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pension, but even the prospect of that failed to brighten my spirits. A call from my brother, King, who reached me on my cell phone in the Rochester air terminal, only served as a reminder of another way to live.
    “Sky, it’s King.”
    “King, where are you?”
    I habitually asked my brother where he was whenever he called, then held my breath and waited for the answer. My fear, culled from experience, was that he’d say, “jail,” and I’d be forced to go bail him out. Fortunately, this wasn’t such an occasion, but it was close.
    “I’m in Caqueta.”
    “Where the hell’s that?”
    “Colombia. I joined FARC.”
    “FARC?”
    “The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia. Don’t you read the papers? We’re fighting a war down here.”
    “Yes, I read the papers. What in God’s name are you doing down there?”
    “Well, this week I’m getting my automatic weapon training.”
    FARC, a Marxist guerrilla organization that had fought against the conservative Colombian government and its armed forces for fifty years, had evolved from a legitimate movement of political insurrection to little more than a protection service for drug kingpins.
    “You’ve got to get
out
of there!”
    “Not a chance. I’m here to help the oppressed people of this country.”
    “King, I don’t think FARC’s updated its recruiting pamphlet. The people of Colombia are fleeing out of fear. You’re not going to be helping them. You’re going to be conducting kidnappings and making sure the coca and poppy plants are safe for the drug cartels. Do you understand? You’ll be working to help drug dealers. Is that what you want to be doing?”
    “Well, no. But the guy who hired me didn’t say anything about that.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “To be honest, he was talking awfully fast and you know my Spanish isn’t that great, so maybe. Have you heard of El Jefe? That’s my boss.”
    “El Heffay? The guy who has all the Bogota journalists and judges executed? Have you gone completely out of your mind?”
    “Those are just rumors. He seems like a great guy. Really personable. Look, I need the money, Sky. What can I do?”
    “How about trying a different line of work? Maybe a job with a nice 401(k) plan; one that doesn’t require a bulletproof vest.”
    “This pays better than anything I can get up in the States. No health or dental, but lots of cash. Plus, I’m not violating any laws.”
    “Since when was drug-running legal?”
    “I don’t run drugs.
    “Then what is it that you do?”
    “I drive El Jefe around. You know, from one hideout to another. He’s always worried about assassination attempts, so he sleeps in a different place every night. It’s kind of exciting. And let me tell you, this guy knows how to live. I haven’t seen this much leg since that winter I spent as a water aerobics instructor for Carnival out of Miami.”
    “Why don’t you come up to Rochester for a visit? I’d love to see you.” With grave danger imminent, lying was necessary.
    “Oh, I don’t know, Sky. I’d really like to get there. Believe me, I would. It’s just hard to make plans that far in advance.”
    “What are you talking about? You can come anytime you like.”
    “Yeah, I know, but with El Jefe, every day is a lifetime.”
    “I can imagine,” I said, my concern growing. “You really should come up. I can get some tickets for the Red Wings or something. Would you like that?”
    Watching the Rochester Red Wings, the city’s AAA baseball team and affiliate to the Minnesota Twins, was as tempting a brother-to-brother outing as I could use to entice King. We’d grown up in the upper decks of Silver Stadium rooting against the likes of the Toledo Mudhens and the Tidewater Tides, urging our Wings on to the Governor’s Cup, the greatest heights one can reach at the Triple-A level.
    “I’d love it. I haven’t been to a Wings game in years.”
    “They’ve got a beautiful new stadium. It’s called Frontier Field.”
    “If I