Jorge, dressed in his favorite brown leather bomber jacket and a simple pair of jeans and black t-shirt, looked up at the sign outside of the Natural History Museum. The last time that he was here it was to rescue Agnes from the media storm of the altercation that occurred between her and another insect manipulating mutant. It was a terrifying time for the girl and the museum was in shambles. So many people had gotten hurt but the museum received no bad press for it, surprisingly. It was all the mutant’s fault. But that did not mean that the part of the museum did not have to be shut down. Insects were running loose for weeks, and the clean up was a mess.

But now…they were reopening that wing with a new exhibit “Deities of Meso-America”. It was a traveling collection that was stopping by in New York which displayed a series of religion related relics that were recently discovered. Nearly all the cultures were a part of it, including the Aztecs, Mayans and the Olmecs. Jorge of course could not pass up seeing something like this.

He frowned a little as he climbed the steps of the museum. He had hoped that Gemma would have gone with him, but work apparently called her away and she did not want him to waste the ticket. It was a battle of wills but in the end she managed to win out and forced the detective to go by himself. She said she knew how much he wanted to see this exhibit and that just because she had to work that it was not right that he missed out on it too. Besides…she wanted brochures and a souvenir.

So that was why the detective found himself walking up to the large steps of the museum and headed for the front doors. He dearly loved Gemma and wished she could join him, but he would make sure to get her an extra nice gift from the exhibit.

Hands in his pockets, Jorge walked to the front door and stood in line. A young blonde woman was taking the tickets from the visitors, handing out brochures and greeting them all with the warmest of smiles. It was obvious that she was practiced at this job or she really just seemed to like it that much. Whatever the case, when he walked up, she beamed and held out her hand.

“Ticket please,” she asked jovially.

Jorge smirked and nodded as he reached into his jacket’s pocket and pulled the small ticket free. He handed it over. Once she had taken it, she pulled a leaflet and brochure and ticket stub from the table nearby and handed it over.

“Thank you very much, you have a wonderful time now.”

“Thank you.” Jorge responded before he stopped. “Oh, um, can I have a second brochure, for my girlfriend, please?”

“Of course! Sorry she couldn’t make it. Have a lovely time!” she said as she snatched up a second brochure and held it out for Jorge to grab.

“Thank you again,” he smirked as he took the brochure and headed inside.

Vicente stared. He stood inside the Meso-American exhibit in the Natural History Museum looking at a rather large, life-size sculpture of Mictantecuhtli one of the many Aztect gods of the underworld. That large skull face with the eyeballs still in the sockets, the splattered blood over this skeletal form, Vicente looked at the deity with type of reverence. So many dead he has sent into Mictantecuhtli’s kingdom. He wondered if the deity actually knew he existed. He should. After all, Vicente was a nahual. The Nahual, humans with the ability to transform into animals, were protected by one of Mictantecuhtli’s fellow gods, Tezcatlipoca. With so many dead sent into his realm, Vicente should have been noticed.

But the assassin sighed as he stepped back a little, still looking at the statue. It was obvious that the gods were not going to greet him today. Besides, he could not blame them. Why would they want to make themselves known here?

A glance around and Vicente sighed. The masses of people were fluttering from one exhibit to another while tour guides made mockeries of these gods and goddesses. They incorrectly pronounced their sacred names, they mislabeled which gods belonged to which cultures, one of those crude guides even had to audacity to claim that some of these statues were rather grotesque and were used to make the civilizations fear NOT worshipping them.

He ground his teeth.

He knew that was not true. It was not fear that seized the hearts of the people, it was real love and worship. They respected these gods and they did not see them as grotesque. The very thought that the guide could spread such misleading information made him growl deep in his throat. This whole display was absolute insanity.

Shaking his head he turned and began to stroll away from that tour group. The last thing he wanted to do was kill someone because they were irritating him. This was his night off, as ritual demanded. He would shed no blood tonight because tomorrow he would start his cleansing ritual. To do so meant that he needed to not shed another person’s blood for a week.

