As we bumped down the road, getting thrown about in the pickup, I was told a bit more about what was in store. "Every time there's a major bust, I use our contact. You want to know why?"
I nodded.
"Because after a bust, he's the only guy who's guaranteed to be holding the goods."
I considered this for a few moments.
"He's police?"
"chief of."
I raised my eyebrows. "We're scoring off the Chief of Police?"
"Uh-huh."
I didn't know what to say. Of course, I know what I should have said now.
I should've tapped on the driver's window and told him to pull over. Got
off the truck and walked home. And the idea did cross my mind, but at the
same time I was imagining the reactions of everyone when I got back. So I
kept my mouth shut. Just looked at the road-side scenery flash past us,
palm trees and nipa huts.
At town, we jumped out and started making our way through the side-streets.
This, at least, was good. I'd had an idea we'd be marching straight into
the police station, which, regardless of the guru's sage credentials, would
have been beyond the limit of my trust.
I was being led, I quickly realized, to the docks area. Not where the
ferry came in, but where the fishing boats dropped their catch. And that
struck me as another good thing, because, naïve and innocent as I was, it
seemed to me that the docks was the sort of place where this kind of unusual
deal happened. Lots of dirt and confusion, people shouting, rushing around
with crates, easier to pass unnoticed.
So all in all, by the time we reached the waterfront, I was relatively
relaxed. Guard down, only sweating from the sun, no alarm bells ringing.