Tommy Nightmare (Jenny Pox #2)
“In this part of Mexico, people knew Alexander as El Brujo, the sorcerer. His hair and eyes were dark, his skin a deep bronze from life in the sun. He wore a black Egyptian cotton t-shirt and dark, mirrored sunglasses. From a distance, it would be hard to guess that he was a gringo from Brentwood, a recent Stanford drop-out pursuing an interesting opportunity south of the border.
Inside the truck, three dead bodies lay in a puddle on the floor, flies already crawling on them as they rotted in th...e heat. The fourth bandito, the one that was still alive, knelt with his hands roped behind him. One eye was swollen shut, and he bled from both nostrils, but he kept his spine upright like a well-trained soldier.
The survivor was tough and wouldn’t speak, and this was why Papa Calderòn had sent in El Brujo.
“Hello, Carlos.” Alexander spoke to him in Spanish. Alexander had known both English and Spanish from the moment he was born, along with hundreds of other languages, most of them dead.MoreLess
Inside the truck, three dead bodies lay in a puddle on the floor, flies already crawling on them as they rotted in th...e heat. The fourth bandito, the one that was still alive, knelt with his hands roped behind him. One eye was swollen shut, and he bled from both nostrils, but he kept his spine upright like a well-trained soldier.
The survivor was tough and wouldn’t speak, and this was why Papa Calderòn had sent in El Brujo.
“Hello, Carlos.” Alexander spoke to him in Spanish. Alexander had known both English and Spanish from the moment he was born, along with hundreds of other languages, most of them dead.MoreLess
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