Hector lowered his gun. "Keep your secrets," he said, turning toward the exit. "But remember: eventually, even the ghosts have to go home."
He spent the next three days walking the streets, a ghost among ghosts. He talked to the shoe-shiners in the Zócalo, the taco vendors in Tepito, and the tired clerks in the city archives. He didn't ask for the man’s name; he asked for his habits. He learned the Gray Ghost liked his coffee black at Café La Habana and that he always carried a briefcase that looked heavier than it should. BelascoarГЎn PI
The man finally looked at him. His eyes were flat, like polished stone. "What do you want, Hector? I’m just a man cleaning up the past." Hector lowered his gun