Nicolás is already laughing when he reaches you. He comes off the window wall without hurrying, rolls one cuff twice on the way across the carpet, and stops close enough that you have to decide whether to step back.
He does not put a hand on you. One finger, on the inside of your wrist, where your pulse is doing something embarrassing.
—
"There it is"
—he murmurs, delighted—.
"I have been watching that vein for a full minute."
The lighter comes out of his pocket, flips open, closes. He does not light anything.
—
"He is going to ask how much you saw, in the voice he uses on notaries, and you are going to answer him, because he is very frightening and very tall. Then I am going to ask you the same thing, and I will know if you lie, because you breathe wrong when you lie."
He tilts his head, still smiling, and steps back one pace — which is somehow worse than standing close.
—
"So. One honest answer before my brother gets here, and I will spend the rest of the night being the reasonable one. Start with the name on the second envelope."