Instead, I sneak out of the front door with the room key and my phone in tow. It’s early but the streets of Merida are already buzzing around. People are hustling to work. The coffee shops are full of locals and expats speaking ten different languages. Dogs and their owners are out on their morning constitutionals.

There’s a large open square with a green park in the middle and a towering Catholic church painted in bright pastels to one side.

I take a few loops around the park, watching the way that the pigeons congregate and move as both individuals and one big mass. I don’t have any seeds to throw them but I wish I did.

I take a seat on a wooden park bench and lean back. It’s not particularly comfortable, which is probably for the best. I bought a cup of Cuban coffee from the shop on the corner and I take a sip. It’s strong and sweet, kind of like a shot of espresso and a donut mixed in one.

I reach into my pocket for my phone and realize that I actually have two in there. In my rush to get out, I grabbed Mallory’s by accident. I stare at my phone for a few minutes debating whether I should make this call with it.

My brain rationalizes, of course, they don’t have this untraceable number, how could they?

But my gut is keeping it in check.

I don’t have any proof that they are tracing my number but I also had no proof that they had access to my secret bank account. The only way to stay safe is to ditch this phone and use another.

I pick up Mallory’s phone with a bright yellow cover and dial one of the numbers I know by heart.

Memorizing phone numbers is a dying art but I still practice it just in case.

A familiar voice answers.

He recognizes me immediately and we make small talk for a bit. Big Dipper sounds like he hasn’t been to bed yet which wouldn’t be at all surprising. He lives in Vegas and lives the Vegas lifestyle to the max.

“Listen, the reason I’m calling is that I need a job,” I cut the chitchat short.

“What kind of job?”

“Anything. I need money.”

“You’re all over the news, man,” Big Dipper says. “Everybody’s looking for you. You’re hot property.”

“That’s why I'm calling you. You owe me.”

There’s silence on the other end. I hold my breath waiting for his reply.

There was a time when the cops were after him, questioned me, and I set them off on a cold trail.

“I don’t have any work right now,” Big Dipper says after a moment. The tone of his voice makes me uneasy.

What if his phone is tapped, too?

“Are you sure?” I beg.