpane, safe behind an empty black flower vase. And low and behold he saw someone charge in whom he thought he'd never see again. Leading the nurse and the security guard, was none other than his co-worker. Pat.

28

SURPRISE

"I paid you. Now leave," said Pat throwing a hand to the nurse and security guard who both looked high strung from the sudden exchange. They seemed to want to watch so as to ensure Pat would be in and out before the three thugs returned. "Go," said Pat. "You said two hours." He must have been referring to the time limit they would return. Dos horas.

The nurse and security guard looked at each other but finally stepped back out into the hall. The door shut but Pat went to lock it and threw down the shades. Extra cautious he even pulled the privacy curtain for second measure. He bent over to Penelope and got on one knee. He shook her arm. "Hey, wake up."

Penelope didn't budge. He shook her hard this time, and she made a face that hurt her at the scars. Her teeth gritted violently and she turned her chin to him. Her eyes flickered, under attack by the ceiling lights.

"How're you feeling?" said Pat with the least bit of sincerity. It was the most Penelope could do to keep her eyes open for even one more millisecond before they closed. Exhausted, she seemed to fall back asleep. Continuing to speak to her in case that she was still awake, Pat exclaimed, "They're coming for you in two hours. I'll have you out in one."

There was no response on Penelope's end.

Jack watched, as Pat seemed relieved she couldn't hear him. Pat said, reflectively, "You're not who I thought you were."

Jack tried not to make any movements outside, however, his squat position was turning his legs to iron and he could feel his wound in his shin bursting under his rain soaked pants. As Pat stood to leave, Jack heard his words echo in his head, You're not who I thought you were. What did that mean? That was when he realized Mr. Golem possibly sent him. And that Mr. Golem wanted Penelope home to LA before those three men got to her first.

Jack stood up to leave before Pat suddenly turned back on his heel. He'd forgotten something. Jack crouched quickly back into the shadows before Pat knelt down to touch Penelope's hand.

"Almost forgot this," Pat said, embarrassed of himself. He slipped his fingers under Penelope's dry and enclosed fingers, when he unexpectedly felt her palm and withdrew in astonishment. He stood erect. His face was pale. Wait, Jack could imagine Pat thinking as Jack touched the crinkling note that sat in his own pocket, where's the note that Mr. Golem told me to grab? Of course, Jack only assumed it was Mr. Golem who sent Pat. Pat quickly felt under Penelope's other enclosed palm but there was nothing there either.

Pat cursed. He threw off his hat and revealed he hadn't showered as his greasy hair dangled over his wet forehead. "Where the hell is it?" He shook as though his life were at stake.

Jack would've thought to help him of course. He'd simply hand over the note with the address. But the truth was Jack didn't know who Pat was anymore. Just like neither of them knew who Penelope was. But Jack looked at the pathetic look on Pat's face. He was frantic and desperate, whereas Penelope lay motionless and unbiased. Jack decided whose side he was on. For now.

"Penelope," Pat said to the nearly comatose woman. "Come on, where's the damn message? Show me the message." He was talking to himself.

He jerked Penelope's rolling bed away from the window without a care to her sleep. She shifted uncomfortably moaning. Pat ran behind the bed to see if the note fell off the edge. It had not. Pat cursed again and this time looked under her sheets. He paused for a moment. He perversely stared for a moment at Penelope's exposure. He then licked his lips and shook his head as to decide to stay focused.

Jack winced in disgust at the man for peeping at her.

Pat, having nowhere else to look, actually checked her hands again so as to flip them over and see if he missed the note. First he flipped over the hand by the window. Nothing. Then the other--

But this time what Pat saw made him stand up straight again. All color drained from his face and Jack stood as well when he saw what was there in Penelope's palm. Her entire hand, from the bottom of her palm radiating to the tips of her fingers, was painted black. And in the center of her black palm. . . was a big red dot. The paint was fresh for it had smeared onto her bedding underneath where her hand had rested and Pat quickly looked at his hands to see that it had wiped onto his fingers in a dark red black mix.

"He was right," was the last thing Pat said. And he shivered and ran quickly out the door. The lights were left on and Jack examined the mark on Penelope's hand and realized the paint was a message all its own. He felt the rain start to fall harder and a stroke of thunder build up over in the hills. He looked at Penelope one last time in case it was his last, and he stepped backward but slipped in the mud. Catching himself on his knee, which sank an inch in the bed of worms. He found his footing and wiped his knee against the brick wall of the hospital building. He heard the paper crinkle in his pocket and decided to run around the parking lot in the direction of the road. He sought to find the bus stop. And he would ask whoever he could for directions to Avenida Presidente Masaryk 390A. Wherever that was. He would go there. And he would go up to the Presidential Suite. 8th floor. And whomever he'd find up there, he'd spy on them, or demand and explanation. And if he had to, he'd kill every one of them except the man who knew the most. And once he got the information he was looking for, and had drained the man of any knowledge worth knowing, he'd kill him too. No trail. No nonsense. Jack had no friends. Just a co-worker to rescue. And a family to save.

29

BUS

HE GOT ON THE BUS. It beeped, he threw in some cash, the doors closed. The steering wheel turned and he had to catch himself lest he fall. There was only a kid in a long black shirt, black joggers and red converse that popped out like a sore thumb sitting at the back of the bus.

"Excuse me," said Jack, walking up directly besides the kid. The kid had his feet up and obviously had no intention of abiding by any curfew set by his parents.

"'Sup." The kid thought at first to set his feet down off the rail. But then he sized Jack up and decided to throw his feet even higher on the hand pole.

Jack noticed. "Do you have the time?"

"You have a watch," said the kid in Spanish.

Jack looked over at his wrist and sure enough he had a watch. "Oh, right," said Jack. Well that was dumb. Best be straightforward. He whipped out the piece of paper from his pocket. It was wet. And he handed it to the kid. "Would you mind checking your phone for this address?"

The kid looked at the wad of paper, dumbfounded by its wetness, and dropped his feet to unravel its contents. Sure enough, the ink was smudged. "What address?"

"Goddammit," Jack said in English. He realized this and looked over at the kid for his reaction. The kid merely shot him a look that read, "Tough day?"

"Tough week," Jack said with his face.

"Here, Gringo, take my phone and look up wherever you're going," said the kid in Spanish.

"You don't mind?" said Jack. He took the kid's phone.

The kid merely looked out the bus windows. Rain rolled down in a soothing fashion that warped the orange streetlights. "I've got nowhere to be."

Jack couldn't help but examine the kid and empathize. "Family troubles?"

The kid shook his head. "No." That was all he said. At first. But then Jack waited to let him speak. It was the least he could do to listen to the kid who was so good to offer his phone. After a minute the kid heaved a sigh and then suddenly his lips trembled. He hid his face from Jack with his hand but Jack could still see him from the window. His eyes were closed.

"Do you need a place to stay?"

"No."

"Where's your home?"

The kid said nothing.

Jack realized he was just wasting time now. He looked down at the phone and turned it on. There was a picture of a little boy and his sister and mother. A tin hut sat beside them. And dead grass. And a muddy white truck. Jack searched the Maps app and typed in Avenida Presidente Masaryk 390A.

It would take a 40-minute bus ride. All he had to do was wait.

30

KID

THE KID WASN'T TALKING but he seemed to have composed himself. So Jack thought he might try to make the kid laugh. "Can I keep your phone?"

"What? No," the kid dropped his hand and tried to swipe his phone away from him. But Jack held it away.

"Alright, alright," Jack laughed. "Can I at least play a game on it?"

The kid calmed down. He returned to his natural sullen pose with his face turned to the window and his arms crossed. "Sure. Just do whatever you want."

Jack pretended not to notice the kid's attitude. "Thanks!" He checked the phone. "You got chess on here?"

The kid turned his face like Jack was an old fart. "I've got Temple Run. And Angry Birds."

Immediately Jack lost interest. "Jesus." Jack handed the phone back to the kid.

"What?"

"That's not a phone."

"Why do you say that?" The kid was fully engaged now that Jack insulted his phone.

"It doesn't have chess on it."

"And that doesn't make it a phone?!"

"Exactly."

"Cabrón." The kid stuffed the phone in his pocket. He looked back at the window but this time there was a smile on the side of his face.

Jack was enjoying himself. Under his breath he said, "Pendejo."

This made the kid fall forward and laugh.

Jack pretended not to notice and looked around the bus. "So where do you sleep?"

The kid gestured to the bus. "Here," he said, matter-of-factly.

"And no one comes on here to kick you off?"

"No one comes on here at night, really. There's no driver so the bus doesn't have to sleep. It just goes to the station to charge once a night."

Makes sense. "The new buses are cool. So this is basically your house."

The kid nodded. Neutral to the subject.

"So why don't you decorate the place?"

Decorate the place? said the kid's face. "With what?"

"I don't know," Jack pointed to the corner, "a lamp?"

The kid laughed. "You expect me to put a lamp there?"

"It's your house, bro. Decorate your pad."

"The maintenance people would never let me."

Jack scoffed. "Alright." The kid had a point. But just to make sure, "Do you need money or something, I can buy you the lamp."

The kid laughed. Enough already. "No, I don't need a lamp."

"Alright," said Jack. But then he turned slightly more serious. "Besides a lamp, do you need anything? Food or something?"

The kid looked at the window again and looked to him. "A pillow."

"A pillow?" Jack asked. He wasn't expecting that. "For your head?"

"No," said the kid, seriously. But then he couldn't help but give a slick smile. "For my ass--" he laughed and then Jack laughed. Jack laughed because it was such a terrible joke. But at least the kid made a joke. The whole point was to be positive.

"I'll tell you what."

"What?"

"Next time I see you I'll have a pillow for your ass. Okay?"

The kid chuckled. His face was heartwarmingly red. "Okay."

After forty minutes Jack stood to get off at the bus stop. The kid looked out the watery window and his eyes opened wide. Impressive. "It's a hotel."

31

ALCOBAS

INDEED IT WAS THE LAS ALCOBAS HOTEL in Mexico's Federal District. Jack's eyes rose up. All the doors were closed, but a beautiful balcony looked over the city in the rain. "Looks nice, don't it?"

"You have a nice life don't you?" asked the kid.

Jack looked at him. . .

And the kid looked at Jack. "I want your life."

Jack said nothing.

The kid said, "Where are you from?"

Jack answered, "Los Angeles."

The kid smiled. "That's where I'm going."

Jack winced with disapproval. "Why?"

The kid lost his smile. "My mom told me to."

Jack thought about that. He was still holding the bus door so it wouldn't leave. "Where are you from?"

The kid rubbed his neck. He was obviously disturbed by the thought of his home. He rubbed his face and his forehead as though he were already sweating. Finally he said, "Guatemala." He looked at the window and crossed his arms again.

"Hey," said Jack. And immediately the kid got the message and uncrossed his arms. Jack pointed to the hotel. "I'll bring you a pillow from the hotel . . ."

The kid smiled.

The bus beeped twice and Jack finally stepped off. Already wet from the pouring rain he walked onto the sidewalk but turned as the bus doors closed and the bus started rolling.

" . . . For your ass," he finished.

And the kid smiled greater and got onto his feet to watch his new friend Jack leave into the hotel. He hoped to see Jack back in an hour when the bus returned.

Entering the hotel, Jack touched the jagged rock he'd brought from the hospital. It was hiding in his pocket.

The lobby of the Las Alcobas Hotel was grand. A woman behind the counter in a white blouse nodded to him. Jack thought at first that she was smiling at him flirtatiously but one look at himself in passing the mirror made him realize how soaked the rain had made him. He visited the restroom and dried his hair and face with a towel. Good as new he returned to the lobby, the front desk attendant smiled at him with interest and he took to the elevator.

Inside he went to press the button to the 8th floor but noticed something strange. There was no 8th floor. Unsure what to do, he clicked the 6th floor to the roof and when he stepped out of the elevator to the 6th floor landing, there was no one. He walked around, listening as he passed by doors but heard nothing. Nothing but the sound of the rain hitting the roof and surrounding balconies. He took a trip to the roof. And there he saw no one. He looked at the rain and realized perhaps he got the address wrong. No.

His memory was fine. Better than fine it was perfect. He was trained in memory. What the hell? He returned to the elevator quickly. This time returning to the lobby. Was it the 8th room? He checked. Knocked on door numbered 8. No response.

Stumped, he returned to the lobby. And there was his girl again, the front desk attendant. Smiling at him. With interest of course.

He approached her.

"Hola," she said. All smiles. "Funny weather we're having."

Jack looked at himself. His suit was still drenched. "Yes. Not exactly summer pool weather."

"No. It is not," she said, speaking Spanish. Still all smiles. "May I fancy you an umbrella?"

Jack sighed and rested a wet arm on the counter. "You know I would fancy an umbrella," he said in Spanish.

"No problem, let me get that for you, sir--"

"But first," Jack imposed. He looked around the lobby to see if anyone was listening. The only person he saw was a woman in a white summer dress reading the latest Elle fashion magazine. So he spoke freely, "Can you tell me where the Presidential Suite is?"

At his words the woman reading the Elle fashion magazine lifted her head.

The attendant looked at him with brighter eyes. Greater interest. She assumed Jack was rich. "Why, yes sir. Are you reserving?"

"I might be."

"You might be?" the attendant gave him a playful smile. "Are you flirting with me, now?"

Hadn't crossed his mind actually. "Err-" said Jack before the attendant waved her hair flirtatiously.

"I get off at 8," she whispered behind her hand. "I'm usually very tired by then but tonight--"

"Okay," nodded Jack, moving right along, "and I was also wondering where the hell your 8th floor is?"

At his words the woman who had previously been reading the Elle fashion magazine stood to her feet and started walking to them.

The attendant was caught off guard. "The 8th floor, sir?"

"Yes--"

"Pat!" said the rich woman in the white summer dress. "Te encontre!" I found you.

Jack shook when she ran up to him in her high heels and hugged him. She was not wearing her bra today--

"Ahh," said the attendant, stepping back and gritting a pitiful broken smile. "Is this your husband, Señora?"

"Maybe, maybe not," she said, kissing Jack's cheek, making him pull back. She was considerably older than him. "It's hard to tell these days." She laughed.

The attendant looked at Jack as though she fancied him a flirt and a gold digger. "I can see that," said her eyes. Turned off, she pulled up her keyboard. "Will it be the Presidential Suite then, sir?"

The woman said, "Pat, before we check in I need you to help me with the car."

Jack decided not to hesitate. He could tell this was all part of the charade he invited himself to play. He answered the stranger, "Por supuesto." Of course. He gave the woman his hand, smiled at the attendant, she smiled back, and Jack and the woman left the lobby and the woman popped her umbrella before they entered the rain.

The stranger pointed to the car a few yards along the sidewalk. No one was outdoors, and the streets were just getting lighter under the morning rain clouds. "The car's over there," said the woman, breaking character. Her smile disappeared and her voice dropped to a serious tone. "Hurry up and get in."

When they approached the car, Jack found a man in the driver's seat and the back seats were tinted.

"You take the back seat there," she said. She got in the passenger seat.

The back seat opened. Jack came around and found a man stepping out and waving him to get in before him. Jack did. And when he entered the middle backseat, he found a man on the far end next to him pointing a gun at Jack's waist. Jack stood still.

32

RIDE

"EMPTY YOUR POCKETS," said the man with the gun.

Jack thankfully was sitting on his passport and wallet. He had no phone. He pulled out the sharp rock he had and the men smiled as they closed the doors.

"You won't be needing that." The man with the gun rolled down the window and tossed the rock out. The car rolled on. Jack felt squished.

How the hell did Pat fall into bed with this group of people? Jack wondered. The woman in the white summer sundress did her makeup while the driver looked at him in the rearview mirror. He said nothing.

The man with the gun pointed at Jack's hip started to whistle a tune and the guy on Jack's other side started to drum his fingers on the passenger chair in front of him. The gunman's tune and the other guy's drumming sounded an awful lot like Under Pressure by Queen. An appropriate tune for the moment.

"I was beginning to think you were never going to show up, Pat," said the woman in the front seat. She ruffled her hair as though adjusting an extension. "What took you so long?"

Jack didn't know what to say to that. How exactly did Pat know to grab the note from Penelope's palm? Who stashed the address in her hand in the first place?

"You haven't called me in 24 hours what's up with that?" added the woman. "I always had the feeling you were lying to me about not being married, Pat. A rich guy like you from California, how could you not be married?"

Rich? Is that what Pat told these people? He held back a laugh but was obviously entertained. At that instant everyone in the car shot him a look. He calmed down. Better say something. "I'm not married. I'll never get married."

The two guys on each side of him started to whistle and drum again and the driver returned his eyes to the road.

The woman laughed at Jack's comment. "You say that now but just wait until we get to the hotel. You'll never want to leave." She vainly doubled up on her lipstick in the mirror.

Jack tried to imagine the relationship Pat must have had with this strange woman. Then again he didn't want to know. Then a second thought crossed his mind: Why did she say they were going to another hotel when they were just at a hotel? "We were just at the hotel."

"No, dumbass," said the woman, "the other hotel. We're driving over to the Four Seasons remember? Your stuff's there."

Pat's stuff was there? What the hell was going on? "I forgot."

"You're lucky you have a pretty face," said the woman. "If I hadn't heard you had such a pretty face, I would have let them kill you when they had the chance."

Let them kill Pat? What is happening in Pat's life? And to think Jack thought Pat was just a mediocre cyber security salesman who loved his women overseas. What did he plan to do with this woman anyway? And what did these men, in particular the man with the gun pointed at his hip, plan to do with him?

In twelve minutes they arrived at an even larger hotel, The Four Seasons.

"Park the car and meet us upstairs," the woman said to the driver before giving herself one last touch of her hair and exiting the car. The drummer boy exited as well and held the door for Jack who exited like a freed zoo gorilla.

The man with the gun followed closely behind Jack and kept the gun pressed to his back as they entered the hotel. They passed through the lobby and Jack had trouble enjoying the lavish teal and orange fire colors of the floor rooms. Passing the lounge and the surrealist golden oil paintings on the walls, they made their way up the empty staircase.

"Let's take the elevator from here," said the woman as they reached the second floor. They entered the elevator and some bossa nova music by Gil Mendes played as they ascended. Jack couldn't enjoy the music much either thanks to the thought of the man behind him accidentally pulling the trigger.

"Lighten up there on the brass," said Jack, trying to step away from the pistol. The gunman merely pressed it harder against Jack's spine and Jack made a slight squeal.

"Come on, Raúl," said the woman, sending a naughty smile the gunman's way. "Quit playing with him. He's my toy. Get your own."

Raúl rolled his eyes at her.

"I'm serious," she said.

Raúl sighed and relieved the pressure off Jack's back. Jack felt his lungs fill with oxygen again. The bossa nova sounded much better now. The woman gave Jack a wink.

Suddenly the doors opened to the 8th floor and the woman led them to the presidential suite to the farthest end of the hall. The rain sounded like marbles hitting the roof and somehow this wasn't very calming to Jack. They seemed to walk in single file, first the woman, then the man that had sat behind her in the car, then Jack, then lastly Raúl with the gun to his back. When they approached the door, the man behind the woman pulled out the hotel key and put it the door. He opened it and the woman nodded graciously before she entered. Jack stepped inside, following Raúl, then the man with the door key. The door locked behind them and the room was black.

"Hit the lights, Juan," said the woman.

And just like that, the man with the key flicked on the lights and the executive suite lit up.

33

GIANT

A MAN WAS SLEEPING SOUNDLY on the king sized bed. He wore a full Armani suit, and his shoes were on. They were giant. And untied. The woman chuckled and came around to his feet, to tie his laces. This seemed to wake him.