But being around people like that would definitely make the week long.

He sighed, shook his head, and continued on. He needed another distraction so he could enjoy the beauty of these statues…

“Wow.”

Jorge was impressed by the complete transformation of the room. The last that he looked in here, it had destroyed aquariums, insects running loose, and the sight of paramedics aiding and moving several fallen people. It looked almost as if the museum decided to use the incident as an excuse in order to remodel the entire space. There was a fresh coat of paint, several new pillars that were not there before, and obvious all the old banners and set-ups from the bug expo had disappeared long ago. Now with fresh tiled floors, the detective had to nod. It certainly made a pretty sight.

All around him he would see glass display cases that featured a variety of smaller artifacts, including pottery, stone tablets, even replicas of ceremonial wear on mannequins for certain exhibits. Tour guides were skittering about left and right, guiding small groups of people to the various rooms and displays, while others seemed to be happy just wandering around on their own.

That was going to be the case for Jorge. He did not want a tour guide, simply because he would rather take his time in enjoying each display, than rushing off on an opening night to see everything before they closed. So, with that in mind, Jorge wandered to a table that was labeled as “self-touring” and picked up a small packet that contained pictures and information on all of the items that were being displayed. That should serve him nicely.

Wandering away, the detective dodged around a pair of kids with what seemed to be their father as the looked at a rather gruesome mask of a deity labeled as Tezcatlipoca Mask. The jade work was absolutely beautiful on it, but the most disturbing were the teeth that it held. For a second Jorge really did not know if he wanted to believe that they were real or not. But he had to admit that it was exceptional work from an exceptional people…

“Ewwwww!” one of the kids eloquently said.

“Needs to brush his teeth,” another comment in response.

Their father chuckled as he reached over and rustled the blond hair atop their heads. “Come on, guys. Give it a chance. This is educational.”

“This is boring,” the first blue eyed child responded with a groan.

“Now, now, don’t complain in front of…Te-Tease…cat…lil…polka,” the father said, attempting to pronounce the name. “Or he’ll eat you up at night! Grrrrr!”

Jorge only smirked and shook his head but just as he was about to walk away, he noticed a very brutal looking, mountain of a man step up to the exhibit. His eyebrow was arched as his lips were set into a thin grimace with a thick black mustache over his upper lip. He was tall, much taller than Jorge, and glanced down at the father and pair of blonde kids.

Vicente had been looking at another exhibit when he saw the short, portly man walk by with the two brats in tow. He shook his head, willing the trio to not be as stupid as they looked, but as he stood there, looking at another display, he heard their voices drift out from the ether of the universe and, try as he might to ignore it, their voices managed to creep in and tickle his ears.

>> “Ewwwww!”

>> “Needs to brush his teeth.”

>> “Come on, guys. Give it a chance. This is educational.”

Vicente wanted to rip his own ears off. He knew he was on his pre-ritual cleansing right now and that meant that he could not shed blood, but it was a difficult temptation to hold back. Nothing would have made him feel better than to end the life of that pathetic man. He could look at it as natural selection. After all, he could not bear to have them living and populating the earth with their interiority. But Vicente, after choking back a snarl, took a breath and calmed down. After all, there was no point in taking the life of someone if he was not being paid for it.

Shaking his head he prepared to move on again. He adjusted the simply black leather jacket he wore over his white first and turned on his boot-clad heels. He would simply remove himself from the aggravating situation.

But just as he was about to walk, he heard the most horrendous sound to his ears…

>> “Now, now, don’t complain in front of…Te-Tease…Cat…Lil…Polka…Or he’ll eat you up at night! Grrrrr!”

