“If you want more, I can make it for you,” he said.
“You speak English,” Jan exclaimed, somewhat surprised.
“Only for dealing with Americans,” he responded with a thick Spanish accent and wide grin.
Jan feigned an air of authority. She looked at the taxi driver, knowing he didn’t speak much English, than back at the Fat Man. “I do want more. But I’ll have to try this first and see how good it is.”
“Qué bueno. That’s fine. Where are you staying?”
Jan was caught off guard by the question and hesitated a moment. “Why do you want to know?” she queried him.
“I need to know where to meet you.”
Jan gulped, taken aback.
“But if you don’t want to tell me, I’m sure he will,” the Fat Man responded as he gestured to the driver, who had kept his back on the entire exchange.
Jan was afraid but tipped her chin higher. “Oh. Okay. El Cortez Hotel,” Jan reluctantly told him.
He paused a moment, thinking. “I’ll meet you tonight at 9:00 behind the gas station, next door to the hotel. If you don’t show up, I know you’re not interested.”
Jan considered his offer. It sounded safe. If she wanted more, she would meet him. If she didn’t show up, that would be the end of it. She would still be able to score cocaine with Moises.
Satisfied with the arrangement, Jan nodded in agreement. The Fat Man reached in the window with his calloused hand.
“Encantado. Nice meeting you,” he said.
Jan received his handshake to seal the deal. He said nothing more as he turned away and walked back to his house. There was a rifle strapped to his back, causing Jan to fall back into the seat quite startled. She wasn’t expecting to see a firearm and this was her first time seeing one.
The reality of what she was involved in finally hit her.
“Who was that?” Jan asked.
“That was El Gordo. The Fat Man,” the driver responded.
She turned to stare after him as they drove away knowing that it probably would not be their last time together. If he could make cocaine for her, that made him her new best friend.
At this point in time, Jan was overly anxious to get back to her hotel room to sample her first ‘coke.’ After what seemed like hours in her racing mind, she was finally sitting on the bed carefully opening the intricately folded paper envelope. Mesmerized, she stared for a few moments at the pile of shiny, white crystals. So this was cocaine. It didn’t seem like much. For this she was risking everything? If caught smuggling, she could lose her freedom and be incarcerated in some foreign hellhole of a prison. Or worse yet, lose her life.
She pulled a mini gold spoon out of her purse that was a gift from a friend in Ibiza, played with the cocaine and examined its consistency. It was mostly crystalline flakes with a few small, irregularly shaped lumps. Scooping a smidgeon of coke onto the spoon, Jan confronted her big moment of truth; the first snort. After raising the spoon to her nose, she exhaled, accidentally blowing a tiny white cloud across the bed. She rolled her eyes, shook her head and laughed at the nervousness she felt.
Jan tried a second time, then a third. After finally managing to get some of the crystals up her nose, she sat back and waited for some kind of reaction. Nothing happened. She tried a couple more small spoonful’s, watching a few tiny rocks drop from her nostrils. Finally Jan decided to wait a little longer for the drug to take effect and exited the room to eat at the hotel restaurant.
When she entered the elevator, the drug had still not kicked in. However, by the time she descended to the main lobby, the coke had finally affected her. Jan felt hyper-stimulated, grinning from ear to ear.
Since smoking pot increased one’s appetite and made food taste delectable, she was curious to find out if cocaine had the same effect. After arriving in the restaurant, she ordered copious amounts of food, only to stare at it blankly when it arrived. Jan soon discovered that cocaine was not like marijuana when it came to eating. Instead, it made her lose whatever appetite she had.
But she also discovered something even more significant about cocaine. Her euphoric high had given way to paranoia and hyperactivity. She was trippin’ and her heart was beating faster than normal, breaths coming quick and shallow. Her gaze darted around the room, as she sat, thinking that she was the center of attention. Talking to herself she muttered,“Are people staring at me? Yes, they’re watching me. They’re pretending to look at each other and at their food, but I know they’re looking at me. I’m a white girl sitting by myself in a room full of dark-skinned, native Bolivians.”
