“No!” Emphatically. Then less sure: “It was my fault. I called. I told him where to go. But I didn't intend … I didn't think they'd suspect … the girl was ready to talk. Maricel. You were at the hacienda, and I thought someone ought to hear it.”

     Out in the lobby Luis called, “'Noy!”

     “Hear what?” I said.

     “You should have it all by now. If you don't, it doesn't matter. You can't do anything. You never could. I'm sorry. I thought it should be known.”

     “What do the girls have to do with it?”

     “'Noy!”

     “I have to go. You, you have to get out of here. This is crazy. I never should have involved you.”

     “Why me?”

     As if the answer were perfectly clear, he said, “You're an American.”

     “You could have just told me.”

     “I did my best.”

     “Your best wasn't very good.”

     “'Noy!”

     He gave a hunted look out into the lobby and said, “If you really care to know, you have everything you need.”

     I said, “It's pathetic, in fact.”

     Sharply, in deep pain, he said, “What do you want from me? He's my father. Do you understand? I'm a barrio boy, and Luis is my father.”

     He went away fast. I was glad.

     I gave the boy his money and moved to the back of the little bar. Nobody came in until Ray Nobles, fifteen or twenty minutes later.

     “My brother is here,” he said. “You want to go?”

     “I want to go,” I said.