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“Hey, mamacitas! How about you ditch those losers and come with us. We'll show you a real good time," one of them shouts through the window.
"Fuck off," Doug shouts.
One of the guys stumbles out of the car and advances on Doug. Sierra yells something but I'm not paying attention. Instead, I'm watching Alex tear off his jacket and block the guy's path.
"Get out of my way," the guy orders. "Don't lower yourself by protecting this white dick."
Alex stands toe to toe with the guy, the tire iron gripped tightly in his hand. "You fuck with the white dick, you fuck with me. It's that simple. Comprendes, amigo?"
Another guy steps out of the car. We are in some serious trouble.
"Girls, take the keys and get in the car," Alex orders, his tone precise.
"But . . ."
There's a lethal calmness in his eyes. Oh, boy. He's dead serious.
Doug tosses Sierra his car keys. Now what? Are we supposed to sit in the car and watch them fight? "I'm not going anywhere," I tell him.
"Me, either," Sierra says.
A guy in the other car sticks his head out of the window. "Alejo, that you?"
Alex's stance relaxes. "Tiny? What the hell you doin' with these pendejos?"
The guy named Tiny says something in Spanish to his buddies and they jump back into the car. They almost seem relieved they won't have to fight Alex and Doug.
"I'll tell you as soon as you tell me what you're doin' with a bunch of gringos," Tiny says.
Alex chuckles. "Get out of here."
When we're all back in the car, I hear Doug say, "Thanks for having my back."
Alex mumbles, "Don't sweat it.”
― Simone Elkeles, Perfect Chemistry