MEXICO: Brinco!

In Mexico City’s swank Colonia Nápoles one evening last week, a string of expensive cars were parked outside Señora Rosa Rodriguez’ mansion. Inside, a score of well-heeled, guests were gathered around card tables, sipping drinks and wagering 100-peso notes at canasta, poker and baccarat.

Suddenly, plainclothesmen burst through the front door and windows, crying “Nobody move!” They swept up cards, chips and cash as evidence, herded together 20 prisoners, including a Mexican general, a wealthy Texan and several of the brightest lights of capital society. When the courts opened next day, the 20 were charged with gambling and released on bail (possible sentence: three months to a year in jail).

Señora Rodriguez was accused of operating a brinco (literally, a jump), one of a series of fashionable private houses where, in rotation, gambling is carried on almost every night. Brincos are the most elegant manifestations of a long-standing conflict between Mexicans’ desire to bet on whatever they please and the government’s efforts to funnel gambling money into taxable channels.

While not slighting the legal National Lottery (government percentage: 19%) and the well-taxed (15%) wagers on the jai alai games at the vast downtown Frontón, citizens of Mexico City not tony enough for brincos find plenty of ways to risk their money. Some go to the cockfights at the Posada de los Cuatro Caminos, just outside the Federal District limits, where pesos change hands with every spur-thrust. Thousands play la bolita, an illegal policy game paying off 80 t01 on the last two numbers of the regular winning National Lottery ticket. In the bullfight fans’ cafés such as the Tupinamba, big money is bet on which matador will get the privilege of cutting off a bull’s ear in the Sunday corrida.

Even the cops take a flyer now & then. The morning after the Rodriguez raid, Mexico City’s daily Novedades reported that some of the heaviest gaming in town had been going on in the offices of the Seventh Police Precinct.