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THE GOVERNOR

question out before Marcela leaned back in her chair and unlatched the door and the governor of the prison, Colonel Montesinos, came into my room. He was wearing his usual shiny black shoes and green uniform, but he was wearing a casual sweater over the top, which made him look a bit younger and not so serious.

I stood to shake his hand and greeted him in the most formal manner, ‘How are you, my governor?’ We were friends but I always showed him complete respect, calling him by his full title, especially in the presence of other people.

‘Hola, Thomas. Bien,’ he answered casually, greeting each of the girls with a kiss. ‘I see you’ve met the girls. What’s the latest news from San Pedro, my friend? You look hungover . . . mucha fiesta or what?’ he asked, sitting down and pouring himself a whisky in one of the girls’ glasses.

The governor seemed perfectly relaxed – like this was a completely normal situation. I was the exact opposite: perfectly nervous. He had visited my room before and we had always been friendly, but never this late and never this friendly. He was still a colonel in the Bolivian police and the most powerful person in the whole prison and I didn’t know what he wanted with me, turning up at my room like that with two beautiful women so late at night. However, I couldn’t say anything, especially in front of his guests. I hoped he would explain, but he didn’t. Instead, he offered me a glass of whisky.

‘No, thank you, my governor.’

‘Don’t like whisky, hey Thomas? Not even Black Label. Well, I’m sure you’re accustomed to finer things. We should obtain something a little stronger perhaps?’ He raised his eyebrows at me knowingly and added, ‘I want the best stuff you can find.’

At first, I wasn’t sure if I had understood him correctly. I looked at him blankly, wondering if he really meant what I thought he meant. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me because I was stoned. But then he repeated his request and there was no doubt.

‘Bring me five grams,’ he commanded, pulling out a wad of cash from his top pocket and peeling off a few notes. ‘How much will five grams cost?’

Marcela stared at the bundle of cash and whistled, but I stared straight at the governor’s face, completely stunned. Suddenly everything seemed surreal; I was stoned, two strange, beautiful Bolivian women were in my prison cell drinking Black Label whisky, and the