“Why do you have a Belize driver’s license, señor?” the Mexican policeman asked me.
“My home is in San Pedro, Belize,” I told him, “but I spend so much time seeing my doctor in Chetumal that I bought a car here. I didn’t think I needed a license.”
Half an hour later Sherry said. “I guess we should consider it lucky that we didn’t get a ticket.”
We were at the main Chetumal police station filling out the papers for our driver’s licenses. Two middle aged ladies came in and sat on the bench next to us.
“No, Yasmin,” one said. “I do not want to bother the police with this.”
“But you must, Beatriz,” her friend said. “They might think you disappeared him.”
Beatriz reluctantly went to the front desk and said, “I want to report that my husband is missing.”
“How long has he been gone?” the sergeant asked.
“Let me think,” she answered. “Probably about a week.”
He handed her a paper and said, “Fill this out and I will help you.”
When she handed him the paper he looked it over.
“This says your husband is about six feet tall,” he said.
“Sí, señor.”
“According to this he is thirty years old, he has blue eyes and is slender of build.”
“Sí. That is my Pedro.”
Her friend leaped to her feet and said, “Beatriz! How can you tell this man such lies?”
“What do you mean señora?” the sergeant asked her.
“My friend’s husband, Pedro, he does not look like that at all! He is short and fat with brown eyes and is forty seven years old. Is this not true Beatriz?”
“Sí, “Beatriz said. “But why would I want to look for one like that?”
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