 On a normal night in El Mar, a few chubby couples would swing around the dance floor to the strains of a local bachata band or some overdressed drunk guy with a keyboard and a drum machine. Old-timers would lean against the corny, paper mache coral reef, sip their drinks and mutter about the hoveness. Occasional cops and paramedics would pass through to grab their super strong cacitos and flirt with the decadent waitresses. The night would pass with that cool, slow-stepping rhythm that allowed folks to believe for just a few hours that they were still back in the embrace of a warm Caribbean island. But Culebra was in full swing when Sierra walked in and instead of the usual laid-back El Mar scene, a sweaty mass of punks, teeny-boppers and hipsters pulsed and churned to the music. The tables and chairs had all been cleared out and the crowd was throbbing against the coral reefs, hanging from the mounted captain's wheel, dancing along the hallway to the restrooms. Sierra tried to peek above the swarming bodies and see if there were any corpuscules, which are zombie dudes, lurking, but it was too dark to make anything out. She glanced around, trying to keep sharp while Culebra's lush sound washed over her. Plain acoustic always freaked out, Juan. He'd get unbearably talkative and jittery and then pass out for an hour before the show. But the results were mesmerizing and tonight was no exception. His old Spanish guitar spat out a series of warm labyrinthine phrases that wrapped melodic vines around Gordo's fierce piano hits. As the two instruments wound intricate loops, Pulpo, the tall, dark-skinned bass player and lead singer unleashed a torn of feverish pounding notes from his stand-up, throwing his head forward in an avalanche of braids on each downbeat. The music grew like a fog around a crowd and then, with only a sly rimshot for warning, the drums kicked in full thrust. Ruben, a lanky light-skinned Dominican with a finely-trimmed goatee, rained thundering blast down on the kit while his brother Kaz came in with a suave toot toot toot toot on the congas. The crowd exploded. Sierra let herself get swept up in it, let go of the fear and sadness that had been haunting her limbs since their visit to the printing press and danced. Ruben's driving beat moved inside her, shoved her lovingly into motion. Sierra closed her eyes, then let them open ever so slightly. There was no mistaking at this time. Tall, long-armed shadows high-stepped in a flowing circle inside the club. When her eyes opened wide, everything went back to normal. She willed herself to calm down, felt the excitement of the crowd while thrashed off her brother's music, closed her eyes again. Much to her own surprise, she felt safe. The whole room was so full of life and those shadows, she squinted her eyes open again, gazing through her lashes. They were dancing too. The whole band moved as one now. All five heads thrashed up and down as the song kept swelling to more ridiculous heights. The shadows spun faster, their long strides reaching over the heads of the writhing crowd. The spirits were protecting Juan, Sierra realized. He didn't need her warning about Wick. He was safe. She exhaled and let the moment sweep over her. It was like being inside the most beautiful car accident in the world with all your best friends and a bunch of total strangers and knowing you couldn't get hurt. Then, just like that, it was over. The room let out a collective sigh of satisfaction and then burst into cheers. Juan looked up from his guitar with that smug smile and nodded at Gordo in the band world into another number. We're going to slow it down a little for you now. Gordo's voice boomed out. Thank God, Benny gasped, collapsing against Sierra. Hey, you all right? The shadows had retreated some. They stood swaying in the dark corners of the room as the song spun to life. Manny's face lingered in Sierra's mind. It's nothing. She blinked her eyes all the way open. Just Manny, we'll find him. I know. I'm all right. Good for you. I'm a sweaty whack disaster up in this mess. Benny said, you were doing all right, B, Jerome said. Actually, Sierra said, sweaty whack disaster was their first band name. Shut up, Benny panted. I'm too winded to laugh. The music wound along gently, a stroll in the park, but occasional drum bursts and off-kilter chimes from Juan's guitar gave a sinister edge to it. Cuando la luna llena, grunt popo in a rich, haunting vibrato. I always had a thing for popo, Sierra said. Benny nodded. Voice like that? Who wouldn't? Matal solansiano. Word said T, who'd come up behind them with Izzy when the music slowed. I don't even like dudes, but that dude is fine. Izzy shot T, a pained face. What kind of a lesbian are you? T shrugged, one that can appreciate a beautiful man with a