She stood out like the proverbial sore thumb and started feeling very uncomfortable, gasping for breath. “Stop staring at me!” Avoiding eye contact to reduce her irrational fears, Jan at first picked at her food, then forced down as much as she could eat. A waiter approached the table and startled her. “Jesus!” she responded.
“Señorita, I have your check.”
She signed it, than tugged at his arm for a closer look at his watch.“Oh my God! Is that the time?” Jan immediately rose, dashed out of the restaurant and returned to her room.
Rummaging through her suitcase, she frantically tried to decide what to wear; staring at herself in the mirror for an answer to select or reject several outfits. At the same time, Jan aggravated over whether she should meet the Fat Man and if she looked too nervous or hyper for such an important transaction. She decided to trust her gut again and left the room for the rendezvous.
When Jan arrived at the gas station, the Fat Man was standing in the shadows, waiting. Fear momentarily seized her, stopping Jan in her tracks. At that instant, she realized how dumb it was to snort cocaine prior to meeting a stranger on a dark corner, in a small town, in a foreign country to buy drugs for the first time, where, if something happened to her, nobody would ever know. And she was still high, hyper, and paranoid. What the hell was Jan thinking? It was insane to go through with this.
She looked at him closely as he stepped into the dim light. He was immense and overpowering. His shirt was ill-fitting and the button holes stretched to accommodate his hefty size. He must have weighed over three hundred pounds with a huge belly that hung well over the top of his pants. Strangely, The Fat Man was not threatening, particularly since he was not carrying his rifle. But should she trust him and trust her gut?
Jan thought about the dozens of other men she had traveled with on previous trips; male hitchhikers she had picked up in Europe, Istanbul, Morocco, traveling thousands of miles with them, day and night. She knew nothing about anyone before they had entered her car. But she relied on her inner voice, believing that she had a unique ability to subconsciously read people and sense whether someone could be harmful or not.
She felt she could trust the Fat Man. Nothing, neither paranoia nor fear, was going to stop her from meeting with him to get what she came there for. Casting her lingering doubts aside, Jan approached from the darkness into the lighted area of the gas station where he was waiting.
“I see you liked the sample,” the Fat Man said amiably.
“Yes. Not bad.”
Jan squashed her fear by switching into character and acting bold. She decided that the firm, experienced approach was the best way to deal with him. No turning back now. Nervousness roiled through her stomach.
He signaled for his driver at the end of the street to pick them up. After the vehicle stopped at the curb next to them, The Fat Man got in the back and patted the seat next to him for Jan to enter. She hesitated only a moment before stepping inside. The Fat Man leaned toward the driver to point out where they were going while Jan looked in her purse.
She immediately discovered that her identification and money were left in the hotel room and hoped her face didn’t reflect that situation. Unfortunately, the effects of cocaine had scattered her brain and she forgot to bring the most important items with
her. ‘Fuck! What am I going to do? How am I going to buy drugs with no money?’
Jan took a deep breath as the car sped off into the night. She still had a slight buzz, but the paranoia had lessened. To think clearly, she needed to muster her wits. If she had them, she probably would never have gotten into the car with a total stranger in the first place.
The car pulled up in front of an old hostel for campesinos and the Fat Man led Jan inside. She observed the new surroundings with trepidation. They passed through several rooms filled to overflowing with poor, indigenous people, then through a labyrinth of narrow hallways, stairways, and corridors, a virtual maze in the bowels of the hostel. They finally ended up in a small, bare-walled, sparsely furnished room. There was a single, sagging spring bed, a splintered table with a metal washbasin, pitcher of water, and a hand towel on it.
Jan’s apprehension grew. Her heart was beating so fast that she thought the Fat Man could hear it. She realized this was a hotel for peones (laborers), a flat in a cheap whorehouse. The Fat Man motioned for her to sit on the bed and closed the door behind them.
