ON SOTO'S PINKY, A FIFTEEN-CARAT DIAMOND WINKED IN competition with the diamond Rolex Presidential on his wrist. His hair, thin and matted flat with grease, showed the band from the cowboy hat that rested on the arm of his bulky leather chair. The only thing that had changed in the five years since Jose had last seen the Cougar was the plastic oxygen mask fixed to his face. He nodded at Jose, removing the mask and placing it atop the valve of the tank resting beside him on a little cart. An empty chair sat facing Soto. A small table with a silver pot of coffee and two dainty cups separated the chairs.
With a quick glance around, Jose knew the gigantic space was some kind of a cave, even though the polished granite floor, Turkish floor lamps, Oriental rug, and heavy leather chairs bespoke a palace antechamber. Soto poured from the pot a thick brown stream whose curls of steam tickled Jose's nose with the rich scent of coffee.
"I like to offer my finest coffee to my guests," Soto said in a wheezy but still sonorous voice. "It's from Jamaica. Blue Mountain. They ship it with the coke and weed. Those crazy black bastards know good cafe.''
His lips parted just a bit and the hint of a smile tugged one corner of his mouth. "Drink the coffee slow, my friend.''
Jose saw the three thin red beams, splinters of light in the black cave beyond the rug, directed at him from different angles. He looked down and watched them move in slow steady orbits around his breastbone, only slightly left of center.
Jose made a show of looking at the rug around him and said, "You get a new rug for every guest or send it out for cleaning?"
Soto finished pouring, sat back with his cup, and waved a hand.
"Don't even think about those," he said, pointing at Jose's breastbone. "It's only a precaution."
"I feel so much better. Thanks, Soto.''
After sipping the coffee, Soto lurched as though he were going to vomit, rested the cup and saucer on the arm of his chair, and quickly grasped the oxygen mask, plastering it to his face and inhaling deeply.
"Smoking?" Jose asked after he had settled down, nodding at the tank.
Soto shook his head.
"Bomb," he said, returning the mask to its tank and easing back into his chair.
Wearily, he fluttered his fingers at Jose and said, "This is why all the red dots. My life is filled with red dots now. I like that they don't seem to affect you the way they do some people."
Soto gently patted his chest. "I lost one lung and part of another, but…"
He shrugged and sipped his coffee.
"Well," Soto said, "let's talk about you. To do something this stupid, you must have a very big problem."
"Nothing you can't solve," Jose said.
Soto looked at him, unblinking. "I like to return my favors, but only to a point. Things, as you can see, are-how would you say it-constrained."
"Nothing happens in Nuevo Leon without your knowledge," Jose said, sipping from his cup.
Soto let his lids droop and he inclined his head.
"There is a factory south of Nuevo Laredo, just off the highway," Jose said. "Big place. Can't miss it. People are being shipped in there like frozen dinners. I need to know who and what and why."
Soto mashed his lips together, inhaled through his nose, and let it out. He took his own cup, lifting it daintily to his mouth as he leaned forward and said, "After what you did-betraying your own government to allow me my escape-in a strange way, I consider you a friend. A loco brother."
Soto raised the tiny cup toward Jose and said, "So I'll tell you what I know."