THEY CAME TO A CHECKPOINT CROSSING INTO NUEVO LEÓN, A neon orange arm lowered over their lane. Off on the shoulder stood a small particleboard hut and a sandbag bunker. As the Honda rolled to a stop, a young soldier with dark circles beneath his eyes and sweat standing out through his fatigues came to the window and told them to get out of the car. The man glared at the soldier but opened his door, so Luz followed suit. The soldier ogled her. Luz smelled marijuana, smoked in the small hut, perhaps. The soldier looked away when she glanced at him. He bent to peer into the car. He opened the door and searched the footwell.
Another three soldiers had stopped a white passenger van going in the other direction. Its doors were open and its passengers stood around, looking unsurprised. The soldiers separated an old man in a flannel shirt from the group. A bulging plastic bag dangled from his fist. One of the soldiers poked at it with the barrel of his rifle.
Luz’s driver pulled a cell phone from his pocket and punched a number and held it to his ear. The soldier straightened and shouted, “What do you think you are doing?” hefting his rifle and striding around the hood. Luz slid a step away.
The other soldiers were laughing, but not at them. One grabbed the plastic bag from the old man, reached in, and withdrew an orange.
“Did I say you could make a call?” the young soldier demanded, blowing past Luz. “Put that fucking thing down. Now.”
The driver didn’t acknowledge him and spoke quietly into the phone.
Across the highway, the soldier with the orange crow-hopped and hurled the fruit. The others broke up laughing when it landed. The next one seized an orange.
“I will make you sorry,” the soldier said. He raised a palm as if he’d slap the phone from the driver’s hand, but the driver turned and presented the phone: “He wants to talk with you.”
The soldier halted. He cocked his head. “You think you—”
The driver reached with the phone. “You must listen.”
Across the road, the second orange arced through the air. They waited for it to land. The old man’s shoulders drooped.
The soldier reached and took the cell phone from the driver and placed it to his ear. He seemed about to speak, but then he stopped and turned while he listened. Luz watched his eyes jump back and forth. Then he held the phone out, looked at its screen, and ended the call. He never said anything. He tossed the phone back to the driver.
“Okay,” he said. “On your way.”
He whistled in the direction of the hut and twirled a finger. The security arm over the highway rose. They pulled through the checkpoint and accelerated. Luz watched through the rear window. The young soldier crossed the street toward the others with the oranges. “Fucking snakes,” the driver said, eyes flashing to the rearview.