‘Nos disparó,’ I say. ‘Quién?’ Ceci says. ‘El güey ahí, gritando.’ ‘Cómo crees?’ ‘Si mira…’ Together we look over to the tiny man screaming at us in the distance, waving his gun, a plume of smoke rising over his head. ‘No manches.’ Ceci says. ‘Pues vamonos, no?’ ‘Un segundito,’ I say. My phone died a…