From the book:
“What do you mean? Why do you want him? He is an old man. He’s harmless. He is no threat to you,” the priest pleaded. But as he spoke, Soto shifted his gun to his other hand, took off his glove and held his right palm out for the priest to see.
“Do you recognize this?” he asked, showing a tattoo that circled his palm.
The priest almost gasped aloud. He shook his head and quickly made the sign of the cross. “You—you are one of them?” the priest asked, nodding at the tattoo, his face growing even more troubled and ashen than before. “One of el diablo’s—” He caught himself about to speak in Spanish and stopped short. “One of the devil’s own!”