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<P>As distasteful as it seemed, Alex had to take the knife and press it into the little man's hands and bend the still-warm fingers around the blood-smeared handle.
He did the same with the rock, pressing it into the big man's hand, then letting it drop free and roll a few inches away, leaving its track in the blood-soaked ground.
Alex groaned and stood. He had been stabbed. But how bad he couldn't tell. At least he was still able to walk.
Dragging his feet, he turned away from the two bodies and headed for his hotel room and the chance to pull himself together.
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<P>The few blocks seemed like miles. He was gasping with pain as he reached the door to the lobby. Taking a deep breath, he shoved his way inside and stumbled across the lobby, doing his best to look like an ordinary drunk coming home. Leaning on the counter to get his key, he almost fainted. It was fortunate that the desk clerk didn't give him more than a casual glance and mumbled "Mr. Benson," before handing him his key. The clerk went back to perusing his copy of "Playboy."
Alex stepped away from the counter and froze in horror. A thin drip of blood speckled the top where he had leaned.
"Buenos noches," he said and wiped his sleeve across the edge of the counter.
"Buenos noches." The clerk didn't even raise his head. He had better things to do than look at drunken gringos. Just then he was busily spelling the English words to "Miss December" in the gatefold. His mouth watered over the photograph.
Alex, in the meanwhile limped to his room where he used his sliced open shirt as a bandage to hold in the blood. Not thinking clearly, he collapsed on the bathroom floor, falling into a shock induced sleep.
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