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himself looking down the barrel of Blondie’s gun. “Go ahead,” Blondie said. “Somebody always gets made the first example of. Might as well be you, amigo. ” The man turned back and walked into the field. Without looking at anyone, he bent down and began pulling the beans off the low stalks. Gradually, the others followed. Ruben and Edgar ended up side by side, next to the first man.
    “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Edgar said. “I don’t know how—”
    “Look for the ones that are this color,” the man said. He held up a fat seedpod, bright green. “Those are ripe. The others, leave for now.”
    “I said, get to fucking WORK!” Blondie bellowed.
    Ruben and Edgar stooped and began to pick.

T HE LAWYER’S office was located on the fifteenth floor of a downtown office building. The paneling in the reception area was expensive, the lighting muted. Soft ambient music, which seemed to consist mostly of single notes gently struck and held for a long time, played in the background. The law firm’s name—Daniels, Gower and Delgado—was hanging on the wall in flowing silver and gold script behind the flawlessly beautiful Latina receptionist. The whole effect was one of calm, tranquility, and elegance.
    Jack Keller was spoiling that effect. He stood before the chrome and wood receptionist’s desk, dressed in jeans and the same T-shirt he’d traveled in from Phoenix. It was late afternoon. Neither he nor Angela had slept, and they’d come straight from the airport. Keller had insisted. He’d felt the trail growing colder with each passing hour, and it was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Fatigue etched deep lines in Angela’s face, but Keller felt as alert and energized as if he’d just come off eight hours’ sleep.
    “I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said, “but if you don’t have an appointment—”
    “Tell him it’s about Oscar Sanchez,” Keller said.
    “We were here a few weeks ago,” Angela spoke up from behind him.
    The receptionist gave her a professional smile. “Yes, Mrs. Sanchez, I do remember you.” She turned back to Keller, the smile tightening. “But Mr. Delgado is very busy—”
    “Tell him Jack Keller is here.”
    The smile vanished entirely. The receptionist looked at Angela, then at Keller, her face troubled. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “He said you might come.” She stood up. “Please wait. Have…have a seat.” She exited through a door behind her.
    Keller turned to Angela. “Did you two talk to this guy about me?”
    She shook her head. “No. At least not while I was there. But it was like I said. As we were leaving, Delgado called Oscar back in and closed the door. I wasn’t real happy about that, but it was only a couple of minutes.”
    The receptionist came back out. The professional smile was back in place. “Mr. Delgado can give you a few minutes. This way.”
    Delgado stood up from behind his own huge desk as they entered. The desk was empty except for a gold-and-mahogany pen and pencil set and a single file folder. A picture window behind him gave a view of the buildings all around.
    The lawyer looked to be in his early thirties, younger than Keller expected. He was a small, neat man, impeccably groomed, expensively dressed, and his demeanor was as calm and serene as the office. “Come in,” he said, flashing them a brilliant smile. He extended a hand to Keller. “You must be Jack Keller. I’m Perry Delgado.”
    Keller took the hand. “Jack Keller.”
    Delgado turned to Angela. “And Mrs. Sanchez. So good to see you again.” His eyes didn’t look as happy as his words. She only nodded.
    “Please,” Delgado said, motioning to a pair of leather client chairs before the imposing desk, “have a seat.” They sat.
    “The lady outside said that you might have been expecting to see me,” Keller said.
    Delgado took his own seat. He clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Keller, but I