Free The Mexico Run by Lionel White

exactly in the chips.
        That night I slept badly. The nightmares were back, and this time there was no Sharon to wake me up and snap me out of them.
        He arrived the next morning, sometime before noon. He was about the last person I expected to see.
        The comic cop with the bandoliers hadn't been lying when he said, manana. It was the first time I had ever heard a Mexican use the expression and mean it literally.
        About the time I was getting ready to bang on the-door again with the metal bucket, I heard the bar being drawn back, and the door was opened. He wasn't wearing his bandoliers or his guns, and I guessed at once it was because he didn't think he would-need them. He beckoned with a nod of his head, and I walked into the office. He pointed to the desk. On top of it was my wallet, the keys to the Jaguar, the safety-deposit box key I had obtained from the bank two days ago. There was also a clean sports shirt which I remembered packing in San Francisco before I left.
        I stripped out of the bloody one I was wearing, and put the fresh shirt on. I picked up the wallet and rifled through the sheaf of bills. I almost fainted when I found the two five-hundred-dollar notes. I didn't count the rest of it, but it seemed intact.
        My jailer stood by, a dreamy look on his face as I pocketed the wallet. He twisted his head, indicating I was to follow him.
        For a second, as I stepped outside of the small, one-storied jail, the bright sunlight almost blinded me. There was a small, foreign sedan on the dusty street in front of the jail, and a man sat at the wheel. The door opposite him was open and he made a motion toward it with his head.
        It wasn't until I rounded the car and sat next to him that I recognized Captain Morales.
        He was looking at me sympathetically, half shaking his head and making odd little cooing sounds.
        "A most unfortunate occurrence, Senor Johns," he said. "A mistake. A sad mistake. I would have come sooner, but I only learned about it when you failed to answer your phone and I stopped by your hotel. Unfortunately, the little senorita was so upset, it took some time for me to find out where they had taken you."
        His voice was utterly sincere, and I think I might really have believed him if it wasn't for what he said next.
        "But in a way, it all worked out for the best. It gave me the opportunity to check up on you and to verify your background. It also gave me a chance to check back on those fingerprints on Bongo's letter."
        I guess I should have played along, thanked him for coming to my rescue. I couldn't do it. I was thinking, you son-of-a-bitch, you framed the whole thing. You wanted time all right to check up. But you also wanted to give me a little object lesson in just how tough you are and how much power you can wield when you want to.
        "The girl is all right?" I asked. "She has gone back across the border?"
        He started the engine of the car.
        "Why no, senor," he said. "I didn't know you wanted her to go back."
        "Then she is still at the El Camino?"
        "She will be there-when we return," he said. "In her condition, after what happened, I was sure you wouldn't have wanted me to leave her there by herself. I was only too happy to take care of her while I waited to find you, senor. I am sure that is what you would have wished me to do."
        I changed the subject.
        "And you have satisfied yourself concerning my background?"
        He nodded.
        "I have already started the ball rolling. We will return to the El Camino and you can pick up your car and go on down to Ensenada as you planned. There will be a man there who will talk to you. One other thing. I think it would be very wise if you kept the senorita with you. After all, a man traveling around alone, with no particular business-suspicious-bound to arouse curiosity. But with a beautiful young girl.