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Tijuana Shakedown (continued)

I did as told.

“You can talk to the judge tomorrow, and pay the fine. You’ll get a receipt for your car….”

I knew the rub was coming, though. I had heard about it before. Hell, I had experienced it once before. Of course, it came:

“If you don’t want to go to jail, you can pay the fine now. No judge, no jail, no towing.”

“Really?” I said, feigning naivety. “How much is it?”

Benitez looked me hard in the eye. “How much do you have?”

I had $150 in my wallet and didn’t want to part with it. I didn’t like the alternative, however.

I retrieved my wallet from the hood of the car.

“Take out your money,” Benitez ordered. “And put it on the hood of the car.”

I did as ordered. Benitez clutched the stack of bills and counted it with his beefy hands.

“You pay the fine now. No judge, no fine, no jail. Okay? Okay?”

What else could I say. “Okay.”

In one fluid motion, Benitez folded the wad of cash, pushed it in his breast pocket, and put his index finger up to his mouth. The message was clear: It was our little secret.

To make himself clear, he glowered at me, then zipped his mouth.

“I understand,” I said.

By this time, Alvarez had finished looting my car and returned to the cruiser. The two stood by their vehicle and waited for me to get into mine. I got in a last look at them and looked for any semblance of badges. Of course, they weren’t wearing any.

Once I had started my car, Benitez jutted an arm out the window and pointed to the road behind me.

“The border is that way,” he called out, then drove off.

I easily made it to the border, and after an hour wait, re-entered the United States. I never did get my antibiotics, but I made my flight the next day.

Of course, I didn’t have anything to listen to on the plane. Alvarez had made off with my iPod.

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 What galls me now are the public service announcements that the Mexican government runs on San Diego radio. You know the ones—they warn gringos to behave themselves in Tijuana, Tecate, or Ensenada, and rattle off all the nefarious things that we visitors could engage in. Then comes the kicker: “If you’re ever in need of assistance, contact the local police.”

Contact the local police? As in the Tijuana Police! That’s the most laughable thing I’ve ever heard. Trust me, if you go anywhere near the Tijuana police, they will strip you of your money and your valuables.

They are crime in Tijuana. They will hurt you. They are the lowest grade of filth in North America, complacent criminals with extraordinary cowardice.

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