The fishing village of Palma Sola is hardly more than a cluster of ramshackle houses surrounding a small church, general store, and the pier where around twenty equally rickety boats go out and attempt to earn a living on an increasingly overfished Gulf of Mexico. So when a black Chevrolet Suburban with heavily tinted windows showed up one morning cruising around like a shark scouting for the weakest in a school of fish the locals wisely started quickly disappearing. In this part of rural Mexico, having such a grandiose and enigmatic vehicle suddenly appear out of nowhere there was a very low probability that the occupants would be benign.
Author's note: Finally had some significant computer time along with the urge to write some fiction. This went long and I should finish it at least by Monday.