Adventures with Policia in Tijuana - Bill almost gets killed

As we got into Mexico and sought out transportation, the first mistake of the night was randomly choosing the cab we got in. When you enter Mexico on foot via "the gate," the bidding war commences as you get howled at to take "this cab" because for some reason it's better than the 40 other piece of crap cabs right next to it. After selecting a ride at random, the imposing driver looked as if he was 5 years old and it were Christmas morning. We all piled in and it's not that I expected this thing to get the "Cleanliest Cab of the Year" award, but I'm sure the guy could've cleaned it sometime after 1973. The unbearable stench however could not hold us party animals down, we were on a mission.

We couldn't have arrived sooner at Avenida Revolucion (Tijuana's Las Vegas Blvd.). One of the smarter ones of the group had agreed to the $475.00 cab fare or whatever ridiculous price they try to charge before you tell them you only have $5.00 and they happily accept, and of course paid the tab. We then partied the night away. It was a typical wild night in Mehiiiico but all good things come to an end...except for the entertainment value of this website! At this point in time, we had been out for hours, had no money left, and many in the group had consumed more than their fair share of alcohol. The events that came next are sure to not soon leave my memory.

About 100 yards away from the border there is a bridge that must be crossed. On the way to the bridge, on the bridge itself, and on the sidewalk leading up to the border, there are multitudes of people selling all sorts of merchandise, food, and other trinkets that are pretty much useless. By the time we hit the bridge, "Bill" (who was awarded this prestigious nickname for becoming extremely belligerent when he drinks) was all over the place. I remember laughing with the other guys and looking around, taking in the sights and smells, just yearning for a Churro stand (Mmmm...churros) that was nowhere in sight, before Bill started causing a ruckus. Next thing I know he is holding some sort of glass device that a peddler was trying to sell him. The conversation between the two people that didn't understand the other's language as I caught up...

Bill: ...O..Kay, thanks
Peddler: (Spanish words, Spanish words) Ten Dollars
Bill: I thank you, yes...you are kind man
Peddler: (more Spanish words while holding out his hand for money)

This was all going on while we were still walking, the peddler mirroring Bill as he walked across the bridge. At this point I'm on the other side of Bill and I grab what was now clearly a glass bong and go to give it back to the peddler, but Bill is refusing to let go. I coerce him into giving it back and Peddler refuses to put his hands out to take it. Apparently the only thing he'll take now is money, not his own piece of garbage products. In my best Spanish accent I say "No, Sorry" which I'm sure, knowing not a hint of English other than "Ten dollars" he completely understood. Bill finally seems somewhat coherent as he places the artwork next to the man on the side of the bridge and we're on our way. All I'm thinking of is my bed and the fact that I didn't get my Churro, the other two guys are giggling about something, and Bill is pissed, mumbling about how "his friend" the peddler really gave him a free bong. By now I have Bill in a headlock while we're walking making sure he stays out of trouble, and more importantly, so that he doesn't just fall flat on his face.

Out of nowhere comes Peddler. He's now right behind Bill and clearly following us which is kind of weird, but no big deal. He is continually saying something that of course we still don't comprehend. Bill is now thrilled thinking the guy came back to give him his well deserved bong. I turn around, give a nice smile, and we walk away.

Peddler now starts yelling behind us. Clairvoyantly I look ahead and see a man in all black, literally in the shadows of an alley. Now, I never get nervous or scared or come close to entertaining any similar traits of that nature. At this point however, I don't think I've ever felt as uneasy as I did. It was one of those times you know something just isn't right and realize happy trails are not going to follow. A BGIB (Big Guy In Black) runs towards us and starts yelling at us in Spanish. Do you think Bill is going to stand for this harassment?

Bill: ---- YOU! You don't know me! Do...you know, what I'll do to YOU?!
BGIB: (more yelling in Spanish, but looking in different directions when doing so)
Me: NO! PLEASE!

Three more BGIB's immediately surround us. Before any more of my politeness can fall on deaf ears, BGIB#1 takes an angry step towards Bill. As I let go of Bill to stand between him and BGIB#1, I see BGIB#2 pull out a club and whack Bill in the leg. As he's stumbling from the sting, I try to stand between Bill and the guy who just hit him to plead for his life. Bill, not being phased thinks this is another street fight and turns to the second BGIB...

Bill: ---- YOU! I'll...

He gets hit with another club in the side, and then another BGIB hits him again. Now I'm boxing in Bill completely shielding him with my back pressing him against a fence ready to take one for the team. I'm guessing the BGIB's are now seeing me as the peacemaker because they are all angrily looking through me to Bill but not swinging. Out of the corner of my eyes I see the other two that were with us a few feet away frozen in complete shock. Somehow Bill is showing no sign of pain or remorse. That's when I hear and I kid you not, his exact words...

Bill: DO YOU KNOW WHO MY UNCLE IS? I'll HAVE HIM KILL YOU IF I DON'T KILL YOU FIRST!

Now I turn around and grab Bill by the shirt, about to punch him myself, and tell him repeatedly to shut up before I knock him out. He opens his mouth and I tell him if he wants to go to jail keep it up because at this point I really don't care. He hesitates, gets close to me, points at the BGIB, smiles from ear to ear and then slowly whispers...

Bill: These guys aren't gonna do anything to me, John.

