Marching Powder

by Rusty Young

  The guards were even more confused when Rusty and I returned to San Pedro together that afternoon, me in handcuffs and Rusty wearing his suit and tie. According to his permission slip, he was supposed to be my cousin helping me while I received my medical treatment, but now he had suddenly become my lawyer. One of the cheekier guards asked whether we were really cousins. By then, Rusty had worked out how to make the Bolivians laugh. Before answering, he looked at the guard very seriously.

  ‘Every single one of my cousins is a doctor or a lawyer, except for Thomas,’ he said, punching me in the arm as though he was extremely disappointed that I had turned out to be a drug trafficker. ‘He’s the black sheep of the family.’ The lieutenant laughed so much he had trouble opening the gate.

  Being my human rights lawyer also gave Rusty an excuse to take his dictaphone, laptop and micro-cassettes in and out of the prison. For my subsequent court appearances, he always took these to court to make himself appear more professional. The judges were afraid of being recorded, so when Rusty failed to produce any proof that he was who he said he was, they banned him from using the dictaphone and computer. After that, he had to take handwritten notes.

  As soon as we got through the gates, I went straight to Orlando’s shop. Orlando’s wife worked as a legal secretary during the day. In the evenings and on weekends she supplied secretarial services to the inmates of San Pedro as a way of bringing in extra income to support their family. She had also leased various pieces of office equipment, including a photocopier. I qualified for the discount photocopying rate, since I needed one hundred copies of a single page.

  Through contacts in the prison administration, I had managed to locate someone who knew a worker in the filing section of the drug court. He had told me more details of the Velascos’ defence and I’d paid him fifty dollars for a copy of one specific page of it: the statement signed by both Jorge and Jose Luis Velasco testifying that they had been working in the prison as undercover agents with the FELCN drug police over a period of several months with the aim of providing information on drug dealing within the prison. The statement was entirely false. I knew it and they knew it, but the other prisoners didn’t.

  Across the top of each copy I wrote the word ‘Buzos’ in thick red marker pen – our word for ‘informants’ – and then distributed them throughout every section of the prison. I stuck copies on walls, on noticeboards, under people’s doors, and I handed the remainder directly to inmates as I walked around. In San Pedro, there was only one class of prisoner more despised than rapists and child molesters: police informants. I wanted the Velascos dead. However, when they got word of what was happening, they fled to the main gates and bribed the guards to be transferred to La Muralla. Even then, it was doubtful that they would survive long.

  A few days later, Jorge went to the authorities. He feared for his life and asked to retract his statement. He told them the truth – that he and his father weren’t really informants and that I had nothing to do with the two hundred grams of cocaine found in their room. For his own safety, he also told this to every prisoner he came in contact with. The Velascos began accusing each other of lying. I had done a good job on them; there was now a complete inconsistency between their statements, which put their whole defence in disarray. And with it, the case against me crumbled completely. There was no way the judges could convict me now.

  I wanted to celebrate my revenge against the Velascos immediately. I was actually looking forward to going to court for my next appearance. By then, I had completed four-and-a-half years of my original six-year, eight-month sentence, but with the benefit of Extra Muro, that was enough. I still had my signed release form from earlier in the year and as soon as the judges acquitted me of the new charges, I would be allowed to leave San Pedro. For the first time since Ricardo had left, I felt truly happy. I was absolutely one hundred per cent certain that I would be free in a matter of weeks. I went and bought two packets of cocaine to celebrate and sent for Roberto.

  Earlier that week, there had been a rumour that the guards were about to conduct a surprise raid. The inmates hid their merchandise immediately, but when the guards didn’t come on the night they had said, everyone began to relax again. I remained cautious, however, since they hadn’t done a requisa for quite some time.

  Roberto and I continued doing coke every night, but I made certain that we only ever bought one small pack at a time from my dealer, Comandante. I told Roberto that the safest place to hide any contraband was outside your room. That way, if the police came with dogs, they couldn’t prove whose it was.

