One of the guys was married. He was from NY, and was (I think) Puerto Rican by ancestry. His younger brother got into some trouble in New York, and his mom sent him out to live with his brother so he could cool off and stay out of trouble. After he arrived, we all hopped into the car and took him up into the mountains so he could see what it looked like. There was a river, and we sat by it for a while.
On the way back, we stopped in to a diner in a small town to get some burgers. While we were sitting there, some guy came up and said he was the immigration police and wanted to see my friend's brother' papers. I don't remember who the guy was, but it seemed like he might have been a deputy or something. He wasn't wearing a uniform.
He started harassing my friend's brother and threatened to arrest him. We ended up leaving and coming home. My friend's brother was pretty distraught. It was a different kind of adversity and threat than he was used to in New York. I was so upset that the next day I called somewhere and made a complaint.
Two months later, the FBI guys show up at my door wanting to know what had happened. By then, my friend's brother had gone back to New York. So I told them the story. And that was the last I heard of it.
When I first remembered that the FBI guys had visited me, I had forgotten the reason why initially. Later, as I was driving, I remembered the kid being harassed by that small-town bully, and how it devastated him. It was 38 years ago. I wish I could think there are no small-town bullies like that anymore, but I know better. I read about them every day now.