For the next day, we drove South down the West coast of the country. By late afternoon, we had reached Sacramento and Luca needed gas.
"Why Mexico?" I asked as we drove around looking for a gas station.
"I just need to pick something up and then we can have a fun time wearing sombreros and drinking tequila," he replied casually as he scanned the road ahead of us.
I ignored the last half of his sentence and asked, "to pick what up?"
"Something from these people I know... don't worry about it." He replied quite vaguely before giving me an innocent smile that was clearly hiding something.
"I know that look," I said a sinking feeling in my stomach.
We had just pulled up at a gas station and Luca turned to me and smiled again, "what look?"
"That smile that says 'I'm just an innocent little baby and I've never set a foot wrong in my life.' I know you're not Luca Romano. How do you know people in Mexico?"
"I come sometimes. Once every month to be precise."
"Why?" I asked.