  ‘And don’t ever open the door without asking who it is first,’ I told him. ‘If the police knock, take as much time as you need to hide things. And spray deodorant in the air. If they get angry when you open the door, pretend that you’ve just woken up and you haven’t had a shower.’

  ‘OK, Thomas. I understand,’ Roberto said, sniffing another line. But he didn’t understand. Two nights later there was a requisa and he completely ignored what I had told him.

  That evening Roberto knocked on my door as usual, but I was tired from the previous night’s partying and wasn’t in the mood to take coke again.

  ‘I’m sorry. Do you worry if I only sit here for a very small time?’ he asked. I just wanted to sleep but then I remembered how lonely I had been when I first arrived in San Pedro, so I let him in.

  Roberto sat at my table sniffing lines and smoking ganja while I lay back in bed with the TV on, trying to stay awake in order to keep him company. Suddenly, word of a police search shot through the section. Doors opened and slammed shut as neighbours came out to warn each other. I heard feet scampering as inmates who were out visiting rushed back to their rooms to hide their contraband. Then the section lookout confirmed the rumour by sprinting through the corridors, knocking on all the doors and whispering, ‘¡Requisa! ¡Requisa!’

  Roberto panicked. He quickly stubbed out the joint he was smoking and clumsily refolded his packets of cocaine and marijuana. When he stood up, he knocked over his chair and this made him panic even more. He looked frantically around the room for somewhere to hide the packets. However, he was in such a state of alarm that he completely forgot the advice I’d given him about spraying deodorant to disguise the smell and taking your time to find a good hiding spot.

  ‘OK, Thomas. I see you later, bueno?’ he said, depositing the two small packages in my open hand and racing for the door.

  I was so sleepy that I hardly had time to realise what he had done before the police arrived at my room. They didn’t even have to knock: in his rush to get back to his room, Roberto opened the door for them. When he saw the Devil Major right there in front of him, he let out a small cry of surprise. The major, who had his fist in the air about to knock, looked at him, equally surprised.

  ‘Scusi,’ said Roberto, forgetting his Spanish. He slipped under the Devil Major’s arm, past the policemen and down the stairs. The major raised his eyebrows and watched him go. My fingers closed slowly around the packages. It was too late to do anything with them.

  ‘A very good evening to you, Señor McFadden,’ said the Devil Major, turning his attention back to me. The Devil Major always spoke very politely in front of his men, because he wanted them to think he was from the Bolivian upper class. He always wore a thick overcoat with stars on the shoulders to make himself look important. I already knew from what he did to Samir in La Grulla that he wasn’t someone you wanted to catch you doing something illegal. He preferred to punish people rather than accept bribes.

  ‘Good evening, major,’ I answered from my bed, trying to be as respectful as I could.

  ‘With your permission,’ he said, bowing to me and wiping his feet before stepping onto my carpet. ‘I take it that none of your wives are visiting you this evening?’ he enquired courteously.

  ‘No, major. I was just going to bed,’ I said, sitting up on my mattress and trying desperately to think of what to do with the drugs. Luckily, the Devil Major was to
o busy being sarcastic to notice the look of panic on my face.

  ‘Yes, so I noticed. Your little Italian friend was leaving in quite a hurry,’ he commented, looking up at the ceiling to where Roberto’s marijuana smoke hadn’t yet dispersed. I saw the Devil Major’s nose twitch at the smell. He didn’t say anything, but the first thing he did was to inspect the contents of the ashtray. Fortunately for me, Roberto always made his joints by hollowing out a cigarette because it was very difficult to find rolling papers in La Paz. The Devil Major was disappointed not to find any evidence in the ashtray, but he knew that something had been going on and was determined to keep searching.

  ‘Please stand in the centre of the cell, inglés,’ said the lieutenant, who always stood beside the major, copying everything he did.

  ‘Yes, teniente.’ I threw the sheets back and bent down to get my slippers from under the bed, hoping I could flick the packets somewhere. However, the lieutenant was watching me too closely.

