Their leader jumped down from the lead jeep and climbed onto their porch.

"I am Commandante Perez. Have you heard of me?"

Consuelito looked at the tan face weathered by sun and rain. She noticed a livid scar on one cheek leading to an empty eye socket. She mentally shuttered.

"No, we haven't," said Javier. "But you have a Colombian accent. Aren't you lost?"

Perez looked at his men and they laughed with them.

"Not really. Except for the fact that we thought there were more people here."

"Maybe you're thinking of San Rafael just down the road about fifty-five clicks." He raised the beer bottle. "This is the only industry they have left, though."

"No matter. We will do our job here and then visit San Rafael."

"And what is your job here?" Consuelito bravely asked.

"To exterminate Pentecostal vermin," said Perez, drawing his gun.

Consuelito threw beer in his face and ran. Perez shot her in the back but received a crushing blow from Javier's chair seconds later. The Venezuelan had participated in many bar fights in his youth before he had settled down with Consuelito. He was mad now. He broke his beer bottle and came at Perez who was down on the ground groaning. One swipe across the man's neck and the man's life blood started to spurt out onto the stones of their little front patio.