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soon—we will take you on a trip and smash something important. Maybe the police will provide a twenty-four-hour guard to protect you for the rest of your life. Maybe not.”
    I opened the door and retreated back across the room to the window to let him in—I had to move that far, or there would be no room to pass between my bed and my desk. As I brushed against the tank, Yertle thrashed wildly beside me, his nose bursting through the water’s skin. Whenever I approached, he hoped it was dinnertime.
    “This apartment,” Gonzales said, as he shut the door and tiptoed onto the shag rug of old clothing, newspapers, and hotel brochures, “is disgusting.” At least he politely omitted toobserve that I was wearing ordinary clothes and not pajamas.
    “Disgusting is filth and vermin and maggots,” I said. “This is just untidiness. Sanitary untidiness. I defy you to find a crumb or a food wrapper. I defy you”—I let my voice soar a moment, to test my courage—“to find a roach or an insect of any kind. Eventually I get to the laundry and the recycle bin. I wasn’t expecting a visitor tonight.” My voice wasn’t shaking; at least I had that.
    “Where do I sit? Is this the only room in your apartment? It is as tiny as it is untidy.”
    “That’s why I don’t like to be in it. I like to travel. Sit on the chair or on the bed. That’s all I can offer.”
    He glanced down at the unmade futon bed, with its whitecaps of sheet bursting through the rumpled red blanket. He chose the desk chair instead.
    “What’s that smell?” he said.
    “My turtle. I need to clean his tank. Like I said, I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
    “This computer”—he bucked his head at the monitor just behind him on my desk—“this is where you write all your articles? Have you yet begun your story of the Matamoros? Perhaps with the sad tale of Pilar’s failure at the press conference?”
    “I’ve made a start.”
    The kettle whistled.
    “You want tea?” I asked. “I’m making.”
    He declined. My kitchenette filled the nook conveniently adjacent to the turtle tank. Gonzales watched me, but as I bent to fumble in the drawer for a spoon, I managed to slip a corkscrew into my front pocket.
    “You should clean your apartment and wash your animal, so guests can visit you here. So you can make a life in your home.”
    “I should get a better job too, with regular hours and a 401(k). I don’t want one. I won’t live like the rest of the world, one uneventful day following the other. Like an editor. Or a marketing manager.”
    “Believe me, my days are all quite distinct,” he said. He extracted something from his pocket and laid it on his thigh. It was a small claw hammer with a foldable handle. He leaned forward, over the hammer, and examined me. “You’re young, but in the light I can see gray hairs. You’re thin, despite all your American steaks. You think you will never be fat! But you will.”
    I held my hand over the mouth of the cup to insulate it. I wanted it to stay hot as long as possible, in case I needed it. I’d blind him with the tea, then move in with the corkscrew. Not very promising.
    “And you want Pilar to be in love with you,” he continued. “She told me who you are, but only now do I understand.” He fondled the hammer with one hand.
    “I see. How could she love me with you around?”
    “Ha! She is quite pretty, though not my type. Spanish and proud. She told me before she left that she invited you to the Matamoros. She implied that, because of your affection, you would be more willing to follow her commands. I hope she’s right. If you break your word, she will regret this scheme.”
    “I won’t put her at risk. If you want me to stay here, I’ll stay.”
    “I want you to go, Mr. Smalls. To save our hotel. I want you to go and do what Pilar says. But I don’t trust you as much as she does.”
    “So what do you want from me?”
    “I just want you to think of me from time to time. Especially