She told him about a recurring dream she had about the future, as a young maiden so long ago, ten years before, in 1883. It was March the third, 1893,...and coincidentally, the time was 3:33 in the afternoon, always it was 3:33, as if that was a number of some significance. Magically, mystically, inexplicably, when he rang her bell to return her glove, as if she was Cinderella and he was Prince Charming returning her glass slipper, it was March the third, 1893, at 3:33. More than odd, it was. “Rodrigo’s business isn’t mine. I’m just glad Julio could have such a pleasant voyage.”“Us too,” a lovely Latina giggled.“One question?” I asked.They shrugged.“Replacing thugs sounds like things could get dangerous.”“We can protect ourselves,” said the lovely native woman who escorted me. Her look of determination made me imagine her wearing a Bandelier and carrying an AK 47. Sexy and scary.“Girls?” I heard behind me.Weirdly, these strong, beautiful women stood and bowed to the woman behind me. More

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