Borderlands by James Carlos Blake

He nodded.
    “Very good,” the man said. “Now you two”—he gestured at Diego and Alfonso—”take all your money out of your pockets. Do it now ! And you two”—looking now at Julio and Francisco beside him—”hand it over.”
    Julio worked his hand in his pocket and extracted a few small bills and some coins and handed the money to the bandit, who accepted it with his left hand and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. Wincing with pain, Francisco leaned across Julio and gave his money to the man.
    “For the love of God,” Alfonso said plaintively as he handed his money over the seat. “Why are you doing this to us? We are not rich. We are Mexicans, the same as you. If you want to rob somebody, why not rob the gringos? They have all the money. That’s what I would do.”
    The bandit stuffed Diego’s money in his pocket with the rest. “Oh sure, sure you would. Pancho Villa, that’s you. Now, pull your pockets inside out, all of you! Do it quick!”
    He leaned forward to look into the front seat and saw that Diego’s and Esteban’s pockets were showing whitely. He glanced across at Francisco and saw that his pockets, too, hung limply from his pants. Only Julio had not reversed his pockets. The bandit narrowed his eyes at him.
    “I gave you all I had,” Julio said. “Truly.”
    “ Truly? ” the bandit echoed, arching his eyebrows. “Well, forgive my lack of trust, my friend, but”—he wagged the pistol at Julio’s pockets and showed a large grin—”I insist.”
    Julio glanced down at the pistol, then stared hard into the man’s eyes. If he had been asked at that moment what was going through his mind he could not have said. But something in his face made the man lose his smile. He pressed the pistol against Julio’s right side and cocked the hammer. Julio had never heard that sound except in the movies and he marveled at its chilling effect in the world of mortal flesh. He felt his heart beating fast against his ribs.
    “ My friend … ” the bandit said softly, almost sadly.
    A van with dark-tinted windows whooshed past.
    Julio pulled his pants pockets out and the rest of his money fell on the seat.
    The bandit looked at the clump of bills and then at Julio and then gathered the money with his free hand. “Oh, truly,” he said in a mimicking voice. “That’s all of it … truly .” He laughed and hefted the fistful of money as if trying to guess its worth by its weight. Julio knew exactly how much it was. Seventy-nine dollars. Five of which he had won at the cockfights on the previous weekend and the rest was all the money he had managed to save during his time in Florida.
    “Jesus Christ, Julio,” Francisco said thickly through his swollen lips.
    “Have you been robbing banks?” Diego said.
    “Listen, man,” Alfonso said to the bandit, “the rest of us are not so rich like this one. Those twelve dollars of mine are all the money I have in the world. Leave us some little bit of money, eh? Please. Enough for a beer and a taquito tonight, eh?”
    “Is this one always so stupid?” the bandit asked as he finished tucking money into his pants pocket.
    “Always,” Diego said. “But look … can’t you leave me with some money? I’m not like these pickers, man, I have a wife, I have little children. I have—”
    The bandit shook the pistol at him. “You’re going to have another hole in your goddamn head if you don’t shut up.”
    Diego’s eyes widened and he threw up his hands.
    “Put your hands down, stupid!” the bandit said, glancing quickly along the road to see if any cars were passing by. “Sweet Jesus, what did I do to get a bunch like you? You fools think you’re the only ones with troubles? If I told you pricks my troubles we would all drown when this car filled with your tears. Now leave the keys in the ignition and get out, all of you. Out! Now!”
    Diego looked stricken. “You are not going to steal my car? ” He had recently paid one hundred and twenty-five