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... Estrella Roja, a smoky tango bar in San Cristóbal.
It was past midnight. The band had gone home. The drunks had stumbled out.
Only the bar’s ghosts remained, hollow men, bitter women, and those with no past and less future.
Kurt sat at the corner table, back to the wall, eyes half-lidded like a serpent watching mice perform theater.
His coat was draped over the chair next to him, revealing the black leather holster beneath his arm.
Not concealed. Just pre ...
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