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“I’m gonna go,” I slurred softly. “Nice to meet you all.”
They all waved to me while carrying on their conversations.
I walked outside. It was cold at night. I wrapped my jacket a little more closely around me.
I was barely down the block when I felt a hand grab my upper arm and haul me into an alley.
There were two of them. Both of them were armed.
“La plata!” he shouted at me. The second guy just cocked his gun. The safety was off.
Plata? Wasn’t that silver? I didn’t have any.
“I don’t have any,” I told him in Spanish.
They snorted and pointed the business ends of their guns at me.
“La plata,” they insisted.
I was going to die just because I didn’t carry silver.
I heard the crack of two gunshots and closed my eyes in the split second.
When I opened my eyes, I looked down at my chest, expecting to see two bullet holes.
But there wasn’t anything there.
I looked at my attackers who were now flat on the ground. One of them was wearing a white shirt that had a growing bloodstain on it. It looked like a blossoming red flower that grew exponentially.
I looked behind me.
Emilio was there, kneeling next to me.
He reached for me.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Cut? Bruised?”
“Just a bump on the head.”
“Let me see.”
He touched my head gently.
“Shouldn’t we turn those guys into the police? I mean they tried to mug me.”
“They won’t try to mug anybody else, so, no, I won’t involve the police.”
I looked back at the two of them. Neither of them were moving.
“Are they dead?”
Instead of answering my question, he pulled out his phone.
“Hold still.” He put his hand on my chin.
