32
Golfito, 2003.
“Who’s there?” Alejandra Bonilla answered the knocking on her door.
“It’s me,” said Rudd Baldwin.
He heard how she unlocked the door. He counted: four locks. She was very cautious. Before Rudd realized what happened, Alejandra fell into his arms. She cried; he could feel her tears crawling into his T-shirt.
“It’s alright Alejandra. He won’t hurt you.”
“I know,’ she cried. “But I was scared. I don’t want to go back into that scene again. I’ve been there and… you know. My little girl is still in there.”
“Hush, hush,” he said, no knowing how to ease her. He had been trained to kill; comforting people was not a part of the training program. “Sorry for Lazaro,” he continued. “That guy is just a moron. A fool. He won’t bother you again.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He’s go
