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nodded.
    â€œA branding strategy.”
    Esteban blew smoke out across the room. Christ, this kid was smart. He didn’t know what a “branding strategy” was . . . but this kid, with his brains . . . he could go places. If he would only listen to Esteban and learn from his experience.
    Esteban understood the difference between book smart and street smart. The high-tech, fast-track, polished-chrome-and-glass world of brokerage firms and high-rise office towers with young secretaries in tight little suits versus the low-tech, testosterone-fueled, down-and-dirty world of cheap motels, panel vans, and arbitration by firing squad.
    Martin was white bread. Groomed to be a corporate lawyer. He didn’t quite comprehend the subtle nuances of running an organized crime crew for La Eme. He didn’t understand that 90 percent of being El Jefe was showing you had
huevos
to spare. Fucking computers and cell phones wouldn’t do it. Esteban didn’t want his men to call him up, he wanted them to crawl naked through a cactus field if he asked. That’s respect. Respect for El Jefe and respect for his
huevos
.
    Esteban looked at Martin.
    â€œ
Exacto
. We take the
maricón
and we brand his ass.”
    â€œWe need to find him first.”
    Esteban stood up.
    â€œThen we find him.
Vamos.
”

Six
    N ORBERTO RETURNED TO his house to find the door wide open.
    â€œFuck, man.”
    He walked in, closed the door, and bolted it shut. He turned and yelled toward the bathroom door.
    â€œI told you to shut the fucking door, man.”
    There was no answer from the bathroom. Norberto turned and walked toward it.
    â€œYou dead?”
    He paused. There was no answer.
    â€œI hope you saved me some Herradura, man.”
    Norberto entered the bathroom. Amado was gone. The tequila was gone. Only a sick-looking streak of drying blood remained. Norberto turned on the water and started cleaning the tub. Blood is hard to clean. Especially if it’s dried.
    I need some scrubbing fucking bubbles, man. This is a tough stain.
    Norberto reached under the sink and pulled out a can of Comet and a scrubby sponge. He shook the Comet out all over the tub. A green dusting of caustic powder fell over the blood. He began to vigorously attack the stain.
    Norberto, engrossed in trying to clean the tub, didn’t hear Esteban and Martin as they entered the bathroom.
    â€œYou having your period,
maricón
?”
    Norberto wheeled around. Upon seeing Esteban his first instinct was to run for his life. But he knew that was pointless, since Esteban would eventually find him, and there was only one way out of the bathroom anyhow. Thinking quickly, Norberto decided, despite the rapidly spreading stain in his underwear, to play it cool. He affected a casual tone.
    â€œHey, Esteban. You want me to come clean your tub? No charge, man.”
    Esteban turned the water off.
    â€œI got a maid.”
    â€œWhatever,
cabrón
, you need me, I’m there.”
    Norberto realized that he was acting a little too easy to please. But by then it was too late. Esteban turned to Martin.
    â€œSee this? This
pendejo
’s got no
huevos
. He’s wants to lick my asshole.”
    â€œNo, man. Fuck, no. I don’t wanna do that.”
    Esteban continued, not looking at Norberto.
    â€œI think he’s got something to hide.”
    Norberto knew that pain was on its way.
    â€œWhat? I’m not hiding nothing, nada.”
    Martin closed the lid on the toilet and sat down. He opened a small black leather pouch he was carrying in his jacket pocket. It looked like a cigar holder.
    â€œWe’ll see about that.”
    Martin took a syringe and a vial of clear liquid out of the pouch. Norberto looked at Esteban.
    â€œWhat the fuck is that, man?”
    Esteban just grinned.
    â€œDon’t you wanna ask me something? I got nothing to hide, man. You don’t have to do this, man.”
    Norberto was beginning to freak. Martin