Before I can comprehend what is going through this kid's mind, a BGIB grabs Bill's hand that was pointing at him and handcuffs him to the fence. A police officer casually strolls up and the BGIB's excitedly explain the story. Now it's Me, the police officer, Bill handcuffed against the fence, the BGIB's, my two other friends frozen in utter shock, and of course the Peddler.

Come to find out, Peddler claims Bill broke his bong when he set it down and is demanding payment which is being refused only because we have no monies between the 4 of us. After the cop examines the bong, he tells us there is a slight crack and we should just give the guy ten bucks and be on our way. Handcuffed Bill looks at it and rudely repeats his plea of innocence. I explain to the officer that it was probably like that before since it is such an insignificant crack you can only see with extreme close inspection. The English speaking officer then sympathizes with us, enough to demand money for himself or we will all go to jail.

I see hope about 50 yards away where the borders meet. It's our savior. An American in his radiant Army uniform, M16 in hand, standing upright just looking for an excuse to shoot up some BGIB's. I run up to him and explain the situation emphasizing that my friend is handcuffed and we're trying to get him out of there because it's very likely they will kill him. The guy asks me if I'm in the military and after saying no, he tells me he can't help me.

He can't help me? Now, I have nothing but the utmost respect for those who serve in the armed forces...with the exception of this guy. All he would have had to do is take a short walk and he probably wouldn't even have had to say anything to the BGIB's to free Bill. No skin off his back, and just doing something that insignificant will save Bill from going to jail and probably his life for that matter. No, but since I'm just a working, law abiding American citizen, he can't help me. Thanks a lot buddy. I thought you were supposed to serve our country by PROTECTING THE PEOPLE, or maybe you don't even serve our country, you work for Mexico. I don't know. Either way, thanks again.

As I'm half confused, half frustrated walking back, I see the BGIB putting Bill in the back of a cop car. They drive off.

I'll never forget looking at his head in the back of the car thinking of all the fun times and trouble we had caused in our lives and how in our nice little outing to Mexico, Peddler had gotten my friend killed.

Since I have no family in California, Bill's family is kind of like my "Westcoast Family," but in this situation, any inclination to 'stop by' for some breakfast quickly dwindled. I could already see the conversation...

Bill's Mother: 8am? Late night, huh?
Me: Sure was Ma. What's for breakfast?
Bill's Mother: How about some eggs and some...wait, where's Bill?
Me: Bill?
Bill's Mother: You know, my son...
Me: Oh yeah, about that. Bill, um, kind of got killed in Mexico. Now how about them eggs?

*For those that don't know, when you go to Mexico, any concept you have of laws and/or "rights" can just be thrown out the window. If you go to jail in a place like Tijuana (that is if they decide to actually bring you to jail and not leave you in a ditch somewhere without your kidneys), you're as good as dead.

Extortion came into play yet again if we ever wanted to "see our friend again." Fortunately for us/Bill, one of my buddies had his ATM card on him, though the closest ATM was about 15 minutes away. We speedily go and get the money out of the ATM. Surprisingly we're not robbed in one of the more shadier parts of TJ with a machine spitting fresh American money out at these 2 kids that blended in with the surroundings as much as Calista Flockhart in an overeaters anonymous meeting. We rush back to save our friend just in time. Luckily, they only drove Bill down the block and counted on us coming through with their extortion money. Oh yeah, and I guess the original overpriced $10 bong had the juice running on it. $80 was the price we payed for freedom. Bong not included.

The only obstacle left before getting back onto safe ground was time. The wait to cross back over the border was about 1/2 hour. After we almost got into a fight in line, Bill starts complaining about how bad he needs to use the bathroom. When he realizes there is no bano anywhere in sight, he drops his pants so he can go right there on the sidewalk. I have to physically grab him (his arms you pervs!) and repeatedly instruct him that he's NOT going to do that and he's going to have to wait. His rants continue and makes a few more efforts to undo his pants so he can relieve himself in the middle of the crowd of 100+ people in line. The complaining abruptly comes to a stop and Bill gazes off into the distance. He looks as if he is calculating the world's toughest scientific problem. I hear a noise on the ground.

I look down then right back at him. Bill is now urinating on himself. His belt is still buckled, his hands are still in his pockets, and he is standing proud. His expression while this was taking place was absolutely priceless. This recently enraged belligerent man who had just gotten beaten with clubs, now had the same grin the cab driver had when we entered his car earlier in the evening. His eyes were half closed, and Bill was slightly swaying back and forth while the wet spot on his pants and down his pant legs just increased. Anyone within a few feet around him was now standing in a puddle. Little did they know it was coming from this now happy-go-lucky guy's urethra. The three of us that knew what was going on stayed clear of the substance but were now laughing so hard our tears joined the puddles on the ground.

Less than an hour later we were back in the car driving home. The sun was coming up and the car ride home was completely silent other than a few outbursts of laughter that went on for a few seconds then abruptly ceased. The only thing on my mind was the pungent smell of urine, the fact that we were all still alive, and what in the world was "Peddler" going to spend all that money on. I've been back to Mexico a few times since that fateful event and have always been a bit wary. No matter who I go with or what takes place, I'm sure I'll never forget the eventful night that took place with Me, Bill, and the BGIB's. Worst part was, that whole night I didn't get to eat one Churro.

Back to: Stories