Despite all that had happened, I felt empty. I figured that we’d been successful in bringing Mama G’s killer to justice—or at least, in bringing payback to the man who’d ordered her death, if not the actual person who’d killed her on his behalf. All four of the bacabs of the Temple of the Sun were dead. But the justice felt incomplete, somehow. Perhaps it would have been more satisfying if I’d put a bullet into the brain of the bacab of Quetzalcóatl, rather than watching as he was crushed by tons of falling masonry. Perhaps . . .