Hector Camacho sat on the cold stone floor, his back against the wall. He lifted his chin, so the sun shining through the barred window fell on his beard covered face. The sun would be there for just a few minutes each day, and Hector considered basking in it a luxury. During this time he was able to block out the stink of the prison and the cries of prisoners who had lost their minds.
Garcia, like Hector, sat with his back to a wall. The sun belonged to Hector, so Garcia just relaxed, his eyes closed, thinking. "I am not sure I can do many years in this hellish place. We should never have come back to Mexico." Footsteps outside their cell and then a key rattling in the lock got the attention of both men. The heavy metal hinges of the cell door screeched as it opened. Hector and Garcia st
