Juan Valdez, 9am, don't be late. Next morning there was the only one pale-skin woman in the elegant trench-coat sitting the the corner at Juan Valdes cafe, the only one asking the water the second cup of coffee with a french accent. Her charming companion noticed her confusion, what was logical to him at their first meeting. This kind of her attitude made him trust her that he pushed a tiny plastique bag toward her.
She smiled looking the police rushing up inside and taking him away. The colombian coffee anyway seems her to be the best.