This Title Is in Spanish When You’re not Looking

My brother texted me again. Said there were people at my house. He'd assumed police, but they wore no uniforms, and their cars were all nondescript sedans. He'd stopped by to check out my house after I'd messaged him, but he decided not to keep driving by.

"One of them must have seen me. They followed me home. They're parked across the street right now."

A black sedan sat parked across the street from my brother's house. From my vantage point in the bushes, I could barely make out the outlines of two people through the tinted windows. I walked up and opened the passenger side door to see two men, both in black suits and ties, one in the driver's seat with a pair of binoculars pointed across the street, the other reading something in a three-ring binder, a report or something. Neither noticed me.

The man in the passenger seat sniffed to himself as he read. "Hmm. This title is in Spanish when you're not looking," he chuckled, turning the page.
"Hold on a second," he said as he drew the binder closer to his face, as if spotting hidden meaning in an errant, punctuation mark.

Without further warning, he drew a nine-millimeter from a shoulder holster and pointed it directly at me, his eyes still on the binder in his lap.

"Don't move a muscle or I'll shoot you where you stand," he said.

I stared down the barrel of a Glock, but the man holding it didn't even look my direction.

"Get in. Back seat," he said, still staring at the binder in his lap.

I hesitated. He couldn't even see me--

"Now," he ordered. "I don't have to see you to know where you are. Get in the car."

His partner in the driver's seat had already started the car. I stepped to the side and opened the back door to get in, my head swimming. I had one foot inside when I heard the roaring of an engine and saw a black SUV charging straight for the car's front bumper. A split second was all I had. Enough time for me to dive clear, but not enough time for my would-be captors to scramble from their mobile sarcophagus.

I hear an ear-shattering thud behind me as I hit the dirt, then turned to see the sedan displaced a full car's length from its original position, a space now occupied by the black SUV. The driver's side door opened to reveal the man in the fedora.

"Unless you want to stick around and see what these guys were planning," the man in the fedora said, nodding towards the crumpled sedan, "I suggest you come with me.”