He mumbled something upon awakening. His voice was deep. Like Sean Connery from the first James Bond films. However he had the Spanish accent of actor Javier Bardem. Just of deeper pitch. His voice demanded authority from everyone in the room. He made this pack of wolves around him look like domestic dogs.

"What did you say, my love?" said the woman.

He cleared his throat. The sound boomed with an echo that made Jack, Juan and Raúl stand straight like soldiers. "I said I thought I told you I don't like to be woken up that way."

The woman froze, dropping his laces mid-bow. "What way?"

Jack could have sworn he saw the woman's ears twitch.

"Tying my shoes," the giant man answered. A voice for radio this man had. So much so Jack could've sworn he was listening to a radio.

The woman stepped back. "I'm sorry. I'll stop tying your shoes while you sleep." She looked down at his shoes uncomfortably at the sight of how only one was tied now. To mend her obsessive compulsion she looked over at a Frida Khalo painting on the wall. She tried to adjust the painting. It had been perfectly aligned to begin with but was now eternally slanted thanks to her. It gave her something to fix while the man on the bed lifted himself with a lioness grown to his feet. He might have been the tallest man Jack had ever seen. And when he approached Jack, Jack thought his neck would crack from looking up.

"Are you the man we've been waiting for?" he said directly upon Jack.

Jack felt instantly weak in the knees. He felt like a child again. And he remembered his father.

"Yes," said the woman. "He came to the Las Alcobas Hotel and asked the front desk attendant about the 8th floor presidential suite just like you said he would--"

"I'm sorry," the giant man cut in, "I thought I asked him. Not you."

The woman recoiled like a scolded pet. She diverted her eyes and returned to scratching at the Frida Khalo painting.

"So?" the giant asked Jack.

Jack didn't know what to say.

"Are you the man we've been waiting for?"

Jack thought for a second. He decided the whole point of him being here was to pretend to be the man they'd been waiting for. He hoped he'd be able to find out who these people were. How they knew Pat. What they wanted Pat to do. And how Penelope and the car crash Mr. Golem's suspected Jack of causing all tied back to this group of people.

So Jack thought maybe he'd just ask this Giant the same question. "Are you the man I've been waiting for?"

He could feel Juan, Raúl and the woman glance at him with unsteady anticipation. Those were not the words to say by the looks of the Giant man.

"Was that supposed to answer my question?" asked the Giant.

Jack could not produce an answer.

The Giant continued, lowering his head condescendingly at Jack like a schoolteacher to a kindergartener at a high-strung Catholic boarding school. "You don't answer my questions with questions. That's an order. Understand?"

Jack nodded.

The Giant smiled suddenly and peered out the window. The past was in his eyes. "You know, that reminds me," he said, as though to himself, "of what my father would do to me when I would give him smart-ass responses to his questions."

No one asked him what his father would do to him in fear that he would show them just what it was his father would do. No one wanted a presentation.

But alas, he strode across the carpet. To the woman. Her eyes grew huge in fear.

"Turn around, Margarita," he said as the woman sought to both brace herself and keep her dignity. Stand her ground. But suddenly the giant ran at her and threw her around. The woman yelped and the giant raised her dress behind her. "Carlos!" she shrieked-- but she covered her mouth to suppress her reaction. Worse would come to her if she yelled.

The giant then violently began slamming his hand against her exposed buttocks and Juan, Raúl, and Jack watched in odd shock as they witnessed her skin turn red fast. Lash after lash, by the tenth time Jack thought he saw the woman Margarita bleed on both cheeks and only once there was blood on the giant's hand did he drop her dress and relinquish the woman's arm, he'd been holding. She cried aloud before she covered her mouth with her hand, and she fell towards the bed and wrapped herself in a fetal position with both hands behind her ass, shaking like a wounded child by her father.

The giant was breathing heavily. He seemed to be alone in his mind. And only the past was still occupying him. He looked at his hand. It was stained. And he stepped over to the woman on the bed and wiped the blood on her clean summer sundress, leaving a horrible stain. His hands clean again, he approached Jack. But this time, Raúl and Juan had stepped back. Jack and the giant might as well be alone, face-to-face. The giant looked at Jack as if he was not there. This lasted until finally his eyes turned clear again and the giant saw Jack for the present fleshy water bag he was.

"Do you know," he started, "what I find to be the most important component to man's gratitude?"

Jack did not plan to answer anything this man said without a definite answer. And to this question, he had no definite answer.

The giant granted him an answer.

"Suffering."

Jack looked over to the woman on the bed. Margarita had not stopped shaking. Although her sobs had quieted ever so slightly so as she only had the volume of a little mouse.

"Every story has an ending," said the giant. "And it's only though our pity and fear that we earn our catharsis." The giant smiled. And he lifted one colossal hand onto Jack's shoulder. And Jack didn't even mean to, but he shook with violent expectation.

"You're a hero," said the giant to Jack.

Quaking, Jack's eyes did all the talking. Why do you say that?

The giant leaned in and said, "Because I can see your suffering." The giant laughed. "And it hasn't even started."

Jack flinched at the cruelty of the giant's breath. He stepped backward.

"It was a pleasure meeting you Patrick Smith," said the giant holding out his hand. The same hand he had abused Margarita with a moment ago. "I'm sure your story will be more original than your last name." He laughed and awaited Jack to shake his hand. Jack shook it. With force. No going back. He made his decision and he would stick to it until the end. Even if it was the wrong decision. He was Patrick Smith tonight. Tonight, and until this man with the giant hands was dead.

"Call me Pat," said the spy.

"Call me Carlos," said the booming giant. "I'll let you sleep here tonight. I warmed the bed for you." He let go of Jack's hand and left for the exit. Juan and Raúl followed like little henchmen. Loyal but afraid.

"Where will you sleep?" said the spy to the Giant.

Carlos the Giant turned with his head ducked underneath the archway. He shook his head. "I already have." And with that, Carlos the giant, Raúl and Juan left the room. And Jack and Jill were left alone.

34

MARGARITA

MARGARITA WAS STILL LYING in the same position as before. Her body was relaxed, but her hands were still holding her butt, where she'd been brutally and publicly beaten. What kind of people were these? Jack thought. Were they on drugs?

Jack did not bother to approach her. Nor comfort her. Nor ask for comfort for himself. He merely looked around the room, unable to move as though there was still a gun to his back. He guessed he wouldn't be seeing the boy on the bus tonight. Nor would he see Penelope in dos horas. He would be stupid to try to leave out the door. No doubt did the giant have a way of detecting him should he try to escape. Be it a camera, sensor or Raúl right outside the door. He found a chair and sat in it.

Watching the rain fall even harder on the balcony, he noticed a tall green plant finally fall over, bent at the stem. It caved and fell on some smaller Asters, Dahlia's and sunflowers as it thrashed left and right by the wind that started. The assault by the taller plant tossed the soil out from under the small flowers and dirtied the transparent door.

Jack chose to stand and was about to open the door to remove the plant but stopped. The forces of the rain and wind were too wild. He decided it easier to stay inside. He saw the tall green plant kick and scream at the smaller more beautiful flowers and finally at once it was too much to take and Jack quickly pulled the curtain to block the view. He swallowed. His throat was hot.

Just then he looked over and Margarita was staring at him. Her face covered in tears. She just looked at him though as if he were as low as she was. Her sympathy did the opposite of make him feel good.

"You okay, Pat?" she said.

Jack took a moment. Remembering his name was Pat. He was thinking of something.

"What is it?" she said. "You scared?"

Jack looked at her pensively. "No."

"Then what is it?"

Jack waited to respond before he pointed to the curtain. "My mother and father had a garden."

Margarita looked surprised. "They had their own garden? In the city?"

Pat must've grown up in the city. But that's not where Jack grew up. "They had their own garden. Those same flowers, too."

"Where are they?"

"The flowers?"

"No. Your parents."

Jack took a moment to answer. Too long to answer. So he didn't.

"I'm sorry," said Margarita.

Jack didn't respond.

"Can you turn off the lights and get in bed with me?"

Jack didn't know what to think about that. "I'll turn off the lights." So he did.

After a moment Margarita asked, "Where are you, now?"

"On the floor."

"I'm going to take off my dress, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

And they slept. Grateful for the roof that shunted the rain and wind.

35

DREAM

THAT NIGHT JACK DREAMT ABOUT HIS WIFE. She and he were staying by the lake in their summer home her mother had bought as a present the year before. Her mother always seemed to be making up for the years she hit her foster daughter when Katelyn was a child. Katelyn did not forgive because of the gifts. No matter how many her foster mother sent their way. Instead Katelyn forgave her mother slowly with each passing year because of the books she read. Any book really would soothe her. Self-help, nonfiction, fiction. She read a cookbook straight through once. As a distraction. It didn't make her a better cook that year. Jack could tell you that. It was the cooking classes and cooking shows they would watch as they made Mexican salsas with mango in the cabin that summer three summers ago that made her a better observer of the kitchen and all its mystic powers. Maybe it was the better food or maybe it was the hourly lovemaking. No daughter on the way yet until the last day of the lake cabin summer. Elise would come nine months after they returned from the cabin to LA.

He hadn't heard from anyone all summer. Not even Mr. Golem with an update on international affairs. Nor a mission briefing from the secretary to update Jack on his associates. It was a wonderful summer. And he felt for once he was one person, one identity, at one time. And his dream that night occupied a single picnic blanket on the roof of the cabin. And the fort they made out of a single standing umbrella and two hanging blankets that blocked out the world. They came together endlessly that day. And it was only until they left that fort that they remembered the world wasn't theirs. And Jack remembered he had a whole other world of his own.

Suddenly Jack awoke to a kick in the head. The lights were on in the presidential suite and the rain was falling even harder than before and the wind was still blowing so hard Jack thought he heard a flowerpot crack against the balcony.

"Get up." Raúl was standing over him.

36

BREAKFAST

A FIERCE GLINT IN HIS EYES. "Put on your suit and coat and we'll meet you outside for breakfast." Raúl left the room.

Jack rubbed his eyes and sat upright on the carpet where he had slept. In the mirror he caught Margarita's movement behind the bed. She was zipping a new dress from her back. Strapless. "Can you help me put this on?" She knew he'd been spotting her reflection and turned to gesture him over.

Jack rose to his feet and came behind her. He reluctantly pulled the zipper that sat just above the dimples in her lower back, and rose it softly to behind her chest. It was tight around her chest but he managed to do the job. She didn't complain.

"Thank you," she said. "Go take your shower. A fast one. Juan, Raúl and Gabriel are waiting in the car downstairs."

Jack did as he was told. He felt he needed a shower nonetheless but he sensed the breakfast wasn't going to feel anything like a family brunch. By the way, what was that third name she mentioned? "Who's Gabriel?" He stepped around the wall of the bathroom and stripped his clothes. He could sense Margarita attempting to sneak a peek at him through the adjacent mirrors of the room.

"Gabriel's our driver." That's all she cared to say about him. That's all Jack wanted to know. He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the showerhead. The water was ice cold.

"Keep the door open," she said. Stepping over to the counter in front of the mirror outside the bathroom.

Jack found this a rather odd request. "I'd rather not."

Margarita laughed. "I've got some shower tunes for you." She unleashed her phone and turned on the Bose home speaker that came with the room. "Do you like Juan Gabriel?" she said flipping through her music. She started to play "Querida."

The shower was now scorching hot. "I don't know who that is." Jack was glad that there was a towel blocking smaller Jack from Margarita's view. But he looked over and she was focused on the music and dancing to her tunes. "Querida!"

Jack started to sway too. He lathered the shampoo. And it stung. "Good song."

"Do you like Santana?" asked Margarita.

"Por supuesto." Of course.

"Do you like Justin Bieber?"

"I try not to."

"Michael Jackson."

"Sure."

"Here's something more contemporary." She played a pop song and immediately started dancing with herself in the mirror. Jack thought oh what the hell and started dancing with her from the shower.

"What's this?"

"Enrique Iglesias." She could tell he liked it because once she saw him dancing with the removable showerhead she started laughing.

Once he was out of the shower he maneuvered himself around the shower door to fetch the towel that had blocked him from her perverted glances. Dancing to Oye Como Va now, she was slowly applying more makeup to her face. He wondered how old she was but had the decency not to ask. But then she asked him his age.

"You look younger than I'd expected. Your voice is deceiving over the phone."

Jack had an easy answer for this. "Let's just pretend I'm older than you."

She laughed like she'd just heard the funniest joke on the planet. "Okay." But this decision did make her seem less anxious. "Your new clothes are over there," she said.

My new clothes? Jack thought. In his towel he stepped around the shower wall and found a tuxedo hanging in the open closet by the mirror. Bewildered or impressed, he went over and checked the tag. "How'd you guess my size?"

"I'm from the fashion industry, I sized you up the second I saw you."

But it seemed too early to Jack to put on a tuxedo. "I thought we were going to breakfast," said Jack.

"Yes," said Margarita, deviously, "But you're a powerful man this morning. You wear what you want to wear. . ." Approaching him she snagged his towel away from him and he grabbed a pillow to cover himself. She looked at him with a satisfied smile and handed him a pair of Black Calvin Klein underwear. She turned back to the bathroom to manage her music and continued her conversation as though nothing had happened. ". . . And if what you choose to wear is overly gregarious for this early in the morning then it only makes sense that I am your wife to justify your flashy character."

Jack put on his Calvin Klein's and looked at himself in the mirror behind her. She saw him too and she looked at his clean body with the utmost appreciation. "You're so young," she said under her breath.

"Did you say you were to play the role of my wife this morning?" Jack asked.

She turned to him with confusion. "Yes," she said as though Jack were to already know the plan for this unusual morning. "And you my husband." She stepped over to him and for a moment the music stopped. "Just remember your pitch. And everything will go smoothly ... And then you'll get the girl back."

This last note enticed Jack to the point of rushing to put his suit on. The whole time realizing was this whole charade an exchange between Pat and Margarita to get Penelope back?

Margarita smiled when the next song came on and began shaking her hips in that purple dress. "Hurry up, hero."

37

HERO

ONCE HIS SUIT WAS ON and Margarita helped fashion Jack's bowtie, Jack and Margarita took to the elevator and descended to the lobby where they received the interested looks of the desk attendants and exited out to the wind and rain.

"It's a strange summer," Margarita said as the car approached them on the sidewalk. Gabriel was driving sure enough and Juan stepped out of the back seat to let Jack into the middle between Juan and Raúl again. This time Raúl held his gun casually by his side, pointed upward against the tinted window. A message sure enough for Jack not to try anything that would upset them both.

Before Raúl and Juan could begin to whistle and drum this time, Margarita decided to play music that shook the car. Enrique Iglesias. Everyone engaged in a unanimous head rock to the beat. Everyone except Gabriel the driver. He remained stoically still as he slugged the car through morning traffic.

"Want to listen to anything in particular, Gabriel?" shouted Margarita over the music. The driver Gabriel merely shook his head. He had a permanent frown on his face. Despite the gun in Raúl's hand and the way Jack felt like a sardine between the two bodies beside him, Jack felt calmer than the last ride thanks to the music's occupation of his senses. Margarita peeped at him through the mirror as though she could read his mind. That's the point, her eyes said. We need you relaxed so you can eat your breakfast.

The car ride lasted 30 minutes. Traffic this early in the morning still was horrible. Jack could not wait for the future of more efficient transportation.

Finally they arrived at a restaurant with a green sunroof that read in old century font, 'Restaurante El Cardenal.' In truth Jack was starving.

Margarita turned off her music but looked at Gabriel and turned the station to classical. Chopin's Nocturne in E Flat played. She smiled at the driver and Gabriel's face seemed to relax. Jack could tell he was grateful.

Juan stepped out and held the door open for Jack to exit. But this time Raúl did not follow. Juan stepped back into the car and shut the door. The car drove away with Gabriel, Raúl and Juan inside.

"Glad it's just us for a change," mentioned Margarita, taking Jack's arm.

"A pleasant surprise," Jack thought. Jack noticed the sign at the front entrance read Closed. Margarita threw Jack a smile and she signaled him to take her around the building to the side entrance.

"No one's here," said Jack, raising an eyebrow.

Margarita knocked on the side entrance door and a chef wearing an apron appeared. Without saying a word he nodded to them and let them pass before he locked the door behind them. The hall was lit only by the kitchen and as they walked passed the kitchen light faded away. Jack had only the rhythm of Margarita's heels to lead him.

Just then they heard a voice in the dark. "Let me lead you to your table." Down the hall a dark orange light began to illuminate a man holding a towel on one arm and a tray in another. He led them to an opening and finally they reached the main dining room. All the surrounding tables were yet to be set and chairs were flipped on top from closing time the night before.

In the center was a young distinguished man in gold tie and three piece suit. He was drinking a glass of water appropriate for the morning and was sitting at a table set for four. The two chairs on either side of him were empty. However a very large brown coat with elegant brown leather patches at the elbows occupied the chair across from him. Upon seeing Margarita and Jack whom he immediately assumed to be her gregariously dressed husband arrive, he lit a smile and stood to his feet.

"Margarita," he said, trading kisses on both cheeks before examining her dress. "Stunning, absolutely stunning." Jack immediately gained the impression that this man was well-mannered, intelligent and honest. And gay. The type of gay that represented tolerance and progressivism in an age of conservative dominance. A leader of youth and a fighter against far right backwardness and organized religion. "And you must be Mr. Kubrick." He held out a hand to Jack.

Jack organized his thoughts while he smiled and shook this likable fella's hand. Okay. So his real name is Jack but to Margarita he's pretending to be Pat and to whoever this man whose hand was gripping his hand far too strongly he was pretending to be Mr. Kubrick. He wondered what his first name was supposed to be.

"He likes to be called Patrick," Margarita chimed in on Jack's behalf. While Jack thought it conspicuous that Margarita would speak for her husband on the subject of his preferred title, the man shaking his hand far too strongly was unfazed by her explanation. The man likely assumed Margarita as an independent woman of the fashion world wore the pants in the family.

However Jack thought he'd just add that, "You can call me Pat."

The man smiled with interest and gave Margarita a look of approval upon thoroughly reviewing Jack's face. "You do like them young, don't you, Margarita?" he said.

Margarita slapped him playfully. "Stahp."

The man laughed and finally released Jack's hand. Which was now sweaty and red.

They went to take their seats and Jack pulled out Margarita's chair for her. She smiled with delighted surprise.

"Such a gentleman," the man said to Margarita as though Jack were just a piece of meat without ears. "You've never been so good at picking out men before. What changed?"

As though the man just hit her in the face with a frying pan, she retaliated against his mention of her personal romantic history and said, "So how's your wife, Arturo? You pleasing her?"

Immediately the man, Arturo, lost his smile and he looked over at Jack so as to check if he looked as embarrassed as he felt. He took a long drink of his water glass until it emptied. He chewed on an ice cube and he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"Señora Anthony and I are swell. We're just swell. Thank you for asking."

The three of them sat in silence and Jack merely glanced at the empty chair beside them.

The waiter came around and asked if they would like any beverages. The man Arturo Anthony ordered a coffee and Margarita ordered a margarita, virgin, but then changed her mind and asked instead for a margarita, alcoholic. The waiter hesitated but jotted down the morning drink on his pad anyway.

"For you, sir?" he said to Jack. Jack merely ordered water. Simple.

But Margarita refused such a measly order. Role-playing she said to the waiter with a passing glass at Jack to chide he play along, "Oh he's just being shy. What he really wants is some hot cocoa with marshmallows."

The waiter laughed lightly and turned to Jack to clarify his wife's honesty. "You want the evening hot cocoa with marshmallows for breakfast, sir?"

Jack shook his head and shot a playful glance at the ridiculous Margarita. "No, she's joking--"

"Yes!" she insisted. "Believe me! He wants the morning hot cocoa with marshmallows and if he doesn't get it he'll be grumpy the whole day and I'll be the one to never hear the end of it!"

