Viejo brought the jeep to a skidding standstill in front of the residence hall, a square, squat, two-story building. Carlos patted his shoulder and climbed out, apparently unfazed by the man’s driving.
He said something to Viejo in a language I didn’t understand, then turned to me. “Come, my friend.” He took my briefcase.
I swallowed, tightened my grip on my suitcase, and had no sooner gotten out of the jeep, than Viejo took off, nearly clipping my ass.
“You are all right, David?”
I swallowed again and nodded. “What’s got his ass in a snit?” I felt my face heat up. “I beg your pardon, Carlos.”
“No need.” He sighed and touched my shoulder, urging me toward the building. He held the door open and gestured for me to enter ahead of him, then let the door swing shut behind us. “His mother
