Rendezvous With the Fat Man

by Gail Sherman Jones

  The Jeep parked in a thicket of trees and was camouflaged with branches to prevent it from being seen by observation planes. As the entire troupe walked toward the fire pit, the stench of bones and strewn garbage entered their nostrils. “Oh my God! What’s that disgusting odor? I can’t believe we’re setting up camp here,” Karen complained.

  “It definitely stinks,” Jan chimed in.

  “You’ll get used to it. Nobody can see this location from a plane. That’s why I‘ve been using it for years,” Papi responded.

  “No problem. We’ll grin and bear it. How can we help set up camp?” Jan asked.

  “Hang the hammocks and mosquito netting,” Papi replied.

  Everyone jumped into action unloading supplies from the Jeep and doing their specific jobs setting up camp, making a campfire, and cooking food. Jan and Karen cleared an area to set up the hammocks.

  The Bolivian cocaine workers had a number of unusual customs when manufacturing the drug. The most important rule was that no one could use coke while it was being made; only before and after. Cocaine made people paranoid, amplified many times by the surroundings they were in and the endeavor they were undertaking. Papi reiterated to Karen what Jan had demanded of her before the trip: no snorting of the new product until they had returned from the jungle. Another custom among the workers was to never snort any of the cocaine they made.

  Papi and all his workers huddled together to prepare their freebase cigarettes after all their camp chores were done and the meal cooked over the open fire. They preferred to smoke the coca base from which the crystal was made. Jan and Karen watched them prepare the base for smoking; taking a cigarette and rubbing it between their palms to remove the tobacco, then adding a pinch of the base from a huge plastic bag they brought with them. They stuffed the base and tobacco back into the cigarette paper, lit it up, and passed the cigarette around.

  The first few coke base joints took a while to prepare, but as the effect of the drug began to take hold, everyone’s hands started moving faster and faster; removing the tobacco, adding base, stuffing, rolling, and smoking, until the procedure became a blur of motion that seemed to produce a cigarette in no more than a few seconds. The production sequence seemed to take on a life of its own in the flickering firelight.

  The entire camp got uproariously high, laughing, joking, and carrying on. The workers were quite interested in Karen, whose personality was more flirtatious than they were used to.

  “Great high. I’ve never smoked coke before,” Karen said.

  “Enjoy it now, because you won’t be doing it any more until after we return home,” Jan reminded her.

  One worker was so distracted by Karen that he accidentally knocked over one of the glass mason jars containing chemicals needed to make cocaine. “Jefe, I’m so sorry,” he apologized profusely.

  The Fat Man became so enraged that he grabbed his machete and slammed it down into the ground next to the worker’s hand. Everyone froze, horrified by Papi’s sudden outburst of violence. The worker screamed out in shock as he held up his hand to survey any injury; luckily there was none. The machete had barely missed amputating his pinky finger; no cut or blood, just a traumatized worker. “This is a warning to everyone. Don’t fuck up while we’re working!” Papi cautioned.

  His temper caught everyone off guard. It was around midnight and the mood had shifted from cocaine euphoria to fearful dejection. Everyone decided to head for their hammocks, leaving their dinner forgotten, still simmering over the dying embers of the campfire. They had to get up early in the morning, but most likely, the relentless mosquitos would make it difficult for them to get much sleep. Jan and Karen laid in their hammocks, reflecting on the long day and abrupt ending to the evening’s activities.

  “Damn. That was a great high until Papi lost his temper. He freaked me out,” Karen admitted.

  “This business is serious shit. You know you flirted with that worker and got him distracted. It’s really your fault what happened,” Jan scolded her.

  “Your hard-ass attitude is starting to bum me out. We’re in the fuckin’ Bolivian jungle, high on cocaine. Let your hair down a little.”

  “There’s plenty of time to do that later. This is a job. And right now we’re working,” Jan chided her.

  Karen yawned. “Right now let’s go to sleep. Buenas noches.”