  ‘Don’t touch anything,’ he commanded. He wouldn’t even let me put on a jacket when I complained of how cold it was. I stood in the middle of the room in my pyjamas, holding the packets loosely in my hand so as not to look suspicious.

  The police began their requisa. Normally, the high-ranking officers didn’t participate in the actual search, but the Devil Major was so sure he would find something this time that he joined in. I knew it wouldn’t be long before they would want to search me. When the major turned to look in my underwear drawer, I saw my opportunity. He had his back to me and the others were also busy going through my possessions. Because he was bent forward, the side pocket of his big coat was gaping slightly and I dropped the packets in just as he stood up and turned around.

  The Devil Major hadn’t seen what I had done, but he must have sensed my movement. He narrowed his eyes and looked at me suspiciously. I pretended that I had been looking over his shoulder, but he and the lieutenant knew from my startled expression that I was covering something up. To divert their attention, I glanced down at the ground when the major wasn’t watching. I knew, however, that the lieutenant still had his eye on me.

  ‘Lift your feet, inglés,’ he commanded confidently, as soon as he saw me look down.

  ‘What for, teniente?’ I said, pretending to look worried that he had caught me out.

  ‘Do it now!’ barked the major. I lifted my right foot nervously and lowered it back to the floor, although slightly to the left of where it had previously been, so it was now touching my other foot. This made them more suspicious.

  ‘And the other one,’ he demanded. I lifted that foot also.

  ‘Move back one step,’ said the lieutenant, thinking I must have still been hiding something. I did as they ordered and once more they were confused and disappointed not to have found anything.

  ‘We’re finished here,’ declared the major, trying to recover his authority. He turned to the lieutenant. ‘Take this prisoner to the courtyard and search him with all the others.’

  It was a very lucky escape and I was angry with Roberto, especially since I had told him exactly what he should do during a search. He came around the next night to apologise, bringing a bottle of rum as a peace offering. After a few glasses, I forgave him. He was still new and it was his very first requisa.

  When I told him what I’d done with the drugs, Roberto couldn’t stop laughing.

  ‘No. I no believe, Thomas. No is the true,’ he declared, raising his voice and throwing his hands dramatically into the air. After a few more drinks and with no cocaine in his system, he had started acting like a proper Italian. ‘I think you invent this story, yes?’

  ‘I promise. On your mother’s grave.’

  ‘But my mother she is Católica.’ He sat forward suddenly and shook his finger at me, pretending to be offended. ‘You no talk about my mother like this way, please, Thomas.’

  We did two more quick shots of rum and I also began to see the funny side. As we got more drunk, we began speculating on what might have happened after the Devil Major had left with packets of cocaine and marijuana in his pocket. Roberto was convinced that the sniffer dogs would have detected them and then the major would have had a lot of explaining to do in front of his men. I didn’t agree.

  ‘No way, man. There weren’t any dogs.’ But once Roberto got on to a subject, he couldn’t let it go.

  ‘Then perhaps his wife she will find the drugs when she is cleaning the jacket?’ he suggested, leaning back in his chair and going into another laughing fit. ‘He will have big problems in the home.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, trying to imagine what the Devil Major’s wife would look like.

  ‘Or maybe the wife she like the cocaína. Like my girlfriend in Italy she does. The cocaína is good for the sex, you know.’ Roberto stood up in order to demonstrate. ‘So this major he just put a little bit here on the end here,’ he said, touching the front of his pants, ‘and maybe some for her in the special place, and they will be very excited together. Making a lot of love. Very happy marriage. Lot of pleasure.’

  ‘No, man, that major is a homosexual.’ I was convinced that no woman would put up with the Devil Major.

  ‘No. I no believe, Thomas. You are joking with me again. That homosexual major was the one who stole your hair machine.’

  ‘It’s true. They’re all gay.’

  ‘No.’ Roberto put his hand to his mouth and gasped once more like a proper Italian. ‘Is no true, Thomas. I no believe. How the country can get bigger then if all the Bolivian man is homosexual?’