What an actress. Jack smiled at her over-the-top rudeness with shocked amusement.

"So the hot cocoa with marshmallows for breakfast, sir?" said the waiter to Jack hoping to clarify before he served him the kid's menu.

Jack was about to negate Margarita's claim once more but then the man Arturo Anthony chimed in as well, utterly flabbergasted: "Hot cocoa with marshmallows for breakfast!" he exclaimed, evidently in the spirit of his dear friend Margarita's company. "I've never heard of such a damn thing! I think I'll have one as well."

Jack could do nothing but laugh in amazement. He had no control over his own diet today. "Alright I'll get the hot cocoa with marshmallows."

"So you admit it!" claimed Margarita, jumping to her feet and pointing down at her husband as if finally exposing him for his prepubescent taste buds. "Aha! You love hot cocoa with marshmallows for breakfast!"

The waiter was laughing heartily at Jack and scribbled down hot cocoa with marshmallows for both him and Arturo Anthony.

"Is that what gets you up in the morning?" asked Arturo Anthony. The joke had gone on long enough and the waiter started to leave. "I'll be back with your drinks and Mr. Cortez's plate of pulpitos before I return to take your orders."

He left and Margarita shouted, "Extra marshmallows for this one," pointing at Jack. "He can't stand to have the lesser amount of marshmallows at the table. He's very competitive."

The waiter broke out laughing hideously at Jack's expense and disappeared into the dark hall to the kitchen.

Margarita turned back around with a smiling grimace that was both incredibly playful and pleasantly triumphant.

Jack merely shook his head at her with a giant smile. She sure knew how to clear the air. "You are all terrible people."

Arturo Anthony laughed and slapped Jack on the back.

Margarita winked at Jack. The winner needed no words.

Jack unable to break his smile continued, "Why did I agree to marry such a fashionable monster."

Arturo Anthony laughed again and choked on another ice cube. He expected a retaliation from Margarita but instead found a calm and confident smile locked on her face.

"Because," Margarita said simply, rolling her shoulders and leaning forward, "I expose you to the world. And in that way I set you free."

38

OCTOPUS

ARTURO ANTHONY COOED. "Aww, you're such a sweetheart. I wish I'd married you. But I didn't."

Jack's smile grew wider at Margarita. Not a bad answer.

Suddenly the waiter returned, and while Jack and Margarita studied each other Arturo Anthony jumped in his chair and pointed at the plate the waiter set down for Mr. Cortez. Margarita looked over and shrieked and Jack jumped at the sight of movement on the plate. He took a closer look and sure enough he was not imagining it.

On the large plate was a mountain of live octopuses floating over each other with their moving tentacles.

"I've never seen such a display," said Arturo Anthony, his face white.

The waiter replied, "A special request by our esteemed friend Mr. Cortez."

Jack was utterly fascinated but Margarita shifted her chair away in disgust.

"Disgusting! Get them off the breakfast table at once or else they're going to climb off the plate!"

The waiter quickly poured a ring of what looking like cooking oil around the brim of the plate and lit the ring on fire with a lighter. Immediately the little octopuses reacted by climbing back to the center of the plate. "Not to worry ma'am," said the waiter.

Just then the doors from a dark side of the room opened and the group turned to find the heavy stepping giant come from the bathroom, his hair wet and slicked back, his suspenders striped and retro, and his pants and shirt brown and green. He wore the same shoes as last night. Yet the shoe whose laces Margarita had not finished tying were still untied from last night. He didn't seem to notice. Or care.

"Ah," he said, paying no attention to anyone but the pulpitos climbing over each other on his fire-ringed plate, "mis pulpitos están aquí. Gracias mesero." My octopuses are here. Thank you, waiter.

The waiter nodded and shot Jack a look of mutual discomfort and left through the hall, forgetting to fetch their meal orders.

The giant took his seat. He took an immediate stab at the top mound of pulpitos with his knife, and stuck the kabob of wriggling live octopuses in his mouth, and chewed all around his mouth before swallowing. With one gulp he looked up across the table at Arturo Anthony whose face was paralyzed.

And the giant Carlos Cortez said to Arturo Anthony, smiling, "Good morning, Senator."

Jack looked over to Arturo Anthony in surprise as Mr. Anthony nodded to the name of Senator.

"I've been waiting to talk business with you for quite some time," said the giant, pointing at him with a kabob of moving tentacles. "But you always seem to be too busy. Why's that?"

Senator Arturo Anthony thought before answering. "I'm here now aren't I?"

The giant nodded his huge head. "You ready to talk business or do you want to wait for your food?"

"I'm ready," said Senator Arturo Anthony.

"I understand you to be a man who ran a clean campaign for mayor before you became senator."

"Yes. Very clean," said the Senator proudly.

"You are indeed a rare politician," flattered Carlos Cortez.

"Unfortunately."

"I appreciate your anti-crime and anti-corruption efforts."

"Thank you," said Senator Arturo Anthony, coldly.

The giant leaned in. "I especially like your anti-drugs efforts. Your anti-drugs efforts really speak to me." He stuck a bigger wad of octopuses into his pie hole and chewed.

Senator Arturo Anthony didn't move but it was clear by his subtle expression that he could read Carlos Cortez's bullshit.

The giant caught this and stopped chewing. He held his empty knife still. "Are you doubting my sincerity, Senator?" he challenged. "I mean it when I say your anti-drugs campaign is important to me. My father died of overdose. My grandfather was shot by the cartel. So was his father." He eyed the senator long with scrutiny, demanding the senator stop looking at him like he was just asking for a political favor.

"Were your father and his father and his father as tall as you too, Mr. Cortez?"

"Indeed Senator," said Carlos Cortez with a look of disdain that read, why should that matter?

The senator picked up his water glass with a smart-ass grin on his face. "Then by analogy it seems you'll either die of drug overdose or drug ring crime yourself." He took a sip and coughed. His confidence was forced. "Am I wrong?"

The Giant Carlos Cortez put his knife down beside his plate that was still hot with fire. The room seemed to get a little darker. "Seeing everything by analogy is no good, Senator. It's a fallacious form of comparison. I choose to learn from my history but not to project it onto my future. That's a form of growing up. And in that way I can let go of the past and make myself out to become whatever I want."

The senator's face turned red with fire. "I may be young but my age is also what won me my elections for mayor, for governor, and finally for senator. Unlike you and your past, I am the future you're talking about. And my clean campaigns are an analogy for my efforts for a clean Mexico and clean world, in all areas of industry, life, everything. Don't speak down on me like you've got a better way of thinking, Mr. Cortez. My fresh ability to see the world as it is now versus your view that money and power are all important makes me the clear winner. I got to where I am because of hard work and a vision with which people resonate. Unlike you I actually believe in something. I didn't need to use force to get where I am. I didn't need to lie or cheat or steal to get where I am. I didn't need to kill a goddam person and if you are planning to influence me in any way during this meeting-be it blackmail, or threats on my family-it won't work. The only way I will do your bidding, is if you believe in something," he took a breath, "something I can believe in too."

Margarita stared wildly at the senator, admiring his anger. His passion. Jack on the other hand turned to the giant Carlos Cortez and suddenly wondered if he truly was a member of a drug ring like the senator implied.

Giant Carlos Cortez said nothing. He merely peered at the man with a pensive stare. The ring of fire around his plate finally died out and some of the octopuses that remained started to hover off his plate.

"You seem to have revealed all your predispositions too soon, Senator. I haven't even begun to discuss what I want from you nor what I was planning to offer in exchange." He held himself tall and an optical illusion made the table seem like it was sinking.

The heated senator drank his whole glass of water again and nodded to Giant Carlos Cortez with respectable apology. "You're right, I have my predispositions about you, but that wasn't fair of me. Go ahead."

The Giant Carlos Cortez nodded in a regal manner. "Thank you," he said, noticing an octopus on the table and taking it into his mouth. "Okay. So I was going to make you drink gasoline until you agreed to help me kill the president but now you've forced me to think of a cleaner route we can both believe in."

39

EXCHANGE

JACK, MARGARITA and the SENATOR stared at Giant Carlos Cortez in horror until he broke into a laugh that signified it was clearly a joke. They started to follow in his humor. Laughing, Jack still wondered, was that really a joke?

"I brought you here to talk about the bill about border clearance on autonomous vehicles," said the giant. "I want to advocate that you pass it so I can have driverless cars ship my cargo to and from America."

Senator Arturo Anthony immediately recalled the bill in question. "And you want this passed so you can send business products to the US without sending employees, correct?"

"Precisely."

"I cannot pass that bill."

The giant seemed to predict this reaction. "Tell me why."

"Many reasons. One of them including that what if the cars are locked? We won't be able to check it for weapons, drugs or other collateral."

The giant laughed disrespectfully. "That problem has an easy solution. We'll merely provide mutual access to our storage vehicles via mutual lock/unlock functions. Either we use that or we can also have predicated clearance signified with a sticker or electronically detectable passcode. In fact we've notified multiple tech companies that we would be willing to pay big to create those functions for us."

"Why would you be so invested? Makes me believe you're simply attempting to pass illegal collateral across the border without proper search and surveillance."

"You speak before you think. Let me remind you who bought your breakfast."

"My breakfast isn't even here yet and even if it was I am a man who speaks his mind and a true representative of the Mexican people. The last thing my people need are drugs going out of Mexico from the cartel in exchange for arms weapons from the US."

"Well, we shouldn't let improper etiquette on the US's part ruin our opportunities to run our businesses at higher efficiency via autonomous transport, Senator. It's an inevitable choice of the future. All I'm asking for is expediency." The giant snapped his fingers. "Waiter. Hurry with breakfast before lunch starts."

"Even with that technology there is one problem that simply cannot be mended. And that's hacking."

The giant seemed to have seen this objection coming as well and both he and Margarita looked over to Jack with a smile.

The senator continued, "We simply do not know if safe vehicles going out won't be tampered with upon return. Placing cameras within the car would invade privacy laws. Ways to detect tampering via other car functions have not been successful enough as far as software security viruses are concerned. We've consulted with top companies and they are only 'making major headway.' They are not ready."

Margarita touched the senator's arm and intervened. "I'll have you know that besides introducing you to my husband, I also brought him along because he is working for the top autonomous security software in the world right now. And he says the security software is ready. And it can't be hacked."

She gave Jack a glorious smile. Take the baton, her eyes told Jack. Your turn.

Senator Arturo Anthony turned his head in bewilderment to Jack. "Señor Kubrick! Here I thought you were just a wealthy fashionista's plaything," he said gesturing to Margarita. "But now you're a bonafide software engineer?"

Jack blushed. Actually he was just a salesman.

"Yes, he's of the top software engineers in the company," Margarita blurted.

"Impressive," said the senator. "But tell me how I can trust the cars are secure against foreign hacks."

Jack felt his heart skip a beat as everyone studied him with interest. "Well," he began and then the waiter came with the food--

40

PITCH

"FINALLY!" SHOUTED THE GIANT. "What took you so long? I preordered everyone's meals before they even arrived!" The giant shook his head as though the waiter were the rudest man he'd ever known. The waiter apologized. All eyes diverted from Jack and fell on the sweet potato chorizo hash with eggs and avocado crème placed in front of Jack. The waiter served Margarita a plate of chipotle and jalapeno bagels and served Senator Arturo Anthony a plate of chilaquiles. Margarita shot Jack a look that read: that should take the pressure off for now. Best to finish your explanation before the senator finishes his meal.

The senator was scarfing down his meal like a hungry dog.

"As I was saying," said Jack, "the company that will be integrating their secure software into Mr. Cortez's trucks will be showcasing the benefit of many years of security development. The biggest thing that our company has done to make us successful is that we've integrated a security network recognition system used by certain especially secure digital currencies. Are you familiar with the security behind digital currencies and how it makes it impossible to counterfeit online currency? No? Well, basically each coin or piece of digital currency is tagged with a currency recognized by the whole Internet of other coins of the same currency. Every coin transaction is tagged to its history and the constant reshuffling has created a history too extensive and rising to be duplicated out of thin air. For someone to try to manipulate the system to create a new coin, the coin would instantly be recognized as counterfeit by the enormous network of currency and will be deemed void before it can even be used for transaction."

The politician nodded the whole way through Jack's pitch. He had no clue what Jack was saying.

"What does digital currency security have to do with autonomous vehicle security?" At least he was able to identify the topics at hand.

"Well, just like each coin validates the legitimacy of the software of other coins, otherwise they become null and void and unable to use for transactions, each car will validate the legitimacy of the software of other cars, otherwise they become null and void and revert back to previously legitimated software."

The politician nodded, swallowing. "What if say, a Russian completely replaced a car's software with their own and so there was no previously legitimate software to revert back to once the neighboring cars detect the Russian virus software?"

"Well, that would mean the Russian software would remain null and void but the car would no longer have any software to revert back to. So it would remain in park."

"What if hypothetically it were driving upon receiving the virus?"

Jack said, "You're probably thinking the car would either stop or keep going right? The car has a backup and it also has a reset function where it can pick up software downloads duplicated from other cars in the area or via satellite."

The politician said, "What if it duplicates software from a car in the area which also carries the virus."

Jack added simply, "It won't. It only accepts legitimate software that match the satellite codes."

"What if the satellite is hacked?"

"The satellite doesn't hold the code, it reflects the code received from a ground station."

"What if the satellite receives two codes? From both legitimate software and virus-attached software. If the car has no software to detect which is legitimate and solely bases the software's legitimacy by if it comes from the satellite, how is it to differentiate between an original and a hack?"

"Well," Jack said, slightly stumped, "that's highly unlikely."

The politician put his last bite down. Wrong answer.

Margarita looked worried and the giant looked calm but displeased. The giant's face read: One more shot, buddy.

41

CLOSE

JACK FLASHED A LOOK AT MARGARITA and remembered her promise that if all went well he'd get Penelope back.

He turned back to Senator Arturo Anthony and exclaimed, "It's unlikely because the satellite is owned by the company and answers simultaneously to three stations triangulated proportionally with the same signals. For say the Russians or Chinese to send a virus to the satellite they'd have to do it through all three stations simultaneously, and to do so they'd have to hack all three but each have different encryption systems of their own that change regularly. So basically until artificial intelligence gains real footing in the security hacking sector I'd say it's impossible. But even then America would have artificial intelligent security systems fighting the hacking systems so there wouldn't be any reason to worry even then. If ours aren't superior by a long shot then ours would only be superior by a short shot. Remember we've got the Israeli tech companies on our side as well. We have nothing to worry about." He breathed and chugged a glass of water.

Senator Arturo Anthony peered at him incredibly impressed and eyed Margarita with a wink of approval about her intelligent husband.

"Software engineer, indeed," smiled the senator.

Margarita blushed. She peered at Jack with an admiring ear-to-ear smile. "You can eat now, Pat," she told Jack. Jack nodded and quickly gobbled some avocado with lemon juice. First bite in 24 hours. Margarita spotted his pleasure and pushed the two common bowls of mango and papaya to his side of the table. You deserve it, her eyes said. Enjoy.

Enjoy he did as the giant smiled and leaned in for business. "So what do you say, Arturo," he said, calling him Arturo now that he felt like they won the senator's heart. "Will you vote for the right of autonomous vehicles to pass the border both ways? We understand the U.S. has to sign off on the trade agreement, too, but that's already in the bag. Plus we promise to get special stickers for the windshields to show the vehicles' certifications." He patiently waited for the senator's answer. "Come on. Give me your vote."

While the senator was thinking, Jack suddenly noticed the waiter was still standing across the table behind Margarita. The waiter's eyes were focused intently on the senator. Holding the water pitcher, he seemed to be leaning in suspiciously. Jack could not draw his eyes off him.

42

WAITER

FINALLY THE SENATOR GAVE the look of content. He nodded. He would vote yes on the Autonomous Border Crossing bill.

The giant lit up with ecstasy. "Senator Arturo Anthony, I will even throw in two million dollars for your upcoming campaign for president."

The senator shook his head as a refusal to take any money. "I would be happy to vote yes on the new bill, Mr. Carlos Cortez. Thank you for bringing such an expert along in the world of tech that is so foreign to me so that I can embrace the future rather than fear it." He smiled at Jack.

But Jack had his eyes on the waiter. He looked sickly pale once the senator said yes.

"I need more water," ordered Margarita who was enjoying her chipotle and jalapeno bagels in silence.

The waiter almost did not hear her as he was too focused on the senator. When he leaned over Margarita and poured her drink, Jack was able to peer through the waiter's loose shirt, and to his astonishment. . .

. . . found a wire taped down his chest.

43

WIRE

THE WAITER WAS RECORDING the conversation. Jack realized that the senator seemingly agreed to take the giant Carlos Cortez's bribe in exchange for the vote, because he hadn't vocalized against taking a bribe, and it was all on tape.

Even worse, Jack's own voice was on the tape explaining his company, and he would easily be found out via both a search through his company's sales force, and also via his voice once they asked his employer to identify him with one listen.

Thirdly, and he was surprised to think this way, that even worse was that giant Carlos Cortez was on the tape. And although he was not a good guy and obviously in cahoots with some drug cartel or other organized crime, he also supposedly had custody or had control over the safety of Penelope. At least that's what Margarita promised Jack back at the Four Seasons hotel this morning. And by the look of Margarita's wise look and warm smile at him across the breakfast table, he felt he could trust that he would get Penelope back after this meeting ended. So it was time to make a decision. And his father told him once that making a decision meant sticking to it even when it might turn out to be the wrong one. He would have to confiscate that tape tied to the waiter's chest.

It was at that moment of decision that he realized he'd been staring straight at the waiter's face the whole time he'd been thinking this over. The waiter was staring at him with a face like a ghost. The waiter knew. Jack had caught him. One word to the giant and this waiter would be dead. The waiter was at his mercy.

Meanwhile the giant was busy flattering the senator further and the senator had begun explaining his new plans to get the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate of the Republic to sign off on allocating increased funding to education in Mexico. It's all about education and medicine and the environment and lowering crime and corruption he said. Like it was easy.

The waiter fed Jack a pleading look. Please, Mr. Kubrick, don't say anything. I'll rip this thing off and throw it in the boiling pot in the stove. I don't care what the feds do to me. I'll repent for my sins the old fashion way. I'll go for communion right after work today. The church is right down the block. Please, Patrick. I beg you.

Jack could not stand the tension of this moment. If he let's him go, he risks giving away his identity to the feds. Most likely the mexican feds if they're after the either one of these men at the table. But if he rats on the waiter here and now, he will die. Jack considered the man probably had a family. A big extended one with kids. He would be missed. But is that his problem? No. He got mixed up in this affair. He should pay the price.

But that's not how Jack really felt. This man didn't do the wrong thing. He was willing to perform a federal service to expose a seemingly crooked politician and a blatantly violent and powerful giant of the crime world. If Jack were to stop this waiter, morally he should find a better way. Thinking it over he decided there was only one way of compromise.

He'd have to stop him alone.

Jack lowered his eyes as though to send the message he hadn't made a decision to expose his wire to Cortez yet. After a moment of avoiding eye contact, Jack saw from the corner of his vision the waiter returning to the hall. He looked over and saw the waiter walking briskly into the darkness, ready to turn into the kitchen.

He stood to his feet.

"Excuse me." He stepped around the table and pretended to make his way to the restroom. Instead when he stepped into the long winding dark hall with a rapid pace ten times the speed of the waiter, he finally caught up to him passing into the kitchen doors when suddenly Jack stepped inside and found himself suddenly in a room full of-- not chefs-- federal agents. Up to ten federal ministerial police officers with PGR badges handling audio equipment and listening in on the senator's conversation with Cortez looked up at Jack. Four of their weapons at him. The two chefs were seated in the back, red in the face and sweating profusely from the pressure. The waiter had his shirt unbuttoned as a female officer unwrapped the cords taped around his chest.

