📸 Photo

MARCHING POWDER

to find Orlando’s tienda in Alamos and exact instructions on which brand to get.

‘It has to be Nacional. And pink. I don’t want any other colour. Understand?’

I handed him five bolivianos. He looked at me strangely, wondering why he had to go all that way when there were shops that were closer and cheaper.

‘And why do you want to buy Nacional? You could buy twice as many if you bought another brand.’

‘My arse is very precious, Mario. It “demands the best”,’ I said, paraphrasing an advertisement I had seen on TV and he laughed. ‘And the change is yours.’

This time, he understood perfectly. He went off to Pinos to buy a twin pack of pink Nacional toilet paper, which was my code with Orlando for ten grams of cocaine.

When Pizza Boy returned, he was acting strangely. He had the toilet rolls, but he didn’t hand them to me straight away. Instead, he walked through the yard and into the cell block, clicking his fingers for me to follow him. I found him leaning casually against the wall, throwing the toilet rolls up into the air and then catching them, waiting for me. One of the rolls was bulging slightly, but I hoped that he hadn’t noticed.

Pizza Boy stopped his little game and held out the package. But when I went to take it, he snatched it back, holding it just out of my reach. I looked at him questioningly.

‘And my share?’ he said, remaining straight-faced.

‘You’ve still got the change, haven’t you?’

‘But what about the rest?’

‘What do you mean? What rest?’

‘You don’t have to lie to me, Thomas,’ he said, bending the packet in the middle to reveal the small cut where Orlando had inserted the bag of cocaine. ‘Just give me what’s fair.’ I had to give him another ten bolivianos.

That Pizza Boy was a fast learner. I had trained him too well. He was heading for promotion; he would definitely make sergeant one day, maybe even governor. And his wedding fund was coming along nicely, too.