Chapter 21: The Flamenco.

I drove us home from the airstrip and Alvaro kept his hand on my leg the entire time. He was on the phone with someone and every time he'd raise his voice I'd feel his grip tighten slightly.

He was worse on the plane. I had to put on my headphones and go sit in the room. He was a person whose basic vocabulary and his go-to proverbial was fuck and then when the word fuck wasn't getting his point across. He'd say puta which I learned was bitch in Spanish.

I was just surprised Mateo didn't pick up his language. "No," he said to someone over the phone and did that laugh. That laugh where I'd often thought he was amused but he'd end up saying something threatening. "Hijo de puta! I said I want it finished by tomorrow or else. I don't care who fucked up. Fix it." He cut the call. "La concha de tu madre."

"That sounded bad," I sighed. "Everything okay?"

"I just haven't been away for so long and I was setting up something important before we left."

"What exactly is it that you do?" It was t