The rains had started and the mountains were greening in a place that could be mistaken for parts of Arizona. The humidity was killing. You felt like a fish without gills, but no fish was this hot and lived. The flight into del Cabo wrote the story of two worlds in collision. The high tech world to the north and this poor, tourist town Peninsula, rising and falling on the waves of the American economy. A van was waiting for the 70 mile trip up the coast to Los Barriles, where the big one lived. He had almost been taken before, the bait played with, the brief flights, the spray rocketing toward the moon. He had listened to the sounds of voices for the first time, screaming, yelling for blood. His blood.

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