The Split.

November of 1992.

I was alone, picking at a fresh tamale in our rundown shack, when Larry finally returned. He looked exhausted and dirty, but there was an excited light in his eyes. He came right in, sat down across from me, and took the still-wrapped second tamale for himself.

He ate in silence until half of it was gone.

"Honey, I'm home," he said, mouth full of sweet corn.

I had a lot to tell him, but I knew he would want to go first.

"What did you find out?"

"What, no small talk? Is that what our relationship has come to? Just business?" He shook his head in mock disapproval, taking another giant bite. He threw his head back and groaned, "Is this from that guy up the road? Did you tip him?"

"Yes, and yes."

"How does he do it? Oh, I know how. Probably thirty roaches mashed up into this. But the flavor is just divine." Larry finished it in another bite, and while he was still chewing, he pointed to the one I had eaten half of, "You gonna finish that?"

I passed it to him.

He took a leading bite, and said, "Been quiet at home?"

"We had two different break-ins while you were gone, about an hour apart. Big disappointment."

Larry glanced around at the place, noticing that the doorframe was bent, and the floor was covered in muddy boot prints. "Hmm. Did you conduct any interviews?"

"I don't speak Spanish."

"Pity. I'm sure the locals know something about our mission."

"I doubt they would say anything. Big operation like that probably has eyes and ears on the local gossip, keeping everyone in line. You saw how they just let those kids go at the end of the night. They're confident no one will talk."

Larry shrugged, finishing his second tamale and wiping his mouth on the inner collar of his shirt. "Little persuasion might loosen some lips."

He casual mention of torture made me tense.

"What did you find?" I asked.

He sighed, crossing his arms and gazing at the busted door. "I followed them halfway through Honduras, but the damn car broke down. Thankfully, I had my sat phone with me. I went up the mountain and got a call in to the old red, white, and blue, and they picked up the truck by satellite in Tela – a city on the coast of Honduras. Or, I guess 'city' is a strong word."

"Did they see anything else?"

"Nope. But it's reasonable to assume that the drugs are put on a boat in Tela and shipped off to Cuba. Which makes you wonder why they based themselves in El Salvador."

"Moving expenses?"

"Or maybe they hoped no one would know where the drugs were coming from. We started with that information, but authorities at, say, a port in Cuba would think they came from Tela, and anyone in Tela might think they came from somewhere else in Honduras."

I thought about that for a moment, wondering, "Then how did we know where the factory was?"

"Good question. I'm sure the answer has about four 'classified' stamps on it. And it's irrelevant to our mission." He watched me, blue eyes strangely warm, and said, "As much as I like playing spy-detective with you, I need to know what you know."

I had been watching the factory for the last two days, returning home a few times to get robbed and eat tamales from own the road.

"Mateo runs most of the factories. I followed him from the mountain site to an industrial building just outside of the city."

"Have you seen the other brothers?"

"Just one more, Manuel. He came by the mountain site last night and Mateo spent the better part of an hour yelling at him. It seems unlikely that he's involved, but he's definitely aware."

"Manuel, the youngest, right?"

"Yeah. No more than twenty."

"He was a baby when this all started. His brothers might be keeping him out of it, or he might have a subtler role." Larry let out another deep sigh, releasing air from eating those tamales like an animal. "We need to divide and conquer again. You stay on the brothers. Find the others and figure out who goes where in the organization. Get in if you can. I'm going after the money."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't know yet. First step is to see who owns those factories and who pays the rent. Your job is much more fun, but mine requires more… delicacy."

He was insinuating that I couldn't handle following a money trail, but I let the insult slide past unchallenged. If he wanted to spend weeks sorting through papers and harassing bank employees, that was his choice. I was going back to the factory to start tailing Mateo, to start designing a web in my head to place the brothers on. Would the oldest naturally be the leader? Would the youngest be left out because he was hotheaded? Was there unrest or hostility between the brothers that I could exploit?

Would I be able to slip into their ranks?