  The next morning they woke up early. Karen, however, immediately began scratching herself all over. She lifted her shirt to reveal hundreds of red welts, distressing her greatly.

  “Fuck! My body is covered with mosquito bites. And there’s a rash on my legs and butt. I can’t believe they bit right through the hammock,” Karen complained

  “Poor baby. You look horrible. Mosquitos must love your skin because I don’t have any bites. And by the way, your rash is from scabies.”

  “Scabies. What’s scabies?” Karen asked.

  “They’re little mites that are probably imbedded in your used hammock. Nobody can touch you now because scabies can spread by skin-to-skin contact,” Jan informed her.

  “That’s just great. Do you have any medicine to stop the itching? I’m scratching so much that I’m bleeding all over,” Karen complained.

  “I only have salve for the mosquito bites. You need a different medication for the scabies. We’ll get it when we return in five days because we’re making five kilos, one kilo per day,” Jan explained.

  “Five days of torture?” Karen asked.

  “I hate to tell you this but you’re gonna have to keep sleeping in the infested hammock. Maybe if you wear several layers of clothes when you sleep, that might protect you from more bites, and we can put some sheets of plastic underneath your hammock,” Jan suggested.

  “Shit. I’ll just sleep on the ground,” Karen answered.

  “Whatever, but if you get bitten by poisonous spiders or snakes or attacked by crazy wild boars, don’t scream. I’m a light sleeper,” Jan warned.

  “That’s not funny. Crap, I guess it’s the hammock tonight,” Karen conceded.

  Jan rummaged through her purse to retrieve a tube of mosquito salve and handed it to Karen who immediately lathered her inflamed skin for instant relief. “Oh man, I feel so much better now,” Karen said.

  “Great. Now you can help me clean up the campsite.” They concentrated their time on burying the discarded animal bones and garbage while Papi and his workers were making more cocaine.

  “The flies are driving me crazy. We’ll never get rid of them with the raw meat hanging from the trees and this garbage scattered around. They think they’re invited to a feast and bring all their buddies. We can keep their numbers down by covering the animal flesh with plastic sheets, don’t you think,” Karen asked.

  “Maybe so,” Jan responded. She made a broom out of palm fronds and did her best to herd the flies to the far side of the camp. She also did her best to supervise the campsite and keep it clear of all the trash generated by six campers. Jan observed that the Bolivians had a bothersome tendency to fling their garbage in no particular direction and leave it wherever it happened to fall.

  “I notice we’re running low on water,” Karen commented.

  “The only water available is in the nearby pond and it’s covered in three inches of green algae. We need to filter and boil it, but we’ll never get rid of the algae taste,” Jan responded

  “This will be a trippy first time experience,” Karen said. She walked down to the pond with a large bucket and swept aside the algae with her hand before dipping it into the water. There was no way to keep all the green slime out of the bucket. Karen attempted to remove the rest of it before boiling the water and make it drinkable. Luckily, no one suffered any side effects from the little bit of algae they consumed.

  Suddenly, everybody stopped working when a small observation plane circled overhead several times. The plane understandably made Papi nervous.
He directed his laborers to move and work under the trees. The plane made one final pass and flew off to the north, much to the relief of everyone so they could continue their work. However, they didn’t have much time to relax. As soon as the plane left the area, another engine was heard, the distant rumbling of approaching cars outside camp.

  Papi and his workers stopped what they were doing and listened to the sound. It was definitely coming their way. There were not a lot of reasons for people to be this far out in the chaco. Coupled with the plane that had been circling overhead earlier, the likelihood was that they had been spotted and a team of federales was coming to check them out. Papi and his men readied their rifles. He motioned to Jan and Karen to find cover. “Go hide in the trees,” Papi commanded them.

  The Fat Man and his workers walked down the dirt road toward the cars approaching them. Jan grabbed Karen’s arm and they ran to the Jeep to retrieve their jackets and purses containing passports and money. They also snatched a pair of socks and tissues to stuff in their pockets.

