The boys fidgeted at my words. Luis Miguel coughed. "Uh… so, señor… about the money that went missing—"
The vendor's face wrinkled without even waiting for them to finish. He understood the message immediately.
"YOU LITTLE RAT BASTARDS!"
The man grabbed a wooden crate and swung it like he was aiming for a home run. Luis Miguel barely dodged it, but the second boy wasn't so lucky—it hit him square in the side, sending him sprawling.
The market burst into laughter. Vendors abandoned their stalls to watch. Some cheered. Others threw things.
"¡Ladrónes!" an old woman shrieked, smacking one of them with a rolled-up newspaper.
"Serves you right, you little snakes!" a butcher cackled.
Even a kid selling flowers took the opportunity to throw a rose at Luis Miguel's head.
The boys tried to run. I did not let them.
I grabbed Luis Miguel's collar and yanked him back. "Oh no, we're not done."
"Beta, please—"