Hector stood amidst crowded buildings nestled on the hillside. Straight ahead, he could make out the tall rise of a reinforced wall. The border was near. The answer to all my problems. Safety, so close.

He was 100 pesos poorer once Sanchez had dropped him and Dog off at the border town of Santa Batempa. Unlike La Piedad, the town was huge- houses were packed together like sardines, and the streets were filled with an omnipresent bustle of people. The smell of fried food floated through the narrow streets, mingling with the noise of a thousand voices shouting all at once. Hector both liked and disliked busy towns. It was easy to blend in with the crowd in such a place and thusly avoid detection, but there were two sides to that coin- anyone hunting you would have an easy time concealing themselves, and no one could be trusted.

Hector strode through the streets with Dog following close behind. How to get past the border? He had mentally proposed and rejected three plans already. The idea of simply walking into the US, going right past the guards, seemed too easy. What if I get pulled aside by some border guard and searched? I have a rifle, a load of money, and illegal substances. That wouldn’t look good to any guard. Maybe I could bribe them? But then that might not work… His mind raced, trying to put together a puzzle that, completed, would land him safely on the other side of the walls. In the United States. Where, hopefully, he would be safe from both the Mexican police and Flores’ hunters. Maybe they’ve given up the hunt by now. Flores can’t look for me forever, can he? Hector sincerely hoped that they had.

He made his way down the main street, trying to pry his way between the hordes of people coming to get across the border. It certainly looked as if he could walk through into America- with this many people, any border guard who did notice him would have a hard time getting to him in time. And it isn’t likely for anyone to specifically pull me over. I hope so.

He turned down an alleyway to rest- it was empty of the mass of people who cluttered the main streets. He leaned against the wall of one building while Dog busied itself in sniffing around on the ground. A man sat against one side of the alley, dressed in blue jeans and an unbuttoned black button-up shirt. He swiveled his head slowly, analyzing Hector. Hector nodded in greeting and prepared to move on- but then he froze. Wait a second. The man had half-risen to his feet, his left hand inside of his shirt. He stared at Hector as if trying to figure out where he had seen him before.

A creeping sensation, like a malnourished tarantula with a caffeine overdose, stumbled up Hector’s back. The man rose fully, his expression changing from recognition to amiability. Apparently unconcerned, he started to walk out of the alley into the main street, nodding at Hector in a late reply.

Suddenly, everything started to go horribly wrong.

As soon as the man passed Hector, he turned, yanked a pistol from somewhere, aimed, and fired. The bullet snapped past, eight inches from Hector’s temple, and ricocheted dangerously in the alleyway.

He immediately dropped to the ground, and on an impulse decision, sprinted towards the man. The gun went off again as they collided, sending a bullet into the sky. Shouting and screaming came from outside the alleyway. The man was strong and a tough fighter, and it wasn’t long before Hector was in dire straits. The man was nearly on top of him, and once he was pinned down, he wouldn’t have a chance.

Then Dog arrived.

With a roar of canine rage, the gray animal lunged for the assassin and sunk its teeth into his shoulder. The man screamed in pain while Dog held on. Hector moved at the opportunity. While the attacker was distracted, he rolled. Soon he was on top of the man, pinning his gun arm to the ground. Dog had released its death grip and stood glaring at the man in a way that signified just how much the canine would like to rip his throat out.

“Who are you!? What do you want?! Tell me!” Hector yelled at the man. It could be just some thug. Not one of Flores’ men. Surely Flores wouldn’t hire such a young man for a mercenary. Indeed, Hector’s assailant looked to be about 20 years old, although it was hard to be sure. He struggled vainly, trying to break loose, but Hector held him tightly.

Hector posed the question again, this time with less volume as his mind regained control and adrenaline faded. “Who are you? Who do you work for? Why try to kill me?”

After 30 seconds, it became clear that the man wouldn’t answer. Hector grunted in frustration and moved to grip the assassin’s neck, slowly tightening his grip like a boa constrictor. If the kid won’t talk, well then he won’t talk. For a long time.

Anger filled him, hatred seizing him just as he seized the man who had tried to kill him. Why shouldn’t I shoot him? Give him a taste of his own medicine? The man started to choke. Let him go unconscious, for all I care. Sympathy had fled from Hector’s voice. “Answer me, or else.” These last words were hammered home without emotion, and they had an impact on the man. He struggled and then tried to speak.

“Please… stop… let me… breathe…” he gasped, every word coming out with an effort. Hector acted like he hadn’t heard. “ANSWER ME!” The man started to panic. His face gradually took on a new and unhealthy shade of purple.

“I… was…” he fought to breathe. “I was… hired… by… man… Cruz…”

He promptly lost consciousness.

The malice rushed out of Hector’s head as suddenly as it had come, replaced by a mix of horror at what he had just done and fear of what was coming. What did I just- How could I have- He said-

Cruz. That was Flores’ first name.

He stood as if in a trance, brushed himself off, laid the unconscious assassin gently in a corner, and picked up the gun. I might be needing this. He was still appalled at what he had done, but that was over,. What’s done is done, and there’s nothing I can do about it now. He ran to the opposite side of the alley, away from the main street, and turned left on an impulse decision. Publicity is not what I need right now.

Dazed and weary, he slumped against the back of a building. Dog followed as if nothing had happened, gazing at him with a fond stupidity that only dogs can master.

“Thank you, Dog.” Hector petted the gray head, trying to recover his breath. I need to think. Evidently Flores hasn’t forgotten about me yet. He glanced around him quickly, analyzing his surroundings. No one was in sight. If there’s one, there’s probably more. I can’t afford to take risks. But what would be safer- hiding in a crowd, out in the main street, or sticking to empty alleys? The question had no easy answer. Current objective? Reach the border without getting killed. How did they know I’d be here? Have they been following me all this time? He couldn’t be sure, yet one thing was clear: Flores was still tracking him.

He wasn’t out of the woods yet.