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bolder. She had such an easy way of sassing them, of putting more sway in her stride when she knew they were checking her out, that Jessie was a little surprised to learn she too was still a virgin at sixteen. They had both, however, had their share of encounters with urgently naked erections, and they had each on occasion relieved one with her hand, and in a few instances of what-the-hell, with her mouth. They had also both known the reciprocal pleasure of a boy’s tongue that through skill or blind luck found just the right spot—although they agreed the experience more often entailed a tedious endurance of sloppy lapping until the guy was glaze-faced and gasping and they’d pat him on the head and say something along the lines of, “Enough, baby, wow, really great.” In the course of that summer they became to each other the sister both had always wanted. Their bond was tightened all the more on the July night they happily ceded their virginities to a pair of brothers named Mike and Joey McCall, on blankets spread on either side of a Boca Chica sand dune under a sky encrusted with stars and hung with a crescent moon at the far reach of the sea. A year later, when Jessie informed her that the McCall boys had been killed in a highway accident on the way back from spring break in Corpus Christi, Rayo wept with as much heartache as her cousin. After high school Jessie attended the University of Texas in Austin to major in journalism and minor in dance, while Rayo studied theater arts at the University of Miami and lettered in track, tennis, and swimming. In each of their college years they got together in New Orleans for Mardi Gras, where once in a Jackson Square bar an obnoxious fool would not desist in his pawing of Rayo until she floored him with an expert knee to the balls that drew cheers from onlookers. They attended each other’s graduation, but later that same summer Rayo’s parents were killed when the private plane bringing them back from a Havana vacation crashed in the Gulf. Bits of the aircraft were found, but no bodies recovered. Since then, Rayo has lived alone, as has Jessie, and they have remained each other’s closest confidante. In addition to alternating annual visits, they rarely let a month go by without an hour-long phone talk to share the doings in their lives, and their weekly e-mails sometimes include an attachment of Jessie’s most recent newspaper feature or magazine article, or a video clip of Rayo’s latest stunt work in some movie or TV show.
    Jessie had long been aware of the arms smuggling partnership between the two sides of the family, but it wasn’t until her visit to Mexico City last year that she learned of Rayo’s recent entry into the family’s Jaguaro organization, though she also still works in film. Because Jessie has had nothing to do with the family’s illicit dealings, Rayo had thought of not mentioning her own role in them, but as she explained it, “There has to be somebody I don’t keep secrets from, and you’re it, kid.” Jessie was less shocked by the revelation of Rayo’s membership in the Jaguaros than she was worried about the dangers of it. Rayo said she wished there was some danger to be concerned about, something to make the work more exciting, but she was never assigned to do anything riskier than keep an eye on somebody or serve as a diversion. “Mostly I’m the girl ,” she said. “You know, the go-to whenever they a need a nice ass to distract some guy’s attention.” She was willing to tell Jessie anything she might want to know about it, but said it was basically boring stuff and she herself would rather talk about other things. Jessie said she would too, and they hadn’t spoken of the Jaguaros since.
    â€œOoh, there he is, míralo,” Rayo says. “Over by the bandstand. Cigarette, Caesar hairstyle. Gregorio something-or-other. Goes to school in