F.B.I.* and Cubans: *Friends. Beraggled. Insouled.

Somewhere near the Texan-Mexican border. Tipc is driving. The next thing I know three police cars are behind us with their lights flashing. "Uh, Tipc," I say, "I think it's you that they want to pull over." Tipc looks behind him and asks, "Why?" "Well, I don't know!" I sputter, getting more exasperated with him every second, "JUST PULL OVER!" After Tipc pulls over to the side of the road and stops, he reaches for the registration in the glovebox. "Hands in the air!" the officer practically ...