“This is it,” he said. “Not much. If it tells you anything, you're a better man than I am.”

     It felt empty. I stuck it under the stool and watched the game. A shot from outside the arena showed the Bay Bridge, an orange sun low behind it. I thought of places that I knew well, thousands of miles distant, where the sun was now setting on yesterday.

     “Are you going down there?” he said.

     “Negros.”

     “Negros. You planning to go down there?” He kept watching the game.

     “I don't want to.”

     “But you are. What, chasing some con artist.”

     “He was worth looking for in the first place.”

     “I'm not telling you you can't do it. It's a free country.” He gave a grin that made him look like a perverse little boy. “Well, maybe not free. But extremely cheap.” The grin gradually faded. “No, really, it is a free country, and even if it wasn't I couldn't tell you what to do. It's not our country. But, see, that's the point all the way. It is not our country. We are guests here. You can't forget it.”

     “I realize that.”

     “My interest is in keeping Americans out of harm's way and making sure that friends stay friends.”

     “There must be other Americans in Negros,” I said.

     “Damn few. And most of them know how to take care of themselves.”

     “I don't want to go.”

     “You will, though, I can tell. I don't know what to say, except don't do anything dumb, stay off the streets at night, and watch your back.”

     “Collins got shot from the front,” I said.

     “Yes, shit, see what I mean?”

     We watched the game for a while, and ate. Night came on in California. The bridge lit up. I left with Dalzell. It