"I couldn't do that. It's my job."
"I never hired you."
"But your father hired me." Pedro talked slowly, the Yaqui way, clicking each syllable.
A brown cricket crept over the red tiles, crept near Pedro's boots, crawled on, circling a little.
"You're no longer employed here. Go to the Banco Nacional in Colima. I'll write a note to the bank. They'll pay you off. Manuel will give you my note for the bank."
"Haven't you any money here?"
"I'll pay you through the bank. I want it that way. That way there's no question about a record of payment."
"I refuse to leave Petaca."
"I'll speak to the rurales."
Pedro lashed with the flat of his palm and smashed the cricket. He continued to squat, though he swayed on his heels.