Teotitlan del Valle,

Oaxaca, Mexico

Not for nothing had Flaviano Sandoval been the village police chief for almost six months now. For one thing, he had learned to recognize trouble when he saw it. And this man sitting across the desk from him, oh, he was trouble, all right. Definitely not a local-Sandoval knew everybody who lived in Teotitlan (everybody knew everybody who lived in Teotitlan)-and for sure not a turista come to shop for weavings or to stay at the Hacienda Encantada up the hill. So what else could he be? Only trouble.

And trouble was something Flaviano Sandoval was averse to, by disposition and by constitution. If ever there was a man not cut out to be a police chief, it was Flaviano Sandoval. Small, soft-bodied, and sharp-featured (some might say rodent-faced), he had little ability and no great desire to project a command presence. He was fretful, easily intimidated, and prone to nervous stomach upsets. It had never been his aim to be a police chief. It had never been his desire to be a police chief. His desire was to one day be mayor of Teotitlan. But traditions were traditions, and before one could be considered for that esteemed post, one had to prove one’s civic merits in a long-established progression of service positions. For two years he had served as chairman of the school board, for a year before that, as the administrator of the municipal marketplace. In six more months, God willing, he would have finished this grueling, nerve-racking tenure as chief of police with mind and body whole, and would move on to become the executive officer of the village council. And one year after that-again, God willing-he would be elected as alcalde, from which the step to mayor was virtually assured.

But for now he was still the jefe de policia, and trouble was the last thing he wanted.