Jim displayed his slashed pocket. "I lost mine." "It happens," Stallone replied distractedly, pondering the problem. "I have some gold Krugerrands in my pack." "Gold is good. . . . There is a person in La Boca who drives a van to Mar del Plata. For gold he might take you. San Clemente is on the way. The party season is ending, but perhaps he has a shipment going tomorrow." "What kind of shipment?" Shannon asked. Jim said, "We don't want to know." "Correct," said Stallone. "But first, somehow, I have to move you across the city to La Boca." At dawn, thousands of garbage trucks began their daily shuttle between the city's residential and business neighborhoods and the shantytowns where they dumped their loads. One that trundled into Stallone's barrio full left still carrying a cardboard refrigerator box it had found on a prosperous street of fine old houses in the Recoleta barrio. Laid flat, hidden by the wooden sides of the truck from pedestrians and automobile drivers, it was visible only to the commuters peering down from the early trains streaming into Retiro.