"I'm sorry," he cried sincerely in a whisper to Jack, whispering because JAck still had the door open with his back. One of the officers at the computer motioned for Jack to keep quiet. Another gestured for him to step in and allow the door to close. Jack however, dared to test the situation and actually stepped backward a step so as to caution that he may run out the door and yell out. This warranted every officer to raise their gun and step a little closer.

You don't want to do that, read their eyes.

Do the right thing, read the eyes of the waiter. I know I did. He held the tape in his hand.

Jack felt a wave of dread fall through him as the cage came down on him. He was trapped. Were they really willing to shoot him if he tried to escape? Absolutely. Would he want to escape without the tape though? Probably not. But did it matter if he stole the tape if ten officers saw his face? Maybe.

He spotted the woman who stood closest to him than all the others. Her gun was dangerously close to his heart. And coincidently, her gun was dangerously within reach. But he realized that ten officers was pushing his limits. At that moment he was the man with the least power in the room.

Close the damn door, read their eyes.

Better listen to them, read the eyes of the waiter and chefs.

Jack complied and stepped fully into the kitchen, letting it close. The doors sealed. The man at the computer pulled out handcuffs and started walking to Jack. Two men dropped their weapons to return to the listening station they'd set up with computers and receivers on the counter facing the dining room.

Turn around, gestured the man with the handcuffs. Jack felt his wrists grow hot with anticipation. He was a dead man. Mexican prison was worse than American. But that's why he couldn't go down without a fight--Rapidly he grabbed the woman closest to him but the wrist and confiscated her gun in a single movement that put the trigger in his grasp instead. She gasped and his hand around her wrist he pulled her between him in the corner and the rest of her coworkers. He pushed the head of the gun directly at her temple. In a low voice he demanded, "Drop 'em." And after an exchange of looks to the man with the cuffs, the man with the cuffs stepped back and shook his head to the rest of the group. Don't drop your weapons. Not yet.

Jack felt his bluff. He didn't want to shoot this woman. But he could if it meant saving Penelope. And saving penelope meant finding out what happened to their car. And finding out what happened to their car meant revealing to Mr. Golem he had nothing to do with the compromise he was convicted of. And only then would his family go free. He restricted the shaking in his body to only his left foot. The damn foot could shake all the fearful energy out of him that it wanted as long as it stayed planted to the floor inside his shoe. He wiggled his toes.

"I'm not with them," said Jack. "I'm not of the cartel, I'm not with the politician. I am an agent of an American agency."

The man with the cuffs merely stared at him. He didn't believe it.

Jack pulled the woman toward him in a fast jerk that shook her. She pissed her leg. And Jack felt horrible for that.

He said, "I'm sorry to get mixed in this. Really. But I need that tape." He gestured to the waiter. "Give me that tape, and I'll walk out that door--" he nodded to the side exit at the far end of the kitchen. "And if you don't let me leave, you will be compromising my agency's investigation, and I will be forced to compromise yours if that happens." He looked at the back of the woman's head. She appeared almost 20. Imagine if this was her first day on the job.

No one seemed to budge. Not at first. But then the women of the group lowered their guns because women tend to be smarter than men when it comes to war. It took a little longer for the less sensible chief with the handcuffs to nod to the men who in accordance lowered their weapons. Jack then motioned for the tape.

The waiter passed held it out reluctantly but Jack shook his head.

"Put it in my pocket."

The man looked around the room for second thoughts but no one gave him one. So he stepped forward and lightly pressed the tape recorder into Jack's pocket. Jack then pulled the woman who was shaking and wet and 19 years old with him as they crab walked slowly to the opposite side of the room. She left a sad yellow trail of liquid behind her and Jack whispered in her ear, "I am sorry."

When they made it to the end, he was about to push the side door but realized this wasn't enough. He needed Margarita and the politician and Carlos to leave the restaurant if he was to receive his end of the bargain. Penelope. But he looked into the angry officers' eyes and realized that'd be asking for too much. Then he considered asking for only one person. Margarita.

He gestured to the waiter to come to him. He whispered, "Fetch my wife."

The waiter trembling now, nodded quickly and scampered through the aisle of Federal agents and exited the kitchen. There was a small window closest to Jack directly beside the door. So he stepped back and peeped through the edge of it. He saw the waiter scurry through the adjacent dining room where Margarita ate with her back to him and the politician and giant sat on either side of her at the far end. When he came up to them, Margarita turned and listened to what he had to say. No doubt he said something along the lines of, "Excuse me, Senora Kubrick, your husband is asking for you in the kitchen." Not exactly the best excuse to draw a woman from her table. Through the window Jack could only make out the slight confusion and worry that spread on her face. The politician and giant stopped conversing, and while the politician only seemed mildly confused, the hunched giant curled a brow with an obvious suspicion. The giant Carlos Cortez watched through the corner of his eye the entire way as the waiter led Margarita to the kitchen. Until finally Carlos Cortez's eyes looked to the wall of the kitchen and might have just spotted Jack peering at him.

Jack wanted to catch the giant's eye. For if he spotted him watching, maybe he'd get the hint. And get out. He needed this monster free from federal custody in order to get Penelope safe and sound.

The doors of the kitchen burst open and first came in the waiter with a pale awkward frown before the lady Margarita stepped and mild squeak came from her mouth as she stopped and peered at the ten service men and women that filled the room, the two hostage chefs, the waiter who now sat on a short stool beside her with his hands clasped in his lap and his guilty head hung low and the streak of yellow urine that wreaked from one side of the kitchen and streaked across the floor to the leg of the newly recruited woman whose tears matched her cries while the gun in Jack's hand dug into her skull with a threat that pulled no punches. There was only one thought going through her mind at this moment. "What is happening?"

"Margarita, come with me now," said the rogue security salesman. "Order an Uber. We have to go now." He took a step closer to the door leading to the side of the building. His back against it. Ready to escape with Margarita and their federal hostage.

But Margarita was more than hesitant. She reluctantly strode beside the line of urine to the spot where Jack and the hostage were standing while she was careful to avoid the eyes of the federal officers. "We can't leave," she whispered harshly into his ear like he was doing something wrong. She hoped the federal agent could not hear her either. "Senator Anthony Arturo is my dear friend and a gem to the Mexican legal system and I am not about to abandon him. Comprendes? And also if Carlos doesn't make it out of here safely you can bet both of us will be dead within an hour and your spy friend will never see you again, let alone live to see another day. We don't leave without them." But then she looked about the crowd of agents and realized perhaps she was indeed asking too much and that them trying to make a run for it alone was all they could hope for.

But Jack turned his eyes back to the window to the dining room and found the giant Carlos Cortez looking pensively at the wall sideways and then deciding finally to turn and grab his coat. The politician made a face that said something like, "Where the hell are you going?" and the giant Carlos Cortez put on his jacket and gestured something like, "Get up. I smell rats." Getting the gist of what Cortez was sniffing, the politician jumped up frantically and grabbed some ice to nervously bite on while the giant Carlos Cortez stepped briskly to the wall opposite the kitchen and they ran out the exit to escape to safety.

Jack felt bittersweet for helping a criminal like Cortez escape the feds but as he felt the tape weigh heavy in his pocket, he also remembered the value in helping a wholesome and wonderfully gay politician like Arturo Anthony escape conviction for a bribe he did not accept. But a smile formed in the reflection of each of his eyes as he saw Carlos Cortez and the politician evaluate the situation so promptly. It seemed extreme caution was the giant's best defense.

Jack could see that Margarita saw their escape like he did for she was now ordering an Uber on her phone. "There's one that's waiting right outside. Let's go."

But suddenly the young woman who had been suffering by the point of Jack's gun finally shouted in protest. Crying harder. "Please, don't take me!" she cried. "I beg you!" Her compatriots looked at her with remorse. And a woman who resembled her as though an older sibling glared with fireballs across her sight at Jack in a way that proclaimed payback. Jack locked eyes with the woman but quickly diverted his eyes and dragged the young federal officer girl with him as he burst backward through the side door.

They exited quickly and found themselves leading down a set of steps.

"Don't move," Jack ordered the officers and kitchen staff before letting the kitchen side doors close. "If I hear any sirens within the span of ten minutes. . ." Jack implied he'd kill their new recruit. He had to say it. As much as he didn't want to. If he didn't warn them not to leave or call the police, he would never see Penelope nor his wife and daughter Elise again. The girl cried even harder and Jack knew he was sculpting her difficult future of trauma and therapy sessions for years to come.

Margaret spotted and approached the autonomous Uber getaway car with desperate rapidity similar to that of a mouse desperately hoping to escape a maze with a timer which would inevitably lead to a maze-wide electric shock. Jack dragged the young girl in uniform toward the car as her tears made her blind. "Don't make a sound," he demanded. He lowered the gun to the lower lumbar region of her back to hide it from the passing cars of the early morning. The sun was breaking across the sky a magnificent fire under the bellies of the quickly sweeping storm clouds. "Get in."

The girl moaned like a helpless child as he forced her into the backseat and handed Margarita the gun. He closed the backseat door and circumvented until he entered the driver's seat.

"What are you doing? It's driverless," said Margarita.

Nonetheless Jack grabbed the wheel. "In case we hear sirens and they have access to the Uber car's route online." Sure enough, after the car took them down one block, the sound of sirens cut the air and Jack turned off the autonomous function and sped over the speed limit while making a turn opposite the on screen route.

Margarita had set the function for The Four Seasons Hotel. But Jack had another place altogether in mind.

"Where are we going?" said Margarita. But Jack put a finger over his lips as a gesture of silence and looked at the rear view mirror and so did MArgarita. On the computer screen at the front of the car, was a camera for face calls and video chats. Jack at placed a stick of Margarita's gum over it, but he couldn't stop the sound. "Don't say a word," Margarita had whispered to the weeping hostage at gunpoint.

Eventually Jack had cut the police men off their path by weaving in and out of traffic that was getting heavier by the minute. He made sudden turns and lane changes and even cut over the sidewalk on a block where traffic reached horrible density for someone trying to elude the law. But at one point however traffic came to a stop and the sidewalks were blocked with pedestrians and Jack looked over his shoulder to see if indeed he had finally lost the police. Jack signaled to Margarita in silence and they stepped out of the car and deserted it for the busy sidewalk, where they were able to lose the notice of anyone, and get lost in the flowing stream of pedestrians.

Within ten blocks of Jack pointing his gun close and holding his arm around the female officer-- whose uniform they had left in the car and replaced with Margarita's rain jacket that she had brought to breakfast just in case-- Jack lured them into a place that was familiar from yesterday night. Las Alcobas five-star hotel. He muttered to Margarita his instructions that she "Order the top floor Presidential Suite and meet us upstairs." His gun pointed at the officer under her jacket, he was able to make it appear that they were merely a couple and he was leading his beloved with the fond touch of her back, his hand delicately touching her from beneath her shirt.

But no, he led her against her will into the elevator and threatened to kill her and anyone who entered the elevator if she stopped smiling or made eye contact. It was a long twenty seconds in the elevator. With his gun pressed against the girl's naked back, he thought about his wife. He looked at the closed elevator doors in front of him and wondered about hypothetical scenario of her walking in through them. How she would react if she knew this young girl's life was at the mercy of his finger. One pull of the trigger and he would never let himself speak to his little girl Elise again. For she surely would know one day just what her daddy does for a living. Maybe she already knew by now. Maybe Mr. Golem told her himself and contorted her three year old little mind to believe her father was not only a man with a gun but an evil conductor of an international murder circuit which she neither need be a part of nor remember. Her daddy was evil but Elise was good just like all other pitiful things in the world that represented beauty and love and values. Elise's perfect little world as it stood now stood at the mercy of Mr. Golem's prejudices against Jack and if Mr. Golem wanted to ensure Jack could never return home. Elise's perfect little world was at the mercy of one man, just as this young girl with her head down in the elevator was at the mercy of one man. Jack hoped they would get out of the elevator--

But then the elevator door chimed and Jack looked up to see the elevator stop on the fifth floor. Jack pulled the girl back with him to the corner of the elevator to avoid eye contact and being close. He prayed to God or the serendipitous Universe that there would only be one person to enter the elevator. He prayed this over and over in his head. When the elevator opened though he found one older man enter. With a baby strapped to his chest. Jack checked that the officer girl had kept her head down. But her eyes which were closed in a sad, scared and meditative state quickly opened wildly once she heard the baby coo. She felt the gun on her back burn and she looked like she were about to cry thinking of the baby and the gun so close to each other. Jack's heart beat wildly and he felt as though he might drop the gun in weakness when the elderly gentleman looked to him with a fresh grandfatherly smile.

"Hola," he said. "How are you two kids today?"

Jack nodded kindly and tried not to bite his lip. The officer was biting her lip and not replying. She closed her eyes tight, trying to control herself. Do not cry.

The doors began to close and as the grandfather notice the girl's face convulse, he leaned in and asked, "Excuse me, ma'am, are you alright?"

Jack hoped she wouldn't answer. "My wife's not feeling too well today."

The grandfather looked sincerely apologetic. "I'm sorry to hear that. Did you catch the flu that's going around?"

"Hold the door!" shouted a woman, and the grandfather was quick to press the open door button. The doors reopened to the fifth floor and this time the sound of kids rushed in as three young children ran in with two mothers following, carrying bags perfect for a trip to the park. Realizing there was not the least bit of space, Jack made a hard decision. He pulled the gun from her jacket and slipped it quickly unseen into his pocket. Still holding his gun at the ready however, he shifted over as he saw the police officer open her eyes when she felt no cold weapon was at her spine any longer and he instead placed his other hand underneath her jacket and pulled her close to him. He massaged her lightly, and she cringed as he dug his fingers deeply into her back to remind her that though the gun was not against her back, it was still in his pocket. He needed her to keep her mouth shut until they reached the sixth floor.

But before the doors closed another person called out and this time the doors reopened to the sound of two men. And when they arrived, Jack recognized them as police officers. He quickly made another decision. "Excuse us." Devilishly caressing the young woman's back-- which made her shake feverishly out of fright and powerlessness-- he pulled her by her skin through the puddle of children and family and nodded to the officers who nodded back casually. Starbucks coffee cups steamed in their hands.

"Feel better," the grandfather said as Jack tugged the girl with him to the stairs and ran up them. Alone in the stairwell the girl suddenly pulled away and grabbed for the railing. Jack had not anticipated she pull away from him so bravely.

"STOP!" shouted the girl. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" But Jack punched her quickly in the stomach and caught her as she dropped forward.

Jack left the gun on safety and listened to the stairwell to know if anyone heard. There was no sound. All the doors to the echoing stairwell were shut.

The girl cried and said as loud as she could breathe, "Let me go!" But Jack knocked her hard upside the head with his hand and her face snapped to the left and she crumpled like a rag on the stairs. Conscious though she lay motionless, Jack pulled her back up by the neck and looked at her from one step lower, gritting his teeth to make her more afraid, "You say one more word and I'll--" but then he got a terrible idea in his head. He looked up for security cameras. There was none above. He looked down for security cameras. There was one but it was almost directly behind the part of stairs where they currently stood, so by luck of being almost to the top, they were free of surveillance.

He turned back to the girl whose throat he gripped his fingers around and stated, "You make a sound and I kill you here. I don't care. There's no security camera and it is too hot and humid in here for anyone to want an alternative to the cool elevator." He knew himself to be very convincing when it came to threats.

She opened her eyes and left over tears spilled out of them and formed a river over his fingers and across his wrist. "Okay." Submitting she seemed to actually let her throat fall with gravity and press into his hand. She seemed to want to fall and force her to catch him in his embrace. Her depressed energy did indeed lead him to pick her up and stand her against him and the rail.

He shifted her up two steps when suddenly she realized they were at the top and she grabbed him by the shirt and dropped into him crying, "Just kill me. I'll do anything else." This was a vague request but Jack read the assumptions within it immediately.

He spun her around and jerked her as though to wake her. "I will not take advantage of you."

As if not listening she pleaded, "Don't rape me, please."

But he shook her again and said with earnest, "My girl look at me! Open your eyes and see how safe you are." She opened her eyes but could only see herself alone with a strange man on an empty stairwell. So Jack clarified, "I will not hurt you. I will not use you. You're safe with me as long as I'm safe with you and both our lives right now believe me depend on invisibility. Say nothing and do nothing. I will take you upstairs and if you accept to hide for the time being you will be safe. I will feed you until you are full and I will give you your own bed. Just don't make a sound."

She seemed to still want to cry but only this time because she felt his sincerity that uncertainty made her confused. She shook her head but was unconvincing. This time needing to cry she pressed her face into her hand but instead Jack came forward and pulled her face into his chest and embraced her. The effect had a strange catharsis to it perhaps because she could feel his warmth and that in fact he was a man and not a monster and so she cried and let herself continue to cry until she had emptied herself onto his shirt. Drenched, he looked to her as though to ask if she was ready.

Nodding and afraid, she let him take her without a gun to the top floor, and they exited the humid stairwell and stepped across the cool landing to find Margarita standing worriedly in front of a room with her key in her hand. When she spotted Jack and the girl whose face was a deep red but drier than before now that her tears had ended, she seemed to question why Jack needed no gun and what threat he must have used to keep this girl quiet so well. Margarita perhaps wanted to know for future use.

They arrived to the door and Margarita opened it. The Presidential Suite gleamed from the sunrise beaming in a friendly pink glow through the master bedroom window. They stepped inside quickly. And shut the door.

Inside, Margarita strip searched the poor girl and afterward Jack persuaded she take a hot bath with the complimentary scented salt soaps and listen to Margarita's relaxation music playlists. Afterward the girl got into a towel and Margarita pulled out complimentary hot rocks form a rock heater box near the sink. This was a nice hotel, yes it was. The girl laid on the soft bed and laid on her stomach. She moved her towel to only cover her buttocks and Margarita laid the soothing hot rocks on the girl's back. Jack meanwhile stepped out to give the naked girl and her masseuse some privacy, and he walked around roof garden and looked over beautiful Mexico City and listened to the sound of fresh silence. The pink sky fell out of pure sunrise as the sun acclimated and took a deeper swim up into the blue above the horizon. The flowers were purple and red and yellow, and Jack watched the birds fly about and follow him as he perused the grand overlook.

Once he himself was relaxed after thirty minutes he returned to find Margarita sleeping in a chair, and the girl covered under two towels, lying naked under them on the soft bed. She was sleeping like a baby. Exhausted understandably by the morning's activities. Jack passed through and stepped into the next room to take a nap. If the girl left, he would know her name and address, he told her, for he had taken a picture of her ID and confiscated it. He knew her family home and last name, and so for the sake of her loved ones and herself, she would best enjoy spending the day with them until things settled down. He promised a check would be sent to her mailbox covering a one week salary for her, and he mentioned she should be proud of her sacrifice and look forward to the metal and promotion she would no doubt immediately receive upon returning to the office. She was a hero. Not bad for a young recruit. She was probably dreaming about her praise right now on the bed.

Staring at the ceiling, he thought about Penelope, and wondered where she must be because no doubt did those three thugs from last night discharge her within the "dos horas" two hours they had paid the nurse and security guard to hold her there. That is unless Pat had paid them to let him sneak her out of the hospital. Who knows but he was sure that the giant knew where she was. And that only the snap of the giant's fingers was necessary to summon her back to Jack's warm embrace, and take her to her mother's home. Jack remembered Penelope's deep love for morning mangos. He would feed her morning mangos until she returned to health if he ever saw her again.

