up and took my wallet out of my pocket and searched until I found my old army driver's license and the registration card which I had picked up two weeks ago for the Jaguar. I handed them to him silently.
He stared at them for a moment or two and then reached back and gave them to his partner with the handlebar moustache.
I was still holding the wallet. His eyes went to Sharon.
"And your identification, senorita," he said.
She looked at him blankly and I was beginning to wonder if she had any identification, when she shrugged and her hand went into the bag which hung on her shoulder. She took out a worn, man's leather wallet and rifled through it. She found a rectangular card and handed it to him.
He studied it for a moment, then looked up at her.
"Sharon Cameron, seventeen years old." He hesitated a moment. "You crossed the border with this man, senorita?"
I didn't know what it was all about, but I cut in before she had a chance to answer.
"We met at a bar downtown and…"
I got no further.
"If you wish to remain healthy, senor, you will keep your mouth shut."
He turned back to Sharon. "You will answer my question, please."
She hesitated for a moment, looking toward me, but there was nothing I could tell her.
"Like he said, we just happened to run into each other and then, well…" She was picking it up better than I thought she would, but he didn't give her a chance to finish.
"And you spent the night in the hotel with him here, didn't you senorita?" His eyes went to her suitcase.
She looked at him dumbly and then half-nodded. He tossed her I.D. card back on the bed and turned back to me. I was still holding the wallet in my hand.
"Your wallet, senor."
I handed it to him and he rifled through the bills, his face expressionless. He closed the wallet and passed it to his partner, who was still standing at the door.
I was beginning to take a slow burn.
"Now see here, officer," I began.
It was a mistake. Out of. the corner of my eye, I saw his partner take the gun out of the holster he wore on the ammunition belt around his waist. The one who had been doing- the talking took a quick step toward me. He gave me a stinging blow on the side of my face with his opened hand and I guess he must have been a Grade B movie fan, because the hand was going back and forth as he struck first one side of my face and then the other, eight or ten times.
It left me groggy.
"Stand up," he said, "and face the wall. Raise your hands over your head, step back from the wall, and lean against it. Spread your feet."
He probably watched TV shows, as well as Grade B movies, but I didn't argue with him. The search was thorough, but not gentle. When he finished, he told me to turn around and sit down in the chair.
He nodded to his partner, who put his gun back in the holster. The partner went through my opened suitcase, and when he came to the.45 automatic, he looked up and then carefully removed the ammunition clip and the shell from the chamber. He tossed the empty gun on the bed.
When he finished the suitcase, he went through the rest of the room. He didn't, however, bother with Sharon's luggage.
No words were spoken.
The bathroom came next and he was in it for less than a minute when he returned holding a flip-top, Marlboro cigarette box in his hand. He opened it and dumped out approximately a dozen, tightly rolled, thin cigarettes.
They weren't Marlboro's, and I didn't have to be very bright to guess what they were.
My eyes went over to Sharon, and she was looking at me with a sort of dumb, baffled expression. She shook her head back and forth a couple of times.
For some reason, I believed her. It was a plant. I was beginning to guess what it was all about. I recognized the uniforms as
He stared at them for a moment or two and then reached back and gave them to his partner with the handlebar moustache.
I was still holding the wallet. His eyes went to Sharon.
"And your identification, senorita," he said.
She looked at him blankly and I was beginning to wonder if she had any identification, when she shrugged and her hand went into the bag which hung on her shoulder. She took out a worn, man's leather wallet and rifled through it. She found a rectangular card and handed it to him.
He studied it for a moment, then looked up at her.
"Sharon Cameron, seventeen years old." He hesitated a moment. "You crossed the border with this man, senorita?"
I didn't know what it was all about, but I cut in before she had a chance to answer.
"We met at a bar downtown and…"
I got no further.
"If you wish to remain healthy, senor, you will keep your mouth shut."
He turned back to Sharon. "You will answer my question, please."
She hesitated for a moment, looking toward me, but there was nothing I could tell her.
"Like he said, we just happened to run into each other and then, well…" She was picking it up better than I thought she would, but he didn't give her a chance to finish.
"And you spent the night in the hotel with him here, didn't you senorita?" His eyes went to her suitcase.
She looked at him dumbly and then half-nodded. He tossed her I.D. card back on the bed and turned back to me. I was still holding the wallet in my hand.
"Your wallet, senor."
I handed it to him and he rifled through the bills, his face expressionless. He closed the wallet and passed it to his partner, who was still standing at the door.
I was beginning to take a slow burn.
"Now see here, officer," I began.
It was a mistake. Out of. the corner of my eye, I saw his partner take the gun out of the holster he wore on the ammunition belt around his waist. The one who had been doing- the talking took a quick step toward me. He gave me a stinging blow on the side of my face with his opened hand and I guess he must have been a Grade B movie fan, because the hand was going back and forth as he struck first one side of my face and then the other, eight or ten times.
It left me groggy.
"Stand up," he said, "and face the wall. Raise your hands over your head, step back from the wall, and lean against it. Spread your feet."
He probably watched TV shows, as well as Grade B movies, but I didn't argue with him. The search was thorough, but not gentle. When he finished, he told me to turn around and sit down in the chair.
He nodded to his partner, who put his gun back in the holster. The partner went through my opened suitcase, and when he came to the.45 automatic, he looked up and then carefully removed the ammunition clip and the shell from the chamber. He tossed the empty gun on the bed.
When he finished the suitcase, he went through the rest of the room. He didn't, however, bother with Sharon's luggage.
No words were spoken.
The bathroom came next and he was in it for less than a minute when he returned holding a flip-top, Marlboro cigarette box in his hand. He opened it and dumped out approximately a dozen, tightly rolled, thin cigarettes.
They weren't Marlboro's, and I didn't have to be very bright to guess what they were.
My eyes went over to Sharon, and she was looking at me with a sort of dumb, baffled expression. She shook her head back and forth a couple of times.
For some reason, I believed her. It was a plant. I was beginning to guess what it was all about. I recognized the uniforms as
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