Carlos emerged from the pilots cabin of the police patrol boat. Surprisingly, he suddenly seemed more nervous now than he had when he was under fire at the prison. He was sliding his purple beanie cap around his head, as if not at all comfortable with how it fitted or how it was positioned. He was like a young boy in the presence of his idol, unable to concentrate on anything, his own body ready to betray him.

Not wanting to attract attention he began unbuttoning the brilliant orange jumpsuit, pulling it down around his waist to reveal a panther like body honed at the gym and a number of tattoos on shoulders and arms. He tied the arms of the jumpsuit around his waist and pretended they were nothing more than something a construction worker would wear so that the blazing orange motorists were unable to ignore.

It was remarkable how the wealthy easily ignored things they neither understood or saw as beneath them. Carlos waved at a pair of young women prancing about on their yacht, openly flirting so as to draw attention away from the woman he'd helped escape from prison. She, after all, couldn't peel away his top as readily as he did.