Jack's eyes grew heavy and he felt the breeze from the fan start to slow as he drifted under the surface. His eyes closed and the blackness pulled him under. He slept soundly. That is, until the phone rang.

Jack leapt up out of his bed and stared horrified at the room phone. He wondered whether the hotel would really call him as a routine introductory call, to welcome him to the Las Alcobas hotel presidential suite and invite him to call any time they wanted more towels or room service. But Jack knew the federal police were looking for their young recruit and may have means of already having discovered their location. Jack would be impressed. In which case not picking up the phone and leaving immediately may be the best option.

On the other hand, the phone call could be coming from the giant Carlos Cortez. Either to accuse Jack and Margarita of conspiring with the police to put him in jail or to demand Margarita return to the Four Seasons Hotel or to demand they set the young female free so as to avoid a city wide search that would amplify unwanted attention. In that case, perhaps answer the phone would be a good idea. He wanted to pick up the phone to answer the giant Carlos Cortez until a final idea came to mind. What if the call was from Mr. Golem?

Mr. Golem's agency had the proper targeting surveillance strategies to know where they were the moment they stepped into the hotel. Jack was unaware of how the American agency's surveillance over foreign countries like Mexico compared to its pristine success on domestic soil. He hoped for the sake of hiding that foreign detection still needed work. If it were Mr. Golem, then answering the phone wouldn't make a difference because they would have already found him and made the decision to kill him. The hotel might already be surrounded.

The phone kept ringing and did not stop. But whether the call came from the Las Alcobas front desk, the federal office, the giant Carlos Cortez or Mr. Golem, he knew answering would be the only way to find out who knew his location. He took a breath and answered the phone.

The other line had an echo to it. He waited for the other line to speak first.

"Hello, this is the Las Alcobas front desk speaking, is this Anna Karenina?" The front desk girl sounded like an angel and Jack immediately relaxed. He felt at liberty to answer, playing off the fake identity Margarita had given.

"No, this is Mr. Karenina," he said in a friendly manner. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she said pleasantly. "You've received a long distance call. Would you like to take it?"

Immediately Jack felt his heart drop into his stomach. Long distance? How long? "Where is the call coming from?" Jack probed. He switched the phone to his other hand and wiped his sweaty palm on the fabric of his shirt.

"Let me see. Looks like a United States, California number, Mr. Karenina."

Jack placed his shaking hand over his pulsing temples.

"Could you tell me the number?"

She told him the number. It was, to Jack's expectation and horror, his home phone. He imagined Mr. Golem sitting in his kitchen, with a team of twenty professionals set up with their equipment, tracking Jack remotely from hundreds of miles away. Jack no longer wished to speak, but closing his eyes tight, remembered that answering no longer made a difference. He would take this one phone call, tell Mr. Golem again that he was innocent of conspiring to compromise agent Penelope's life, and would not back down without a fight for his freedom. He nodded to himself and said finally, "Okay. Put me through."

"Okay," she said. And at that moment the phone dialed and started to ring before finally there was silence again. Jack waited, hoped, listened.

He would wait for someone else to speak first.

But after waiting for sometime no voice came. Jack leaned his hand against the bedroom wall in emotional fatigue. He anticipated the boom of Mr. Golem's authoritative deep voice bleed out through the speaker any second now stating Jack's death sentence. It was all Jack could do to keep himself from speaking the first word or possibly worse hanging up. But before his agony could overwhelm him any longer, he suddenly heard the soft gentle sobs of a woman with a permanently youthful teenage voice. Higher pitched, harmless. He recognized the sobs though he hardly heard them before because they came from a person who had previously come from an abusive background and had taught herself how to hide her tears until she was ever perfectly alone to cry.

"Are you with her?" the voice said. It was Katelyn's.

What Jack felt was something like a spike drive into his sternum, before it bent, and plunged deep into his heart. Bursting it. Filling his insides with the heavy weight of his blood. Before his organs were pushed up by the weight to the surface of his neck, and clogged his airways and choked him. His wife, his beautiful distracted jealous wife, cared more about his affair, he thought, than about his life on the run. He felt a terrible animosity toward her and her suspicions. Her accusation was an attack on his conscience, and though she meant well, her action was nothing but insulting. He would not answer her however. For he could picture her in the room, with a hundred agents listening in. Just waiting for him to speak. One word uttered, and they'd have undeniable proof of his whereabouts.

But as though she'd been listening to his thoughts, Katelyn muttered, "No one is here with me. I'm alone."

This surprised Jack because for once in his life he was unable to tell if his wife was lying to him. It could be that he'd hardly ever heard her cry before. And so her new voice was foreign to him, almost inhuman because he'd never before loved a total stranger. And this it what it felt like. He was speaking to and in love with total and complete stranger.

"No," he wanted to say. But he could say nothing. He couldn't trust her.

"Jack?" she waited for his answer.

"Don't you care if I'm okay?" he wanted to ask. But he still said nothing. He could not trust his own wife.

"Just say no," she said. "Please. Tell me you're not with Penelope."

"I can't," he wanted to say. "I don't know whose side you're on." He put his microphone on silent, in case he were to cry. He felt betrayed. She was against him now.

His silence made her cry in despair. "I don't know you," she said in disbelief. Her anger followed. She bit hard through the airwaves. She wanted the blood to break from the veins in his ear, to cut his neck just behind his earlobe, with her words. To hurt him until she had him feel the guilt he deserved. "Don't come home, Jack." She wanted to say more he knew. But after a pause, she said the worst thing. And she said it with the bitter coldness, of a Russian winter. She said:

"They're coming for you. All of them. And you're going to die."

Jack let out a quiet but audible breath of disbelief. And she must've heard because she stopped. And after a sudden moment, of pure love turned to pure hatred, they both hung up at once. She hated him. And he hated her. Death on either side wouldn't not have touched the sympathy in either's heart. If anything, it would have been catharsis.

KNOCK--KNOCK--KNOCK. Just then a loud knock on the front door of the hotel room shook the walls. Jack turned on his heel. Dropped his phone on the bed. Who could it be? No doubt Mr. Golem or a hit man sent to kill him. He knew it was not the hotel staff with a greeting. He could feel. He sensed it was not the feds looking for their lost recruit. He recognized through the vibrations in the universe that it was not Carlos Cortez seeking Margarita. It was a killer.

Jack grabbed under his pillow and retrieved the gun which he had originally confiscated from the young officer to hold her hostage. He cocked it and entered swiftly into the living room. There he found the young girl awake from her nap and sitting at attention on the edge of the bed with the towels covering her. She an Margarita who was standing from her chair both were watching the front door with anticipation. "What do we do?" their eyes said and Jack answered:

"I'm going to hide in the closet." And he did. He crept into the closet directly adjacent to the front door in the hallway. Margarita and the girl watched him in bewilderment, thinking him a coward.

Dumbfounded he would take an every-man-for-himself approach to this situation, Margarita gritted her teeth and whispered at him in desperation. "Is someone going to answer it or are we just going to hide?"

Jack was in the dark empty closet with a slide crack to the door so a ray of sunshine bled onto a sliver of his face and the twinkle of his gun. He felt it was light. Only a bullet or two left. "We're going to answer it," he said, assuming.

Her jaw dropped and she pointed to her chest. She was still wearing her purple dress. "Me?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "No, of course not." He gestured and the two of them turned to the young and scantily towel-wrapped teenage female officer sitting on the edge of the bed.

The officer, whose name they did not even know, gulped, and rose to her feet. "You want me to answer it?" asked her eyes. The door banged again, and the aggression transferred from fist to wood on the other side of the door revealed a certainty of violence once it were to be opened.

Jack nodded to her as if reading her fear telepathically and gestured she hurry to open the door. The young girl as if not already cold from being merely dressed in a white towel, appeared as though she were about to fall over while her knees wobbled with fright. Nonetheless she listened to her armed captor and knew it was her life in his hands or her life in the hands of the man in front of the door. Coming between this confrontation made no difference to the danger she would be in if she merely tried to make a run for the balcony and jump over the edge to spill her flesh and bones onto the busy street. She nodded and started stepping toe to toe to the quaking front door.

Margarita could not believe her eyes. But Jack hissed at her and beckoned her to the closet beside him. She knew her movement was limited by her long tight dress and so crept in beside him inside the dark closet, lit only by the gleaming reflection of his gun. They watched as the girl in her towel looked to Jack once more before turning her attention to the door. Her shoulders bare and clean, she stepped forward in her naked toes on the hotel designer carpet, and stepped closer and closer. The moment she went to reach for the door handle, the electricity from the floor zapped her fingers. Her hands shook.

Jack was looking from a small circular mirror's reflection that pointed directly at the exposed small of the young police officer's back where her towel made a V, and he saw in that mirror--which was on the dresser in front of the larger full room mirror above the dresser-- over her bare shoulders the door open. And he expected to see Mr. Golem standing there, with a hoard of agents behind him, ready to take Jack away. They would expect Jack to answer the door. But they'd be wrong. It's just a naked girl fellas. Look and relish. It'll be the last thing you do.

The door opened and Jack's fingers wrung tight against the butt of his gun.

"Mr. Karenina. . ." said the man whose familiar voice rang with joking hostility. "Or is it-- Mr. Dantes?"

Jack couldn't believe who it was--

The girl gasped and stepped back in her towel, frightened, she dropped it to the floor. Maybe she hoped it would help.

But either way in the reflection of the mirror was not Mr. Golem or any of his agents, or the giant Carlos Cortez, or Raúl, or Juan, or the driver Gabriel, or the waiter from the restaurant or any of the federal police from the kitchen, nor was it the politician Arturo Anthony.

The man standing in the mirror with the devious smile that quickly dropped a threatening calm when he raised his gun at the naked girl and without a word was about to shoot-- was none other than Pat and he wore his fedora to the tip of his brow so as to deflect the recognition of any security camera-- but Jack, in hopes to protect the nineteen year old girl rapidly kicked the door wide open with the support of the flat empty wall directly behind him and the door was close enough to Pat to slam into him-- Pat was pushed and the pull of his trigger sent a bullet flying under the girl's armpit before it shattered the full sized mirror with a ruthless crash into pieces all a top the wooden countertop and designer floor.

Pat slammed into the wall as hard and fast as Jack had kicked his foot through the door at him and the entire hotel seemed to shake via earthquake. Jack was quick to continue his assault before Pat would make another attempt to shoot his gun, and he did so by first passing his gun in the air to Margarita-- who shrieked as she failed to catch it but instead bobbed it precariously on each of her fingers, one after the other, like a game of hot potato before it dropped to the floor and made a loud gunshot that Jack could only hope shot no one in the foot because he was too high on adrenaline to know if the accidental misfire shot his foot in particular and was also too distracted and engaged in kicking the door again and again at Pat who was pinned to check if either Margarita or the young officer had been shot by it. After passing the gun to Margarita who dropped it and led it to misfire and then slamming the door back and forth against Pat three more times, Jack pulled the closet door out of the way and kicked the pummeled and dazed Pat in the hand so as to knock the gun out of it for which he was clinging onto the weapon for dear life. Pat's gun however went flying out through the front door and into the hallway by the elevator, and knowing that a gun on the richest floor of the hotel by the elevator would only invoke alarm and calls for law enforcement, Jack sprang over Pat's body, kicking him in the head first to knock off his balance and keep him on the floor, then jetted around the heavy and closing front entrance door and dove for the carpet in the empty hall, only to stop short of the gun which still slid out of reach of his outstretched hand, and he moaned of horrible rug burns to his elbows.

Sensing the front entrance door to the hotel room was closing fast, and making sure to keep his head down from the security cameras above, he then heard the ding of the elevator as the doors of the elevator started to part and he could hear two civilian men jovially chatting with echoes through the parting crevice something about golf and Jack pushed himself up, snatched Pat's goddam gun, stampeded his way to the closing entrance door before catching it with his foot. --But then suddenly he heard Margarita call to him in frantic caution and Jack braced himself by shoving his shoulder at the door for he was right to assume that Pat had gotten up and slammed his body against the opposite side of the door to shut Jack out so he could make a run for it while he was dazed and unarmed. Jack pushed with all his might to open the door enough to get his body inside. Then he wondered if shooting through the door to kill Pat would be better worth the effort of rather trying to slip in and kill Pat inside the room. If he shot the damn door the hotel would know and investigate the security cameras and the whole thing would be a mess because he wouldn't have Mr. Golem and the agency to have his back, pay off the damages he caused and report to the officials that it was an American intelligence affair-- and they would have some excuse as to why Mexico shouldn't be offended of American spy operations on their soil, but that would be an easy one because Mr. Golem could just argue for him that his mission was anti-cartel and for the benefit of American and Mexican border trade problems.

Jack called out, "Margarita! Get away from the door or I might shoot you!"

"Don't do it, Jack!" shouted Margarita.

Just then Jack was quick to hide his gun in his pocket before the two men from the elevator spotted him using all his force to break in through the door. Wearing 80's pastel colors of bright pink and baby blue the two golfers looked to him in calm disapproval. Passing by they merely shook their heads. Jack was glad they took the dispute, to which they thought was only between Jack and Margarita whom they assumed was his unhappy wife, lightly and without intrusive suspicion.

"There's a bitch on the other side of this door-- trying to kick me out of my room," Jack explained. Sweat was dripping from his forehead as his face grew red and hot from the effort to break the door in.

"Talk it out," the calm golfers said walking away, "and don't cheat on your wife, Tiger." The golf reference, lighted Jack's spirits and fed his biceps like comedic spinach before his embarrassment melted his side of the door and he finally was able to thrust himself in rolled out of the way before Pat ran and slammed the door shut with the whole weight of his body. Jack quickly caught his breath and went to fetch his gun in his pocket but found that it had moved at a terrible angle to pull at it from. Pat immediately ran for Jack, and slammed his body into the closet. But still dazed and bruised from getting his body slammed against the wall by the closet door, Pat stumbled off-kilter and decided to run on all fours away from Jack whose mind was at full capacity. This was smart on Pat's part for Jack quickly jumped up and pulled the gun finally from his pocket, but realizing the girl who had retrieved her towel and MArgarita who had both been watching were now running away from the hall and into the main bedroom to escape the fight were hopelessly in line of fire, Jack tossed his gun aside and ran for the damn monkey Pat in hopes of stomping his legs and cracking them.

Pat monkeyed on all fours with the speed of a salmon shooting over a waterfall as he leapt over the chair Margarita had slept in only minutes before and landed around the corner onto the floor by the bathroom mirror and sink. Jack reached him by swinging himself around the corner and then slammed his whole body against Pat hoping his neck would crack against the granite countertop. Lucky for Pat only his head hit hard against the surface and this undoubtedly served him a concussion. Pat dropped immediately as though his brain turned off as it was too busy bouncing against the walls of his skull, and Jack was quick to jam his heel into Pat's leg to snap his tendon. Pat woke up with a shake and squeal but immediately grabbed his head where the granite had hit before he opened his eyes and saw stars and rainbows. Pat screamed a horrible scream, and the on-looking Margarita squealed with sympathy for the poor Pat as Jack grabbed him by the collar of his Hawaiian shirt and shook him purposefully to slam his head onto the ground to put him back to sleep.

Margarita screamed at the abuse as Pat began drooling at the mouth and his head should like loose ball hanging off his neck by a mere string and Margarita tried pulling Jack off him-- and succeeded. Not thinking Margarita would possibly come behind him by surprise and pull him away from his target, Jack fell backward onto the floor and released Pat. Pat fell and laid on the carpet, foaming at the mouth, his eyes aimlessly drifting from the ceiling as if he couldn't see anything at all, and he rolled sideways ever so slowly onto his stomach, resembling something as pitiful and futile as the life of a mercilessly salted snail in a French kitchen.

Margarita cried as Jack pulled away from her grip and pushed her aside so she tripped backward over the chair Pat had knocked over and she fell to the floor. "You've done enough," she cried, shaking. "Please!" She watched as Jack lumbered on his knees over to Pat's aimlessly turning body, which twisted slow as a slug onto his belly. His face smushed against the carpet, his neck void of any strength to turn his face for air, and void of brain activity to know that he would suffocate without turning his face from the arid carpet. He only seemed to mumble destitute gibberish as he lost his vision and breathing to the darkness of the floor.

About to sink his knee into Pat and end his life via suffocation, Jack's eyes turned to Margarita who was on her knees crying begging and pleading that Jack let his useless body be. But Jack, knowing Pat could possibly come to consciousness eventually and was in no way harmless if he didn't finish him, diverted his eyes from hers. However, his eyes fell upon the girl with the towel, who was on her knees behind the bed, peeping her head over the sheets in fright but unable to turn away from the murder that was about to unfold.

Before killing Pat Jack felt his eyes locked on the 19-year-old's and he exclaimed, "Look away if you can't take it."

She didn't move but her face immediately reddened and her eyes quickly exuded a river of tears that splashed over her tiny button nose. Crying as she was, she shook her head as though to say, "I can't move. I wish I could but I can't," and her eyes were a witness to the scene. She would survey the murder.

But Jack felt an unexpected rage lift through his arms at her and he shouted, "Turn your damn head away!" She didn't budge and seemed as though unable to hear him as her ears grew numb as the red pigment in her face spread to them and flushed out the clarity in her senses. Only her sight senses were working.

Feeling a heavy judgment coming out of the young police recruit, Jack hurried to shout at Margarita, "Get the kid out of here. She shouldn't see this."

But Margarita shook her head and got to her feet as though to run and stop Jack from his execution again. But in fact Margarita turned and quickly grabbed a gun from the floor, and Jack pulled back against the bathroom sink cabinets behind him when Margarita pointed the gun at him and cocked it.

"Keep away from him. You've killed him enough," she said. Her face drenched and ugly with sobbing tears, she was able to keep her hands still as both of them held Jack at gunpoint, and under her control. Jack stayed where he was. He didn't make a move. He, Margarita and the 19-year-old merely turned their eyes simultaneously at the body on the ground, as Pat lulled and slowly rolled over again so his back was against the sink drawers, and his eyelids began to close as he drifted about in his other world.

Jack considered the idea that if Pat were to fall asleep on his concussion right now he would suffer severe enough brain damage to die on the spot. If this isn't what Margarita had planned by trying to keep Jack off Pat via gunpoint, then perhaps she was doing his work for him. Sadly enough, Jack thought he'd feel void of the pleasure of killing this man with a crunch under the full weight of his knee. However, now that he had time to think while all time had stopped for the four of them in that presidential suite and Jack's adrenaline subsided to let his body and mind return to those of a human being, Jack felt pushed down like a roach by the foot of God as the same guilt he experienced by Katelyn's accusation for his being with Penelope just minutes ago over the phone flooded his lungs, his blood ways, his bone marrow, and crushed him. With all the blood in his body shooting directly to his throat, choking him, he started to cry.

He shed tears from his eyes but quickly his tears turned to bouts of remembrance and the words Katelyn told him about Mr. Golem's agents who she spitefully believed were going to find him and kill him sent the blood away from his throat and sent it towards his hands. He shunned the idea Margarita would kill him with the gun in her hands and he furiously crawled to the unaware body of Pat.

To Margarita's threats that she would kill him if he didn't stop at once, Jack cursed at her harshly and came to his feet, picking Pat upright by the shirt and dragging him around the wall to the bathroom.

"STOP!" ordered Margarita, coming behind Jack, gun pointed but shaking.

Jack dropped Pat and turned with a ferocious red face. He grabbed her by wrist, bent it up and away so the gun pointed up, then twisted her arm so she squealed and dropped the weapon which he caught in the other hand, and he put the gun on the counter before she screamed and tried to maul him with her long acrylic nails. But slapped her hands away and punched her in the stomach so she dropped. She stayed on the floor. Whimpering.

