Marching Powder

by Rusty Young

  Candidates campaigned in pairs for these two major postings, but they also had a political team behind them that helped get them into office, which is where I fitted in. Julián wanted me to talk to the people and convince them that he would be the best delegate ever. Once in power, the delegate decided on the minor positions and together they formed the section directiva. Other positions included the discipline secretary, who was in charge of maintaining order and good conduct, the secretary of culture and education, who looked after the library books, and the sports secretary, who ran our football team and tried to get corporate sponsorship for the annual inter-section football cup. The easiest job by far was the health secretary, who was supposed to be in charge of medical supplies. There never were any, so he did nothing.

  During election week, all the voting inmates from the section, known as the General Assembly, would gather in the courtyard and listen to speeches by the various candidates on how they planned to improve our living conditions. Sometimes, they paid people in the crowd to cheer or boo during the speeches. Meanwhile, supporters handed out flyers and cups of chicha and beer, and tried to persuade you to vote for their team. If you were like me, and never made up your mind until the last moment, you could get a lot of free stuff.

  The actual vote was done by secret ballot in the section courtyard. You wrote the names of the delegate you wanted on a piece of paper, folded it over and inserted it into a box. Next to the box stood the three members of the electoral committee, who were appointed by the voters to ensure that the elections were conducted fairly. On the day, they made sure that the ballot box was empty to start with and that no one voted twice or tried to slip in two pieces of paper. The votes were then read out, one by one, and tallied on a chalk board. I usually tried to disguise my handwriting on my voting slip. That way, no one ever knew which candidates I’d actually voted for and I could get more free stuff at the next election.

  As each vote was read out, a cheer or boo went up from the crowd, depending on which candidate the vote was for.

  ‘¡Viva Juan Ricardo!’ or ‘¡Arriba Jorge Mendez!’ they would shout, then everyone would touch plastic cups and take a sip of their drinks. The losing side would stamp their feet in disappointment: ‘Down with corruption.’

  By the end, everyone was completely drunk, except for the electoral committee, who banned themselves from drinking. They weren’t allowed to cheer, either, in case it made them look biased. Afterwards, there was always music and dancing, and more celebrating and commiserating.

  The first time I witnessed one of these elections, I couldn’t believe it. When Ricardo saw the look on my face, he put his arm around my shoulder and said, ‘This is nothing, my friend. Voting when you are drunk is a tradition in South America. You know, in some countries, they have to make alcohol illegal for a week before elections in order to stop politicians from bribing voters.’

  The annual elections for section delegate and treasurer weren’t the only political campaigns conducted in San Pedro. Bolivian inmates were also entitled to vote in national elections, so many politicians came into the prison to win votes before the presidential elections. Most of them told us that we weren’t bad people; the real criminals were walking free on the outside. Others said that they would repeal the gringo drug laws under which most of us had been charged.

  ‘Bolivia doesn’t have a drug problem. The United States does. They’re the ones demanding cocaine. Why should you people be suffering in prison for something that is their problem?’

  All the politicians promised to improve our living conditions if we voted for them, but nothing ever changed. For this reason, we took the internal prison elections far more seriously than the national elections. It wasn’t compulsory to vote, but everyone did. The delegate had a lot of power, both in representing our interests to the prison authorities, and in keeping peace and order in the section. If we chose a bad team, our lives could be miserable for a whole year. And if we chose a dishonest team, the section might go broke.

  At the end of their term in office, the delegate and treasurer had to present the members with the financial accounting records, including a balance sheet and profit-and-loss statement. There were also supposed to be audits of the accounts conducted every two months, but they never happened. In the meantime, the delegate and secretary had complete control over all the section’s money. They could do whatever they liked with it, and some of them did, which is why I agreed to support Julián.

  ‘OK. I’ll help, then,’ I said. Normally, I didn’t like to get too involved in prison politics, but I did it because Julián was my friend and I was sure he would never steal from anyone. He got elected easily. There was a big party that I don’t remember much of. I just recall waking up with a lot of confetti in my bed.

  I was happy for Julián and knew that he would do a good job as delegate. I didn’t want a position in his directiva, but I knew that he might be of help sometime down the track. If I ever got in trouble, he would back me up. That time came a lot sooner than I expected.

  If the good times had continued, I would have been happy to serve out the remainder of my sentence in San Pedro without complaint. The inmates were my friends. The police were my friends. The tourists kept me company. I was high all the time. I had influence within the prison, and I was making enough money to survive. I thought that nothing could touch me and that things would stay like that until I was released.

  Then, in the space of two weeks, my whole world was turned completely upside down. Everything went wrong. I watched helplessly as all the things that were important in my life came tumbling down around me: the friendships I had made in prison, my tour business, and even my hopes of obtaining my freedom soon. What happened during that period was the beginning of a passage of events that would see me betrayed by people I had trusted, witness the deaths of two of my best friends, and put me through the worst hell I had ever known. And at the end of it all, I would be facing an extra ten to fifteen years in prison.

  39

  HIDDEN ENEMIES

  The first blow came one morning after lista. Abregon came rushing up behind me as I was returning to my room. He was flushed and out of breath. He didn’t even have time to say hello.

