belonging to the Tijuana city police department. These were not narcotics agents, nor were they immigrations or Federals. It was very obviously a routine shakedown. They had my wallet, they had checked its contents, knew that it held the two five-hundred-dollar bills, as well as several hundred in small assorted bills.
I figured there was only one thing I could do.
I was getting ready to make my pitch when the one who had struck me in the face spoke.
"Narcotics," he said. "Illegally bringing a weapon into the country. Crossing the border with a minor for immoral purposes."
He shook his head, sadly. It was a shakedown all right.
"We all make mistakes, officer," I said. "If you would just let me have my wallet back and the one or two hundred dollars in it to take care of my hotel bill, I would be glad to…"
He didn't let me finish.
"You are already guilty of serious crimes," he said. "Are you now attempting to bribe a Mexican police official?"
I was beginning to wonder what in the hell he did want, and I was also beginning to wonder what I could do about it. It just didn't seem possible that I had run into a couple of honest Mexican cops. If I had, it was an impossible situation. I could let them take me down and book me and then I could probably try and get hold of Morales and see if things couldn't be fixed.
I would hate to do this. I was pretty sure Morales wouldn't be happy about it.
But the more I thought of it, the more I doubted the honest cop theory.
Someone had planted that pack of marijuana cigarettes in the bathroom. I was positive that Sharon didn't know about them, and I couldn't see when Morales could have had the opportunity to plant them or why he would have wanted to. I couldn't figure the whole thing out, unless they were holding out for more than the money that was in my wallet. Or possibly they were just trying to save face before they left.
I decided the best thing to do would be to test the honest cop theory.
Looking up, I shrugged and said, "All right, if I have violated your laws, I suggest we let a judge make the decision. But one thing I would like to say. The cigarettes you found belong to me. This girl didn't know anything about them."
I was not necessarily being chivalrous. I was sure the cigarettes were a plant and I could see no point in both of us being thrown in jail. I knew what Mexican jails were like. I also knew how long it might take to make bail, and I can't say that it gave me any particular pleasure to think of Sharon having to go through the experience.
Acne-face walked over and stood in front of me. He looked dangerous.
"Are you trying to tell a Mexican official how to perform his duties, senor?"
I was suddenly tired of being pushed around. The sons-of-bitches had my money, what the hell more did they want? I stared back into his face. When I spoke, my voice was controlled, but it was a controlled fury.
"No, officer," I said, "I am not trying to tell a Mexican police official how to perform his duty. I am telling two greasy, crooked cops to take their dirty shakedown money and get the hell out of this room."
It was another mistake.
This time he didn't use his opened hand. He used his closed hand, and it was closed on the slender end of a blackjack.
Except for the first two blows, I don't know how many times he hit me. The first one I partly ducked, and it opened up a gash next to my right ear. The second one must have caught me along the side of the head.
There were others, but I didn't find out about them until I came to some hours later and was able to make an inventory of my battered body.
***
It seemed to take forever for me to come to, and I had no idea how long I had been out. Even when ultimate consciousness came back, I just lay there, thinking I was
I figured there was only one thing I could do.
I was getting ready to make my pitch when the one who had struck me in the face spoke.
"Narcotics," he said. "Illegally bringing a weapon into the country. Crossing the border with a minor for immoral purposes."
He shook his head, sadly. It was a shakedown all right.
"We all make mistakes, officer," I said. "If you would just let me have my wallet back and the one or two hundred dollars in it to take care of my hotel bill, I would be glad to…"
He didn't let me finish.
"You are already guilty of serious crimes," he said. "Are you now attempting to bribe a Mexican police official?"
I was beginning to wonder what in the hell he did want, and I was also beginning to wonder what I could do about it. It just didn't seem possible that I had run into a couple of honest Mexican cops. If I had, it was an impossible situation. I could let them take me down and book me and then I could probably try and get hold of Morales and see if things couldn't be fixed.
I would hate to do this. I was pretty sure Morales wouldn't be happy about it.
But the more I thought of it, the more I doubted the honest cop theory.
Someone had planted that pack of marijuana cigarettes in the bathroom. I was positive that Sharon didn't know about them, and I couldn't see when Morales could have had the opportunity to plant them or why he would have wanted to. I couldn't figure the whole thing out, unless they were holding out for more than the money that was in my wallet. Or possibly they were just trying to save face before they left.
I decided the best thing to do would be to test the honest cop theory.
Looking up, I shrugged and said, "All right, if I have violated your laws, I suggest we let a judge make the decision. But one thing I would like to say. The cigarettes you found belong to me. This girl didn't know anything about them."
I was not necessarily being chivalrous. I was sure the cigarettes were a plant and I could see no point in both of us being thrown in jail. I knew what Mexican jails were like. I also knew how long it might take to make bail, and I can't say that it gave me any particular pleasure to think of Sharon having to go through the experience.
Acne-face walked over and stood in front of me. He looked dangerous.
"Are you trying to tell a Mexican official how to perform his duties, senor?"
I was suddenly tired of being pushed around. The sons-of-bitches had my money, what the hell more did they want? I stared back into his face. When I spoke, my voice was controlled, but it was a controlled fury.
"No, officer," I said, "I am not trying to tell a Mexican police official how to perform his duty. I am telling two greasy, crooked cops to take their dirty shakedown money and get the hell out of this room."
It was another mistake.
This time he didn't use his opened hand. He used his closed hand, and it was closed on the slender end of a blackjack.
Except for the first two blows, I don't know how many times he hit me. The first one I partly ducked, and it opened up a gash next to my right ear. The second one must have caught me along the side of the head.
There were others, but I didn't find out about them until I came to some hours later and was able to make an inventory of my battered body.
***
It seemed to take forever for me to come to, and I had no idea how long I had been out. Even when ultimate consciousness came back, I just lay there, thinking I was
Similar Books
