––––––––
“Jesus, Ricky, how long does it take to cut a line?”
“Tranquilo, Paola, this blue flake’s literally like rock.”
Estevez chopped cocaine on a mirror with a long bladed hunting knife. Manchester United was locked in mortal combat with Madrid Real on a giant flat screen, the score tied, 2-2. Somoza puffed a cohiba. Cisco, his brother, dutifully topped off his glass with white rum and pineapple juice. Ruy Blas swiped his phone and showed Somoza another trophy, a fifty kilo jaguar with jade eyes and mottled yellow fur. Blas stood beside the dead animal in the jungle, a big smile on his thickly bearded face.
Somoza grunted. “And where did you bag this one?”
“In Nueva Arcadia with the others. That’s where the big game is nowadays.”
“Not far from our rebel headquarters, Comandante,”