Meanwhile he looked and saw the 19 year old had only been watching what he'd just done, still motionless as though paralyzed. And he felt judged. By her and by God. He didn't even believe in God before now. And he wasn't sure if he still did once he turned his back, left the gun on the counter and knelt down to drag the mumbling pitiful shell of Pat the vehicle software security salesman now posing possibly as Mr. Golem's hired man to kill him. Into the bathroom they went inside alone, and Jack slammed the door behind him and locked it shut. No one was going to come in after him.

Whatever Pat's occupation was, he was about to find out. He picked up Pat's entire body off the floor, as fat as he was and laid him in the tub. His head under the faucet, his feet peeping out over the brim of the bathtub. Jack would wait until Pat came to consciousness, and would slap him to keep him from falling asleep and dying of brain damage. He would ask him if Mr. Golem hired him, although he was sure of it, and once he knew for sure, he would drown Pat in the tub and leave both Margarita and the 19 year old in the hotel and find his way south into obscurity and make a new identity south of the Panama Canal.

There was no knock on the door as he waited. As he slapped the drooling man about the face when his eyes would start to close. The second Pat would drift off and threaten to sleep, Jack would hit him hard and Pat would only shoot his eyes back open, murmur something inconceivable to someone aware, and his head would merely turn left and right like he were a mentally fragmented and lost creature on this Earth, hoping some sort of stimulation would bring meaning to its existence at this dark point. Pat was in a cave of confusion. And JAck had put him there. Jack felt lost himself now. But it was a different type of lost. It was the type of lost that was aware of his surroundings but had no idea how he got there. Pat was lucky to not know where he was but possibly know himself. Jack on the other hand, felt like a monster. A murderer. A man with a magnifying glass over the hot face of the sun, watching a helpless creature melt in torture, burning to hell.

Jack couldn't take this agony any longer. The room was melting from the heat of his skin. "Wake up, Pat." Slightly bent, but not broken, Jack managed a threatening but calm grit in his voice. "Tell me who you're working for."

Pat answered nothing. He merely blinked and made bubbles with his lips like a child, staring up at the stars that were not there.

Jack grabbed him by the face and turned it so as to make Pat look at him seriously. "I'm going to drown you if you don't talk to me."

Pat didn't take the bluff. He ignored Jack's existence although seemed to move his face muscles in protest of Jack's hold on his cheeks.

"Fine," said Jack. He'd hopefully wake him up with a splash.

Jack held Pat's head down, face still up, as he grabbed for the tub faucet and twisted the knob. The water came down cold and immediately Pat's face scrunched and shook as though trying to break free and his arms flapped and his legs kicked in reflex of drowning. Pat's face was getting drenched and he soon came to enough consciousness to start coughing. The roar of the pipes and the water flushing out of the tub masked any sounds Pat could have uttered, and so Jack shut it off.

Jack said, "Who sent you, Pat?"

Pat gurgled and coughed. He tried to shake his head to the right spit the water out because having his face directed straight up made it difficult to get the water off his eyes, nose, mouth and ears. But Jack let him suffer. He wanted Pat conscious and fighting for his life.

But Jack said nothing in response yet. And Jack hated repeating himself. So he hit Pat hard against the face to shake him up and more water splashed over his face in Pat's protest. He coughed and coughed and finally was able to mutter softly the words, "Stop. Please."

But the words were too soft to Jack's liking and he bent his lips close to Pat's ears and shouted with a lion's authoritative drive, "I'LL END YOUR LIFE. TELL ME WHO YOU FUCKING CAME HERE FOR! WAS IT GOLEM! ARE YOU IN IT WITH THE CARTEL OR SOMEONE RELATING TO THE VEHICLE SECURITY SOFTWARE? TELL ME NOW PAT!"

Pat quaked and started to cry from the loud abuse because of the sensitivity of his concussion but Jack hammered in his demand.

"YOU'VE GOT ONE SECOND TO TELL ME, PAT."

Pat merely mumbled something in spite, but quickly Jack socked him in the nose to make Pat bleed over his lips and cheek instantaneously, and Jack twisted the faucet round and water rushed out and flooded Pat's face. The blood drained from his nose and colored the water red as the water level rose over PAt's face and he squirmed and kicked and flailed his arms in fear of truly drowning to death. JAck held his face under water level relentlessly and shook him so the water would choke him until he drank and rushed into his nose so hard that it hurt. Until a forceful and violent entire minute of PAt under siege, Jack thought he was on the brink of murder enough to pull Pat's face from the surface but left the water on.

Jack was about to shout at the coughing, nearly passed out man, but Pat was quick to shake his head and grasp onto Jack's wet, heavy forearm for mercy:

"Wait." That was all he said for the moment.

Though Jack was not content with only that request, he chose to lift Pat upright for him to catch his breath, rather than toss his head back under the surface and repeat the torture process. Jack considered the water now in Pat's lungs, and could hear the watery asthmatic heave for breath between suffered coughs. Pat hadn't let go of Jack's forearm in fear of being put under again. He closed his eyes hard and shook his head, unable to believe the nightmare he was in. But while Jack waited, Pat finally said, nodding, "Okay." He was ready to answer Jack's questions.

"Was it Mr. Golem who sent you?" Jack asked, although he already felt he knew the answer.

To Jack's surprise however, Pat shook his head. Jack was so astonished actually that he thought Pat was lying. "What do you mean he didn't send you? You can't expect me to believe you came here on your own plan."

Pat sighed. But he said nothing.

"Why do I get the feeling you're working with Mr. Golem to turn me against my own wife? I get the feeling you're about to tell me she sent you to kill me . . ."

Immediately Pat turned his face as though bewildered by Jack's cognitive ability. Jack was sure now that what he'd guessed was the truth. But then Pat said:

"That was a dangerously close assumption. You almost hit the truth." Pat heaved a drowned sigh, the water still shaking about in his lungs. He finally let go of Jack's forearm, and Jack let go of Pat. Jack grabbed a towel and wiped his forearm while he watched the hunched Pat touch the bald spot on his head where the granite had hit him and PAt continued, "No, Mr. Golem did not send me to kill you. And no, your wife did not send me either. But your accusation that there is a conspiracy to turn you against your wife of which I have any awareness of is untrue. However, about your wife . . ." He said nothing as he suddenly pressed too hard on his head wound and jumped with pain and squealed. This made Jack impatient.

"What about my wife? If you tell me a lie you will regret it."

But Pat shook his head in fear and finished, "It's about Mr. Golem's accusation towards you."

Mr. Golem's accusation? Jack thought. Was he talking about Mr. Golem's accusation that Jack had purposefully staged their autonomous vehicle to explode in hopes of killing Penelope and pretending he was a lucky target having sat in the passenger seat where the explosion was less affective? Jack opened his mouth but Pat said:

"And about your affair with Penelope."

"How would my conviction for attempted murder while on the job have anything to do with my personal affairs?"

Pat smiled. "Your boss has been aware of something for quite sometime that would risk both your life and Penelope's."

Jack leaned back in his chair. Hating Pat for milking the truth so slowly with suspense. "What risk?"

"Your wife." Pat looked at Jack, as though expecting a look of revelation in his eyes. However, Jack had no clue what his wife had to do with his boss knowing that Jack and Penelope were in danger.

"I don't understand. Are you trying to confuse me?"

Pat blinked as though Jack were blind to the facts he just presented with such clarity. Pat shot Jack a look that thought Jack were dumb. "You don't see? Your boss was expecting an attack on you and your mistress."

Jack's eyes shot open with understanding. He scooted back from his seat on the toilet and exclaimed, "What! Be frank, God dammit."

Pat leaned over the brim of the tub that caused waves to spill over and shouted to ensure Jack clear and well just what the reality of the situation was. "Your wife knew about your affair. She knew about Penelope."

"And?" Jack said. His eyes searched back and forth with anticipation. The roar of the bathtub grew deafening as the water level finally reached the height of the tub and the water started to spill over and splash the floor and wash over his feet.

"Jack. Your husband hired a hit man to kill you." Pat's voice was loud and strong, but suddenly quaked at the point of saying 'kill' when his lungs shook him from the agitation of being filled with water and he coughed his lungs out, bending forward over the tub and clinging onto the brim for dear life.

Jack covered his mouth and kicked himself to the edge of the bathroom wall, dropping off the toilet and falling on his seat when Pat's words hit him and he finally believed them. Katelyn, his wife, sentenced him to death herself. And in the process, a hit man blew up the autonomous vehicle and nearly killed Penelope his co-worker and partner as of late.

But he was slowly losing his understanding. Petrified, his head against the wall, Jack moaned, "My wife's the reason our car exploded? She's who attacked us?" He almost said it to himself for he knew now that it was true, but Pat stopped his coughing and answered:

"No, Jack! She didn't attack you! Neither did her hit man."

Jack, unsure to believe this vague man, leapt up in confusion but intense attention, knelt to turn off the roaring sink, and sat in the wet pond underneath his feat, leaning in his ears to hear Pat's explanation. "Be clear then."

"Your boss had known for quite some time that your wife was looking to murder you. Or perhaps murder your mistress or maybe kill herself. The reason being that she was looking online about how best to end a life as painlessly as possible. If she wanted to kill you it might have meant more if she tried to end it with a vengeance so that's why he suspected she was trying to end her own life. Her family history had suicidal tendencies on her biological side from before she was adopted so it made sense.

"Because you were on an important mission in Mexico City to influence the Mexican government to buy autonomous security software that secretly had functions that would allow the American agency you work for to hack, spy on and control these government vehicles. More about government crime and corruption and affiliation with cartel or voting would be gained and much more. You already know. He needed you focused for you would also be going to other governments to influence them to using your software and make them believe it was only a private company.

"Your boss needed you to be fully focused and knew that if your wife were to attempt suicide it would compromise the mission for you would go back home. Plus on the possibility that your wife attempted to murder your mistress Penelope, whom she suspected, then another agent would be in danger.

"So he took it upon himself to have the agency link a false Google advertisement to her personal feed that sent her to read some articles pertaining to suicide that suggested that the cause of her suffering came not from her weakness but from her husband's and his immoral partner and caused her to read and believe that the blame should in fact be placed on you, and thus also the punishment.

"They then swamped her feeds with convincingly subtle directories to hit sites and eventually called her once she saw a site but decided against the idea of hiring a hit man because no doubt she was afraid. Upon receiving the call Mr. Golem said he could meet her in a park and was able to get her to hire him to kill you.

"By that time he felt he had total control over the situation because neither she was going to kill herself nor was Mr. Golem, her supposed new hit man, going to kill you or Penelope." It was surprising that only until this point in his story that Pat began to cough wildly.

"But then," Jack said, understandably confused, "Why did the car blow up and why has Mr. Golem accused me of attempted murder of another agent? Is it a false accusation to distract me from something bigger?"

Pat wagged a finger. "No. Mr. Golem seriously suspects you of murder. Because he had everything under control, it was surprising to him when your car exploded. Aware that she could not be at fault if she were relying on him to kill you, he thought the less damaged party, you, might have been involved in the explosion."

"But that doesn't make sense," Jack said, "because there are other parties that could have caused the explosion. The mexican government could have come onto us and placed explosives on the car. The cartel could have, although I doubt this idea, tried to get rid of us because our security software could possibly be bad for business and their own security. Another government entirely could have hacked the car and blown this up. Or--" Jack stopped to think for this next idea was horrifying "--or while Mr. Golem could be blaming me for the explosion of another, agent, he himself for whatever reason could have wanted us both dead. Or maybe just Penelope, and has accused me to hide his attempt."

Pat looked astounded by Jack's proposal. HE hadn't thought that his boss's accusation could be a false intention. But then he shook his head and said, "Or your wife could have hired multiple hit man to do the job. Your claims all seem relevant, but if you ask me the Mexican government's secret service might have caught on and tried to kill you, and that would be my best guess."

Jack thought for a moment and while possibly convinced that that would be the best explanation, he realized they were only speculating and could not draw upon any real conclusion. "Who are you to know this?"

"I've been listening."

Jack shrugged for that was a surprisingly well enough answer.

"Can you please inform me just who Penelope is anyway? I only learned she was a spy recently."

"She is a spy working for both the Mexican and American governments simultaneously. I don't know if the arrangement is agreed upon by both countries or if she was first working for the Mexican government and is now also working for the American government under the table, or vice versa. I'm not sure who she is cheating and which country is gaining most from her but potentially that could be reason for the attack. But that is only a singular speculation on my part which I at this very moment came up with and if this speculation were right then either the Mexican or American government or both for that matter could have wanted to kill her and failed."

"What a ridiculous situation we're in," said Jack.

Pat nodded.

"And what about you Pat?"

"Me?"

"Yes, we've worked together for a while in the vehicle security business and I would have never pictured you holding a gun in my wildest imagination. Who are you, Pat? Whom are you working for?"

Pat said nothing. He considered if he should answer.

"Is what you say true about not working for Mr. Golem, Pat, or any American agency for that matter?"

Pat nodded.

"Then who are you affiliated with? Mexico?"

Pat shook his head.

"Not the government nor the cartel?"

Pat shook his head.

"So then," and Jack turned to him in sadness, "my wife must have sent you to kill me. It's you isn't it? You're her second hit man."

Pat turned his entire body toward Jack and frowned. He shook his head with a sudden joking hostility. "I would never take money from a crazy woman, Jack," he laughed, alluding to some memory they both shared. "You know me. Of all the countries we've been to, it's always the women who are the ones who take the money from me." He winked and laughed heartily. Before coughing again. And out of either relief that Pat in fact did not come to kill him on his wife's command and that Pat was a ridiculous man to laugh at for the sheer numbers of women he's slept with for money, be them prostitutes by profession or single and married women turned to the profession for the one night he took out his wallet, Jack laughed. He laughed because it felt good to laugh again.

"So then," began Jack after he felt somewhat revived of the violent and pitiful events which just unfolded, "who are you and who do you work for and why are you here?"

Pat took a deep breath that led to a long cough that ended with his answer. "I am a spy. I work for Russian intelligence. I was recruited to the security company by another sector in Mr. Golem's agency far away from the sector that commands you, and almost like a temp job he hired me because he knew that, while I was originally an American spy, and I will not tell you which agency, and I began feeding information to the Russians for huge sums of money, the American government became aware of my disloyalty and transformation into a Russian spy--"

"Did the American agency try to kill you then?"

"No, they actually found me to be an asset once they found out and told me to my face they knew I was greedy, selfish, unpatriotic, scheming asshole, but that they could now keep a close eye on me and were aware of yet another spy in Russian intelligence and would use information they could easily track on me as leverage against the Russians."

"And the Russians never found out?"

"Oh the Russians eventually found out alright."

"Did the Russians try to kill you?"

"Oh hell no, or actually maybe they thought of killing me at first, but quickly they came to the same conclusion as the American agency that I would be an asset to them so they could keep track of me while I delved into American affairs."

"And did the American agency find out?"

"You're goddam right they did?"

"And did they try to kill you?"

"Not at all. They saw me as yet a triple asset. I got a raise."

"Jesus."

"And in good humor much out of character of Russians, the Russian government intelligence agency gave me a raise to, too, just to show they were wealthy enough to match it. They're right when they say Russians have an inferiority complex to America."

Jack found himself laughing finally, free of fear and guilt and regret. And immediately Pat felt the catharsis too, and bent will with a splash over the tub to hug his dear friend. Jack let Pat embrace him for the moment when finally Jack came to ask his one final question.

"So, why did you come, Pat?"

Pat laughed heartily. "To kill you."

Jack pulled back with alarm. "Do you still plan to?"

"Not at all," Pat said. "I know I'd have no chance. You're a hell of a fighter. You've been trained very well."

"I've partaken in some extracurricular training as well," said Jack, watching Pat suspiciously. "Who sent you to kill me, then? If not Mr. Golem was it your original American agency that sent you to his agency or was it the Russians?"

"Neither," said Pat proudly.

"Then who?" shouted Jack.

"No one.," said Pat even more proudly.

"Then you sent yourself?" Jack stood to his feet absolutely bewildered with confusion and craving for the answer already.

"Yes, indeed!" Pat jumped up gleefully in the tub, splashing water everywhere. "For once in my intelligent life, I sent myself!" He was proud as hell.

Awfully dumbfounded by Pat's ironic glee to have sent himself to murder another human being, Jack asked disgustedly, stepping back, "But, why?"

Pat laughed so hard that he coughed up the entire wave of water that was still sitting and splashing up the walls in his lung. "Because," he shouted, "I thought you were sent to kill me!"

Jack laughed and said, "This is ridiculous. But I'm glad you came because now I know everything. But wait! Why were you there in the hospital with Penelope the other night? I saw you through the window."

"You did?" he said bewildered. "Oh well, the American agency sent me to check on her because after the explosion we had no clue if someone were still out to get her. And once I saw that the note that had been placed in her hand by another agent as a directory for me to go investigate a cartel lord named Carlos Cortez who could possibly by his affiliation with both the cartel and the government politicians could have had interest in ridding her because the security software could ruin underground trade across the border if the American government were to be able to better spy on their vehicles of goods transfer."

Everything seemed to tie in and make sense but still confuse the hell out of Jack to the point where all he could say was, "Holy shit."

"So what the hell do we do now?" asked Pat.

"You're asking me! You're the one who knows everything."

"I may have all the information but have no idea what to do with it!"

Jack laughed. Such a relevant statement of the times. "I'll tell you what. I won't finish killing you if you don't kill me."

Pat looked at him as though to say he thought that plan was already implied. "Okay, done deal. What else."

"Well," Jack thought for a moment then decided, "I don't care what you do, but I suggest you stay here, take a bath and let the beautiful girls outside take care of you because they seemed really scared for you while I was kicking your ass."

"I'm so touched. I can't blame them. You went crazy."

"I on the other hand still need to go fetch Penelope so she can fill me in on her side and tell Mr. Golem I had nothing to do with the explosion so I can go home to California. Although, I'm sure my wife hates me now and is planning on having her female friend Leah move in so they can raise my daughter Elise under a wholesome lesbian household."

"If that were to happen I would seriously entertain the idea of joining them."

"I'm sure you would," said Jack. "Do you know where Penelope is?"

"I believe she is with the cartel."

"With Carlos Cortez?" Jack sounded shocked.

"No, a cartel Carlos Cortez acts as an intermediary for in dealing with politicians to make business and operations run smoother."

"Makes sense. Will you write me an address?"

"Will you get me sex with that girl who dropped her towel in front of me when I opened the door?"

"Maybe not her because she's a cop but I perhaps we can make it happen with Margarita. Sound good?"

"Sounds good to me."

Jack helped Pat out of the tub and though his head still hurt he was able to walk out of the bathroom and turn to the adjacent bedroom where Jack had earlier received the call from his suicidal or murderous wife. Margarita quickly followed and Jack asked her to take care of him. She agreed and Jack tried to apologize for what he'd done to stop her from intervening and she hardly answered but that she was just happy he didn't kill him after all. Jack wanted to hug her to apologize but guessed it would be best to come back with a gift later.

Pat told him the address and Jack walked to the main bedroom where the police girl was still in a hiding position peeping behind the bed. He came to her and lifted her up and hugged her. He apologized. But realizing she was timid because she was afraid of him, he concluded that hugging her was not the best action. He apologized again and she didn't answer. But he asked her for her name, for when he was to soon call her superior to tell him he was going to set his new recruit free, he wanted to know to what name he was to refer her to. It was then that she looked to him and said her name, soft but earnest, "My name is Rincon. Lady Camila Rincon."

"Well Lady," Jack held out his hand in apologetic friendship, "It's nice to meet you." He turned and was about to leave out the door by himself but stopped. He peered at the address he was to find Penelope at in his hand but then turned back the bed where the nineteen year old Mexican officer Lady Camila Rincon was standing, and with smile to himself, he grabbed a pillow. He had promised someone earlier that he would give him one of these. HE nodded farewell to the nineteen year old Mexican officer and hostage Lady Camila Rincon who was still wrapped in her white towel, and Jack walked to the door.