  To avoid detection, they darted off about a hundred yards into the dense brush in case the men in the cars were federales. They stopped behind a small rise to hear what was going on, far enough away to be out of view, spying through the jungle leaves at approaching vehicles in the distance.

  Jan whispered to Karen, “Shit, my heart is pounding so fast.”

  “I’m so scared, I don’t even feel the itching from my scabies and mosquito bites,” Karen admitted.

  “Damn, I just realized the suitcases in the Jeep have our name tags attached. I’ll remember to take them off next time, but that doesn’t do us any good now,” Jan said.

  The cars passed slowly, coming to a stop briefly in front of where they were hiding, forcing them to squat even closer to the ground. A car door opened and someone wearing heavy boots stepped out, cocking a gun. Karen started to scratch but Jan gripped her arm. An agonizing minute passed before the man got back into his vehicle and drove towards the direction where Papi and his workers were waiting.

  “Hey, sounds like the cars are leaving,” Karen whispered.

  They gathered enough courage to venture out towards the camp. At first there was nobody in sight. But after a few minutes, Papi and the other men finally trudged back up the road towards them signaling everything was okay.

  “The men in the cars were hunters looking for game. I told them we had girls at the camp and we didn’t want to be disturbed,” Papi informed them.

  “We were gonna hike to Brazil if there was any trouble. What would you have done if the men were government agents?” Jan asked.

  “We would have shot ’em.”

  “Whoa! You know, maybe it’s best if I never come into the jungle with you again. My being here makes it more difficult for you,” Jan responded.

  “I agree,” Papi said.

  The incident with the hunters was a lesson to be learned for Jan: not to become too complacent, no matter how safe the situation appeared. She was back on her guard and maintained that sense of awareness for the rest of the trip.

  Everyone walked back to the campsite and resumed their coke making activities. The receptacles used to make the drug came in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors; from wide mouth mason jars that held several liters, to immense plastic buckets in colors of red, green, blue, yellow. Jan took pictures of everything and everybody who was involved in the process. Workers formed assembly lines to measure chemicals, each amount of base weighed out according to the size of the container.

  Papi was holding a large pharmaceutical filter. “I’m washing the base with ether and acetone through this filter. Now I’m adding a small quantity of hydrochloric acid. I’ll cover the bucket tightly and put it out in the sun to react for several hours.”

  “Then what happens?” Karen asked.

  “The mixture churns, boils, and bubbles as crystals form on the sides and bottom of the containers. Sometimes they’re brilliant like quartz or powdery like flour. It all depends on the variation in chemicals used,” Papi explained.

  “Is that it?” Jan asked.

  “No. Once the chemical reaction is complete, I break up the crystal block with my hands and press it through another filter which leaves a pure shiny residue. That’s the finished product; ninety-nine percent pure cocaine.”

  Jan and Karen watched Papi scrape the cocaine off the filter into a large, wooden drying box. It started out pure white, changing to a dull yellow as the ether evaporated, then to a brilliant crystalline white again as the slower evaporating acetone dissipated into the atmosphere. Jan reached down to pick up a large chunk of cocaine and spread it across the inside of her hand, marveling at its size and beauty.

  “Wow. This is amazing how it’s made,” Jan said.

  “Can we break some off so I can sample it?” Karen asked.

  Jan was infuriated by her question. “Absolutely not! Remember, no cocaine use while we’re making it. That’s the Bolivian rule.” Karen stormed off to lie in her hammock, sulking like a scolded child after being reprimanded.

  The five days in the jungle passed slowly as Papi made a kilo a day. Most of that time was unpleasant for Jan. She had to constantly remind Karen to help with the cooking and cleaning of the campsite. Her incessant immature behavior and playing the ‘femme fatal’ was becoming more annoying.

