Not good odds.
I gave the shorter one the few pesos I was carrying.
He frowned. “Not much here.”
“That’s all I’ve got.”
The taller one pointed. “What’s in your other pocket?”
“My notebook.”
“What’s in it?”
“Notes, story ideas.”
“You a reporter? This gonna make the paper?”
“No. I write stories, novels.”
“Give it to me.”
My fists came up as I found my boxing stance. If he wanted the notebook, he’d have to take it.