Paz said, climbing out of the truck and tucking his long-sleeve denim shirt all the way into the olive drab cargo pants he liked because of the extra pockets. “Young people out doing a good deed. Think I paid you boys five dollars at a car wash to raise money for the homeless a few weeks back.” “You got it wrong, man,” said the kid Paz took to be the leader, making sure to show no fear of him. At least outwardly. “Best be on your way now. We can take things from here.” Paz kept coming, reaching the rear of the minivan much faster than the gangbangers had figured. “What do you mean exactly, ‘take things from here’? I’m sorry, it’s my English.” The kid hitched up his pants with one hand, the other straying back on his hip to where his pistol was tucked. Paz glimpsed the second kid carrying a pistol tucked into waistband mimic that motion, and now he could see a third gangbanger was holding a baseball bat on the passenger side of the minivan. Paz heard soft sobbing and realized three kids were squeezed into the rear seat, a woman who must have been their mother behind the wheel shaking her cell phone as if that would help her find a signal or reach 911 faster.
