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Agrazal came outside, pulling a chair next to mine. Inside, somebody was playing something Colombian: a fast, dangerous beat that matched the pace of the training under the tin roof. I could hear Enrique: he didn’t growl like Agrazal, instructions almost a request....

Agua had a girlfriend. I’d heard rumours but had never actually caught sight of her. The day she turned up at the gym, heavy rain - one of those seasonal downpours that regularly drenches Panama, was pounding the tin roof. Agua and Agrazal were at each other’s throats...

Why did I want to manage Agua? I wanted to help of course, set him free from the clutches of the fight mob, give him the chance to earn a decent living. Every fighter deserves that-more than most I would say-but it was also something else. His life was a frolic; he...

Rising from my table, I walked to the counter that ran the breadth of the restaurant, preferring to sit on one of the stools rather than take up a whole eating space. It also gave me a view of the kitchen where I enjoyed witnessing the collaboration and chaos of food...

The next day, hungover, I pounded out the poisons on a heavy bag. The gym was quiet, a few fighters ducking and weaving under the tuition of a trainer, who between coarse instruction, flicked through a newspaper, bodies from the previous day’s barrio murders splashed...

I glanced once more at the television. Something, had my interest the entire day. The horse owners, those parading around in jackets under burning sun, their women in heels and hats, all smiling glowingly toward the cameras, seemed to be white- or at least in...