The Bootlegger’s Legacy by Ted Clifton Page A

included southern Arizona and southwestern New Mexico, for $10 million, establishing the border between the two countries, and history was all around them. What was left of Mesilla was mostly an old town plaza with an even older church.
    The area had become a tourist attraction, with Mexican goods and some of the best Mexican food Pat had ever eaten. The hotel was small, somewhat hidden under towering trees, with a lot of charm—he thought Sally would like the feeling of the place, and she did. The colors were like a festival. Of course the main attraction for Pat was Sally herself.
    The exterior of the Meson de Mesilla lived up to Pat’s expectations. It was an adobe structure that could have been located in Santa Fe. There were beautiful red flowers blooming around the hotel’s entrance, and soft music in the air.
    “Pat this place is wonderful. If feels like we’re in a foreign country.” Sally was enchanted and eager to get out of the car. She explored the hotel while Pat and Emerson unloaded.
    They checked in without any hassles. Pat said goodbye to Emerson, reminding him about the next day. Sally wanted to take a bath in the beautiful suite and have a siesta. Pat said he would go to the bar for a quick drink, then come back and take a shower before they went out to dinner. Even though he’d told Emerson they were going to stay in, Pat was looking forward to a night out with his beautiful Sally. And he certainly didn’t want the evening to be spoiled by Emerson’s attitude.
    Pat told Sally, “We’ll go to La Posta—some of the best Mexican food I’ve ever tasted—plus some of the biggest and best margaritas in the world. How does that sound?”
    “Pat, it sounds wonderful. What was with that guy? He acted like I wasn’t there.”
    The more Pat thought about it, the more he thought that maybe Emerson didn’t approve of Sally. He knew Pat was married, and Emerson was probably one of those people who could rob and murder all day long, but didn’t approve of sexual infidelity. To hell with him.
    “I know—not sure what that was about. But let’s not think about him. I want you to have a great time. I also know a little place right on the plaza where they play great music that we can dance to—how about that?”
    “Are you sure you’re okay with doing all of this after a day of flying the plane?”
    “Is that an old man comment?”
    “Shut up, Pat.”
    Pat made a little face, then smiled. “Take your bath and I’ll be back in a little while. We’ll go have some fun—until I collapse. Then you can bring me back and have your way with me.”
    “Oh my goodness, how did I ever get mixed up with you? Now go!”
    Dinner at La Posta was fantastic. Everything from the décor to the food was authentic. Sally enjoyed her margarita and consumed an unbelievable number of red enchiladas. Pat was right with her on both the margaritas and the food—he had the chili rellenos, a La Posta specialty. After almost two hours of eating and drinking, Pat was questioning the logic of going dancing but, of course, by this time Sally insisted. She felt the music in her feet and was eager to try some of the steps she had been watching other dancers do.
    It was a short walk to the El Patio Bar, just a little off of the plaza. Obviously not the swankiest of bars, but the music was loud and the crowd was happy. They settled in and ordered drinks while listening to the music. After a few songs, awareness set in quickly that you can’t be in a small plane all day, have a gigantic meal of Mexican food and a prodigious amount of alcohol, and not be close to dead tired. They glanced at one another and smiled. “Maybe we can come back tomorrow a little earlier and try the dancing—that okay?” Pat said with a certain amount of pleading in his voice. He was absolutely beat.
    “Sure. I was just about to ask you if we could call it a night. I’ve had a full day.” With that, Pat got one of those famous smiles and he decided it