She swallowed hard, took another deep breath, willed herself to loosen up and sat down on the bed. Jan’s eyes darted to his. Suddenly, Jan realized that rape was a real possibility. If a threat occurred, it would be a miracle if she got out of there alive.
Her throat constricted as she tried to look at ease, talking to her inner self, “Stay calm. You can trust him, remember?” She stared at his body language, looking for warning signs.
His facial expression was pleasant and relaxed, breathing was regular. He was not threatening in any way. But, most importantly, his demeanor was straight up business. Nothing negative so far. Jan’s fear slowly dissipated, now trusting her gut feelings.
As the Fat Man lowered himself on the bed next to her, the weakened springs strained to their limits. He lifted his shirt to remove a steely blue Colt .45 from his waistband and laid it on the bed between them. Then he moved the gun out of the way to sit closer. She eyed it warily, but played it off well.
“My Name is Papi. Now, we can do some business.”
In that moment, Jan wished she had a gun as well. Not for self-defense, as might be expected, but merely as an equalizer. She felt her ‘character’ would have been much more impressive if she had been able to match his gesture with a pistol of her own. Not having one, she tried to act as if the gun’s presence wasn’t disturbing. But internally, she didn’t feel entirely successful and stayed on guard.
“I apologize for the room, but I don’t conduct business at my house where my family can see what I’m doing.”
Papi pulled a large packet out of his shirt pocket and carefully opened it for Jan’s inspection. “There’s 50 grams of cocaine here. It’s the stuff I gave you today. How’d you like it?”
“It was...uh...pleasant,” she answered, wondering if there were any special words she should use to describe the quality. She couldn’t think of any, so she said nothing more.
Papi appraised Jan for a long, tense moment, carefully picking up the packet. “If you want, I can teach you everything I’ve learned about cocaine.”
“Why would you do that?” she queried.
“You need a supplier. I need distributors. We both want to make a lot of money.”
That’s what Jan wanted to hear. “I’d like that very much,” she confessed. Anxious to learn as much as possible, Jan leaned closer to listen, sitting attentively as he continued speaking. Papi was obviously a good judge of character, so there was no reason to put up a pretense for his sake.
“When we make cocaine from the leaves of the coca plant, we start with a thick paste called base. It takes about 1,200 grams of the base to make a kilo of cocaine and the process takes one full working day. The end product can be in one of three forms; rosa, perla, or brillante.” He showed her tiny samples of each.
“How much do you have for sale and what does it cost?” Jan asked.
“I can make a kilo and have it ready late tomorrow afternoon. It costs $3 a gram or $3,000 a kilo. There’s no discounts for quantity in Bolivia.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t wait for it to be made. I’m leaving for La Paz tomorrow. If you give me your phone number, I’ll call you on my way back from La Paz to Ibiza. Maybe we can get together and finalize at that time.”
Papi thought about it for a few seconds. He grabbed a pen and paper from the table drawer, wrote his phone number down and handed it to Jan.
“Gracias. I’ll be in touch.”
“Next time, remember to bring money,” Papi responded.
Her eyes opened wider. Did he know she forgot her cash? Jan thought that was uncanny. All the more reason she was impressed with him. After completing their business, he escorted her out of the hostel. She was soon in a taxi on her way back to the hotel, now educated about making cocaine, and carrying Papi’s phone number in her purse.
Not only did she have the help and resources of a Bolivian diplomat for a score in La Paz, but had made a very important drug connection by herself in Santa Cruz. It was possible she would never have to call Papi, however, it was reassuring to know there was another contact person if Moises didn’t come through.
Once she returned to her hotel room, Jan took a shower and washed two days of worry from her body. She was ecstatic with her accomplishments. Not bad, she thought, for a girl who didn’t even know where she was going just a week prior. South America began to look a lot more hospitable.
