Reminded me of ex-wife #2. Now there was a story. Met her when I was working that drug case in Cartagena. Jesus, but I must have been crazy to take that job. You'd think I'd have taken a cue from the local policia and the Colombian navy. They knew to leave well enough alone, but did I? Not only no, but hell no. All the same I wasn't going to argue with a fat cash advance and a first class ticket on . I figured a little R & R south of the border would do me good. I needed a break from the L.A. smog.

The captain of Cartagena's finest wasn't too supportive when I told him my intentions. The fact that I was down there poking around made it seem as though his officers couldn't solve the murder of a gringo pack mule who just happened to be the son of a California state senator. It wasn't that they couldn't, more like they wouldn't. Who could blame them? War in the cocaine trenches was very hazardous to one's health. He refused my request to see the file on the investigation. I got the impression there had not been much of an investigation. What would have been the use? My own hunch was that Surfer-dude had gotten a little too selfish with the nose candy and had been skimming too much off the top. Probably one of the cartel's lieutenants had taken care of the "problem." All I wanted was a name or two I could pass along to the senator so as to set the wheels of political favors in motion. Looked like I wasn't even going to get that. The captain's eyes were red and dilated, and his nostrils were rimmed with white powder. I got the distinct impression I wasn't dealing with a rational man. He stood up menacingly and put a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Gringo loco," he said, "I tell you la verdad. Continue with this investigation and it will end badly for you, perhaps at the bottom of the ocean as food for all the little pescados. And I don't like all the paperwork involved. Leave my country or I will shoot you myself."

Okay, I could take a hint. I left his office. So much for my political aspirations, I thought. The senator wouldn't be happy. I would be lucky if I got to keep my private investigator's license after this case. Nothing much to do now but enjoy the weather for a few days, spend the rest of the retainer, and look for the nearest cantina.

I was sitting in a sidewalk cafe, the seal newly broken on a bottle of Tres Esquinas when she walked by. God, what a dish. Long black hair worn freely, lightly brushing her waist. Sultry eyes burning like two black coals. Full lips slightly parted. Legs all the way up.

Raoul noticed my interest. "Oh,gringo, he said, half laughing, half apologetically, she es muy expensive. But," he shrugged, if you have the dinero, I would be most happy to make the introductions. For a price, of course."

"Of course," I said cynically. "I thought you were my amigo, you opportunistic bastard. Why don't you ever consider doing some pro bono work once in a while? It would be good public relations, you know? Good for the tourista trade. So how many Simon Bolivar's is this going to cost me?"

"Only one thousand pesos for my time. I am only too happy to make this introduction," he said, faking humbleness. "My children thank you. And you may want to know," he added, "her name is Jasmine."

Jasmine. Pretty name. We didn't talk much. But she understood only too well that I had a small bank roll I didn't mind going through post haste. She showed me the underbelly of Cartagena, a seamier side of the city that the touristas don't usually see. When the money began to run short she arranged for transportation by bus to Cali, where she had people. We stayed with her mother, who made me right off, and took an instant disliking to me. Par for the course. I didn't care. Perhaps it was all that time we spent in bed during the day, and all the Tres Esquinas we drank at night that clinched it for her.

Jasmine had brothers that worked at night in the jungle, in the "labs" where they processed the cocaine. They began to get a little suspicious about my relationship with their sister, what I was doing so far from the sweet confines of L.A., and my profession as an investigador. It didn't take much convincing from the working end of an Uzi that I had worn out my welcome. It was time to head back to Cartagena, and from there to the airport and the City Of The Angels. Jasmine begged to come with me. I foolishly believed her when she said that she had fallen in love with me and that she was pregnant with my baby. We got a quickie marriage in Cartagena, and she had a friend at the Embassy who pushed the paperwork through to get her passport in order. It all happened so fast.

Long story short, she got to L.A. and realized that life with me was less than glamourous. Not what the glossy photos in the travel guides had promised, evidently. She miscarried and became despondent and dissatisfied with me and my love affair with Four Roses. It didn't take her long to locate some of her Colombian compadres that she had known from Cali, and begin life in the fast lane. I couldn't compete with Mercedes Benz and celebrity studded parties in the Hollywood Hills.

So now this tour guide reminded me of her. What the hey, I had time to kill. I sauntered up and delivered my standard line.

"I can name all three of the Hudson Brothers," I said. She gave me the once over, then began looking around in case she needed to call a cop. If only she knew at this moment how harmless I really was, I thought. I still couldn't get that crazy dream out of my head. The secret is in the sauce. Three Hands was always munching tostada chips dipped in Screamin' Mimi's Sweet Hotter Sauce. I couldn't get the idea of poison out of my mind. Yeah, he had been shot, but maybe that was an afterthought, to throw the cops off the trail. Pure conjecture at this point. I could be dead wrong. It wouldn't be the first or the last time. Just like I had been duped by Jasmine. Legwork needed to be done. Who would want him dead, and why? Did he owe money? Did he have any bad habits? Gambling? Drugs? Did he like the ladies? Was he sleeping with someone's wife? Maybe Phil could shed some light on this. But first, the dish....