beautiful voice. Ben a los cuatro caminos, a los cuatro caminos ven. Singing a beautiful ass song T continued. I don't even know what he's saying, but I know that's gorgeous. Who wrote this, Sierra? Juan did, I guess. He writes all their stuff. Mujeres solitarias. I think it's on their last album, she said slowly. It sounds kind of bana bailar. Wait a minute, four sets of eyes swung around to Sierra. Did he just say, Mujeres solitarias bana bailar? Sounded like ban the bar bar to me, Izzy said. So yeah, he probably did. Ban the bar bar, babe. Really? T left. What about it, Ben, he said. It's the poem, Sierra gas. The song. Mujeres solitarias, lonely women. Bana bailar is they go to dance. You mean the poem that you were trying to figure out at the coffee shop? T said, yes, Sierra yelled. The one that tells us where Lucera is. Soy el susuro, pulpo sang que doyes. I can't believe it, Sierra said. It's been in my ears all this time. I had it on my headphones while I was painting yesterday. I just couldn't hear the lyrics because on the studio version, it's much before she could finish her sentence, the band exploded into another thundering onslaught of metal drums and speed guitar. The crowd burst back into motion. Pulpo was still singing, but his words were lost beneath the clashing layers of music. T and Izzy had already disappeared into the thrashing masses. Something like this, Benny yelled into Sierra's ear. That would explain why you had no idea what they were saying. We can ask Juan after the show. That was true, of course, but those few words, that taste of the answer, it was teasing Sierra. She kept perking up her ears, catching little glimpses of phrases here and there, and then working them through her head. Mata al sol anciano, cuando las sombras, a writhing body surfed along the top of the throng up ahead. People pushed and shoved all around, como la bala de una pitola, like a bullet from a gun. It wasn't just a game anymore, Sierra thought angrily as dancing limbs and torsos slammed against her and fell away again. Manny had vanished. Corporal skills and throng hints were popping out of the shadows. She had to find Lucera if she wanted to stay alive and get to the bottom of all this. And to find Lucera, she'd have to figure what all poble was screaming about up there. Something was wrong. People rushed around her, not in the rhythmic chaos of a mosh pit, but in true desperation. Benny grabbed Sierra's hands. Come on, space cadet, we out. What happened? Fight, he said, running past with a wily grin on her face. Izzy came next, holding tight to T's hand and cursing out someone behind them. Yo, you need us to mash someone up for you? Did Sierra say catching up with T? Now, we got that covered, T said. Let's just get some fresh air. Kulebra was scrawled in ridiculously large and colorful letters across the tinted windows of El Mar. The club sat squished in between a barbershop and one of those odds and end stores that sells everything from 3D Jesus pictures to porn to pogo sticks. A train rattled along the ancient metal caterpillar over Fulton Street and sent a cascade of rainwater onto the exiting crowd. What did you guys do, Benny said, when they regrouped outside the front door? This greased-in corn ball and tight pants thought he was gonna get slick with us, Izzy said. Asked us which one was the girl in a relationship. Sierra put a hand over her eyes. Oh, Lord. T told him, you are, broke his nose. Damn, Big Jerome said. High fives and backpats were doled out lovingly to T. She blushed and waved them off, but you could tell she was flattered. That's my baby, Izzy said, nuzzling her way under T's arm. Did you figure out the song? Sierra, T asked, Sierra shook her head. I couldn't hear a thing once it got crazy. I guess I'll just ask Juan, as if on cue, Sierra's brother had strolled out of El Mar with a big, tired grin on his face. He looked even tinier than usual next to Gordo's ginormous, lumbering bulk. Sierra ran up to Juan and hugged him as tightly as she could. That was amazing. I'm so proud of you. Thanks, sis. She held him at arm's length and glared in his eyes. Now, where'd you get those lyrics to that last song? I mean, it's a poem that Abuelo used to always, I knew it. What's going on, Sierra? The riddle. Didn't I tell you about the riddle that says where Lucera is? No, I must have forgot what everything going on. Doesn't matter. The text of the riddles and those lyrics. You had them memorized by heart? Yeah, but would you let go of me now? People are staring. Sierra didn't let go. Tell me, man. Gordo was doing what he always did. Smoking the same thick, musty, malagenia cigars that grandpa Lassaro favored and chuckling like a big old Cuban Santa Claus. Don de las mujeres solitarias, banana by love. Thank you. Thank you.