Juan retreated from Jaime’s house under a fusillade of rapidly shouted curses. That didn’t go well, he thought. Maybe he doesn’t like money?
He abandoned his original plan to work the rest of the mailboxes on this block and decided to head back to his pickup with all possible haste. He made it as far as the parking lot of Ma-Ha Tuak Park when the distinctive blare from a police car chirped briefly from where it was rolling up behind him.
Jaun’s blood ran cold. That old cabrón called the cops on me! He did a quick assessment of his situation. Inside his satchel was the tablet and almost two dozen blank absentee ballots. I have to talk my way out of this one, or I'm going to jail for a long time.
Juan slowly turned. He forced a small smile. Don’t grin too much, he chastised himself. That will make you look loco. Instead, he tried to feign a surprised, cooperative look.
A mechanical, amplified voice squawked from the police cruiser. “Sir! Please stay where you are.”
Juan complied.
There was a long, uncomfortable pause while Juan waited. It looked like the policeman behind the wheel was talking on the radio. “Sir! Please step forward with your hands in the air.”
The whole situation was so surreal. Juan thought about his Uncle Pablo and how his wife had warned him that Pablo would bring him trouble. He thought about his erstwhile mentor, Hector, who had taught him the ins and outs of the ballot harvesting game. He’d always made it look so easy and risk-free. Juan had never really worried about getting caught. It had all been so easy. What’s Maria going to think when she finds out I’m in jail?
“Sir! I said, please step closer with your hands in the air!”
The door to the police cruiser began to open as Juan staggered nearer. A young Hispanic police officer bounced out happily, holding his arms wide, "Now give me a hug!”
Juan momentarily lost his ability to breathe as he froze, spellbound, in place. In the three or four steps it took for the officer to reach him, his startled mind had the few seconds it needed to register that he knew the formidable man approaching him in his black police uniform. It was his nephew, Gustavo.
Officer Gustavo was guffawing with a big belly laugh and he scooped Juan into a crushing bear hug. “Tio Juan! You should see the look on your face!”
Juan’s breath was coming back now in ragged gasps. “I think I soiled myself, sobrino,” he muttered darkly.
Gustavo’s laughter took some time to die away, with occasional interruptions to wipe away tears. “I’m sorry, uncle,” he said at last, wrapping a friendly arm around Juan’s shoulders, “But you had it coming! I got a call that some guy was checking out the mailboxes over here and I knew it was you.”
“You scared the hell out of me,” Juan clutched at his stomach, trying to see the humor. “I thought I was going to jail.”
"You gotta be careful, too," Gustavo continued, sweeping his eyes across the surrounding neighborhood. “Everybody’s got door cameras these days. If you get caught on video, they got you for sure.”
“Mexicans don’t have cameras,” Juan huffed.
Gustavo leaned back with his hands on his hips and gave Juan a disparaging look, “What century are you living in? Everybody's got cameras these days."
Juan nodded but said nothing.
Gustavo’s expression turned serious, “You’re lucky I was alone on patrol today, Tio. If my partner had been with me, this little reunion,” he made a swishing motion with his hand to indicate the spot where they were standing, “would have gone a lot differently.”
Juan nodded again, feeling somewhat insulted at being lectured by a kid he’d played with as a baby. But he was smart enough to keep his prideful feelings to himself. Instead, he tried to make a joke of his own, “Yeah, I would have had to pay twice as much.”
At this, Gustavo’s eyebrows arched up and down, and he tilted his head knowingly. His hand made a tiny scratching motion, palm up.
Juan gave his nephew two hundred-dollar bills.