Vasquez is in the middle of a text, glancing up and giving Jax a brief nod of acknowledgment, sending it off before he slides the phone away with ease. "Jax," he greets, his accent less obvious, calmer. "Don't tell me you're here to force that dog back on me. I told you, cabron, I don't need that around my apartment."

"Besides, having to walk a dog a few times a day eats into my time, especially to sit back and watch nothing on television. That's very important time, right between smoking and eating," he guarantees with a nod. "You hungry? I've got a few hours until my shift, wouldn't mind the company."