Dino looked at Miami and Miami nodded his head side-to-side.
“Señor, each stack has 100 bills. There are100 $100 bills per stack, or 2,000 US dollars.”
The clerk then counted 50 stacks of $20 bundles. Dino fanned through each one briefly to confirm they were all filled with $20 bank notes. He filled one backpack with $40,000 in cash, and then another. He put $20,000 in a third backpack and let Miami get to the front of the window.
Miami handed the clerk another $2,000 face value ticket. Under the watchful eye of the older man, the clerk counted out another 50 stacks of $20 bill bundles. Miami fanned them, then handed them to Dino who had now filled five backpacks, totaling $200,000.
Miami handed him the third and final $1,000 face value ticket on Winning Colors.
“Señors…we do not have more $20 bills. We will pay you in hundreds,” said the older man, “un momento, por favor.”
Then he went out of their view. They waited for five minutes. Miami smelled the scent of fear and sweat coming from his own body. He whispered to Dino, “I want to get the money and get the hell out of here.”
The man came back carrying a brown burlap bag with an Agua Caliente logo on the side. He set it down with a heavy thud in front of the young clerk. The clerk deftly counted out five stacks of $100 bills, each with 100 bills per stack, and handed them to Miami. He placed them in a sixth backpack.
With this transaction over, Miami gave a $100 bill to each of the men. “Muchas gracias, gentlemen.” Then Miami saw a guard with a rifle over his shoulder standing outside the counting room and handed him a $100 bill. Miami motioned the guard to follow as he and Dino exited.
Before they left the counting room, Miami stopped with Dino. They had agreed that Dino would pull a $100 bill out of each stack of bills from a $40,000 backpack, and he handed that backpack to Big Bernie as they re-entered the main race book.
When they got there, Miami looked at Big Bernie and Dino, smiled, and said, “Come on guys…we have time for just one grande margarita.”
Big Bernie smiled and nodded a “yes.” Dino scowled and threw three of the backpacks onto his shoulder and headed straight out the giant main archway toward the cars, with his two partners, plus Jimmy, Choo, and Peanut now fanned behind him, and the armed Mexican guard walking alongside Miami.
They loaded into the cars. Big Bernie reached into the backpack Dino had given to him and gave each of the three fighters a $9,900 stack of money to hold and take across the border. Miami let Big Bernie drive the Camry out first from the Agua Caliente parking lot to head for the US border. He and Dino followed in the Z right behind.
Everyone on Operation Gringo had been assigned where to look—front, to the roadway sides, and rear—for fear of an ambush on the way from the racetrack to the US border. They initially headed into light traffic but as they approached the international line, traffic was a near standstill. Miami’s eyes were darting to every car behind him, watching for a door to open, and men to come out of it. They were now stopped dead, as the traffic was not even inching toward the border. He noticed a van behind him that had also made the same last few turns and lane changes as the Z.
“Shit. How can the traffic be like this on a Thursday afternoon?” Miami asked. Without waiting for an answer, he asked Dino another, more important question. “Are you sure you’re OK with not declaring the cash with customs?”
“I’ve waited my entire life for this score, and I’m not declaring the money. We look pretty clean…like tourists. I’m sure they’ll wave us through. I’m way more worried about Big Bernie, Jimmy, Choo, and Peanut. They look sketchy even to me.”
“What do you want to do if they don’t make it through?”
“We have to move on,” said Miami. “They’re behind us now and we can’t turn around once we have $200,000 clean and through the border. But…I know. We can’t leave Big Bernie. He is doing this for us…not for him.”
The cars were now moving, crawling toward the border, and street vendors were coming up to them one after another. A man in his mid-twenties, with tattoos on his arms and neck, was at Dino’s window, motioning him to roll it down.
“Don’t even look at him,” said Miami.
The guy was persistent and stayed with them as they moved forward. Dino rolled down the window three inches. “Get the fuck out of here,” Dino yelled at him through the window crack.
The guy left.
A boy hopped onto the hood of the car and began to clean the front windshield. Miami reached through the window, gave him a $20 bill, and motioned him to go away. He smiled and ran off.
Miami steered the car toward the “US Citizens Only” lanes, where no passports or IDs were required, unless tourists were stopped for further questioning. Miami saw what looked like a US Customs guard standing in between the rows of cars, wearing aviator glasses and a bulletproof vest, peering into cars and talking into his radio. As they pulled next to him, Miami waved to him…and the agent waved him by.
“Big Bernie is two cars behind us, Miami.”
The Z was in a line behind 20 cars at the customs booths. The “San Ysidro Port of Entry” sign could be seen overhead as the cars were now led into 17 lanes, with 17 sets of US Border Agents at each crossing point. Dozens of other agents were standing behind them with German Shepherds on leashes. Miami reached
