The two men approached. One on Vargas’ side and the other on mine. The man approaching Vargas had messy hair and was shorter than his partner. I watched as the guy on my side stared at me through the window before he scratched his buzzed hair and inspected the inside of the car.
Vargas rolled down his window. “Hi Juan, what’s up?”
Juan fixed on Vargas’ face and squinted. As he stepped closer to the car, he smiled. “Que pasa, Hector. Haven’t seen you in a minute.”
“Yeah, been busy, tryna’ hustle.”
“I hear ya—I hear ya.”
The guy on my side, the one with the buzz cut, walked past my window. As he did, I saw the butt of a gun tucked in his front waistband. It was a Smith & Wesson 5906. Weight, about thirty-eight ounces. Magazine capacity, fifteen rounds. Well made and rarely jammed. All i