  For the next few weeks, I was happy and we had a lot of parties, especially when Rusty wasn’t around. I told all my friends in prison that I would be leaving soon. With the Velascos retracting their statement and a ‘human rights lawyer’ observing the proceedings, I was totally convinced that my trial was over. It would have been, had it not been for the next surprise – the Velascos’ chief witness.

  49

  WITNESS FOR THE DEFENCE

  Before our next court appearance, Jorge Velascos changed his statement back, saying he had only retracted it because of threats made against his life by other prisoners. This strengthened the Velascos’ case a great deal. I knew they had family connections high up in the drug trade, which also meant they would have connections among the drug police. I already knew that they would get one of them to act as their witness and I hadn’t forgotten the warning that Chino had given me in La Grulla, either. Maybe they would use Jose Luis’s brother, the FELCN agent. I didn’t expect the testimony to be strong, however, especially if it only amounted to a family member backing up their story. Hopefully, my lawyer would be able to prove they were all lying.

  On the day that the Velascos were to give full details of their defence, there was a new shock awaiting me. Their lawyer informed the court that the next defence witness was a colonel. My lawyer, Manuelo, looked down at his desk and picked up his pen. He seemed worried. Discrediting a high-ranking police or army witness would be tough. The Velascos’ lawyer then mentioned that this colonel worked with the FELCN drug investigation unit. Manuelo closed his eyes for a few seconds. This would make it even tougher. We knew the fiscal would be of no help; he worked closely with the FELCN and he would probably know this colonel personally. I could tell that Manuelo was panicking, but as soon as I heard this, I tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘He’s the brother,’ I whispered to him.

  ‘Who? This witness? Are you sure?’ he asked disbelievingly. I nodded.

  ‘I’m positive.’ Manuelo seemed relieved to have some ammunition that wouldn’t involve directly accusing the colonel of lying.

  When the witness came in, I stopped breathing for a few seconds. It was Colonel Lanza! I stared at him in disbelief. I hadn’t seen him since my arrest at the airport, but I recognised him immediately. It had been four-and-a-half years, but he hadn’t changed. I kept staring at him, thinking it couldn’t possibly be true. He looked calmly around the court. He even looked directly at me, but as soon a
s he spoke, there was no doubt.

  ‘Yes. I swear,’ he said, when the clerk of the court asked him if he swore on the bible to tell the truth. Next, he was asked to state his name.

  ‘Colonel Mario Toro Lanza.’ Manuelo panicked slightly and turned to me. He was worried because the colonel’s surname wasn’t Velasco. But it was too much of a coincidence not to be true.

  ‘Brother-in-law,’ I whispered.

  When it was his turn to cross-examine, Manuelo asked Colonel Lanza detailed questions about the supposed undercover operation. But Lanza had already thought of almost every possible question and how to answer it.

  ‘Who was in charge of the operation?’ Manuelo asked.

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Who else knew about the operation?’

  ‘I am unable to say. That’s classified information.’

  For some of the more specific questions, Lanza ran out of prepared answers. Every time he got into trouble, though, he always had the same escape route: ‘It was a secret operation.’

  My lawyer then asked why there was no record of this operation. He asked why none of the guards at San Pedro knew about it and why no one in the prison administration was informed, even when the operation had been completed. He asked why no phone call was made to external investigators once the operation had been ‘successful’ and why it took over a year to bring the charges. Lanza had a clever answer for those questions as well: ‘It would have compromised the safety of the undercover operatives.’

  At that point, Lanza also mentioned the great risk that the Velascos had taken in attempting to bring me to justice. He informed the court that it had come to his attention that I had deliberately exposed his operatives to grave danger by illegally obtaining copies of their statements and distributing them within the prison with the intention of endangering their lives. This was backed up by the fact that Jorge Velasco had been obliged to change his statement in order to save his own life. Lanza did a very good job of making the Velascos sound like brave police agents, and me sound like a calculating drug baron. He spoke confidently and looked my lawyer in the eye when he answered his questions. He was winning the battle until Manuelo pulled out his big question.