Still in his underpants, freshly shaved and showered, Smith paced back and forth in Yaquita’s room, crunching on the broken shards of knickknacks she had hurled at him the first night. He remained intent on the date displayed on the complex watch. The last couple of days had been a blur, and his head was still aching. He felt confused. He wondered if his brain was going mushy. What was he going to do now? How was he going to get out of this?
“Where is room service with my telephone?” he grumbled. He had to get to Santa Isabel’s airport and take the first flight to the United States. But first he’d have to get a new passport and get his credit cards straightened out, then try to get his plane tickets replaced.
He couldn’t believe he had bungled his trip so badly. He had never done anythin
