measure of caution, one would have remained in the police car, Wiley thought. Why not here?
“ Buenos días, señor.”
“Buenos días.”
One of the policemen had collar burn, the skin of his neck inflamed, a pimply rash. The other had hair growing out of his ears.
Sore Neck asked to see Wiley’s driver’s license.
Wiley handed it out along with his passport.
Lillian was amused.
Wiley hoped the policemen didn’t notice.
“La velocidad máxima es cincuenta kilómetros,” Sore Neck said.
Wiley gave the excuse that he hadn’t seen any road signs saying fifty was the limit.
“The wind blows them down,” Sore Neck said.
Wiley doubted that.
Hairy Ears went around the VW, thumping on it with the heel of his fist as though searching for a secret compartment. Meanwhile Sore Neck took another look at Wiley’s license and passport. And another.
Lillian began clicking her teeth.
Hairy Ears got down and examined the VW underneath.
“Muy malo, señor,” Sore Neck said, his lower lip over his upper.
It seemed to Wiley that Sore Neck was trying to appear grim. Trying.
Lillian was still clicking her teeth. Better that than an offending laugh, Wiley thought.
The two policemen stood side by side, their heads cocked a little, looking at Wiley with what he translated as a trace of expectancy.
Lillian clicked some more and nudged Wiley.
He thought he heard her whisper: “Hundred pesos.”
Did he dare? For trying to bribe an official, they might give him four life sentences to be served consecutively. He smiled weakly at the policemen.
They didn’t smile back.
He took out 100 pesos.
“Each,” Lillian whispered.
He held his breath as he extended the two 100-peso notes out the window.
Sore Neck took his. Hairy Ears took his. All smiles now.
Hairy Ears said the VW was leaking a little brake fluid underneath but—thumping on the fender—it was a good car.
Everyone said gracias five or six times.
Afterward, when they were under way again, Wiley asked Lillian why all that clattering of teeth?
“I thought you’d get it.”
“Get what?”
“La mordida.”
“The bite?”
“They were only putting the bite on you. They count on it as though it were part of their salary. Now they’ll go back to the cantina, stand drinks for everybody and probably won’t stop anyone else for at least three or four hours.”
“For a while there I thought maybe that’s how you got when you got nervous, or you’d suddenly developed an awful chill.”
“You’re not as sharp as I thought.”
“How come you know so much about Mexico?”
“I’ve been here,” she said ambiguously. “Besides, didn’t it give you a sense of power—not a big one, but at least a taste—buying those policemen off like that?”
“No,” Wiley replied too quickly.
Lillian’s glance told him she knew better.
“About ten miles to go,” he said.
It was midafternoon. The hottest part of the day was over, but the temperature was still hanging near ninety.
“We’re practically there,” he said.
They passed a man on a burro, slouched, hat down over his eyes, arms limp as though riding asleep. A woman, walking behind, had hold of the burro’s tail.
Lillian grunted.
“Only fifteen minutes more,” Wiley said.
“We might stop for a swim,” she said, matter of fact.
It was like a reprieve, but he said, “Maybe you want to wait until we get there. I mean, it’ll be more convenient and everything, won’t it?” Say no, he said inside, say absolutely not.
“Probably,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“But then there’ll be all that bother with getting settled in first … and everything.”
At that point the highway didn’t run right along the ocean because the coastline jutted out. Wiley slowed the Volks, found a side road. It was overgrown and rutted, but it took them within a few feet of the beach. Fine white sand, not a mark on it except tiny starlike tracks of birds. The Pacific licked up, slicked and darkened, then
“ Buenos días, señor.”
“Buenos días.”
One of the policemen had collar burn, the skin of his neck inflamed, a pimply rash. The other had hair growing out of his ears.
Sore Neck asked to see Wiley’s driver’s license.
Wiley handed it out along with his passport.
Lillian was amused.
Wiley hoped the policemen didn’t notice.
“La velocidad máxima es cincuenta kilómetros,” Sore Neck said.
Wiley gave the excuse that he hadn’t seen any road signs saying fifty was the limit.
“The wind blows them down,” Sore Neck said.
Wiley doubted that.
Hairy Ears went around the VW, thumping on it with the heel of his fist as though searching for a secret compartment. Meanwhile Sore Neck took another look at Wiley’s license and passport. And another.
Lillian began clicking her teeth.
Hairy Ears got down and examined the VW underneath.
“Muy malo, señor,” Sore Neck said, his lower lip over his upper.
It seemed to Wiley that Sore Neck was trying to appear grim. Trying.
Lillian was still clicking her teeth. Better that than an offending laugh, Wiley thought.
The two policemen stood side by side, their heads cocked a little, looking at Wiley with what he translated as a trace of expectancy.
Lillian clicked some more and nudged Wiley.
He thought he heard her whisper: “Hundred pesos.”
Did he dare? For trying to bribe an official, they might give him four life sentences to be served consecutively. He smiled weakly at the policemen.
They didn’t smile back.
He took out 100 pesos.
“Each,” Lillian whispered.
He held his breath as he extended the two 100-peso notes out the window.
Sore Neck took his. Hairy Ears took his. All smiles now.
Hairy Ears said the VW was leaking a little brake fluid underneath but—thumping on the fender—it was a good car.
Everyone said gracias five or six times.
Afterward, when they were under way again, Wiley asked Lillian why all that clattering of teeth?
“I thought you’d get it.”
“Get what?”
“La mordida.”
“The bite?”
“They were only putting the bite on you. They count on it as though it were part of their salary. Now they’ll go back to the cantina, stand drinks for everybody and probably won’t stop anyone else for at least three or four hours.”
“For a while there I thought maybe that’s how you got when you got nervous, or you’d suddenly developed an awful chill.”
“You’re not as sharp as I thought.”
“How come you know so much about Mexico?”
“I’ve been here,” she said ambiguously. “Besides, didn’t it give you a sense of power—not a big one, but at least a taste—buying those policemen off like that?”
“No,” Wiley replied too quickly.
Lillian’s glance told him she knew better.
“About ten miles to go,” he said.
It was midafternoon. The hottest part of the day was over, but the temperature was still hanging near ninety.
“We’re practically there,” he said.
They passed a man on a burro, slouched, hat down over his eyes, arms limp as though riding asleep. A woman, walking behind, had hold of the burro’s tail.
Lillian grunted.
“Only fifteen minutes more,” Wiley said.
“We might stop for a swim,” she said, matter of fact.
It was like a reprieve, but he said, “Maybe you want to wait until we get there. I mean, it’ll be more convenient and everything, won’t it?” Say no, he said inside, say absolutely not.
“Probably,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“But then there’ll be all that bother with getting settled in first … and everything.”
At that point the highway didn’t run right along the ocean because the coastline jutted out. Wiley slowed the Volks, found a side road. It was overgrown and rutted, but it took them within a few feet of the beach. Fine white sand, not a mark on it except tiny starlike tracks of birds. The Pacific licked up, slicked and darkened, then
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