Page 61 of Terminal Voyage
After we came to a stop, the cop sat in his car for a moment, the tension growing.
The sun angled toward the horizon. It was getting late.
The patrolman finally lumbered out of the squad car and waddled to the window. With a bushy mustache and jet black hair, he smiled at Silas—the way a predator smiles at prey. “Buenas tardes. Documentos.”
Silas handed him a driver’s license. “We’re Americans.”
The officer looked at the licenses, then peered into the van. He sized us up. “Habla español?”
“Un poco,” Silas replied.
“My English is not so good, but I will try.”
“Thank you.”
“Registration?”
“Uh, I’m not sure,” Silas said as he reached for the glove box. He flipped it open and rummaged through the junk. There were a few papers, but Silas didn’t find the registration. He looked at the officer, frowned, and shook his head. “Sorry. It’s a rental.”
"What are you doing in Mexico?" the officer asked.
Silas smiled. "Vacation.”
"Where are you coming from?”
"Did we do something wrong, officer?"
“Where are you coming from?”
"We had been to the ruins, then we were trying to find a cenote, but we got lost.”
Sticking as close to the truth as possible was often the best bet. But we all looked like we had been for a swim.
"No registration. No insurance. Big problemo."
"Like I said, it's a rental. I know we have insurance on the vehicle. I just can't find the paperwork.”
The officer just gave him a blank look.
There was a long, awkward silence.
"Were we doing something wrong?" Silas asked after the silence got to be too much.
The officer nodded. “Si.”
"What's the problem?”
The officer stared him down for a moment. "You got a broken taillight, and you were speeding."
Silas clenched his jaw.
I don't know how fast we were going, but it couldn't have beenthatfast.
"I'm sorry about that,” Silas said. “We're lost and just trying to get back to Puerto Maya in time for dinner.”
"Step out of the vehicle, por favor.”
Silas shared an uncomfortable glance with Declan, then opened the door and climbed out.
