During daylight hours Shen’s was a popular dining spot, although never without its quota of marginal characters. After dark, however, it hosted a decidedly less reputable crowd.

Ten miles north of the city, the terminal at Belize’s International Airport at Ladyville was an unimposing structure. No JFK, it consisted of one lone cinderblock building. No frills. No amenities. An open-air operation. And despite a striking overabundance of official-looking personnel, a noticeable lack of travelers created an eerie sense of desolation.

Although Belizean by birth, Raoul had spent much of his adult life in Miami. No wonder his English was good. He was unhappy about having returned to his home country. I asked him why. He grimaced slightly, shook his head, and said it hadn’t been his call. The American authorities had insisted.

No sooner had I agreed than I began to have second thoughts. Thoughts unambiguously validated later in the trip when two policemen boarded our bus—Gordan’s car having failed to start after lunch in Corozal—and forcibly removed Simeon who had become enough of a dangerous nuisance to warrant his arrest.

And again, there was Shen to be considered—Sumei’s father, and my junior by several years. I was sure if he learned I was parading around Belize City with his daughter he would not be pleased. But who was I kidding, he probably already knew and if didn’t he likely soon would.

Moreover, my gentlemanly veneer was wearing thin. I started to tell myself I was owed something. Sumei’s English had improved dramatically in just over two months and I had been the catalyst. Where was my reward? She wanted to make a present of herself. Why not just accept it, and stop being so upstanding?

As per our agreement, Kendrick was to return to Belize City alone. We had a strictly one-way deal. The thought of another long drive through difficult terrain was in itself unappealing, let alone traveling with a taciturn Kendrick Smith.