I'd never been south of the border before. As the plane circled over squat palms and glittering turquoise water, a belt of fear squeezed my stomach. I'd been to Spain, but this was Spain's Wild West. Random danger and poverty, death in surprising places. And here we were to break the law. Good thinking.

Our plane came to a bumpy landing on a runway that could have used some patching. We sailed through customs, were welcomed to Mexico, got in a beat-up cab. We were here. It was happening. Our task: to pick up the hashish at customs and deliver it to the Pacific Coast of Mexico, near San Diego. We would be informed later of our exact destination.

During the ride downtown, we stared, drank it all in. Dusty roads, palms, spindly bushes, stocky dark men in baseball hats and white cotton, women in black shawls carrying everything from babies to groceries. Sandals, shacks, more palm trees, avocadoes, mangoes, Coca-Cola and Marlboro billboards.

Then the city, old Spanish Mexico. Lacy wrought-iron gates, spreading shade trees, narrow streets with hairline sidewalks. More suits here and outdoor café s. The cab pulled up to the Hotel Veracruz and Tommy paid the cabbie, refusing his offer to help with our bags.

"Well, here we are, babe," said my alleged fiancé as we walked into an airy blue-and-white-tiled lobby bordered with plants, dotted with wicker seating areas and little round tables. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

I'd been practicing my role as a young American on her pre-wedding trip. A secretary type, perhaps. Or some other sort of office worker. That afternoon we swam in the pool, drank fresh-squeezed orange juice and vodkas at the bar and walked around Veracruz, stopping at a café here and there for another drink, trying to decide what to do about the young boys asking us for money.

"If we give some to one of them, they'll never leave us alone," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but how can we just ignore them?" said Tommy.

"Let's not do anything today," I said. "Let's just watch; get some idea of the way things are here."

Tommy agreed. Still, he could not resist giving away the bread that came with the octopus and olive appetizers we had at our final café stop.

*

Next morning around eleven o'clock, we got out of a battered early 60s Chevy at the edge of town, near the docks.

"Gracias," said Tommy, paying the man.

"Muchas gracias señ or," I chimed in, smiling.

The driver waved, said adios, turned the Chevy around and putt-putted away. We faced a row of warehouses, behind which cranes and ships' masts rose from the docks. A small shack stood alone. From the direction we'd come spread the city's slummy outskirts. Ramshackle buildings and shacks, dirt, dust.

We walked to the shack. It was already steamy. We both wore clean, straight-looking clothes that we'd saved for this day. Nothing to distinguish us, not even bell bottoms. We did want me to be noticed, even if discreetly, so I wore a bit of eye makeup. No lipstick: too obvious, we'd decided. I had on a pale pink short-sleeved blouse and gray A-line skirt with matching pocketbook. Tommy wore a white short-sleeved shirt and stovepipe khakis. We both wore sandals. A wide-brimmed hat covered my head, a blue baseball cap. Tommy's. We held hands. Tommy smoked a cigarette.

"You O.K., babe?" he whispered as we neared the shack. He squeezed my hand. Moisture glued our palms.

"Fine. You?"

"O.K.. We're just a happy couple on vacation."

"We'll be married at the end of the summer. Our parents are thrilled. We're students. I'll speak Spanish. Let's discreetly take a couple of deep breaths."

*

We had arrived. There was a sign outside, Aduana, "Customs." We peered inside. A pudgy man in a dark blue uniform snored at a desk, head resting on arms, facing away from the door. A floor fan circulated cigarette smoke and heat. The desk filled nearly the whole room.

"Buenas dias," Tommy said brightly.

The guard looked up, expressionless. "Buenas."

"Somos aqui para nuestro auto," I said.

"Ah si. Arriva esta semana?"

"Si, es en el nombre de Thomas Miller."

"Bueno. No puedo hacerlo hoy," he said. "You come back mañ ana," he added. "The man who can do is on vacaciones. He back mañ ana."

"This afternoon?"

"No, mañ ana."

"Is the van here?"

"Señ or, yo no say. El otro lo sabe. Ustedes vienen mañ ana en la mañ ana."

"Tommy, let's just go. The other guy won't be here till tomorrow."

Smiling and thanking him, Tommy took my arm, steered us back toward the edge-of-town slums.

"So are we busted or what?" I muttered, when we were safely away. We walked along cracked sidewalks so narrow we had to travel single-file whenever a car or a truck rumbled by on the pot-holed streets.

