One of the men walked over to us. “Cállete!” he yelled, sticking the barrel of the rifle in our faces and then moving it and the stock to beckon us to start walking. He took us over to where Cecil was standing with the Federale’s gun pointed at him and bound the three of us together. The two women were further away tied to a tree, which made me really angry to see. I needed to figure out a way to get us out of this mess.

“Likely, if the Federales are really part of the whole trafficking cartel, we can easily spot that fact by how they respond to the men coming out of the cave. If they turn out to be on their side, then I can try to disengage them with my taser and your shovel, the flare gun, and so on. They are good weapons if used right and in a timely manner. We don’t want to be stupid and put ourselves in the line of fire, but if we sneak up on them when they are preoccupied, then I think we can do some damage until the other help arrives.” Cecil told them.

I nodded my acceptance of his order. "Just bring back my wife and stay safe doing it," I pleaded as they turned and left to make their way to the bottom of the earth's rocky opening.

I waited only about fifteen minutes when I heard stomping feet and bodies charging through the underbrush behind me voices that sounded like cursing. The Federales had arrived.

“They wouldn’t have access to firearms, and even if they did, they’d not have ready access to bullets, so they likely wouldn’t bother with that kind of weapon. They are masters with a knife, which they probably make from obsidian found in Chiapas, as well as handmade axes, and machetes. They’d get by and would do a lot of damage with those tools, their meanness, and their hands.”

At the end of my home-office day, at this newest questionable RV Park, I sat out under the awning, sipping wine, waiting. Our usual Happy Hour was unusually late. But I wasn't going to let myself stew about it too much and allow my imagination to boil over so that a fight would ensue, but as the time ticked away, squelching an over-active imagination was becoming more difficult. Did this lateness have anything to do with any of the babes I had seen at the restaurant bar? Was he becoming too fixated on those enhanced boobs to pay attention to time? I couldn't help but wonder.