9
From his position, crouched low, sheltered behind trees at the edge of the clearing, Rodolfo Herrera had an unobstructed view of the house fifty metres to his front. He looked across at Ignacio Vargas, similarly crouched just a few metres to his left. The bastard was smiling! He was always smiling!
Perhaps sensing Herrera was watching him, Vargas turned his head and looked at Herrera. His smile widened. Two rows of crooked, yellow teeth, stained from years of heavy cigarette smoking and drinking cheap, red wine, filled his mouth. When Vargas smiled, it was not a comforting smile radiating warm friendliness. Rather, it was a lecherous, leering grin, where his lips flattened against his teeth, almost disappearing, giving his mouth a snake-like appearance.
If Herrera was considered unatt
