Waltz across Texas with a Shoe and a Fart (WALTZ ACROSS series book #1)

Chapter 17: Dunce Upon a Time in Mexico

Driving away, he noticed that an old pickup was pulling out of the boot factory parking lot and driving along behind him. He paused a moment at the stop sign to open his GPS app on his phone and then spoke into it to find the border crossing while he continued driving. He didn't want to stay stopped for very long in case this guy behind him had sensed his resentment for being laughed at and decided to be a bully. Stopping at the next intersection, he could see through his mirror that this was, in fact, the guy that had remained to get the final snicker, so he pressed the gas pedal to hopefully lose him. He thought he had lost the guy when he was pulling into the border crossing parking area. Getting out and locking up, though, he saw the pickup pull into the lot about a hundred feet away. This was no coincidence, he realized, so he ran at full speed for the gate. His only hope was that this guy was an illegal and wouldn't take a chance to cross over.

Getting through the gate and running a block to his left as Luis had suggested, he looked back over his shoulder and saw the guy now running to keep up with him. So much for him being an illegal. He felt that his best option was to lose himself in the big cafe Luis had told him about. At least there maybe this guy wouldn't make a big scene and try to beat him up. He would have time, then, to figure out what to do from there. He also wanted to make sure this was documented so his attacker would be known, so he started recording video and swapping between his face and the face of his follower without being too obvious while talking about what he thought was going on.

"Sorry for the bouncing and being out of breath on this. I'm being chased in Mexico by a guy who followed me across the border in El Paso. He was in the boot factory and was laughing at me there. I think I pissed him off somehow. I don't know what he wants, but it can't be good. So far, everybody on this trip who has chased me has been trying to beat me up. This is the guy." He pointed the phone backward to try and get the man's face on camera. "If I don't show up in the U.S. again, I'm dead or in a gutter someplace in Juarez. Somebody please come find me. I'm going to get some food in this café and try to lose this guy in the crowd." Barnard pointed the phone at the café, then back again at the man following him, then said, "If I don't upload anything else, this is my last one and I hope it teaches people a lesson to be very careful when going to Mexico." He stopped the video just as he came to the doorway of the café.

He found the cafe just where Luis had said and with the time being just after noon, he was in luck. Luck for it being crowded, that is, but not luck for getting served. He picked up recording again to get some video of the guys working behind the counter and to take in some of the flavor of the place. He had almost forgotten about being followed when he turned toward the front door and saw that the guy had taken a seat at a sidewalk table and was watching him, talking on a cell phone. Barnard was flummoxed at this point, but not so much so that he couldn't eat. He found a seat in between a very large, sweaty man and a smaller man holding a Chihuahua. As he ate and watched his stalker watching him, he decided to make a little small talk.

"What's your dog's name?" he said to the smaller man, trying to not smell the other guy.

"Dinner," the smaller man said, eliciting a huge laugh from the dozen or so people in ear shot. Barnard looked at his food then back at the dog, and at that point nearly lost his appetite.

"Just kidding, gringo! You Americans take everything so seriously. No wonder you all die of heart attacks. Can't you take a joke?" He remembered making fun of Audie for the same thing and suddenly wished his friend were here, taking back all of his thoughts at the boot factory about wishing to be by himself. The smaller man fed his little dog the last of his flauta and Barnard decided that if the dog would eat it, it probably wasn't dog in the food. To the best of his knowledge, Chihuahuas weren't cannibalistic. Relaxing a bit in this assurance, he took the first bite of his food and from that point didn't care what it was made of. The flavor burst in his mouth like a hot pepper and garlic explosion. He was in heaven as long as he had enough beer to calm it down. As he was finishing, he realized he had no exit plan, which was resolved by a small boy about six or seven years old coming up and tugging on his sleeve.