Sugarland - Chapters 1-5 - Page 8

     “Negros Occidental,” he said. He didn't say it the way Precy had. “It's an island, Negros, the island has two or three provinces.”

     “In the central part of the archipelago, about the size of Connecticut, population three million,” I said. I had looked it up. “Two provinces, Occidental and Oriental.”

     “Right,” Collins said. “They grow sugar, they have guerrillas in the hills, they have sugar planters with big haciendas, their own private armies, fucking warlords.”

     “Ever been there?” Gilsa said to him.

     “The provincial capital, Bacolod, I may have changed planes there once. I'll be honest with you, over there, I spent most of my time in Manila. It's the only place in the whole country where anything works, and that's only part of the time.”

     “Sanchez grew up in a barrio,” I said. To search for someone, start with family and friends. “Same as the place of death.”

     “A barrio,” Collins said, “you're probably talking about a few dozen huts sitting at the edge of the jungle. Some dump where the bus goes once a month if the road isn't washed out.”

     “Wonderful,” Gilsa said.

     The insurer has the burden of proof: this is your ultimate advantage. Most states allow a period of investigation, time for the company to bluster at the beneficiary, but in the end we have prove that you're not dead, and as long as you stay home, we have to prove it on your territory.

     “Do we have anybody over there?” I said.

     “We have a local on retainer,” Gilsa said.

     “He works cheap,” Collins said, “and you get exactly what you pay for.”

     Gilsa looked at Collins and said, “I can't be sure, I ought to clear it, but I'd pack my bags if I were you.”

     Collins held up cupped hands and said, “Mangoes!”