The underlying cause of this confrontation was the large breasts and gym-honed curves of the dusky brunette at the end of the bar. Her name was Gwen. She had spent most of her time downing dirty Martinis and putting Brand in his place.

Miguel wiped the tears from his eyes. He could hardly see to drive. He was Mu-Ha now - his final test passed with flying colors. He felt real pride for a fleeting moment. For scant seconds the dying eyes of the frightened teen fell from his thoughts. The reprieve was brief. His swelling pride fell violently to guilt and despair, as the kid had fallen to his colt revolver.

He circled the pool, approaching the dark-haired beauty with measured steps. His dusty jeans and heavy work boots felt shoddy and inappropriate. He was conspicuously out of place, as if he had suddenly been transported to a tropical island and had forgotten to pack for the trip.

Bert was a tall heavy man with a full beard and expensive sunglasses. He wore slacks, a silk shirt and leather mesh sandals. He smiled at Brand as he surveyed the morning’s work. “Get to work. We’re burning daylight,” Bert called brightly. Brand registered only annoyance. “We start at seven, Bert.” “Thank god someone does. You wouldn’t believe the night I had.”

Bert made frequent trips to Mexico and was a veteran of Border town procedures. His block of instruction to Brand was simple and inviolate: Leave your truck in a parking lot on the U.S. side. Cabs were cheap and easily available. Cell phones were worthless across the border unless you ponied up sixty bucks for a month of international calling. The vegetables came from the U.S. and were usually e-coli free. It was best to exchange dollars for pesos at the bank on the square, or the locals would take liberties in their calculations of the exchange rates. Finally, and the most important, don’t buy a whore in Boy’s Town until the night shift arrives after 8 PM.

Karen considered Bert for a moment before she moved across the bar to serve another patron. “She sure is icy today,” Bert complained. “She knows you, Bert.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “How many of her girlfriends have you banged?” “How does she know about that?” Brand regarded Bert with an incredulous look. “Everyone knows.”