*SNAP!*

Turning back around, he could not help himself. Though he was banned from killing anyone for another week, the assassin could not help himself. Cracking his neck to the side, the imposing man sighed as he stormed towards the small gathering, including another man of Latino decent who was not saying anything about these people’s horrendous pronunciation of the great deity’s name. He was probably one of those who followed the mainstream religions. He couldn’t blame him, he probably didn’t know any better. But these three…

He stood behind them, glanced to the second man that was there, and then turned back to the others…

“Tehs-cah-tlee-poh'-cah,” he pronounced.

The father jumped and spun around. Startled, he grabbed his children’s hands as he looked up meekly at the much taller newcomer.

“W-What? I’m sorry, I don’t speak Mexican…”

Vicente sighed as he rolled his eyes. “Tehs-cah-tlee-poh'-cah,” he said again. “That’s how you pronounce the name.” he then gestured to the mask again. “He was one of the omnipotent gods. Both he and his brother Quetzalcoatl joined forces to create the world. While Quetzalcoatl is the hero, Tezcatlipoca is his anti-thesis. God of the night, the dead, warriors, and main rival to his brother. He is not some…boogeyman…to startle children. Though…he is definitely not a deity you care to cross.” He added with a smirk.

Vicente could have laughed at the expression on the father’s face. But he did not. Instead he remained looking dead serious and glanced at the second man briefly before turning his attention back. Yes…education was fun.

>> “He is not some…boogeyman…to startle children. Though…he is definitely not a deity you care to cross.”

Despite the reassurance, Jorge observed that the father of two look just as disturbed as it that deity were standing in flesh and blood directly in front of him. He was scared but Jorge was not one-hundred percent sure it was because of what the newcomer had said. It more because of the way that he had said it. There was a fervor about his voice, something that seemed to announce that he knew about this from more than just from idle book reading. The man acted as if he lived this knowledge as truths to his everyday life.

The pressing tone of his voice, though, did have an effect on the man he was speaking to. The cowering father of two nodded fiercely that he understood and then stepped off to the side, keeping his kids behind him as he tried to scuttle away for some dark corner amidst his children’s curious questions.

“Daddy, why are you sweating?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Why does that old man look so funny?”

When that last question was ask, the man’s eyes seemed to want to bulge out of his head as he grabbed his children’s hands and proceeded to bolt off into the another corner of the museum. Jorge only watched them go in astonishment. That certainly was a display. It was only once they were gone that Jorge turned his eyes back to the much taller and imposing man.

He was tall indeed, but also well muscular. He looked more like a thug than some holder of such information. With this long-haired and mustachioed man, it was obvious that looks could very well be deceiving and if there was anything that Jorge knew was that looks could definitely be deceiving. But still, he got a kind of bad vibe off the man. But that did not mean he should allow himself to jump to conclusions. Instead he merely offered him a half-friendly smile and nod.

“Impressive,” he said quietly as he turned to look back at the mask. “You should be with the tour. Seem to know more about this stuff than any of the others.”

Vicente smirked as the man ran off.

He had a feeling that this little speech was going to intimidate him but he was a little surprised by how much. After all, the man was in front of his children. Who wants to look so weak in front of their own offspring? Then again, maybe that thought was a little archaic, but his own father was an archaic person. His dad had to always keep up the appearance of strength and that was why Vicente never looked at him as if he were a weakly. The man knew better and knew most of all that a man was always appear as a man.

Apparently these ideals were no longer so prevalent. At least that was the way that Vicente looked at it. He shook his head as he turned back around and noted that the second man was still there.

He was shorter than him, but he seemed to be of the same descent as himself. But what drew his attention most, and what made him not immediately pass him off, were the eyes. Those dark, earthy eyes were that of a warrior. To Vicente this man looked as if he had seen his own type of battlefield many times over. He was shorter but he was strongly built and it was maintained, not something he was just naturally gifted with. Maybe he was in the same field as himself? If there was one thing that Vicente was sure about was that hitmen/women were not in short supply in this city.

Who was this man? A rival? Competition? An enemy? He didn’t know, but he knew better than to blatantly ask. Still though…he was curious. He merely gave the man a slight and respect nod before he went back to enjoying the mask. Then he responded…

>> “Impressive…You should be with the tour. Seem to know more about this stuff than any of the others.”

