CHAPTER TWO
Rita Serrano sat beside Memo Contera in his Mercedes as he tore down the highway toward Mexico City. It was about noon, the sun was burning down.
The radio was playing a corrida, but Rita did not hear the meaningless song. She had her gaze glued on the winding highway, and she was holding on for dear life. Memo was driving far too fast for the mountain roads. It was as if he were escaping something or somebody.
Something gnawed at him, Rita knew, and it troubled her. What was he running from? Memo Contera had wealth and fame, and he was the greatest matador of all Mexico, almost a legend now. What more could a man ask? Rita thought: maybe he's just plain bored.
And she thought she knew the remedy for that. She cuddled close, but Memo pushed her back. They were passing th
