It was the day after the Q-tip motel, and we were on the road again. Day two of our three-day drive north to the border. Before I dive deeper into the story, let me give some information about driving in Mexico. We stay on the toll roads as much as we can. They are mostly equivalent to the freeways in the U.S. They tend to be in better condition, usually have four lanes, and have higher speeds. They also have random roadblocks. Sometimes it's the local police, sometimes it's the Federalis, sometimes it's agriculture inspectors, sometimes it's any one of the numerous cartel groups. They set up barriers in the traffic lanes that funnel cars through a narrow gap, forcing everyone to slow down. Generally, they do a quick visual inspection of the vehicle as it approaches, then wave it through to keep traffic moving. On occasion, they will wave a car or truck over to the side for further investigation.
Scott and I had been driving for about half the day. We were in the state of Sinaloa, about 20 kilometers from the border of Sonora, when we came upon one of these roadblocks. We slowed down as we approached, expecting to be waved through as we had every time before. Not this time. I watched the guy standing by the barricade look at our car as we drove up. I saw him look at Scott in the driver's seat, then me in the passenger seat. He stepped in front of the car and waved us over to the side. The guy who waved us over was dressed head to toe in black and had an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. Scott obligingly pulled over to the side and rolled down his window.
The man in black approached the window and, in perfect English, said. "Hey, how's it goin?"
I started laughing, surprised at the greeting.
Scott replied, "Good."
"Where ya headed?" the man in black asked casually, smiling at us.
"To the border," Scott answered.
The man in black proceeded to make idle chit-chat with Scott, asking where we had stayed, what kinds of activities we did, where we ate, what our favorite Mexican foods were. It was like they were long-lost friends catching up on old times. It felt surreal.
I noticed that as they continued to chat, more men in black drifted up to the car, all with a big gun over their shoulders. They all stood casually around, kicking at the dirt and chatting quietly with each other.
The head man in black then got to the point. "We have been seeing a lot of counterfeit money come through, so we are checking money to make sure it's not fake. Can we look at your money?"
This seemed weird to both Scott and me, and we exchanged a glance, but these guys had big guns. Scott pulled out his wallet and took out the pesos. He fanned the money so the man in black could see it. The man in black looked at it, nodded, then asked, "Where is the rest of your money? I need to see all of your money." All the while, his tone was light and amicable.
Scott reached into the back seat and got out a bit more money.
"I can't see it very well," said the man in black. "Can you step out of the car and spread the money out on the seat, please? That would be very helpful. Thank you so much. I apologize for this. I see you have dogs in the back. Make sure the dogs don't get out of the car." On and on he went, going out of his way to be polite and friendly, never touching the money, telling us how cute our dogs were, smiling and jovial all the way.
Scott got out of the car and spread out the money on the seat. The man in black looked at it, nodded, then asked, "Where is the rest of your money? I really need to see all of it to make sure it's not fake money."
It was about this time that Scott and I both realized these guys were with a cartel. The man in black and Scott went back and forth a bit, then Scott walked to the back of the car and opened the hatch. I was trying to see what was happening back there, but a woman materialized by my window and started speaking to me in Spanish. I could only catch a word here and there because I was focused on what was happening with Scott and the man in black.
Scott and the man in black looked deep in conversation. I could see Scott nodding, then shaking his head, then nodding again. The man in black kept smiling and laughing, talked a lot, smiled and laughed more. I saw Scott unzip his suitcase and pull out another small bit of money. He spread it out in the back of the car, and again, the man in black looked at it but never touched it.
The woman by my window kept talking to me, I can only assume as a distraction, but I was blatantly ignoring her. She, too, was smiling and happy, and seemed very interested in the binoculars that we had sitting on the dashboard. I handed them to her and let her play with them while I continued to try and eavesdrop on what was happening at the back of the car.
That's when I saw the man in black hold out his hand. I saw Scott count out a few bills into the man's hand.
I heard Scott say, "Five thousand."
The man in black laughed and shook his head.
I saw Scott put down another bill. "Six thousand."
The man in black shook his head again. "No," he said. "Ten thousand."
Scott dropped another bill in the man's hand. "How about seven thousand."
Wait. No. He's not....is he? No way. Is he bargaining with the cartel?
The man in black shook his head again and laughed. "Ten," he repeated.
A small crowd of men in black had gathered around. They all laughed, finding the bargaining entertaining.
Scott gave two more bills. "Nine," he said.
The group laughed collectively as the man in black shook his head again and again said, "Ten."
He is bargaining with the Sinaloa cartel! Scott is trying to cut a deal! I shook my head in disbelief.
Scott laid down one last bill. "Ten," he said.
"Ten!" the man in black repeated, and the small group erupted in cheers and laughter. They all slapped Scott on the back. The man in black shook Scott's hand, escorted him back to the driver's door, and waited for Scott to get in the car.
"Thank you for your patience and understanding," the man in black said to Scott. "I hope you have a wonderful drive through Mexico. Safe travels and enjoy the rest of your trip."
With that, he waved us on, and away we went.
Scott and I were silent for a long time. Finally, I said, "We just got held up by the Sinaloa cartel."
"Yeah," Scott muttered. I could tell he was replaying it in his mind.
"You handled that really well," I offered, and I was telling the truth. Scott was calm, cool, and collected the entire time. "You even tried to bargain with them!"
Scott laughed. "I thought it might work." He was quiet again for several moments. "I don't know what I could have done differently."
"Nothing," I said immediately. "There's nothing you could have done. They wanted ten thousand pesos. In the big picture, it's not that much money. There isn't much we could do but pay them. You handled that perfectly."
Scott was silent for a bit longer, then gave a tiny nod. He looked at me and smiled. "I tried to bargain with the Sinaloa cartel."
We both laughed, then shook our heads.
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