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Tony didn’t know whether it was the convertible or the burnished copper of Cassandra’s hair, but they attracted plenty of attention as they traversed Tijuana’s crowded streets, heading to the restaurant that Yelp said had the best tacos in town. Or at least, it was the best restaurant for Americans like them; he guessed that they could have found something even more amazing from one of the vendors on the street. But Cassandra had said it was better to go someplace that catered to tourists, that they’d be safer there. Since she’d apparently spent a good chunk of time going back and forth between her family home in Tubac and Nogales in northern Mexico, he figured she knew what she was talking about.
The restaurant had its own private lot with its own attendant, which was something of a
