Not exactly the gunfight at the OK Corral
This morning I sat in front of my casita, reading a book, sipping tea, enjoying the breeze on my face, when suddenly five truckloads of Mazatlan Policia screeched around the corner and, positioning the trucks to face both directions, blocked the entrance of our street.
Without hesitation, I abandoned book, chair and teacup and melted through the screen door into the inner recesses of my apartment. I didn’t bother to lock the screen or shut the door. Why would I? These people could go where they wanted. I wasn’t going to stop them. There were at least 40, maybe 50 men and women. Some dispersed around the corners and down the street, searching empty lots and checking each entrance. One of them looked through my screen. Evidently I didn’t fit the profile.
Four apartment entrances front onto our street. At least two dozen fully uniformed federal police, hardware hanging off their bodies, heavily armed with pistols and machine guns, milled about in the street and in front of ou...
For access to this article please sign in or subscribe.