he whispered, unable to look at Conchita. Near to the bar, Marcos had now wobbled to his feet. Several girls called out to him to join them with his two hundred and fifty. They held out their arms and ran pink tongues over red lips. Esteban shuddered and looked down at his stockinged ankles. Marcos snarled at the girls, winced, touched his head and then stared at the blood on his hand. He glared at the people nearest to him, who made mock signs of surrender, while still laughing shrilly and mak- ing derisive comments to the crestfallen businessman. He fin- ally stomped out of the bar, passing Jorge and another man on the way in. The new arrival was tall, thin, prematurely grey- haired, his expression predatory. Esteban shivered. He'd seen that look on the faces of his body- guards at the airport and on the faces of the Interior Police. The man with Jorge was a killer, he didn't doubt it.

One of the girls got up and flounced over to Jorge and the slim man. While Jorge laughed, the man made a con- temptuous remark that made the girl back away, white-faced, to her companions near the door.

Jorge led the man through the bar to the stairs from where Maria and Conchita had brought the brunette girl with them. Jorge pointed to the way. The grim nod given by the slim killer made Esteban shiver vis- ibly in his frilled gown, and Conchita turned her attention away from berating the slow- ness of the bartender to see what had made her shiver so.

"Who's that?" she snapped at Maria, catching just a glimpse of Jorge and his companion ascending the stairs, neither having given a glance across the crowded bar.

Maria had also seen Irena's shocked movement. She frowned at the girl and then stood. "I'll see," she said quickly, darting away after Jorge.

Now or never, thought Esteban wildly. Conchita was still holding his wrist, but slack- ly since he had not protested the grip at all. His earrings bobbled as he looked about quickly. He would would have to fight Conchita but the others might let the brunette girl past if she did it quickly. He was reaching for the almost empty brandy bottle when Pablo, the truck driver, came strolling through the outer door- way. He saw Irena right away, and stopped, doing a slow doubletake. He had just star- ted towards them when there came the roar of an explosion from the stairwell where Maria had disappeared after Jorge and the slim man.

There was dead silence in the bar for a moment. Every head turned instinctively to the stairwell. Everybody saw the body of Jorge Frias crash down the stairs, red liquid streaming from the side of his head. A scarlet smear swept down the whitewashed wall where his head brushed against it in his fall.

was

There was a mad stampede for the exits, women and men shouting and screaming as they ran. The din of voices only interrupted by the smash- ing of glasses and bottles as tables were overturned in the panic. The sound of more shots only heightened the pan- ic, and Irena suddenly felt herself free, released, as Con- chita, too, fled with the others.

Surprisingly, Irena, for she thought of herself now as such, was quite calm. 'She' guessed that Irena's assassin had taken care of Jorge, and probably Maria in his disappointment in not finding Irena Varga. But the murderer would soon be on 'her' trail. Irena gathered skirts in hand, and ran as quick- ly as her heels would let her after two black-dressed girls who headed back behind the bar and into the wine cellar beyond. She went as fast as

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her dress, not made for running, and spike heels would allow. The tightness about 'her' upper thighs kept 'her' run to a femin- ine stride, while the hem of the wide skirt threatened to trip 'her' at any moment.

Suddenly there was a flash of brightness ahead of her, as if a door had opened and closed to the outside. She went there blindly through the dark cellar, groping past rough, wooden casks until she came to an opening. She swung the door open to hear a flurry of fe- male, cursing voices in front of him.

"Is that you, Rosa?" one of the dark shapes at the top of a small flight of steps asked. There was sky all about her, and Irena realized that she was outside the brothel.

"No," she said confidently. One of Irena's garters had snapped as she ran. She felt just a little odd and lopsided because of it. She picked her way up the little dirt hill above the steps as her heels threatened to give way. The girls ahead of Irena were already scurrying off in different directions.

Irena/Esteban looked around. The two-story, bar-cum- brothel was behind her, and she didn't want to go to go back that way. On either side, there were many old trunks and pick- ups, dark mounds in the fading light. She recognized one imme- diately as her previous transport-- Pablo's. To the right there were other houses, lights shining from opened doorways as people be- gan to emerge and stare at the girls fleeing from the cantina.

Irena made up her mind quickly. Esteban would have dithered in a crisis, she thought grimly, as she turned to her left, away from Conchita's, gun- men and people. In the darkness, pine tree branches were cruel to her as she hurried by into the trees. The air was cold, as she breathed hard, confirm- ing that she must be very high in the mountains, likely the