T ito sat on a paint-spattered steel stool, looking up at a dirty skylight of wire-embedded glass. Pigeons kept landing on its peak, and taking off, with a flutter of wings he doubted the others were hearing. Garreth and the old man were talking with the man who’d been waiting for them here, in this dim third-story space, in a city and country Tito had scarcely even thought about before.