"Bien!" said the Mexican, smiling pleasantly at Toddy. "I think that is enough, eh?" Then he bent over the motionless thugs, stuffed their wallets and Toddy's inside his shirt, and picked up the knife and blackjack.
"I have been put to much trouble," he beamed. "You do not mind the small present?"
"That money," said Toddy, "is all I have."
"So? You want it very much, Seсor?"
"I guess not," said Toddy. "Not that much… How do I get out of here?"
"The table, Seсor. Drag it over to the window… You will excuse me if I do not help? It is an easy drop to the alley."
Toddy nodded, dragged the table to the window, and stepped up on it-deliberately destroying as much of the display as he could.
"It is all right, Seсor," the Mexican laughed softly. "Everything is paid for."
"Yeah." Toddy grinned unwillingly. "What happens to these characters? And their pachucos?"
"People come back here," the Mexican explained, "but no one go out. So, soon, very soon, my father will be alarmed."
"Your father?"
"The bartender, Seсor. He will summon my brother, the waiter, who will call my two cousins, officers of the police…"
"Never mind." Toddy hoisted himself into the window. "I know the rest. Your uncle, the judge, will give them ninety days in jail. Right?"
"But no, Seсor"-the Mexican's voice trailed after Toddy as he dropped into the alley-"he will give them at least six months."
Toddy plodded down the alley to the street, lighted the last of his cigarettes, and threw the package away. He thrust a hand into his pocket, drew it out with his sole remaining funds. Sixteen cents. Three nickels and a penny. Not enough to-
A hand closed gently but firmly over his elbow. A blue-uniformed cop looked down at the coins, and up into his face.
"You are broke, Seсor? A vagrant?"
"Certainly not." Toddy made his voice icy. "I'm a San Diego businessman. Just down here for a little holiday."
"I think not, Seсor. Businessmen do not take leak in alley."
"But I didn't-" Toddy caught himself.
"For vagrancy or leak," said the cop, "the fine is ten dollars. You may pay me."
"I-just give me your name and address," said Toddy. "I'll have to send it to you."
"Let's go," said the cop brusquely, in the manner of cops the world over.
Toddy started to protest. The officer immediately released his grip, unholstered a six-shooter, and leveled it at Toddy's stomach.
"We do not like vagrants here, Seсor, even as you do not like them in your country. A ver' long time ago I visit your country. I am a wetback, yes, but no one care. The lettuce must be harvest' and I work very cheap. Then I complain I do not get my wages an' I am sick from the food-cagada, dung-and everyone care ver' much. I am illegal immigrant. I am vagrant. I go to jail for long time… It is good word, vagrant. I learn it in your country. Now move. Anda!"
The gun pointing at his back, Toddy preceded the cop down the side street, across the main thoroughfare, and so on down another side street. Tourists and sightseers stared after him-curiously, haughtily, grinning. Mexican shopkeepers gazed languidly from their doorways, the dark eyes venomous or amused at the plight of the gringo. Toddy walked on and on, his jaw set, his eyes fixed on the walk immediately in front of him. He knew something of Mexican jails by reliable hearsay. When you got in down here, brother, you were in. The length of sentence didn't mean a thing. They took weeks and months, sometimes a year, to get around to sentencing you. They just locked you up and left you. And-and Shake and Donald!… Toddy's step faltered and the cop's gun prodded him… There wasn't a chance that he could persuade the two thugs to play quiet. They'd squeal their heads off about Elaine's death and the supposed dope racket, and- Somewhere a horn was honking insistently. Then a car door slammed, and Dolores called, "Un momento!"
The cop grunted a command to halt, and swept off his cap. "Si, Seсorita?" he said. "A servicio de-"
He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence, or any of the several others he started. After three minutes of Dolores' rapid Spanish, he was reduced to complete silence, answering her torrent of reprimand only with feeble shrugs and apologetic gestures.
At last she snapped open her purse and uttered a contemptuous "Cuбnto?-how much?" The cop hesitated, then drew himself erect. "Por nada," he said, and walked swiftly away.
Toddy said, "Whew!" and, then, "Thanks."
The girl nodded indifferently. "I must go now. You are going with me?"
Toddy said he was. "Shake and his boys were trailing me. I-"
"I know; I saw them enter the bar. That is why I waited."
"It didn't occur to you," said Toddy, "to do anything besides wait?"
"To call the police, for example? Or to intervene personally?"
"You're right," said Toddy. "Let's go."
As they neared the international border, Dolores took a pair of sunglasses and a checkered motoring cap from the glove compartment and handed them to him. Toddy put them on, glanced swiftly at himself in the rear-view mirror. The disguise was a good one for a quick change. Even if his mug was out on a pickup circular, he should be able to get past the border guards.
He did get past them, after a harrowing five minutes in which the car was given a perfunctory but thorough examination. He had to get out and unlock the trunk compartment. On the spur of the moment-since he had neglected to do so sooner-he had to invent a spurious name, birthplace and occupation.
He was sweating when the car swung out of the inspection station and onto the road to San Diego. As they sped past San Ysidro, he removed the cap and glasses, mopped at his face and forehead.
"I am sorry," said Dolores, so softly that he almost failed to hear her. She was looking straight ahead, her eyes intent on the road.
"Sorry?" said Toddy vaguely.
"You are right to be angry with me, to be suspicious. What else could you be? Except for me you would not have been involved in this affair."
Well, Toddy thought, she'd called the turn there. But what he said, mildly, was, "Forget it. I was asking for it. A guy like me wouldn't feel right if he wasn't in trouble."