11
Dressed in white slacks, a black silk shirt, and a white suit jacket, he stood looking out the window of his home where he conducted his business. On the lawn two stories below, he watched seven-year-old Margarita play tag with four-year-old Sayra, their new puppy chasing their young feet. He sighed, glanced at this watch, then turned expectantly toward the door.
A moment later, Juanita appeared. “Señor Escobedo, Señor Enrique Murue is here to see you.”
Pablo nodded, then watched as his young, thin secretary, who today was wearing a red suit, stepped aside so his visitor could enter.
Enrique was a man in his early thirties. He wore what he always did, cowboy boots, jeans, and a white T-shirt under a long-sleeved chambray shirt, which wasn’t buttoned, and Pablo fought against the obv