  ‘Thomas, they’re transferring me to Chonchocoro,’ he panted.

  ‘What?’ I looked at him in amazement. Abregon nodded that I’d heard correctly. I hardly knew what to say. It was everyone’s worst nightmare to be sent to maximum security. The conditions up there were horrible. It was even colder at night because of the 4000-metre altitude; the cells were small and bare; the guards were tough; and the prisoners were even tougher. Compared with Chonchocoro, San Pedro was a holiday resort. ‘But what for?’ I asked.

  ‘They won’t say.’

  ‘But they have to tell you the reason. They need an order from the judge, don’t they? Just wait. I’ll ring the governor.’

  ‘It’s too late for that. They’re taking me now.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Right now.’ At that moment, we heard Abregon’s name being called from down in the courtyard. I looked over the balcony and saw the lieutenant and two guards striding purposefully towards the stairs.

  ‘Here. Take my spare key,’ Abregon said urgently, struggling to twist a silver key off his key ring. He held it out to me, his hands shaking slightly. ‘You remember where everything is hidden?’

  I nodded. The second floorboard back from the wall, directly beneath his chest of drawers, was loose. He placed the key in my palm, but when I went to take my hand away, he wouldn’t let it go. His fingers wrapped tighter around my hand, with his thumb pressing down on the key. ‘I’m trusting you, my brother.’ He squeezed even harder. ‘You understand?’

  ‘Why? How much is in there?’

  ‘Twenty thousand,’ he whispered, releasing his grip just as the lieutenant and his men rounded the first flight of stairs.

  ‘Why don’t you take something with you now?’ I asked quickly, slipping the key i
nto my pocket before the police could see it.

  ‘Too dangerous. They’ll search me as soon as I get there. The cops wouldn’t leave me with a fucking boliviano. I’ll send Raquel to pick up some plata.’

  The guards had reached the top of the stairs by then and were coming towards us.

  ‘ Vamos,’ ordered the lieutenant, nodding to his men to take Abregon.

  ‘I trust you like a brother, Thomas,’ he said again, looking me hard in the eyes. I winked at him to say that I wouldn’t let him down, then they took him away.

  Taking hold of one arm each, the two guards guided him down the stairs with the lieutenant leading the way. Abregon looked back over his shoulder at me and managed to get one arm free.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ he mouthed, holding his free hand up to his ear like a telephone.

  He did call eventually. But this was the last time I ever saw him alive.

  I found out through some contacts in the prison administration that Abregon had been reclassified as a high-risk inmate. The reason: planning to escape. They could give me no further details, other than to say that someone had tipped the guards off about his intentions to escape. Abregon was known to have money and a lot of influence inside the prison, so the police believed it might be true.

  It was clear that someone was plotting against Abregon, but we didn’t know who and there was nothing more I could do to help him until he phoned. Once he had some money with him, I was confident that Abregon could fix the problem. He probably could have bribed his way out before he was transferred, but he never got the chance. It had all happened too quickly.

  I told our friends to keep their phones switched on and waited for Abregon’s call. He didn’t ring me, but after five days his wife, Raquel, arrived to collect the money.

  ‘How much does he want?’ I asked her.

  ‘All of it.’

  ‘Everything?’ I asked in surprise.

  She shrugged casually. ‘That’s what he said.’

  It didn’t sound smart to take all the money in one go like that. But it was Abregon’s money and I presumed he knew what he was doing. I gave her the twenty thousand and made her sign a letter and count the money in front of Julián, our new section delegate.

  Abregon’s call came two days later. I woke to someone banging on my door in the middle of the night and I opened it, still half asleep. It was Orlando. He was wearing only his pyjamas and he was wet from running barefoot through the rain to bring me his phone. He was too out of breath to say who it was, but I guessed straight away.

  ‘Is it him?’ I asked, taking the phone. Orlando nodded then stood shivering in the cold while I took the call.

  ‘¿Aló?’

  ‘Thomas, you have to listen to me,’ I recognised Abregon’s voice, but the line was terrible.

  ‘Speak up, brother – I can hardly hear you!’ I yelled into the phone, but Orlando motioned for me to keep my voice down.

  ‘Listen to me, Thomas. I can’t talk long. I’m on someone else’s phone.’

  ‘OK,’ I whispered loudly, holding the mouthpiece right up against my lips. Orlando nodded that that was better.

  ‘Thomas, I need money. I need you to get my money to me. I think I can get transferred back to San Pedro, but I’m going to need money. I’ll send Raquel around to pick it up. Get it ready for her, OK?’

  ‘Yes, I know. She already came.’

  ‘What?’

  I was suddenly wide awake. ‘She was here two days ago. I gave her everything.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Two days ago. On visitors’ day.’ I wasn’t sure if it was the bad connection or if Abregon had fallen silent on the other end. ‘Are you there? Hello … Abregon? Can you hear me?’ The line was still crackling so I moved around, changing the angle of the phone to get better reception. ‘Abregon?’ Finally, he answered.

  ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ he asked angrily.

