"It will do you good, Mateo."
"I like it. But try to make anyone believe it back home!"
At the fourth block Hall and Duarte started to detour around a trolley car which had stopped in the middle of a crossing. A dozen hands reached down from the crowded roof. "Compañeros! Take our hands! Climb up! Take our hands! We want a speech!"
"Long live Mexico! Homage to Colonel Felipe Duarte, Counselor of the Mexican Embassy and hero of the war against the fascists in Spain!"
Duarte had to join the crowd on the roof of the stalled train. He made a short speech about Mexico, Republican Spain, and the greatness of Anibal Tabio.
Two more blocks of happy, cheering Hermanitos. Vivas, salutes for the American flag and the Mexican uniform. Men in dungarees and heavy shoes saluting the flag and the uniform with clenched fists. Young women and old men who embraced Hall and Duarte. Even an ancient with a nicotine-yellowed white beard, who wiggled out of one crowd, tore the flag out of Hall's hand, kissed it, and then handed it back to the American with an embrace and a viva for Voodro Veelson.
They were relaxing over a beer in Duarte's office when the explosion came.
"What the hell...?" Hall cried.
There were two explosions. A little one, like the crack of a distant artillery piece in the mountains and then a louder, deep-toned whoosh of a noise. They had both heard such noises before.