What Paco did not know was that all foreigners resident in Mexico have to be registered at the Interior Ministry where they are issued with a type of internal passport which sets out their status. Since no foreigner can do anything legally without permission of the government, those of us who were legal aliens in the country became well acquainted with the government office that regulated our lives - in fact it was located in those days just a few hundred yards from Paco's club. I knew that the Interior Ministry was having one of its regular purges on illegal immigrants, so I sauntered over there to pick up some information.
Going into the building one saw a large poster offering money for information that led to the deportation of any person who was living illegally in Mexico, and the poster made it clear that the offer applied to both Mexican nationals and legal aliens. I cannot remember exactly how much was on offer, but it was about £250 per illegal, so the Mexicans were not messing around because that was about a month's wages for the average worker at the time. With a smile on my lips and a song in my heart I wandered over to the information desk to speak to the rather nice wide-hipped, full breasted, red-skinned banger who sat behind it.
"Do you have any leaflets about the rewards for turning in illegals?" No point in beating about the bush, I always feel.
"Of course, sir, replied Miss Luscious, as she handed a sheaf of printed papers over to me. "Please take as many as you wish, and please don't worry, this isn't about you Americans," she concluded rapidly.
"I'm English, but never mind. Is there any sort of particular foreigner that you want information on?"
The girl nodded her head rapidly, then she pointed downwards in a southerly direction as it were, before replying sotto voce: "South America."
"Yes, the Argentinians are becoming tiresome," I replied, and was rewarded with a frantic bit of head nodding by way of reply.
Glancing down at the leaflets I saw that they contained the same information as the poster that I had seen so with a last lingering look at the delightful pair of melons that were barely contained by a light grey blouse, I bade a fond farewell to their owner and headed back to the club.
Just outside the main entrance I saw two cops drinking Cokes and smoking cigarettes, both looking bored out of their skulls. On impulse I decided to involve them in my evil scheme so I wandered over and introduced myself.
"Fancy a bottle or a blow job for twenty minutes work?" If the cops were stunned by my suggestion they did not show it, with one scratching his chin in contemplation as if they get offered these deals ever day. Which they probably do, this is Mexico after all.
"It depends what we have to do," said chin-scratcher by way of reply.
"I need to scare the shit out of half a dozen Argentinian whores - I just want you to stand around as if you are from the Interior Ministry, but answerable to me," I replied.
The two cops thought all this was hilarious, but they quickly put on their stern faces as I led them into the building. Paco's eyes widened as he saw my posse, but a quick shake of my head calmed him down. I asked him to send all the Argentinian tarts to one dressing room and to keep everyone else out. Five minutes later I was stood in the middle of the room with two cops lounging against a wall and five whores stood against the other one.
Argentinian arseholes were about to clench.
To be continued
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