Never ask a Half-Blind Detective for Directions

We're sitting in the back corner booth of Mariposa y Luna, an old-school Cuban restaurant in Little Havana. Even though it's mid-day, the corner is dimly lit, as Khost seems to like it. Everyone's polite, not unfriendly, but quick to leave us.

Khost is devouring his arroz con pollo like he's never seen lunch before, while Max eyes the chicken with disdain. Next to us, an unusually tall, model-thin woman in sunglasses picks at her salad. Our waitress, a dark-haired teenager, brings Max a plate of cut up mango.

"So, no trouble? Not from Juan or anyone?" Khost growls. The woman in sunglasses glances up.

"No," I say, glancing nervously at Max. "Nothing."

Khost tosses a photo on the table. It's of the guy in the Bentley brandishing his shotgun. His face is obscured by the camera's glare.

"Oh, yeah, maybe a little trouble," I say. Khost leans forward, his look serious.

"I know you're thinking you can outrun a guy in a fancy car. But Francie, this car chase, it wasn't real...it was more like a...publicity stunt. I've been investigating the Red Coral Society for a long time, long before Juan Rosado came along. And I'll tell you...for a society built on protecting the secrets of eternal life, they can't seem to get away from death. It's at every corner, every part of the city they frequent. Now death is onto you. So take care, Francie."

Khost signals to the waitress. "Dos cortaditos."

If Khost's trying to make me uneasy, he's doing a good job.

"I thought you had an idea of where to start our search," I say. "I don't have time to worry about every maniac on the road. Juan knows we have Bottle #3, but he hasn't come looking for it. So maybe he's one step ahead of us. Maybe he's trying to find the second point before we do."

The waitress brings our doll-house sized cups of cuban coffee. I take a sip and feel the caffeine searing through me.

"The Red Coral Society can't just kill us," I add. "It's not like they own this town."

Khost doesn't respond. He takes out a faded and crumpled map and uncrumples it onto the table.

"Once you're done with your cortadito (which most people don't sip for hours, by the way), you're gonna drop me off at the corner. It's a short walk to my office from here. Then, you're gonna take a left, and another left, and follow this map to the Great Library. It's at a dead-end street, flanked by two mega-bookstores, so no one thinks to look inside. Climb the steps, past the statue of python swallowing gator, and ask for the Librarian."

"That's it? That's your fabulous advice -- go to the library?"

"The Great Library," Khost corrects me. "Everything can be found in books. Plus, they have the world's largest collection of documents on our man: Ponce de Leon."

Khost hands me a library card. It unravels, accordion-style into scrawled list after list of book titles. I quickly stuff it in my purse.

"And Francie?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't get lost."