Vicente snorted.

“Please, these fools don’t know half the thing about Meso-American folklore,” he muttered and shook his head. “Pathetic that they’re the only ones here that can teach these people about this.” He said as he nodded to the mask again. He glanced to the man and spoke up. “You knowledgeable? I mean, you follow the belief?”

It was a shot in the dark but it couldn’t hurt. It had been a long time since Vicente ran across another believer.

The man looked pleased with his handiwork. Jorge could only chuckle slightly to himself. He obviously had some knowledge concerning this type of mythology. Despite the man’s looks, Jorge wondered if maybe the man had made something like that his profession. Obviously he knew a lot so maybe he was a professor? An advisor to the museum? It was a leap but you never knew.

>> “Please, these fools don’t know half the thing about Meso-American folklore…Pathetic that they’re the only ones here that can teach these people about this…”

Jorge smirked and said nothing in response as he glanced back to the man. He definitely spoke with a fervor that was just a little startling. He acted as if these myths were a truth and fact that he lived every day. And while the detective did not disparage against anyone and their beliefs, there did seem to be some kind of fanatical tone to his voice. Plus…why was he getting a bad vibe? It was not as if the man had done anything wrong except scare off an ignorant man and his two kids. He couldn’t really arrest him for that.

>> “You knowledgeable? I mean, you follow the belief?”[/color]

Jorge arched a brow as he glanced at the man again. Gently he shook his head as he turned back to admire the statue.

“No,” he said. “I only know what I’ve read about in books here and there. Nothing too extensive. I was raised Christian.”

He noted that there seemed to be a slight disappointment in the man’s face. But it was not totally disappointment, it was more like…he pitied Jorge. But why? Part of him simply wondered if he was reading too much into the looks and gestures of the man.

He shrugged.

“I was always curious, though,” he said with a slight nod. “Their whole mythos is…set apart. It’s different than other polytheistic cultures.”

>> “No…I only know what I’ve read about in books here and there. Nothing too extensive. I was raised Christian.”

Vicente frowned just slightly. He was not surprised by the man’s admission. After all, the mainstream religions have a strong foothold in the Latino cultures here in America and it was not entirely their own fault. With the coming of the conquistadores and pilgrims and various other Christian following cultures, it was no wonder that many of the homegrown cultures were converted or lost their down beliefs over time. He was sure that his father was one of the last people to actually practice this following.

It was a shame though. Vicente always shook his head whenever he watched his own people walk into huge churches to pray along with the masses. They were stripped of their real identities that they did not even know it.

That was why he pitied this man right now. He had the warriors eyes, a spirit he could see that bore the marks of the modern battlefield, and yet he knew nothing of the fact that the mask he stared at right now, the mask of Tezcatlipoca, was that of his own god, an omnipotent god of warriors. Nor did he know that upon his death he would meet Teoyaomicqui, the god of those whom died on the battlefield. Without such knowledge, this man’s soul would surely be lost to that faceless Authority that gripped the mainstream religion.

Another sheep taken away to the slaughter. It was sad…

>> “I was always curious, though…Their whole mythos is…set apart. It’s different than other polytheistic cultures.”

Vicente smirked as he heard the man speak. So…he was not a complete loss and waste of skin. Maybe there was an intelligent mind in that skull of his after all that was not completely washed away by the Authority.

“You should look into it,” Vicente responded. “You may find it more agreeable than the beliefs that are currently gripping our people.” He cracked his neck to the side before he held out his massive bear paw of a hand towards the man. “Rafael de Sol.”

Because…obviously he could not give this stranger his real name. At least not until he knew he could trust this fellow warrior.

>> “You should look into it…You may find it more agreeable than the beliefs that are currently gripping our people.”[/i]

Jorge glanced at the man but said nothing right away.

