“I called her. “I have some questions for you,” I said. “I can’t talk now,” she said. Her voice was low and muffled. “Can you come out to Weston?” “Yes,” I said. “When?” “How about six tomorrow morning? I’m staying at Martita’s house. Our friend will be in Boston overnight and won’t be back until late morning.” “Make sure you give the sentries a heads-up that I’m coming and that I’m friendly. Last time I visited, I almost got shot.” “I heard about that,” Carmen said. “I t...hink that guy is still looking for his rifle.” I WAS ON THE ROAD to Weston at five-thirty the next morning. The sky was reddening past the tree line and by the time I got to the gates of the Alvarez compound the sun was up. The air was cold, the temperature in the twenties, and the snow was still white and unspoiled on the ground.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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