She once again drifted off into her thoughts. Her contacts in Miami, in Houston, in San Diego, had all told her to find the laughing man and she’d find her answers. What that meant, she couldn’t quite puzzle out.
A burst of inspiration struck, and she leaned to speak to the taxi driver. "Señor, conoce Usted un hombre se llama “El Hombre Riéndose?” Sir, do you know a man called “The Laughing Man?”
He looked at her with genuine horror. “Señora, no quiere conocerle! Es un hombre malo!” Ma’am, you do not want to know him! He is a bad man!
She shook her head. “No comprende. Necesito encontrar el hombre riéndose. Es una cosa de vida y muerto.” You don’t understand. I need to find a laughing man. It’s a matter of life and death.
The taxi driver shrugged, muttered something under his breath, and made a sharp left turn onto a side street.
“Se pasearé al Hombre Riéndose. Pero lo se lastimará.” I will take you to see the Laughing Man. But you will regret it.