The restaurant was called El Catrachito and it sat on a strip of NW 36th Street in Doral between a tire shop and a pawn store, the kind of place that served good food to people who didn't care about signs or ambiance because the food was cheap and the portions were large and nobody asked questions. Darius arrived at noon. Marcus parked across the street, engine running. Thirty minutes. Marcus could hold a number.
The restaurant was half full. Construction workers. Delivery drivers. Darius scanned the room in three seconds. Two exits. Front door, kitchen door. The man he was looking for sat in the back corner, alone, facing the door.