He made his way across the outside landing to the elevator and took it down to the lobby. Still holding the pillow, he caught the attention of the same flirtatious hotel attendant as he walked passed and she shouted to him, "Hey! That pillow isn't complimentary!"

Jack nodded and said, "I'm taking it to the washer because of my wife. Trust me. It's dirty."

The desk attendant shot him a confused look and pondering the sentence became suddenly disgusted and was glad he left out the door. Traffic was horrific this time of day. As it always was, but this time it was doubly worse and proudly the record-winning worst traffic in the world. The bus came and he got on it.

As opposed to the other night, the bus was completely filled this time. But as he made his way to the back seat, holding his pillow in hand, he hoped to see the kid. Because the pillow was his as a gift.

But the kid from Guatemala wasn't there. At least not now in the daytime. He wished it were because the kid had finally made his way to Los Angeles in California. But then again he hoped against this idea as well because he would fear for the dangers the kid would face crossing the border illegally to California.

Because the kid was not there, Jack simply sat in back and left the pillow beside him in the corner. He was disappointed. He really did wish to see the kid again.

The bus took forty minutes to drive from Las Alcobas hotel to La Condesa District neighborhood in Mexico City. The place proved smaller scale and many people were strolling the streets. Jack checked the address Pat had given him to check if it were the right location and was amazed that Pat had sent him to this remote neighborhood. Dog walkers passed through the street on their way to what looked like to Jack down a tropically forested walkway to be a large dog park. An oasis park with a body of water passed as well behind the many tree beyond the sidewalk, and just as well a stream of vendors and little needle cafes and upscale shops passed by the window on the side of the road.

When the bus stopped at a certain location in front of a Laundromat, Jack exited and found he naturally walking slowly through the neighborhood. He passed some vendors and a fancy restaurant. Some people turned to him to sell him little trinkets on the street but he kept walking. He passed a sign that said Hippodrome racetrack along a secondary walkway. Looking at the addresses he chose to cut through the dog park and finally came to the La Condesa address he was aiming for. Seeing the apartment building, he came to a halt. This was not the lush cold-hearted expensive property he expected.

He came near to the entrance when suddenly a mass of children flooded in from behind him and spilled into the entrance. A club of young teenage girls wearing colored braids in their hair looked at Jack as though detecting him as an interesting man from another place. A foreigner with a purpose. They giggled and offered him to go inside before them for they assumed he was a family friend invited to the fiesta. Hearing mariachi music and a mass of families, Jack nodded to the club of girls cordially and stepped inside before them. Immediately he was floored by the amount of kids parents and grandparents that could fit in what looked like a modest expanse. The two living room tables were wide and long and covered in plates of ceviche and tortillas, salsas and mangos, papayas and pineapples, avocados and carnitas, beans and rice, fajitas and chimichangas. Tomato juices and Tecate beers, coronas and horchatas. Rice puddings and flan drowned in caramel sat atop colored ceramic plates and before Jack could cross through the living room he was bumped by a group of identical brothers laughing and joking about the past soccer game. Something about Javier Hernandez and Cristiano Ronaldo.

"Hola!" shouted an old woman who ran up to Jack out of nowhere with a low-alcohol Tejuino drink in hand. "Javier! It's so nice to see you again! A terrible divorce but I'm so glad you came back after all these years!" She obviously mistook him for someone else but she rose to her tippy toes to kiss Jack on both cheeks and immediately pulled him to sit with her and discuss the family gossip with a group of lady friends and her elderly husband. They sat at the table in a circle that blocked the aisle. "Look! Look who I found moseying in here like a stranger!"

The older gentleman adjusted his enormous spectacles and frowned with zero recognition. "I don't know who this is!"

"You don't know who this is!" stammered the woman. "Of course you don't know who this is! You never remember anyone."

"Well forgive me for being old. I didn't ask for this."

"I'm old and I can remember everyone's birthday."

"Why do I need to remember everyone's birthday when my grandson has me hooked up on Facebook with all these reminders?"

"Such a good point," chimed in a man stumbling over to the circle of chairs and immediately shaking Jack's hand as an unspoken introduction. His hand was warm and his face was sweating. He was a large fat man with a plate of tiny chiles balanced on the crook of his arm like he were an experienced chef and he was holding a nearly emptied tequila, grapefruit, lime and soda paloma in his other hand. "My grandson has me hooked up to the home AI system that let's me ask whose birthday is up next by only talking to it! I don't have to lift a finger or use my brain whatsoever! Isn't technology amazing?"

"Amazing is right," said the woman. "Did you try the new bus system by the way? The steering wheel turns by itself! Isn't that amazing?"

"Amazing?" rebuked her large spectacled husband, "I'm still waiting for the underground roads Elon Musk had built under Los Angeles. They've got the hyper loop going and miles of road underground that lowers cars by elevator on a skate and shoots them 130 miles an hour like the Earth were a small room. I'm telling you transportation is reaching a whole new level and Mexico City is in need of the help more than any other place on Earth."

Impressed by the husband's knowledge of current affairs in the US, one of the women chimed in and said, "I once read in a 2015 article that its estimated on average that traffic steals 5 years of people's lifespans on average in America alone. Over here in Mexico City it must steal 10! Imagine! I'd only be 50 years old by now if only traffic were better!"

The elderly company cheered and Jack found himself both laughing and searching around the full house for a sign of Penelope. He felt he was absolutely in the wrong place but wouldn't mind a drink of pulque, which he saw a woman carrying as she past five seconds ago. He had one last time he was in Mexico City at a bar with Pat A pulque was some kind of milky fermented sap of the maguey cactus or other.

"Indeed," the wife who originally kissed Jack on his two cheeks cheered. "If only traffic were better we'd all be ten years younger!"

"Ten years younger if only the traffic were better!" they all cheered in unison clinking their glasses. Jack admired the youthful spirit pervading the elderly circle. Just then man pulled Jack by the shirt to his feet startling him. Jack swung around and found himself face to face with a giant mustache.

"Are you the jerk who stood up my niece?"

"That's him Uncle Rico! That's him!"

Jack found himself flabbergasted as the elderly group half shouted in protest and half cheered for a good fight.

"I didn't stand up anyone," pledged Jack as he saw a young woman in her perhaps late teens or early twenties wearing a complex braid and traditional dress with a stubborn, spoiled face that chewed a wad of gum on the side of her mouth in a way that was humanly disagreeable.

"I'll tell you what," said the uncle. "You take my girl out on a real date like she deserves and you treat her right like your Jesus given duty commands you and I won't kick your ass outside." He lifted his caterpillar eyebrows as though to say, "Got it, bub?"

Jack shrugged and agreed as the quickest mode of action.

"Good," said the uncle and he let go of Jack's collar with a sudden smile and walked off. The girl shed a devious, sexually fiendish smile at Jack as well and went off with a flash of her dress.

"Sit back down!" called the elderly circle. "We can use some more excitement and it seems the moment you walked in it was like a magnetic field followed you that attracted all sorts of drama of the world. A handsome man like you seems to not lead a dull life."

Jack standing above the circle like a celebrity with all eyes on him shrugged and said, "If you grab me one of those pulques I can tell you just what happened last night." The group talked with interest and rushed him two drinks of pulque. He sat to begin his story but leave out all the important details.

But as he took a drink and was about to start his story, Jack's eyes diverted to a woman in a long red dress, with a streak of hospital gauze bandage over her face. And a scar that ran from her eye and curved around and back again to her ear. She had bandages on her arms yet she was helping with a group of women that seemed either like her sisters or cousins to load pots of tortilla soup to the far end of the table. This woman was smiling and talking as though she were the most relaxed woman of the party. Branded by misfortune but lifted by love and family. Jack almost lifted to his feet to see her more from behind the table. It was Penelope. Standing on two feet.

"Everyone come to eat now!" the woman who appeared to be either her sister or cousin called to the room full of relatives. They all rose and started to take there seats and when the circle of elderly people stood up, the older woman who had kissed Jack on both cheeks pulled his arm and told him to come meet her granddaughter at the head of the table.

"Now, mind you, Javier," she said to Jack, still unaware that they truly had no clue who the other really were, "my granddaughter has just been in a bit of an accident from her business trip, so she doesn't look as beautiful as she normally does on the inside. But her beauty on the inside is a beautiful and bright as any diamond in all the world."

Jack squeezed with her to the edge of the table where they would get a spot, but was shocked as they came closer and closer to Penelope, just how badly hurt she looked, and indeed she was not as beautiful as she'd always been, but somehow her sweet eyes pervaded through her broken an exterior a sweet candescence that peeled shell to expose the real light of Penelope and all her warmth. She did not see Jack come to sit, as she was too busy smiling and chatting with her sister beside her, who was of better physical presentation at this point in time, as she had not been in an accident just days before, like her sister Penelope. But when Jack sat down and measured the two, he could find that Penelope never lost her smile as she was fed so much attention from her relatives that she could not but enjoy the stimulus to which her inner beauty attracted.

When Jack sat he hoped to catch her eye but a giant soup pot and a vase of every colored flowers obstructed their view. The grandmother who sat beside Jack however could see her and somehow shot Jack could see Penelope as well for she commenced to introduce the two despite the obstruction. "Penelope!" She called to her. "Dear, there's someone I want you to meet! My old friend Javier was a student of mine when I taught at the private school!"

"Abuela! It's so nice to see you!" Penelope said in the sweetest, sincerest voice imaginable. "Javier? Where is he?"

Jack tried to stand at this moment but a hoard of kids rushed past and pushed his chair in.

"Why, he's right here, Penelope!"

"Where?" asked Penelope.

Jack tried to call to her, "I'm right here," but then a cup of left unattended beside him was spilled over by a woman carrying a variety of salsas and she bent over with a napkin to soak up the wet spot at the center of his lap.

"So sorry," she apologized, as she molested him with her towel.

Penelope stood to her feet to peek over the bouquet of flowers, and when Jack looked up and caught her eye, rather than seeing that usual beautiful smile, he saw sudden face of shock. Her eyes bulged and her smiled cease as her lips pulled in to form the smallest pair of lips ever witnessed by the human eye.

Jack had been planning to say "Hello," but the cold, almost frightened look on her blushing face ceased this attempt at a happy greeting. It was as though she didn't wish for him to be there, or so he thought.

"He's a handsome man. Isn't he?" the grandmother asked Penelope who had been standing as solid as a stone statue with a penetrating stare toward Jack that to him could have meant either "I wasn't expecting you here," or "get the hell out of my house." But finally she came to a decision as to something to say and finally she said, "Have I seen you before?"

Jack was dumbfounded and his lips could produce no words. He was surprised not only by her choice of words but also the sincerity and lost quality to how she said them. Could she truly possibly not recognize him.

"Yes," was what he wanted to say, but what he chose to say instead was, "I'd assume we have . . ." but their was a twinge of awkwardness in the way his words trailed away from him and it almost came off as though he himself was no longer entirely sure if they'd met before. Her total lack of recognition of him had prompted him to guess his entire knowledge of their history working together, and having had an affair with her while he was married. He was certain he had never met anyone in this entire household before, except Penelope. He thought for sure upon seeing her that she was a part of his life. But the look on her face led him to question his reality and if perhaps the car ride had really happened. And if the car had blown up, and if he had only been dreaming of an affair with a coworker, and that she had suffered from the explosion in the car and almost died in the hospital. Did he in fact, he suddenly came to ask himself, know this woman in front of him? And if not, then was he, in fact, insane?

Could he have merely been admitted to the hospital after a car crash, thought he'd been in one with a beautiful Mexican girl, and begun stalking her outside her hospital window out of bizarre brain fracture and mental derangement? That scenario would explain why Penelope had been crying when she had come to her. She would have been afraid as hell.

The grandmother chimed in to break the awkward silence as the surrounding relatives were now watching the broken faced Penelope standing like a statue and watching Jack while her face drained of color as though she had seen a ghost. "What's wrong dear? Do you two recognize each other?"

"I don't think that's Javier, grandma Abuela," said Penelope placing her hand slowly onto the table edging slowly for her knife. "That looks like someone else."

Jack could not believe her response to him, he was absolutely stunned to his chair despite seeing himself capable of excusing himself slowly and leaving out the door. "Is something wrong?" he eyed really seriously, with a connotation in his eyes that meant to subliminally say, "Penelope, why are you acting so strange?" But Penelope seemed to play as though he had meant a threat by his words as though to say, "You know why I've come for you here, Penelope. Now don't touch that knife if you know what's good for you."

Penelope edged her hand away from her knife and Jack seemed to scoot back his chair but was barred by a group of more passing relatives as suddenly his eyes moved to where three familiar men were stepping out of the kitchen, all with knives. Jack jerked with fright and they all came to the edge of the table and he noticed them right away to be the three thugs from the hospital who had bribed the nurse and security guard to stop anyone from seeing Penelope in her hospital room for the "dos mas horas." Jack found himself suddenly unarmed when close to incredible danger.

He noticed them approach the plates of uncut poultry at the head of the table beside him and the two thugs on the outside placed their knives on the poultry and moved behind Jack to pass by him when suddenly they stopped behind his chair and blocked his way out because the third center man who stayed at the head of the table to cut the poultry and must have been the father of the house suddenly noticed Penelope and shouted at her, "Penelope, sit the hell down! We're about to eat!"

Penelope dropped with fright and the whole room froze and the deafening commotion of all the people talking died in an instant. Jack watched the father of the house point his sharp cutting knife at her and his face of that of an angry maniac, red and sweating from the kitchen, perhaps having had too much to drink as well and under the stress of the party, Jack might have guessed. But when the grandmother grabbed Jack's hand with all her strength as though to brace for impact, Jack turned to the grandmother to find that her eyes were red and glistening with preformed tears. This was something of a domestic abuse scene waiting to happen.

"Okay," Penelope said, insisting with her eyes that he put the knife down as she leaned back in her chair at the head of the table adjacent to him, where her sister who was glaring at the man with the knife like she were to kill him if he laid a hand on her sister.

"Good. Now, don't fucking stand up again. I've had it. Jesus. You think you look bad now? Just wait." He lowered his knife and cut the poultry.

Jack, who felt totally out of reality at this point, turned his eyes to Penelope and discovered a look in her eyes that was even more utterly surprising. Weak and powerless as she seemed at this moment, he felt he could not recognize the hard fighting security salesman, and the secret spy Mr. Golem and Pat had told him she was. Even more bizarrely, the way she looked at this man with the knife with such fear and worry, made him think with total certainty that she had no clue in the universe who the hell this man with the knife was either. The way her sister had her arms around Penelope was intended to be protective and reassuring but in no way resembled a strong familial bond whatsoever because between her sister's embrace was some invisible space of infamiliarity. The way Penelope patted her arm lightly in thanks and the way Penelope's sister unconvincingly gave her a look of loving sympathy, deemed that these two might as well be total strangers as well. The only person who Penelope seemed to have a true knowing relationship with was this grandmother Abuela beside Jack, but even grandmother Abuela mistook Jack for a long known student. Everything seemed staged and confused. But it was about to get worse.

"Wait a minute," said the maniac at the head of the table. "Who the fuck are you?"

Jack felt the grandmother pull on Jack as though to pull him in his chair away from the man.

The maniac had his knife pointed directly at Jack, maybe carelessly or intentionally. He was reading his face like he was studying his face. Did this man recognize Jack from the hospital? "I know you from somewhere," he said as though to accuse him of some sly robbery or murderous ploy to screw his wife and kill him and his whole family. The two thugs who resembled him in dress and stockiness might have been his brothers. They eyed him too and quickly each furled his eyebrows in astonished recognition of Jack. Jack felt sure they noticed him from the hospital waiting room. And he wished at that very moment he had a knife in his hand as well. The two thugs looked at the poultry knives as if contemplating picking them up and immediately stabbing Jack in the neck.

"What are you doing?" protested the mother with a angry temper. "Why do you have bully every person who enters your life that doesn't carry a weapon or know a gang sign?"

The head of the house with the knife dismissed his mother or mother-in-law by saying, "I wouldn't talk if my hundred year old dinosaur brain stopped working, ma. I'd suggest you stop talking."

"If I were a dinosaur I'd be a thesaurus," the grandmother protested but the an of the house was done speaking to her. He wouldn't waste any of his time on anyone else's agenda but his.

"You know what my name was growing up in a hellhole of a public school in the shit stink of a bad Mexico city area was called, buddy?" he said to Jack.

Jack didn't move. His eyes were on the knife and he had no idea what this bully's nickname was back in Mexican public school.

"They called me El Forastero. You know what that means?"

Jack nodded. It meant Stranger.

"El Forastero is stranger. I bullied like hell when my family switched cities and I almost died three times. I survived and look at my kingdom," he said, gesturing to the full house and lineage of relatives. "But I didn't survive because I was stupid and didn't remember to differentiate between the people I knew and the people I don't know. I have an excellent memory and strong organization skills where I know exactly who my friends are and who my enemies are. What I don't understand is why I don't have a fucking clue which side of the line you stand on or why recognize you but don't know who the fuck you are." He came closer to Jack and there were high pitched protests from the women, light but futile murmurs from some men, and frightened shrieks from the children and cries from the babies of the table when the red faced strawberry came closer to Jack with a furiously sweating hand around the handle of the long and deadly knife. "Now, tell me your name, and where I've seen you before."

Jack found himself shaken and bullied almost no justifiable reason because the grandmother did claim to know him. Jack was shaking most because he had never seen an entire family of women and children under the ruthless power of an impulsive dictator as this man was. Jack slowly turned his eyes to Penelope who wasn't looking but him but diverting her eyes from everyone. Closing them and imagining herself in a place that was not this. Who was that woman he had come so far for. A woman he had made love to and engaged in enjoyable salesmanship with.

His eyes turned to her sister who was watching Jack now, but whose face was suddenly changing from red anger to strange pale recognition as was the way her sister looked at Jack. To Jack it seemed as though she was becoming incredibly and deathly afraid of Jack as the time progressed that she studied him. Then he looked to the woman's husband beside her who was staring at him with uncertain scrutiny that began to blossom as his eyes grew wider and his eyebrows raised and his skin drew pale and his posture fell backward in fear. It truly appeared that they had seen a ghost. And Jack was worried that he were not really sitting in his own body and that someone were about to pull out a hand mirror to explain to him what every was staring at him so confusedly for and that what he would find in his reflection was not his face but that of a melting and distorted crash victim with his nose torn off and replaced by crooked slits, his eyeballs ripped out of his skull so only the optical blood ways and nervous threads hung out over black and festered chin bones; he was worried he had no mouth or that it had a hole that went straight through the back of his throat behind it so the painting on the wall could be seen through his face. Did he have no ears, was another question. Had he'd grown horns? He was bleeding bullets of cold sweat and he surveyed the entire stretch of family at the table who all seemed to drain of color at the sight of him. Studying him, he felt like a pig face at a table of wolves.

Jack slowly turned back to look at the grandmother who suddenly seemed to be staring at him as well, studying his face like she'd seen him before as well. And he truly felt as though he were in a nightmare. "Wait," her eyes seemed to say, "you're not the Javier I knew. I don't think I've met you in my whole entire life . . ." Then a strange realization seemed to haunt the old woman and her face seemed to deflate and her wrinkles seemed to etch deeper into the flesh of her face as fear overcame her senses.

