Small creature

I bounce in the back of the bus, watching 1978 Miami scroll past the window. Miguel's words echo in my head. "Real documents" and "better pay" sound perfect, but that mention of the Colombians sets off alarm bells.

I tap my fingers against the metal seat rail, remembering fragments of history lessons. The Colombians aren't just some street gang, they're the beginning of something massive. Within a few years, cocaine will transform Miami completely. The drug money that is about to pour into this city will rival the income of global corporations., not a small shadow economy as before. Even the cops will be swimming in it, pockets so stuffed with cash they'll barely remember which side of the law they're supposed to be on.

The drug war hasn't even really started yet. Right now I'm watching the calm before a hurricane that will devour this entire city.

The bus lurches to a stop. An old woman struggles with her groceries, and I find myself helping her before I've even thought about it. She thanks me with a smile that reminds me of my abuela.

Back in my seat, I return to analyzing Miguel's offer. What could he possibly want? Probably something illegal. Maybe a scam, or stealing already stolen goods. Nothing too violent, I hope. Miguel doesn't strike me as a killer.

Whatever it is, I need to be careful. My rewind ability has limitations I'm only beginning to understand. That three-to-one cooldown ratio means I can't rely on it as much as I'd hoped. I pat my pocket, feeling the reassuring crinkle of bills. At least I'm prepared for small emergencies.

The bus drops me two blocks from Miguel's place. The neighborhood looks nice. Children play in the street, and a group of old men argue politics on a porch. Normal life continuing while I walk into something that's definitely not normal.

I approach Miguel's door, my stomach tightening with each step. My knuckles barely touch the wood before it swings open.

"You came." Miguel's voice carries relief, like he half-expected me to bail. His eyes dart past me to scan the street before pulling me inside.

"Said I would, didn't I?" I keep my tone casual, but note the tension in his movements, the way he double-locks the door behind me.

"Come, sit." He gestures toward the kitchen table positioned to the right of the cabinets and stove. "Coffee, tea or maybe beer?"

"Coffee would be nice."

Miguel moves to the stove where a kettle sits. I notice his hands shake slightly as he pours two cups. The whistle of the kettle dies, leaving the house unnervingly quiet. I realize what's missing, the radio that was playing constantly during my previous visit is silent.

"Where's Maria?" I ask, accepting the steaming cup.

"School." His answers are clipped, distracted.

Miguel sits across from me, staring into his coffee like it holds answers to all life's problems. His face is drawn, shadows under his eyes telling stories of sleepless nights. The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable, until I almost can't bear it anymore. The ticking of the wall clock punctuates each passing second, like a mechanical heartbeat. Outside, a car horn blares distantly, reminding me of the normal world continuing without us.

"So," I prompt, setting my cup down with a soft clink against the worn tabletop, the sound almost jarring in the stillness, "you mentioned documents?" My Casio watch feels heavy on my wrist as I unconsciously check the time again, counting seconds, measuring moments, preparing for whatever comes next.

He looks up, eyes suddenly sharp with focus, all distraction gone in an instant. The transformation is jarring. "I'm in deep shit, Carlos." His voice drops to almost a whisper, forcing me to lean forward to catch his words. "Stuck between rocks crushing me from all sides. I desperately need a partner. Someone reliable, someone trusted. Someone who won't crack under pressure. Won't make it through otherwise."

I take a slow, deliberate sip of coffee, letting the bitter liquid linger on my tongue while waiting for more explanation.

"Need you to join the gang. Under my command, officially, but loyal to me. Only me." His eyes never leave mine, drilling into me, searching for any flicker of hesitation. "They can never know where your true loyalty lies."

I shift forward in my chair, knees bumping the underside of the table. The coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim of my cup.

"Wait, what gang?" My fingers drum a nervous rhythm against the chipped ceramic. "You're asking me to join a gang? Basically a stranger, why?"

Miguel stares at me, his expression unreadable. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence between us. One second. Two. Three. The pause stretches uncomfortably long, like he's waiting for me to fill it.

I let out a short laugh, more from tension than humor. "Look, Miguel. Either tell me everything straight up or don't waste my time." I push my chair back slightly, ready to stand. "I appreciate the help with the ID and all, but I'm not walking into something blind. You want loyalty? You'll have to take a leap of faith yourself first."

I tap my watch meaningfully. "Tick-tock, hermano. I've got a shift tonight and a date tomorrow. So either lay all your cards on the table right now, or I'm out that door."

Miguel's eyes narrow slightly, measuring me and then–

*Bam!*

The coffee cup flies from his hand, smashing against the wall to his left. Ceramic shards and hot liquid spray everywhere. Some fragments hit my arm, but I don't flinch. My other hand stay firmly in my pocket, fingers wrapped around the bills, just in case.

Miguel's voice rises, cracking with strain. He stands, pacing like a caged animal. He stops, runs both hands through his hair, then collapses back into his chair.

When he speaks again, his voice is hollow. "I'm a snitch. An informant." He practically spits the last title. "A desperate rat."