In that moment he began to think back. Was he really all that religious to begin with? Yes, when he was a kid his parents dragged him to many church gatherings, especially after his mutant powers developed. They did not fear him or think that he was some revulsion from god that needed to have his soul prayed for. Instead they wanted him to go so he could seek answers, so he could find some of his own peace of mind rather than blindly wander through the rest of his life.

And for a time he was touched. Truly he was. He believed and he prayed and he had faith that things would always work out.

Then he became a cop and he saw the depths that many human minds can descend to. It may seem that in a time like that, people should be more willing to keep their faith strong. They should be able to remember what that at the core, mankind is still capable of great good. But after some of things that he has seen…he was not so sure anymore.

Yet, even through his doubt, his last resort was always to fall back on faith that things would work out for the best.

But following a different belief? The detective was not so sure about that. He would listen respectfully to the man, but he was not really interested in looking into a new religion. Yet, as he stood there, he noticed the man suddenly hold out his hand to shake…

>> “Rafael de Sol.”

A small smirk and Jorge reached out and shook his hand. There was a momentary testing of eachother’s grip, which Jorge surprisingly won, before he nodded and responded.

“Jorge,” he said with a short nod. “Nice to meet you Mr. de Sol.”

Vicente grinned as the man took his hand. The second he did, the assassin attempted to squeeze his hand to test his grip. But it was not only a machismo type of thing, he was using the palm of his hand to feel the texture of the other’s. A lot can be gleaned about a person just from the grip they had and this man’s definitely had a story to tell.

As Vicente stood there, his hand gripping the others, he felt his grip tighten in response. In doing so, not only was the assassin able to gauge the strength that the man, but he felt the coarse and rough patches inside of the palm. He could feel that the man had obviously used a gun before, as a matter of fact several times. He was a worker, a hard one at that, but he was a warrior on top of all that. It seemed that his first impression of the man had been the correct one…

He must have had a story to tell. But what was it? It was like two warriors meeting each other’s respectful gaze on the battlefield. He began to wonder…just how strong a warrior was he?

He shook his hand firmly and nodded as the man revealed his name in response…

>> “Jorge…Nice to meet you Mr. de Sol.”

Jorge? A name meaning “peasant” or “farmer” and yet he had a warriors spirit about him? Now that only added to the mysterious of this man. His name was that of a common and yet the blessing of Tezcatlipoca was upon him? The idea made the assassin smirk and appreciate the situation all the more. Maybe by using someone with such a common name to have this aura, the spirits have a grander plan for him? It was an intriguing thought, and one that made Vicente want to stick close to that man all the more.

He nodded his head in response.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Jorge.” said with a grin. He then patted Jorge’s shoulder and nodded to another exhibit. “Come on, if you’re really interested, you’ll like these statues over here.” he said as he led him away…

Jorge just grinned as he sat at a barstool and carefully pulled the clear glass of the bottle up to his lips, upturned it, and spilled some of the golden concoction known as Corona down into his mouth. The flavor struck him instantly but the man sighed a bit thankfully. The wedge of lime that swam inside seemed to be begging to get out of the glass bottle but there was simply no escape. It’s fate was sealed to forever swim within that alcoholic beverage and give its essence, its life, to enhance the flavor of that golden beer.

The detective adjusted his sitting on the bar stool as he reached over and grabbed a couple of pretzels from the peanut bowl and popped a few into his mouth.

His mind still reeled as he listened to the talk of the much taller Rafael whom sat next to him. At the exhibit, Jorge was escorted around by this man who explained everything he knew about the statues, their meanings and the incorrect assumptions that archaeologists had made on their plaques. Jorge, the whole time, felt like he was getting the information from the horse’s mouth. This man, seemed to really know what he was talking about and Jorge was soaking up the information like a sponge. Though Rafael presented him with no credentials and seemed to vehemently announce that he knew more about this culture than the museum did, Jorge was not inclined to disprove him. The man was interesting, a little passionate about this subject, but maybe he was just an avid reader like himself. A history buff maybe.

