The AFL had supplied Rafael and I with fake ID datacards. According to these pocket-sized pieces of data-encoded plastic, we were Lola and Rico Terrones, a married couple from Seattle who had been working at Nuevo Laredo’s race track for the past four months. According to our resident alien data, we had been granted work visas in Aztlan on the basis of our skill in caring for and training the chemically and cybemetically boosted greyhounds that ran at the Galgodromo. A bit ironic, really. I’ve been strictly a cat person ever since the time when, at the tender age of six, I patted a dog and got my arm ripped open for the trouble. The sum total of my knowledge of dogs is which end the bark and bite are attached to. But Rafael actually followed greyhound racing at one point in time (what sport didn ' t he watch on trid?) and could reasonably fake it. The region’s lingering code of machismo would allow me to play the supporting role of less knowledgeable wife.