Jack quickly turned his eyes away from her and he looked face to face with the blade in the hand of who he was now one hundred percent positive was Penelope's husband. His eyes seemed to say, "Why are you all staring at me. I'm scared. Please let me go. I want to get out of her!" And quickly the man tried to make a swinging jab at Jack's face now that he finally seemed to recognize who Jack was but he only sliced Jack on the cheek and made him bleed as Jack pulled back quickly but not quickly enough to dodge the tip of the knife. The three men seemed to decide instantly that they were going to kill Jack right then and Jack braced himself by jumping over the arm of his chair, knocking it over with a loud thud and landing with a slam of his back against the wall.

"STOP!" he shouted as the three men came at him, but Jack swiftly grabbed the chair to block them from coming any closer. His legs were trembling by the bizarre scene. The whole house was watching him and he had cut his leg hopping over the chair. He could feel the blood running across his chin and down his neck from where the man of the household had cut him. And he wiped it quickly with his hand. But something even worse happened. Something even more bizarre and strange and frightening that Jack would never expect. And it happened when Jack caught Penelope's eye when finally her eyes seemed to exclaim, "THAT'S IT! I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!"

She jumped to her feet and stumbled back around her chair hitting her back against the wall in the highest fear and faintheartedness. "That's it! I know who you are! That's him!"

All the men of the family seemed to stand as though to be ready to help kill Jack and all the women screamed as they grabbed for their children.

"What is this Penelope? Who are you?" Jack wanted to say but then Penelope stopped him also from crying out, "Why are you and everyone who is here afraid to death of me?"

"It's you," she screamed, "it's you," as though she were trying to hide in the blacks of her eyes but the devil was in them showing her pictures of maggot infested corpses. Her eyes shot out wide and blood shot and she finally gained the anger and courage to run up to the table and grab her own poultry knife from the poultry plate to yield and shout, "You're the man who raped me!"

Jack blinked wildly in complete derangement. Delirious and his body was broiling with heated adrenaline racing feverishly through his veins and arteries. His heart was palpitating like a hot egg about to hatch. "No," he shouted. Although it was as if he could believe her. All these faces, all this fear directed toward him, accusing him, he suddenly realized perhaps he'd gone mad. Perhaps he was not whom he thought he was. Perhaps he had indeed raped this girl.

"You raped my wife!" shouted at Jack, charging at Jack, dropping his knife and grabbing at Jack's chair to pull it away or push it upon him in order to pin him to the wall and kill him. The grandmother screamed and ran away from the fight.

"Yes," shouted Penelope, screaming and crying the whole time as tears drenched the gauze and scares over her tattered and ruined face. "See?" She ran to the cupboard in the kitchen and drew back with something in her hand that Jack could never have imagined. It was a collection of all the same photographs of Jack and Penelope having sex on the beach which he had originally thought was him having a romantic affair with her while on business. But now-- he looked at the photographs in a whole new light-- in every picture he was on top of her, and the wetness on her face in the dark which he thought were just ocean spray washing up on them might have been tears. His hand delicately caressing her neck suddenly looked like he was choking her out of aggressive attempts to keep her down. Her clothes that were still on may not have been a reflection of public decency on a beach but rather a reflection of that she had just been walking alone on a beach one night and he had caught her by surprise. To. rape. her.

"You're the one who raped me, beat me, abducted me and then crashed me in a car where the medics found me and picked me up in the hospital!"

Jack could not believe his ears. He managed to keep her crazed husband off him long enough for her husband to finally pull back out of possible exhaustion or maybe a better idea. He pointed at Jack and shouted, "You stay right there." And with that he left the dining room to run into the kitchen and picked up a phone and called someone while signaling to Jack a threatening finger symbolically slicing across his neck. "Jaime it's me. The man who raped and sent my wife to the hospital is here. Come the fuck over quick so we can kill him right. Nice and slow."

Jack stammered and dropped his chair he was still holding to the floor. He was looking all around the room to the people who began retreating to the door. Funneling out like a back of sand through a strainer, screaming and crying.

A sufficient amount of men still surrounded Jack to stop him if he tried to escape in the direction of their families. But Jack wasn't going anywhere. He was petrified. Who was he after all. The past three days were suddenly a clouded mess in his memory. His whole life was suddenly an unclear memory. He tried to remember the kid on the bus. Had he really seen a kid on the bus? Or was that just him? His childhood? Who was the giant Carlos Cortez eating octopus at an empty restaurant with a politician? Who was margarita? Why were the federal police really there? Were they in the kitchen spying on him, Jack? Did Pat really try to kill him for defense? Or had he actually come to save Margarita and the police officer because Jack had actually kidnapped them both and held them hostage in the presidential suite of the hotel? Why was Mr. Golem at his house talking to his wife Katelyn so seriously while Jack's daughter Elise was having her three year old birthday party? Was Pat telling the truth about Katelyn having unknowingly hired his boss Mr. Golem as a hit man to kill him? Or had he really come to warn Katelyn that Jack was a dangerous man under investigation for the rape and attempted manslaughter of a woman in Mexico while he was business trip as a vehicle security salesman gone mad? Maybe he didn't know Mr. Golem at all. Maybe he wasn't actually a secret agent? Maybe he just owned a gun in his house and got tired of living a mediocre life with a woman he didn't love. Maybe everything this woman Penelope was accusing him of was true? What if he was truly mad? What if he didn't know who he was, and the car crash had busted his memory?

"I don't know" were the only words that left his mouth. Tears fumed hot out his eye sockets. He wasn't convinced of anything. Not his old identity, not his new identity. But by the looks of the people in this house, he knew he had to stay or run. Die or escape. Neither seemed preferable.

But the moment Penelope's husband came out of the kitchen with a gun, Jack shot Katelyn one last pitiful look of deranged terror and sprinted along the long family table. Ramming into one man trying to block his way and scaring two others when he raced by with his fists. He was out the door when he heard a gunshot from behind and something glass like a pitcher on the table behind him shattered but he made it out the entrance and in the opposite direction of the family and the sound of police sirens. He sprinted as fast as he could. Faster than his best time in training from when he thought he was a spy. He sprinted ten whole blocks, zigzagging through the dog park and past the fountain spring and out of La Condesa. He sprinted out to a neighborhood he didn't know. And sprinted until he knew he would not be in danger of being found, at least not for now, and he found a bus heading toward the station. He beat it to the stop and hopped on. Fed the bus pay, and looked for the kid he wished was in the back of the bus. But there was no kid. His pillow was still there, but this time there was no one on the bus. He felt for certain he was mad. Just a while ago this bus was full. Now it was just him and the Las Alcobas Hotel pillow. Was that just because the bus had just emptied the last wave of passengers at a central bus station? He walked over to the bus and sat directly where the kid had sat before. This was the same bus, and he was in the kid's seat now. He felt he was sitting in the kid's ghost. Was he the kid? Was he from Guatemala? Was his mother the one who had sent him alone to live in Los Angeles. It all seemed surreal, but it all fit didn't it? He could be in a nightmare, where everything might make sense now. Almost everything. Except one thing.

Why had it all seemed so real?

Jack road that bus forty minutes back to the Las Alcobas Hotel. He got off because he wanted to return and see if Pat, Margarita and the police officer were still up in the presidential suite. He imagined them rushing out of the apartment as soon as he had left to go to La Condesa. It was interesting that Pat had sent her there. Pat must have figured that if he was unable to kill Jack, then sending Jack to Penelope's house where Penelope's husband had a gun and pictures of her rapist and attempted murderer would do the trick in getting him killed.

Jack chose to go to a nearby clothing shop and buy a whole new jacket and pants and shoes and hat so as to make himself unknown if Mr. Golem's men were waiting for him. He quickly changed into his new outfit and returned to the front of the hotel. He looked up to the balcony of the presidential suite and breathed in deeply. He would go in, and hope for proof of his sanity. He walked in and found the same desk attendant as before. Although this time she wasn't smiling. She recognized him. And she looked at him in a reviewing way that made his skin crawl.

"New outfit," she said, in a monotonous, disapproving undertone that droned and followed him as he ignored her sudden and uncharacteristic unfriendliness and clicked the button of the elevator so she would hear the ding and think he'd take it, but instead he sneaked to the stairs and raced all six stories up to the top floor and burst through the door to the presidential suite. The floor was completely empty. And he felt his stomach full of crawling aching worms as he looked around and edged to the room door. He reached into his pockets for the room key but his fingers couldn't find it. Did he not grab his room key before leaving to La Condesa? Was he even in this room at all? Did this hotel exist? Maybe he was questioning his sanity to far. He was sure he'd just come from this room and that perhaps he'd just forgotten to grab a key after the whole emotional conundrum with Pat, Margarita and the female officer Lady Camila Rincon. There was nothing he could do but knock on the door. If they weren't there anymore no one would answer it and he would know that Pat, Margarita and the female officer had all planned to escape Jack's insanity once he'd left, and that they were the victims and he was the real offender. If on the other hand Margarita opened the door with relief or the female officer opened it preferably without her towel or Pat opened it with his usual sarcastic smile, then everything was as it seemed before and he would ask Pat what the hell had gone wrong over at Penelope's house in La Condesa and if he'd imagined the whole situation somehow but really just fell asleep on the bus until the bus ran full circuit and woke up again and got off the bus when it returned here at Las Alcobas Hotel. Jack had no clue what to believe but knew he must knock on the door.

But wait.

He was midway about to knock when he realized, what if Pat, Margarita and the young officer Lady Camila Rincon had escaped after he left and in their place were either Mr. Golem or the giant Carlos Cortez, waiting for him. To ambush Jack. To kill him.

Jack took a step back and looked up at all the security cameras in the corners of the hotel hall, and how there were two pointed directly in the way of the elevators opposite his room, and another directly at the stairs. He came to the conclusion that if anyone were waiting for a mad man on the run, they'd know he was here. And if someone was waiting inside, they'd been looking at him through the peephole in the door or have told the front desk attendant to call once she saw him enter the hotel. Jack knew that if they were after him, they'd know he was here the second he entered the hotel. All was terrifyingly silent on the landing of the sixth floor. He felt either way he would knock. He was either caught or he wasn't. He lifted his fist, and wrapped his knuckles on the door. He knocked. And waited. But no one answered.

His heart racing, he knocked again. Louder. Please, he thought, please would some one answer him. He knocked louder. Where was Pat? Was he sleeping? He knocked louder. Margarita, open this door. Lady Camila Rincon? Lady, please. Open the goddam door! He knocked louder and louder. Hoping maybe the banging would send echoes that would send neighbors out of their rooms to stop his racket. But no one answered. Either because it was the middle of the day and all the neighbors were outside exploring Mexico City or because they'd been told ahead of time that a dangerous man would be searching the hotel room on the sixth floor and everyone had to evacuate or stay inside thier rooms.

"Margarita!" Jack shouted. His banging shook the walls of the sixth floor. A nearby mirror on the wall started flapping against it. "Somebody, please!" He felt a shiver in his spine and his brain start to tickle with the thought that maybe it wasn't working. He was insane. They had left him. He was a rapist and attempted murderer.

No! It couldn't be true. He checked his pockets again for the room key. He had to have it. He knew he had it. He remembered he had taken it with him before he left to La Condesa! Finally he pulled out his wallet from his pocket. Checked if he'd slipped the card key inside. No. It wasn't there. Then he pulled out his passport. Opened it to check if it'd slipped inside it--

Yes! There was the key. Sitting neatly inside his passport. He looked at his passport picture and sure enough it was his face with his name Jack Dantes and located in Los Angeles, California. Same number that his wife Katelyn had called him on the phone in the side bedroom here in the presidential suite to ask him the classic question "Are you with her?" and tell him "They're going to kill you, Jack." He felt his blood boil and remembered for certain that that phone call was real. When he would open the door he would find Margarita, Pat and the young officer Lady, and he would see that the bathroom was wet from the spillage and he would see the phone Katelyn had called him on in the side bedroom sitting where he'd left it. He was not crazy. Everything had happened the way it had happened. And Penelope was setting him up over in La Condesa because she had done something wrong. Aha! She must have tried to kill Jack! She must have set him up on the beach and had a photographer take pictures of them together. She must have sent the pictures of them together to his wife in Los Angeles. She must have told her family that she'd been raped and abducted and almost murdered and had the pictures to prove it. Perhaps she was a rogue agent for the Mexican government and was trying to get rid of Jack, a spy working for the American government about to plant a security breach on Mexican government vehicles. That's it! He'd had it! It was Penelope all along! She'd been afraid when he came to her house in La Condesa because she was shocked he wasn't dead. She knows he would be after her once he found out her plan. That's it!

Almost crying tears of joy from escaping his disillusionment, Jack tried the key on the presidential suite door and--

It didn't work. His key only made the door's key reader beep once but the light blinked red. Jack froze, but then tried again. . . He putthe key to the door and--

The door beeped twice and the light turned green and he didn't feel crazy as the he pulled the handle and ran inside.

The lights were off and the room was silent. The glass doors to the balcony were opened and the white curtains were flapping in the wind. Jack stood still in the hall. He was listening. He couldn't hear anyone. Not Pat, not Margarita, not the officer Lady Camila Rincon. He stepped further and saw the closet door he'd hit Pat several times with earlier slightly ajar. He opened it and there was no one inside. He turned and saw to his relief that the mirror Pat had shot and shattered was indeed still shot and shattered with glass on the cabinet surface and sprinkled in shards and bits across the floor, reflecting the flapping white curtains in an elegant sparkling fashion. He turned his eyes to the bed where the nineteen year old officer had been hiding behind the whole time Jack and Pat had been fighting, and he stepped over and around it to see if anyone were hiding there. There was no one.

He looked to the balcony and quickly checked the outside. There was no one around and he looked to see there was no way down. He returned to the room and stepped over to the sink where he'd hit Pat's head on the granite surface. He then looked over to the bathroom and saw the door ajar. A reflective surface of water could be seen under the door, slightly red from Pat's nose bleed. He stepped to the door cautiously, opening it slowly and peeping his head in.

There was no one but a tub filled to the brim with water. He closed the door and turned. Across the way, he saw that the side bedroom door was still closed. A shiver trickled down his spine and crawled back up again as he stared at the side bedroom door with silence. It was so quiet here. The only explanation was that the trio had left the apartment or they were all sleeping in the side bedroom behind the closed door.

He licked his lips for they were dry. He stepped as quietly as possible to the door. Raising his hand to the door to pull the handle, he could see his hand shaking. They are all sleeping, he assured himself. I am going to open this door and they will all be lying in a row beside each other on the bed. His heart banged heavily against his sternum and it was all the courage he could muster to pull down the handle and enter. As slow as a snail he did. Peeking his eyes with caution as the door crease widened, the first thing he noticed before he could see anything was a familiar smell of perfume. This moment was surreal for neither Margarita nor the federal officer Lady Camila Rincon wore such a sweet perfume. The door opened fully to reveal a familiar pair of feet hanging off the side of the bed from behind the shelf case directly beside the door. He froze at the frozen bare feet that were small and all too familiar to him. But it wasn't the familiarity of the feet that scared him the most, for they could have truly been anyone's for he was no expert on feet. It was the familiar deep red suitcase open underneath her feet, with his swim trunks inside.

He didn't ever remember bringing his swim trunks from his Los Angeles home to Mexico City when he had left, for when he had left he had escaped in a hurry from Mr. Golem's thugs and so had not the capacity to have brought anything with him, let alone a suitcase full of clothes.

Staying behind the suitcase all the while, he caught sight of Victoria's Secret lingerie, a red and pink thong and brassiere hanging over the lip of the suitcase beside his swim trunks. These pieces of lingerie were most familiar of all to him. For he remembered driving to Victoria Secret and buying his wife that lingerie himself for their three year anniversary. His eyes must be deceiving him. He finally stepped forward. And the feet were attached to familiar legs which were attached to familiar knees which were attached to familiar thighs which were attached to a sprawled, motionless body that belonged to his wife, Katelyn. Her head lifted upward, her face completely purple frozen like wax, and her mouth agape as though gasping for air, and her eyes blue and blood shot and wide open as though with terror. And sprayed all across the bedding before her, were a swamp of sleeping pills. Three cartons of sleeping pills.

Jack stood frozen at the sight, his vision moving in and out as though he were losing consciousness and hardly getting it back again. His wife's arm was holding one of the sleeping pill cartridges under her chin. While her other arm was stretched out and hanging off the side of the bed, and the phone was on the floor underneath her downward palm, as if she had dropped it mid call.

Shaking, a cry finally burst from Jack's lungs as he ran to her and fell to his knees beside the bed weeping. He cried her name and read the pill jars and pulled up the phone on the floor to his face to hear if anyone was there but the phone failed to give anything but a continual monotonous drone. Jack shook his wife and pushed on his wife's stomach but realized she needed a doctor. She tried to roll her on her side but as he did, her head lifted off the bed and he was shocked to find there blood underneath her head. He tried to find the source of blood and split her hair to find that a sliver of her scalp had been fractured inward. He then jumped up and bumped his back against the wall. He wondered, for he remembered just hours ago about his fight with Pat where he had smashed his head against the granite, if this was the same place on her head. And it was. He crumpled to the floor and his vision drained like milk by the flooding in of his tears.

No, please God, let it not be true. He had gone mad. How was his wife here? How were his things here? He didn't remember her coming with him. He didn't remember bringing any of their luggage as though they had come for trip. It seemed as though he were in a simulation that tested his very capacity to trust in his sanity and find the right answer. But all he could conclude at this point was that his wife was here and that Margarita, Pat and the young officer were not. The giant Carlos Cortez was not here. The politician was not here. No one from Penelope's family were here. Not Mr. Golem nor his agents were here. And the federal police were not here. It was just him and his wife Katelyn.

Alone.

He jumped up as though thinking there was more time. Behind his choked tears he felt her wrist to find her pulse. He gathered no rhythm to her wrist. But he himself was shaking so it was difficult for him to determine. So in his futile way, grabbed the phone back off the floor and called the front desk attendant, and when she greeted him, he answered in frantic sobs. "My wife is dead!"

The front desk attendant assured him there would be emergency teams coming up to his room within less than a minute. "Calm down, just please tell me what happened to her, sir?"

Jack couldn't tell her what happened. He wasn't sure. By the looks of all the pills it would have seemed she had tried to overdose herself and commit suicide. But by the way there was no vomit or any bodily reflex apparent to rid itself of the pills, it seemed like just a display. The real cause of her death seemed obviously the head fracture, and a loss of oxygen or brain function. And then he realized. . . what if. . . possibly, though how could it be true, how could he be so mad, that he might have done this, truly, himself, to his wife. That he killed her. He must be schizophrenic if that were true. He imagined her as her coworker Pat. And imagined Pat were a secret agent out to get him. And that he had been mixed for the past couple days with crime and corruption and espionage. He was paranoid. Thinking people were out to get him. But as he rose up, a the heat seemed to flame brighter in his body, he stepped away from the body on the bed and carried the phone to his face into the main room of the hotel and found it still empty and walked out the door and into the hall and found it empty, and realized there was no one chasing him. Just his dead wife who he might have killed and all he knew was that she was mad at him for those pictures, and that she had hired a man to check on him while he was on business to see if he was loyal, and that he worked in sales for a car security company, and that a woman named Penelope who seemed to not know anything about him but claimed that he was the man who raped, abducted and nearly killed her, was someone he had been looking for all this time. And that after he had "nearly killed her" in the car and woke up in a hospital bed, he could not remember much except his wife and the woman named Penelope was a woman he thought he loved.

It was then that he thought he might be wrong, and the medics rushed into the room and ran past him into the guest bedroom to tend to his dead wife, and he lifted the phone to finally answer the woman's question as to what happened. And in a defeated, decided whisper, said, "I guess I did it."

And he was jailed. And did not see his daughter. And did not see his wife. He had died.

His identity was lost in the blur. Coming to a stand still. In the traffic. Of the mind.

No longer working. . . Just losing time. . . In the. . .

TRAFFIC