I drive out of the warehouse back parking lot. My car has a lot of power, but I take it easy so as to not attract attention. I drive for a bit and find a crossing, just past the cerveza sign. The crossing is just a dirt road, and I take it very easy, to avoid dust and dirt on my shiny, waxed car. I get back into the USA and I spot no police car, just as José said. (The product dealers in Mexico are infamous for selling out customers to the Mexican police. The product dealers get back their product, in return for a bit of mordida [bribe.] However, a continuing heavy money customer is worth a bit of courtesy.)

Once back in the USA, I ease along back roads, at the speed limit. I try to project the image of a pendejo, just out for a drive in the country.

Once I get far enough North, I cross over I-395 and head for Los Angeles. Once across I-395, the danger of being stopped as a drug mule, eases quite a bit.

(The main way North from San Diego, along the inland, is I-395. The average uneducated drug mule probably just cruises his car up I-395. Of course, the police are aware of the situation and may try to find an excuse to stop a car that they have not seen before.

Of course, the drug mule may try to outrun the police. A car may outrun a police car, but a car can’t outrun the police radio.)

I just take it easy and obey the speed limits and the traffic signs. My car is currently registered, in the State of California, with legal license plates. I am not in the drug mule corridor and there is no reason for the local police to stop me. All have to do is to take it easy and I should be home free.

(My heart is beating like a drum. I keep glancing at the odometer and it keeps telling me that I have traveled one more mile, toward my buyer. Unlike the heroes of fiction, I’m not used to risking my freedom on a desperate journey, necessary for me to survive economically. I may be afraid, but I can still think. I don’t take just one road, that leads North. I do try to take what appear to be main rural roads, that lead North. I try to avoid interaction with some of the idiots driving on the rural roads.)

After what seems like long hours, I begin to get into the area of small cities that lie South and East of Los Angeles. If I was careful before, I’m now even more careful. I don’t need interaction with local police.

I find the address that Enrique gave me, for the product buyer. Just as I approach the outer gate, a police car goes by. (My heart rate goes up to 220 beats per minute, or even more.) I go past the outer gate until I can find a side road that allows me to turn around. I then drive back to the outer gate.

A goon at the outer gate tells me, “We’re closed, go away.”

I say, “Your boss is not closed for the product that I have to deliver.”

The goon uses a radio or some such. He then wants to know where I got the product.”

I tell goon boy, “I got the product from Enrique. I also got the address here, from Enrique.”

The goon again uses a radio or some such. He then asks me, “Enrique down in San Diego?”

I say, “Yeah, Enrique, down in the San Diego area, maybe just a bit South of San Diego.”

The goon again uses a radio or some such. He then asks me, “What kind of product you got?”

I say, “Kilo amounts.”

The goon nods and maybe even thinks a bit. He says, “You can go in, but you better be legit.” The goon then opens the outer gate.

I drive up to a back door of what might be a warehouse. The back door opens just a bit and yet another goon ducks under the bottom of the partially opened door.

The goon boy snarls at me, “You claim you got product in kilo amounts?”

I reply, “Yes, maybe we can continue the discussion inside, where the police can’t join the discussion?”

The goon signals, with a radio or some such.