  ‘I didn’t want to without speaking to you first, but she said it was for you, so I gave it to her. Julián was there, if you don’t believe me. I made her count the money in front of him and sign for it.’

  ‘OK, OK. I need to think.’ He sounded panicky. ‘Have you seen her since?’

  ‘No. But she said she was going straight up to visit you. Didn’t she come?’

  ‘That bitch hasn’t visited me once.’

  ‘I’m sorry, brother. She said you had asked for it. She’s your wife – what was I supposed to do? I had no way of calling you up there.’

  I had difficulty hearing his response, but I thought he said, ‘She’s not my wife.’

  ‘Pardon?’ I moved the phone around again.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Anyway, listen, Thomas. Try to find her. Ring my house. Ring everyone you can. I’ll try to find her too, but in the meantime, I need you to send me money with one of the wives you can trust. Right now. Anything. I’m desperate here, brother. I’ve got nothing.’

  ‘I’ll try, but I’ve got nothing either.’

  ‘Well, then get the fucking money back that you made me lend to the Velascos. Do whatever you have to.’

  The line then cut out. I didn’t know whether he had to hang up or if we just lost the connection, but I had no way of calling him back. I forced Orlando to wait for ten minutes longer in case Abregon tried to phone again, and during that time I started to think about how it was all my fault for having given the money to his wife. The only thing I could do to make it up to him was to get the money back from the Velascos.

  I couldn’t get back to sleep at all that night. Thinking about Abregon suffering in Chonchocoro made every one of my muscles tense up. All the Velascos had to do was what was right in the first place: pay back the money. I’d sent them several messages since Abregon had been transferred, but they never answered. Abregon had saved the son’s wife from going to jail, but now that he was in trouble himself, they refused to help. They were too cheap to admit the debt and too cowardly to face us. By morning, I was ready to kill them.

  After lista I got even more wound up. Although I hadn’t eaten breakfast, I did a line of coke and sent for Lucho. While I waited for him, the effects came on. I paced the room back and forth. I could feel my heart rate going up. I began having violent flashes of what I was going to do as soon as I saw them and found myself throwing punches into the air and thumping my fist down on the table every time I went past it. Lucho knocked. I did another line before opening the door, then we went hunting for the Velascos immediately. Lucho already knew the story and didn’t ask any questions. He wasn’t there for his speaking ability and, besides, the time for talking was over.

  The first thing we did was check their room. We listened at the door for a few minutes before knocking, but they either weren’t in or they had been warned and were keeping very quiet. After that, we had no real plan; we simply walked around the prison, looking for them. I asked anyone we saw who might know them. I wasn’t even polite about it.

  ‘Where are the Velascos?’ I demanded, skipping the niceties.

  No one liked to get involved in these disputes so they all gave the same answer: ‘Don’t know’ or ‘Try their room in San Martín. They should be there.’

  ‘Tell them we’re looking for them,’ I called over my shoulder as we walked off without saying goodbye or thank you.

  We hunted for about thirty minutes but couldn’t find them anywhere. Lucho wanted to keep looking, but by then the cocaine had worn off, and with no alcohol in my system I was left feeling a bit shaky and weak, so I decided to go back to my room and try again in the afternoon. I did some more coke. When later I still couldn’t find them, I knew for certain that the Velascos were deliberately avoiding me. But they couldn’t hide forever.

  Later that week, Lucho came to warn me. ‘You’re messing with the wrong people, inglés.’ He only ever called me inglés when he wanted me to listen carefully.

  ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’

  ‘They’ve got people everywhere in here. And fami
ly connections on the outside. Jorge’s uncle is a colonel in the army.’

  ‘But it’s only what is right. Everyone knows they owe the money. Abregon is desperate.’

  Lucho shook his head. ‘You’re heading for trouble, inglés. That money’s never coming back. If Abregon needs plata, then get it from somewhere else.’

  Lucho always knew what was going on in the inside sections, but I ignored his advice. I was angry. It had been six months since the Velascos were supposed to have repaid the debt. I knew they didn’t have much money anymore, but they could have paid it off a bit at a time. Any amount would have helped Abregon. Without money, you could die in Chonchocoro. I kept on doing coke and looking for them on my own.

  Two days later, as I was heading into San Martín to visit Lucho, I saw the Velascos up ahead, coming towards me in the corridor. They were talking together and hadn’t noticed me yet. I would have preferred to have someone with me, but I knew that this might be the only opportunity I got and even though I was on my own, I couldn’t let them get away. I pulled the collar on my jacket up to hide my face and kept my head bowed until the last possible moment. As soon as I drew next to them, I threw my hands at their throats and pushed them both against the wall, hard.

  ‘Where’s the money, you bastards? Abregon’s in Chonchocoro. We need the money.’

  They were both taken completely by surprise and the blow to their throats had them gasping for air, so at first they couldn’t even respond. But when Jose Luis recovered his breath, he started to fight back immediately. It wasn’t hard for him to break out of my grip because I was concentrating my strength on strangling the son, Jorge, who was the bigger of the two. All hell broke loose. Jose Luis kicked me and tried to get me in a headlock and prise my hands off Jorge.