><><><><
When they got back to the border crossing, both he and
Rachel loaded with sacks and packages, Jake was hopeful no one he knew would be
on duty at Customs. The hope was dashed, as he glanced down the line. Although
there was no way he could look particularly macho with his arms full of
packages, he gave it a vain attempt.
"Well, well," the customs agent said with a hard
smile, "what have we here?"
"Stuff," Jake said, putting down his load, digging
in his pocket and showing the officer his ID as well as a stack of receipts.
"Sure there's nothing smuggled in these?" he
asked, glaring at Jake and not bothering to look at the receipts. He projected
the belief he had just netted the head of a major smuggling ring. Any minute
Jake expected him to call for reinforcements.
"You can check anything necessary," Rachel said as
he looked over her own identification, obviously concerned at the man's tone.
"We'd be glad to unwrap the packages."
A heavy-set female tourist behind them got a decidedly
worried expression on her round face as the guard glared menacingly at Jake.
"I think this might require a strip search, big guy." He fingered his
gun.
"That's about enough," Jake growled.
"Was that a threat?" The guard's thick eyebrows
beetled up with indignation.
"Whatever it takes to get us through."
"I heard that."
"Good!"
"Jake," Rachel said, taking his arm, "please.
We don't want trouble."
"Yeah," the agent said, "listen to the
wisdom of the little woman here. Who do you think you are anyway? Some kind of
special border patrolman who can just waltz through these hallowed gates like
you own the place!"
Jake gave him a look of disdain. "Do I look dumb enough
to try to guard a border that can't be guarded or like a man who doesn't have
anything better to do than harass innocent tourists... at traps?"
"You putting down the work of the fine men of
Immigration and Naturalization," the guard snarled, "men who put
their lives on the line every day. Sometimes twice!"
"That right there shows a clear lack of
intelligence," Jake countered, while Rachel pulled on his arm, trying to
get him to stop talking.
"I can agree with that," the agent said, now
struggling to keep back a grin.
"I'll bet you can."
"Well, I'll let you through this time without stripping
you raw, but it's just because you got this lovely lady with you. She looks
like the honest sort, unlike some people. You're just lucky I'm busy
today." He handed back their identification.
"Not busy enough obviously."
"Take care of him, miss," the man said, slamming
his big hand against Jake’s shoulder hard enough to cause him to take a step
backward. He turned to Rachel. "Looks like a clear stress problem. Must
need some real tender loving care at home." He laughed at Jake's disgusted
look and Rachel's shock.
Now Rachel realized that these two men knew each other and
were friends. It was at least if you could call what two men sometimes did to
each other in bantering--friendship. When they were out on the street, the sun
again shining down on their heads, she muttered, "I don't appreciate your
humor."
"My humor," he retorted, "I was not
the one having fun back there, and the worst part of this will be Monday
morning." He swore at the vision he'd conjured up. "He's going to
make this little incident grow. He thinks he was funny, and he's going to
try and convince everybody I know that he was funny, and that this was
funny!" He would have slapped a hand to his forehead as a symbolic
gesture, except holding all the purchases left him no arms with which to
demonstrate.
"Actually," Rachel said with a beginning chuckle,
"it was kind of funny."