"I think they would have busted us right then and there," Tommy murmured. "Why wait? What for?"

"To see who we're working with?"

"So you're saying we could be followed."

"Maybe, but they already know where we're staying anyway, if they're on to us."

"Making it pointless for us to split town."

"If they're watching us, yeah. But if they're not?"

"Then we could get out of here. But they'll wonder why we never picked up the van. They'll take a closer look, find the shit and bust us at the border."

"Because the van's in your name."

We considered every angle we could think of during the hour-long walk back to our ritzy hotel. The walk helped clear our heads, calm us. By the time we got downtown, we were sweaty, thirsty, tired of saying no to beggars. They were still boys, mostly. Beautiful olive-skinned young boys, eight to thirteen years old. They had dark eyes that would have been soulful if the determination to get whatever they could from us hadn't made them hard, focused, steel. Tommy wanted to give them something. "Do it if you must," I said, "but if you do we'll be hounded every step of every minute we're in this town." He resisted.

Back at the hotel, we went straight out to the courtyard and two of the city's rare ice-cold beers. "Dos Dos Equis, por favor," said Tommy, using one of his rare Spanish phrases.

"Well, this is Mexico," I said, "and the mañ ana thing is a reality here."

"Yeah. So we just go back tomorrow, right?"

"If anything was wrong with the paperwork it should have been obvious today. Why would they wait to tell us?"

"I think we should just go back tomorrow."

*

Quarter to eleven the next morning we set off again, in a cab. This time, unbelievably, the customs official we needed was at work. He found the papers, went off into one of the warehouses. We stood under waves of heat, watching as the beige VW van approached. We held hands and said nothing, did not look at each other.

Then the van was there, parked next to us. I saw my lace curtains in the windows and entered my character. I was a secretary who was engaged. I couldn't wait to go on this camping trip across Mexico. I was excited.

Now the two guards were getting into the van, looking through it. I heard them open the box. I heard them admiring our camping gear and the van. One of them got out.

"I like to buy the gas from you."

"The gas?" said Tommy.

"El petrol para el camion?" I said.

"No, no, señ orita." He laughed. "Gas for the stove."

"Ah!" said Tommy. "The propane! Sure!"

"Wait Tommy," I said, "what if it's hard to find? How will we cook?"

"Annie..." Tommy looked at me, almost menacing.

"Tommy, listen. If we're camping we need to cook, right? We need the gas. How about we sell him just one?"

Tommy looked at the guard, who shrugged his shoulders. "One is bueno... how much?"

"Ah... how much you think?"

"One dollar?"

"Done. I tell you what, I give it to you. I give it to you as a present, because I am getting married at the end of this summer."

"Ah! Married! Que bueno."

"Si. We are very, very happy, and both our fathers are very happy. To express my happiness, I give you this gift, O.K.?"

"O.K. señ or, muchas gracias. Much happiness to you and your novia. Many niñ os."

Then Tommy signed some papers and everybody smiled and laughed at something and we drove away.

"My God," I said. "Want a cigarette?"

"Yeah."

I lit Tommy's, passed it to him, lit mine. My hands were cold, but at least they had not shaken. My heart was turning somersaults; strangely, the cigarette slowed things down. Tommy looked fine.

"Frozen is more like it," he said. "I feel frozen."

"Too frozen for a beer?"

"Ah, no babe, not too frozen for a beer. But we'd better go pick up Max, have it with him."

"Yuck," I said. "Do we have to? I'd rather be alone with you for a while. But you're right; he'll be wondering."

"It is his hash, after all."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right, let's go. But before we get there, let me tell you I am so proud of us. We fucking did it. So far. You were great."

"You were great. You had me convinced we needed that fucking gas!"

As we drove to Max's hotel, the Excelsior, I watched the women on the crowded streets, counting the uses they had for their shawls. Baby carrier, sun hat, raincoat, umbrella, scarf, jacket. I hardly saw a woman without one, somewhere on her. Mostly they were black. There were also white dresses, and white men's clothes and white buildings and pastel-colored buildings, bright colors made even brighter under the brilliant sunlight in an azure sky.

Tommy looked tense now. The veins stood out on his bony temples, and the rounded forehead below his steadily retreating hairline was creased. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry Tommy," I said, "the worst part might be over."

We laughed. For an instant his worry disappeared. He glanced at me. "I'm glad you're here," he said.

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