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the backroom.

"Mirá vos, look who crawled back. You're late, Dulce."

"Yeah, bueno... I kinda wanted to stay alive, ¿viste? Almost got picked up last night."

Toto snorted and took another drag of cigarette. "La policía again? Dios santo, you really attract quilombo, piba."

"Not my fault, boludo. They had a whole damn operativo on San Blas. If I didn't run across the rooftops, I'd be in a patrol car right now."

He chuckled dryly. "And yet, acá estás. Not arrested. Drama over."

"No, it's not over. I'm out there for you. If I fall, vos también te caés. I need backup. A moto, a lookout, something. I'm alone out there." Dulce stepped closer, anger flaring. But Toto just shook his head slowly, unbothered.

"Barrio's hot. Too hot. I'm not burning two people on a job one can handle. You always worked sola. Don't start changing the rules now."

"It's not changing rules, it's surviving! You want me to sell or you want me arrested?"

"Escuchame... you're good. Fast. People don't mess with you, but every time you show up you come with a new telenovela. Street is street. Te asusta? Get another job."

"Another job? Where, Toto? ¿Dónde carajo me van a tomar? Who's hiring a girl from this barrio with my last name and my history? You know damn well I got nowhere else to go."

Toto stayed silent for a beat, maybe thinking, maybe not. Then grabbed a sealed package and threw it at her. "Enough. Here. Take that to Villa Baja before midnight. And stop crying to me about protection. I got nothing else to give."

"Then pray rezá, Toto, that I'm still alive tomorrow. 'Cause if not... your shit is gonna stay right here with nobody to move it."

"As long as you bring me the plate, Dulce... you're always gonna stay alive."