Mexico City. Presidential Residence.
Quintero lay in bed, watching the "pay channel" on TV, his eyes shining brightly.
His face was flushed red, of course, because of "shyness."
Carlos was busy dousing his own fires everywhere and couldn't show his face, which made Quintero, who was still planning on revitalizing his second career spring, very anxious.
His girlfriend was not by his side, either.
Moreover, since this was the Official Residence, it wasn't convenient to call for prostitutes; otherwise… why would he need to use his inherited skills?
Just as he was about to reach the right spot, the phone on his bedside table rang.
It completely interrupted his mood.
"Fuck! Fuck!" Quintero cursed with a grimace, but his private phone was a new number he got after his jailbreak, not many people knew it.
If someone was looking for him, it had to be important.
