Ramesh Sujanani, Contributor

The month of May came in hot and dusty; the Cancun Sea brought in a breeze that was like a hot air fan, blowing billows of particles into my face. I coughed and stepped into the cool air-conditioned premises that was our business. The sign over the entrance read CAMBIO-MONEY EXCHANGE.

The day began, as do most of my days. The phone ringing, all the cashiers milling around to get money from the vaults. They had to get to their positions at 9:30 a.m. and it was already 9:15. After I settled the vault issue by disbursing cash to the tellers, Carlos, my assistant, motioned me to the phone. From his glance I knew this was big.

"Yes, Ramon here," I said. "Can I help?"

"Ramon," came that rasping voice that was now familiar, "$180,000, can you manage?"

"You want settlement in cash, or will a cheque do?" I asked.

"Yes, all cash and all big bills," was the response. Doing a quick calculation, I would have to find two million pesos, in large bills, to buy these dollars.

"Randy, take half in cash, and the balance in cheque; finding that kind of cash on a Monday morning is difficult!" I pleaded.

"Give me one mill in cash and the balance in cheque; I can work with that," Randy replied.

"How soon?" I asked.

"I am right near you now and this money needs to be changed now; it's warm!" was Randy's reply.

Figuring how much I needed to make, I offered "ten and a half is the rate!"

Randy responded in that Jamaican brogue of his, "Cho man, make it eleven and the deal done!"

I looked at Carlos, asking softly "What's the opening rate?" He pointed to a scribbled figure: 11.20, it said. Point seven-five pesos times $185,000 was almost 135,000 pesos. "Ok, done, come right away."

"OK," he responded and I put down the phone. I wrote a cheque for two million pesos and sent Tomas across to the bank to cash it. I summoned two cashiers, asking them to go to the private room in the inner office. "Sr Lewis is coming, and he has a large amount of money, so get ready," I warned.

Five minutes later, Randy Lewis walked into my office, holding a large denim bag. He looked furtively around. Lewis was a black, tall, big man, in loose-fitting jeans and a long-sleeved sports shirt hanging out of his generous waist. He was wearing a yellow cap, with a massive gold chain hanging around his neck, with a crucifix inlaid with diamonds hanging at the centre of it. He smiled at me through his dark glasses, with gold teeth gleaming in his mouth. "Wah gwaan boss, you ready for me?" The mole at the side of his mouth was hairy and dirty.

"Randy," I replied, "what's up?" We touched fists. "Yes," I said, "We are ready, just go into the office."

I motioned him to the inner room. "and give the cash to the girls." I signalled Miguel, my security officer, to monitor the door.

Lewis turned to me and said, "Give me 20 cents more. You know how it go, too much man have to get a piece."

"Randy, from you call me, I have to sell the money; you know that; a deal is a deal. Have a seat and let me get you some coffee," I said.

"No coffee, boss, but a juice will do," he responded. "Orange juice."

I called Cortez from outside and sent him for the orange juice, and coffee for me, while Lewis walked into the inner office. Outside, the shops were getting busy as shoppers from the cruise ship did their browsing. Looking up the street through the eight monitors on the wall I couldn't see any sign of Tomas or Georgio coming from the bank. Lewis went into the back office and I heard the chatter of the money-counting machines as they spit out the bills.

For a minute I sat at my desk and mused: Where did this money come from? People returning home from overseas and overland often bring their life savings to exchange it for local currency. Did they pay taxes on it? How did they earn it? Did they earn it legally or steal it? Did they pimp or prostitute for it? Who knows? I thought:

"Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, 'tis nothing;

'Twas mine; 'tis his, and has been slave to many thousands;

But he that filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that which enriches him not,

And leaves me very poor indeed."

Then there were occasionally persons with varying sums of money to change, and then they would disappear, never to return again. There were individuals who never had a dime before, who would come home with a few thousand dollars, pounds, euros, saying how wonderful their trip overseas had been.

All I had to do with these several thousands each day was to count them, check them, convert and place them into the system: US dollars into pounds, to Canadian, to pesos, whatever, making a few cents on each change. What do they call it? Money changing or laundering, I believe, and I have a legal laundry, a washing machine.

In Lewis' case, it was not difficult to tell where his money came from, he reeked of the ganja (marijuana) he sold. He must have made a big delivery, I thought, and just got paid. Then he would have to pay out his local contacts, and distribute the rest of it, keeping his share. The phone rang: It was the bank; Tomas was ready. "Miguel, find Georgio and send him to the bank for Tomas," I instructed. Miguel acknowledged and stepped out. A few minutes later, I saw Georgio and Tomas coming from the bank which, fortunately, was almost directly across the street.

Cortez finally showed up with my coffee. Miguel took the juice to Lewis in the inner office. Taking the cup and stirring the steaming hot brew, I sipped. The phone rang again, and this time Carlos said: "Pedro wants some money".

"Tell him 11.50," I responded. Carlos negotiates, then said to me, "Pedro says 11.20."

"Give me the phone," I said. "Pedro, make it two hundred thousand and give me 11.40." Pedro worked with Banco Nacional de Mexico.

Pedro laughed and said. "Ramon, mi amigo, por favor, a rate of 11.30. Good morning, how are you today?"

"Fine," I replied, "but I am getting better." He laughed again. We agreed at 11.35, and the deal was done.

"Call me if you get more," Pedro asks. I acquiesced and put the phone down. Tomas came into the office with his large sporting goods duffel bag packed with pesos.

"Come by the vault, Mr T," I said, getting up to open the vault door. Tomas unpacked the cash while I checked it. I packed it into the vault, separating the larger bills.

"Mr Ramon," Candi, one of my cashiers called, "we are finished." I went into the sanctum, and looked at the neat piles of cash on the table. I did a quick count of the neatly banded notes, by species, and ascertained that one hundred and eighty thousand was indeed there.

I went back to the vault, took out Randy's one million and my cheque book. I then let the cashiers recheck the neatly sealed polybags of 10,000 peso notes. I wrote the cheque for Randy, as he stuffed the pesos in his duffel bag. He folded the cheque and placed it in his shirt pocket.

"Boss, I have to run, but I will catch you next time. But I hope yuh give me a better rate when ah come back," Randy said, and drank his orange juice, smacking his lips. He gave the cashiers a couple of thousand in pesos, and said "take care," and left.

I went back to my work, buying, making rates and selling, and by noon I was sure we had made two hundred and fifty thousand. Not bad for a morning's work, I thought. But, I may have to report to the Banco de Mexico Randy's transaction, as it clearly exceeded the limit. I took out the form and looked at the heading, which said: 'Report of Unusual Cash Transactions'. I was putting my life on the line with this one, I thought. But what were those words again?

"Who steals my purse, steals trash,

Was mine, it was his, it belonged to many others.

But who robs me of my good name,

Steals what benefits him not,

But leaves me very poor indeed."

Sighing, I started to fill out the form.