  On the third day, when Jan was washing the pots and pans near the campfire, she noticed Karen saunter over to the Fat Man and his workers processing a new batch of cocaine. She was wearing tight bell bottom jeans and had unbuttoned her denim shirt to her waist, revealing a low-cut tank top underneath. Jan wondered, ‘What the fuck is that bitch doing. She’s pushing her luck with me.’

  Her eyes followed Karen as she stopped in front of Papi sitting on a stool after completing the final batch of the day. He looked up, acknowledging her presence and she immediately began her charm offensive. “Hola, Papi. I was wondering if you could give me some product to test?”

  “You already know I don’t give out samples while working,” Papi responded.

  “Why not?” Karen asked.

  “Because that’s the rule we follow,” Papi reminded her.

  “Rules are made to be broken,” Karen countered.

  “Jan told me you might ask and insisted not to give you any,” Papi answered.

  “How’s she gonna know?”

  “Because she watches everyone like a hawk.”

  Karen leaned over towards him revealing her breasts bulging out of her tank top. “Come on. Give me a little bit.”

  “I know you’re not going to leave me alone till I give you something.”

  Papi pulled out a pack of rolling papers and a coke spoon, dipping it into a mason jar to scoop out a smidgeon of pure coke crystals. He filled the rolling paper, folded it into a packet and discreetly handed it to Karen.

  “Thanks, Papi. I owe you one.” She rewarded him with a big smile and a kiss on the cheek. After putting the packet in her pocket, she walked back to where Jan was working.

  “What the hell were you doing with Papi?” Jan asked.

  “Nothing. Just looking at the finished product.”

  “Stop acting like Miss Sexy. You need to help me with cooking and cleaning the campsite. And leave Papi alone. You’re fuckin’ embarrassing me. I’ve never seen this side of you before and I don’t like it,” Jan scolded her.

  Karen rolled her eyes. “Stop trippin’. We’re leaving camp tomorrow so you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  “Screw you! We haven’t even started the hard part yet. You’re the one at risk for carrying the stuff through customs,” Jan reminded her. Karen was silent. The reality of the dangerous trip looming ahead in the next few days finally dawned on her.

  Jan was irritable and stressed out from dealing with Karen. She could do nothing more than count down the days she had left to spend
with her and be grateful for each one that passed. Fortunately, there was an opportunity to break free from some of the tension she felt; her twenty-ninth birthday occurred the last day in the jungle. Papi and his workers prepared a unique party for Jan by roasting ‘jabali’ (a wild boar) over the campfire, finishing the meal with melted chocolate candy bars and warm beer. She managed to have a good time and sincerely appreciated the friendship that the Fat Man and his companions showed her.

  After all the cocaine had been made and the campsite cleared of buckets, jars, food, and other residue, Jan was apportioned her 500 grams, which she put into her cosmetic case. The entourage finished a couple beers, piled back into the Jeep and set off towards Santa Cruz.

  Their return from the chaco necessitated a certain amount of camouflage, both to hide Jan and Karen’s identities as well as providing an excuse for the group’s activities in the jungle. On their way back to Santa Cruz, they had to pass through a number of trans-check points which were roadway inspection areas manned by local officials to verify people’s business as they traveled into the city.

  A group of men returning from the jungle would be suspicious enough, but if they were found in the company of two young Caucasian females, even the normally lax checkpoint guards would have to ask some embarrassing questions. For that reason, the girl’s faces were dirtied and their hair stuffed into baseball caps tightly pulled down to their eyebrows. They were directed to keep their faces low and pointed away from the guards they would pass.

  In case there were any problems, Papi and his men were armed to the teeth, toting pistols, rifles, knives, and an assortment of other potentially lethal weapons. Jan had long been aware of the passionate love affair that South American men had for their guns and the pride they had in displaying them. Besides serving as protection on this cocaine trip, the guns were part of their alibis. Papi and his men had ostensibly been in the chaco on a hunting expedition and needed some additional props—smoked meat and dead animals—to further verify their story.