Chapter 4 — Score and Smuggle Number One
The next day’s flight into La Paz was everything her flight to Santa Cruz was not. The airport was modern, the runway was paved and her reception was regal. Moises was there, waiting in the company of several other Bolivian ministers.
“Bienvenidos a La Paz, señorita Sherman,” Moises warmly greeted her.
“I’m so impressed. But you didn’t have to do all this for me.”
“I promised to help you and I’m a man of my word. It’s my job to make your trip as pleasant and successful as possible.”
“Gracias, I’m sure it will be,” Jan assured him.
Moises and the government ministers escorted her to a waiting limousine and they all entered together. As the limo whisked off to downtown La Paz, Moises uncorked a bottle of wine and poured glasses for everyone.
“This is a bottle of Bolivian Riesling from the Central Valley of Tarifa. I thought it was a perfect choice to welcome señorita Sherman and toast to an enjoyable trip.” Everyone lifted their glasses. “Salud,” they chimed in unison.
Jan felt so pampered at that moment. What made her feel blessed was the fact that she traveled to Bolivia first class without spending a dime. Everything was paid for by the Bolivian government, thanks to Moises. From the beginning of this odyssey, her finances were very limited. For now, the stress of running out of money was not on her mind.
The limousine arrived at the Libertator Hotel via a grand circular driveway. Without a doubt, this was the finest hotel in La Paz. The main lobby was lavishly decorated with opulent furnishings and polished granite floors. Moises assisted Jan at the front desk and escorted her to her suite.
“I decided to accompany you and make sure your room was comfortable and spacious,” Moises said.
“I’m overwhelmed by your hospitality. The suite is way more luxurious than my hotel in Asunción.” Jan made a victorious twirl before falling happily onto the bed. “I’m sorry, Moises. I couldn’t control myself. You make me feel so special and we hardly know each other.” She quickly recovered her composure and stood back up.
“I’m pleased that you’re happy with your accommodations. Why don’t you freshen up and I’ll meet you down in the bar,” Moises replied.
“That sounds great,” Jan gladly accepted.
A short time later, she appeared at the entrance of the bar, radiant and attractive in a flowered print, s
leeveless, form-fitting dress. Her long brunette hair cascaded over her shoulders. Moises stood as she approached. “You look beautiful, Jan,” he gushed, then gestured for the waiter to pour her a glass of champagne. He assisted with her chair as she sat down.
“Moises. You’re much too generous.”
“This is only the beginning. I’ve arranged a tour of the countryside and Lake Titicaca so you can take photographs of our people and places of interest for your travel stories. We can also attend several government receptions and formal parties. Whatever you want, I can make it happen.”
He clearly was trying to impress her. But he hadn’t said the magic word yet. She leaned closer and touched his arm. “You haven’t mentioned what I really want. Remember, it was the reason for my trip here, Moises.”
He surveyed her face. If it was a joke before, it wasn’t now. He glanced around before he leaned even closer. “In the morning you’ll be taking a tour of La Paz. At noon, I’ll meet you at my office. I want to introduce you to someone who has the product you wish to take back to Ibiza.”
Her eyes widened slightly but she quickly recovered.
“Enough about business matters. Tonight, let’s have fun,” Moises responded. He gently touched her hand, but she pulled it away.
“I’d love to spend more time with you. But I have to get up early in the morning if I’m going to visit all the places you planned for me to see tomorrow.”
Moises got the message. He wasn’t happy about cutting the evening short, but tipped his glass to her and acquiesced. Jan was impressed with his discipline and found him even more attractive since there were so few gentlemen around anymore. He was very protective and she appreciated the attention.
The next morning, a government car drove up to where Jan had been waiting at the front entrance of the hotel. The driver got out and opened the door for her. “Moises gave me instructions to take you around the city this morning,” he informed her.
“I’ve got my camera equipment ready to take lots of pictures,” Jan replied.
Rendezvous With the Fat Man Page 4