After checking nearly every exhibit in the museum, Jorge felt like maybe Rafael was trying to convince him of something. To be honest, Jorge had no idea of what. Though the man was adamantly bring up the folklore of the Meso-American peoples, he could not see any discernible sales pitch. What was this man after?

But before he could really explore the idea, they had seen everything in the museum. One of them suggested walking to a nearby bar where Rafael still had more to say on the subject. But on top of that it would give them a chance to drink, chat, and get the smell of dust and age out of their nostrils.

Jorge agreed.

Shrugging off the oddity of the man’s behavior and speech, the detective merely sat at the barstool and actually listened to everything Rafael had to say. The man certainly did love this religion and he seemed just slightly eager to share this with anyone whom really had an interested ear. But as he spoke, the detective had to wonder and ask…

“So, Rafael, you do seem to know more than I’ve ever heard on this subject,” he said as he took another sip of his beer. “I sounds a little more than just…a hobby. Do you…actually practice this?”

Vicente could not believe that he had actually spoken so much when he was at the museum. He was intrigued by this fellow warrior and part of him simply felt that be explaining to him the real aspects of this folklore, of the gods, goddesses, and spirits, that he would begin to tilt towards this belief. If he could rescue another warrior before he disappeared into the gapping maw of the Authority, the better. He would have hated to see someone like Jorge disappear into the church of a faceless deity who actually cared nothing about him. Who justified the actions of those whom killed and tortured those indigenous peoples whom had their whole worlds taken away from them. He was not going to allow that to happen again.

He’d save one soul at a time…

His journey through the museum with Jorge, was definitely an informative one. He was testing the man. He knew that he had the warriors spirit trapped inside the casing of an Authority taught man. But he could see deeper. He hoped that with his explanations of the religion that he might get a spark. A lit fuse that would make Jorge want to delve deeper and deeper into the stories and learn of his heritage his blood held.

Throughout the museum, as they moved from one statue, piece of stone, ornament, to another, he could indeed see that there was interest behind Jorge’s eyes. The man had a willingness to learn of where he came from. That was all that Vicente needed.

It was only after their excursion that Vicente offered to buy the man a beer. In order for them to relax after learning of the heritage and let him soak up what he learned along with a bottle of fine-tasting Corona. So here they sat, almost like old friends, as Vicente offered a pearl of wisdom or two concerning the folklore of Meso-America and the downfalls of those pulled in by the Authority. But as Vicente spoke, he had to smirk and take another sip of beer. The man was interested in the warrior he saw within him…but did he know how to tap into it?

But as he mused, Jorge spoke up with a question was inevitable.

“So, Rafael, you do seem to know more than I’ve ever heard on this subject…I sounds a little more than just…a hobby. Do you…actually practice this?”

He grinned.

Another sip of beer.

Another bite of mini pretzels.

Then he nodded.

“Yes, I do.” he said with a nod. “My…father learned from his father, and his from his own, so he taught me. And I was grateful to learn it.” Vicente sighed a bit as he thought back to his father. Wow. How long has it been since he thought about that man. The last time he saw him…he saved his life and lost his own to the cartel in the process. He never went back to see him again. Probably because he simply moved on. He glanced again to Jorge and nodded. “A lot of what he taught me makes more sense than what we have in ruling power these days. And, you know, not just anyone can learn it. And even fewer understand it.” he said.

The bait was laid. But…would Jorge pick up on it? That was the real test…

Jorge’s question seemed to hit a nerve. Not a raw one, mind you, but one that simply brought about memories. The detective knew that look of reminiscence fairly well. He had seen it in many people, including his own father who would think of days past. Those were especially frequent after they moved to Miami. Many times Jorge saw his father glance off into a distant memory, remembering their lives before they had to flee because of his mutation. So whatever it was Rafael was thinking of, it must have been particularly strong.

Then the man smiled and glanced to Jorge again.

