The lights go out. I swear, that's the cheapest trick in the book. What's next—are they going to scare us by having a cat jump out? Trying not to think about the blood in my mouth I focus instead on the sound of more gunfire, of explosions and it hits me: no, they aren't trying to hit us after all. They're fighting somebody else. And hanging up above it all, through the skylight...
It's clear Diaz's men are fighting off police or rioters or rabid fans. While they're distracted by that ruckus I jump up, unable to take it anymore. I'm running around this place screaming, “El aliento!” and pointing back to the lights. Hey, I've learned some Espa-ol since I've been here.
A hand grabs me and drags me into the shadows. It's Enrique. “Shut it, man."
"But—"
"Aliento is breath. People aren't go
