396
JUAN FRANCISCO BLANCO
said, “Dad, Ricárdo, do you have your papers, a green card, or
something?”
“Son, we don’t have any papers. They cost money to get, we
never got any papers,” Fernándo told him.
“Ek Chuah, can you make some papers...” As Tital was asking
a question, the red-faced officer was standing outside his
window, knocking on the door. Tital rolled down his window and
looked out.
“I thought it might be you again. You haven’t been drinking
liquor, nor doing drugs?” The officer asked, trying to shake up his
next vacationer.
“No sir, officer.”
“Is your vision good, son? Let’s see your name...ah, here it is
in my records...Tital Almanza.”
“My vision’s good,” Tital responded.
“Then why, pray tell me, did you run that red stoplight back in
Shiprock? Do you think because it’s a small town, you don’t have
to follow the laws?”
“I tried to stop officer, but the light changed too quickly.”
“So, you do admit you were speeding along, going too fast to
stop at the stoplight. Let’s see...that’s excessive speed in a
school zone, and the running of a bright red light. Then, did you
happen to notice the official posted highway signs that showed a
speed limit of fifty-five miles per hour?”
“Yes, yes I must have seen them,” Tital tried to be polite.
“My brother, Billy Bob, and I clocked you on our radar doing
eighty-two miles per hour. Got the big diesel engine in this baby,
huh!” the officer said, while hitting the screen of his handheld
computer. “Now, let’s see everyone’s papers. You do have
papers on all your livestock, and good brands?”