“Scotch,” she said. Her voice was a rasp, like a blade being dragged across a whetstone. “The cheap kind. I no longer deserve the good.”
She lifted the rifle, sighting down the barrel at a stained-glass window of a saint. The saint’s face was long gone, shattered by some long-ago bullet. black lagoon: roberta
“You fool,” she said. “You absolute fool. Did you think I came here to kill you?” “Scotch,” she said
She spread her arms wide, embracing the circle of death. “So go ahead. Give the order. Kill me. But know this: every man here is already dead. Their names are on a list I mailed to every news agency in the Americas. Their families will know what they did. Their employers will abandon them. And you, Miguel… you will die alone, in the dark, with no one to remember you but the rats.” I no longer deserve the good
She walked out into the rain, and the city swallowed her whole.
But ahead, through the rain and the mist, was the sun. And for the first time in thirty years, the Bloodhound of Florencia allowed herself to believe she might one day feel its warmth.
He turned and walked away into the fog. The others followed, one by one, until only Ochoa and Roberta remained in the clearing.