>> “Yes, I do…My…father learned from his father, and his from his own, so he taught me. And I was grateful to learn it.”

Jorge nodded and raised his bottle of beer respectfully. Though the detective knew that families tended to have their own traditions, he never really heard of people practicing these beliefs that Rafael was talking about. That’s what made it seem just slightly strange to him. But he was not going to judge the man. He knew better than that.

Instead he took another sip as Rafael seemed to take a breath and continue on with his talk about gods, goddesses, and living folklore.

>> “A lot of what he taught me makes more sense than what we have in ruling power these days. And, you know, not just anyone can learn it. And even fewer understand it.”

Jorge arched a brow.

There was something there. Something in the man’s speech, almost like…a challenge, maybe? Was that really was he was sensing here? It was kind of silly for such a thought to come to his head. After all, he just met this man. It was not like he could be calling him out or something. But if that were so, why was his intuition going haywire? Jorge filed that thought away and decided that he could take a closer look at it later. But for now, he merely smirked at the man’s commentary.

“My father was straight up Christian,” Jorge said with a nod as he seemed to look absentmindedly out into the distance of the bar. “But…I dunno, I never turned out that way. I guess part of me just never really took to it. Heh…” he smirked. “…I really can’t remember the last time I set foot into a church…”

There, Vicente said his piece…but would the man pick up on it? He raised his beer to his father. Vicente paused for a second as he raised it back, just as respectfully.

“Gracias,” he said with a nod.

He began to respect this man, this stranger whom he had never met before. He did not know why. Maybe it was because he sensed something in him that he felt familiar. Like they were brethren, brothers fighting the same war. Vicente looked at Jorge and saw a man of similar fire and passion who only needed the right outlet. He just needed to know the truth of that blood that pumped through his veins…

>> “My father was straight up Christian…But…I dunno, I never turned out that way. I guess part of me just never really took to it.”

Vicente smirked a bit more.

He bit.

Oh, there was a slight bit of resistance but the simple fact that the man knew that something was off was just proof enough for him that he was not completely lost.

>> “Heh…I really can’t remember the last time I set foot into a church…”

Vicente nodded as he listened intently. He knew what it was that kept Jorge out of the faux-gilded doors of the Authority. It was nothing that had to do with a waning interest, but it was the warrior’s spirit within the man that told him that his current beliefs were wrong. It was fighting, attempting to get out and trying its damnedest to break free. It was an ill fit for the man and his soul knew it. That’s what kept Jorge was setting foot within.

For Vicente, that was really all the proof he needed.

Another sip of beer and Vicente placed the cool bottle on the counter before he glanced back over to his newfound “friend.” “Jorge…would you care to learn about who you really are?”

>> “Jorge…would you care to learn about who you really are?”

Theeeeeeeeeeeere it is, Jorge thought.

He knew something sounded funny this whole night and he guessed with that one statement he finally got what it was. For a second Jorge felt like he was talking to a Jehovah’s Witness for Aztec Gods. Was this man really trying to convert him? Could that have been the ploy behind the man’s whole speech? To their whole evening? The detective would not have been surprised, though at the same time he was. Normally he had a pretty good radar when someone was trying to sell him something and this man was definitely trying to sell him something.

With an odd little smirk on his face, Jorge just took another sip of his beer as he looked at that sly look the man had in his eyes. He was really serious, wasn’t he? Did Rafael really think that he had some kind of insight into his soul?

Jorge wanted to laugh out loud, shake his head, thank Rafael for the beer and then leave. But if there was one thing that the detective was not, was rude. There had to be a polite way for him to get out of there and not appear so rude to this man.

Another sip and Jorge was still no closer to finding the answer.

One more and a bite of pretzel…and still nothing.

He sighed as he glanced to Rafael and just offered him a light, friendly smile.

“Listen, thanks for the beer, man,” Jorge said as he set his bottle down. “But seriously, my lifes too busy for God or even a pantheon of Gods. But, like I said, no offense, thanks, but no thanks…”