Puerto Vallarta Squeeze Read Online Free PDF Page A

melange of water jugs, cans of motor oil, and other gear.
    The shooter handed Danny twenty-five one-hundred-dollar bills.
    “That’s a lot of cash to be carrying around, particularly in Mexico.” Danny was shifting into second and rolling toward Insurgentes.
    The shooter took a navy blue ball cap from his knapsack, bent the bill into a half oval, and pulled it low over his eyes.
    “I have my quirks. I don’t like airplanes, and I don’t like traveler’s checks or credit cards.”
    Danny handed the money back to Luz. “Stick this way down inside the sleeping bag. If we get stopped by the
federates
or the judicial police, I’d prefer not to have my pockets bulging with American
dinero.”
    He glanced at the shooter. “Aren’t you afraid of being rolled, carrying around that much cash?”
    The shooter was slowly moving his head back and forth like a radar antenna, scanning the street ahead and both sides of it.
    “It’s been tried.” He spoke in a detached way, as if he were on time-share, concentrating on something else. “Five of the
     boy-os made a move on me in Manila once.”
    “What happened?”
    “Didn’t work out the way they’d planned. Overconfidence will do that to you.”
    Danny should have listened to those words. Later on and looking back, he was pretty sure the shooter was trying to tell him
     something, but he’d been concentrating on getting them through the streets and thinking about what this story would do for
     his wallet
and
his reputation—a whole new rejuvenated Danny Pastor, comeback kid and demon of the talk shows, recipient of literary prizes
     and hero to right-thinking citizens everywhere.
    He’d never realized how tricky it is to know something about somebody and not let them know you know when you’re trying to
     help them for all the wrong reasons. Insurgentes was a bright, major thoroughfare running north through town, eventually tying
     into other streets and leading toward the airport. The problem was how to get out of town without being noticed and at the
     same time not be too obvious about it so he didn’t tip off the shooter about knowing more than he was supposed to know.
    Danny parked the Bronco on a side street near the Rio Cuale and went around the corner to a small grocery store on Insurgentes.
     Fruit, candy bars, cheese, loaf of bread, two gallons of drinking water. And a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, economy size. As he
     climbed in the Bronco, a truckload of police bounced north along Insurgentes, siren blaring.
    “What’s all the excitement?” the shooter asked, sounding innocent and only a little curious.
    “The hombre tending the store says there’s been some kind of shooting over on Ordaz. That’s what the sirens and traffic are
     about. The
federates
probably will be stopping everybody on the highway out, looking at papers, searching cars, and all the rest of that good
     crap. I’m going to take a back route that’s a little rough, but it’ll save us a lot of time and hassle.” Pretty decent, reasonable
     explanation. Christ, Danny said to himself, I’m already thinking like a criminal.
    “That sort of thing happen often here? Shootings?” The shooter was lying back, seeming to be relaxed, flicking cigarette ashes
     out the side as they bumped over cobblestones. But he never stopped looking everywhere at once.
    “Not very often. Lot of petty stuff, not much heavy violence.”
    “Who got hit?” Interesting choice of words. Most people would have said “shot” or something along those lines.
    “Don’t know for sure.” Danny swerved to miss a rumbling bus carrying night workers north toward the big tourist hotels. “Apparently
     an American navy officer and some other gringo. Most likely a bar fight.”
    He couldn’t see Luz’s face, but she had to be wondering just what the hell he was doing and why he was saying less than he
     knew. And the bar fight explanation was a little weak, since American naval officers weren’t given over to