SOLITAIRE: A LOYAL COMPANION

Time had become still.

I had taken up the habit of exercising (religiously) just to keep my mind active.

While in the middle of a routine, one of the guards appeared with the usual food ration: rice and beans. At least this time, the beans were red, a different color for a change.

I thought that maybe Ana had gotten the same since she didn’t secretly send me anything to eat that day.

Aside from the lingering thoughts in my head, I would frequently check my towel and underwear which I always washed every time I took my morning shower, to see if they had dried. I would hang them on the iron bars so that the air that was released from the A/C in the main office down the hall, which escaped from underneath the door, would make its acquaintance with the natural heat of the place and slowly dry them.

Lights went off and the moon entered my cell through the tiny peep hole on the wall. Another day was wasted, vanished. Nothing had been done to erase the misery that occupied my life.

In the middle of the night, I saw one of the guards walk pass me. Then I heard whispering in the women’s cell when the man opened their door. There was sudden laughter and after a few minutes everything went back to normal. I found out later that the guard was trading sexual favors with one or two of them for good food from the outside.

Next day came and went like the other previous ones: a cold shower early in the morning before sunrise, then exercise and more exercise before sundown.

I hadn’t seen my own face since I arrived and I could feel my beard stick out more than I liked. It itched constantly.

I was lying down on the cold cement bed when the guy next door shouted at me in a hushed hoarse voice.

“Hey…you, next door…!”

I looked through the iron bars, but all I could see was the guy’s hand holding a brown paper bag between the bars.

“Here…grab this…you must be hungry. It’s chicken…my wife brought it for me.”

“Do you have anything to drink?” he asked.

“No man, I don’t have anything.”

The man passed me a carton of orange juice and some clear plastic bags filled with water.

“If you need anymore, let me know.”

“Thank you, man. I appreciate it. What’s your name?”

“They call me Barahona. What’s yours?”

“They call me Cuba.” I didn’t want to give him too much information.

“The only thing I can tell you is that these mother-fuckers are vicious. Try not to talk too much. I recommend you get a good lawyer. The sentences here are stiff as nails.”

“But they didn’t get me with any drugs.”

“It doesn’t matter, they’ll make sure they fuck you up. How much are they trying to pin on you?”

“Fifty kilos.”

“Man. You’re talking at least 20 years.”

My legs got weak and I started to tremble. The mere thought of spending a good part of my life in that hell hole, really shook me up.

Since that day forward, Barahona and I became good friends. He proved to be a wonderful companion and savior in some ways.

It is something I’ll never forget.

MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE (IN A WORLD OF DRUG-DEALS)

A few days had gone by before the suitcases made it to Aruba. Pacheco gave me the good news early in the morning.

I called Dario to let him know what was going on but once again, his phone was turned off.

One thing I didn’t understand was how Dario, who was the middle man in all of this, not once, troubled himself to call me to find out how things were going. This was kind of odd and it raised red flags, but I some-what ignored it. There was no point in making a stink of it since I thought he was just too laid back and not the strong headed business type I was.

At the hotel lobby there was a young woman working at a clothing boutique. I introduced myself and we became friends. I decided not to see Linda anymore since she was Elvis’ friend.

For the next few nights, Ana and I got to know each other over intimate dinners and pleasantries around the city.

She was a beautiful “mulatta” (a person of mixed white and black ancestry) who danced very well to the “merengue” sounds and her green eyes pierced right through me with an intensity hard to resist. She was also very curvaceous and her raspy striking voice was attractive to me. It aroused my senses, my sexual appetite.

I introduced her to Pacheco but he didn’t care for her much. I could tell by his lack of attention whenever she’d try making small talk with him.

In terms of business, Pacheco recommended that it’d be better to send the merchandise to N.Y.C. That way, we could get more money for it.

I contacted my friend in Colombia and he gave me the green light. The only problem was that we needed $3000 dollars for each labor-hand. Some guys would take care of boarding it on an American Airline flight out of Santo Domingo.

This meant that in addition to the 50 kilos we just received, I would have to come up with $150,000 in cash.

I contacted a friend in Canada and he “fronted” the money, under the condition though, that as soon as the merchandise arrived in N.Y.C., he would claim it and take it to Montreal, something I had no problem with.

Pacheco and I were at the hotel when, to our surprise, Elvis arrived. He asked why I had changed my phone number but I didn’t delight him with an explanation. Pacheco simply told him it just happened.

That night I went out with Ana and the inevitable question came up, she wanted to know what I did for a living.

I lied.

None of the women I “messed” with knew about my fake double identity or my corrupted dealings. I always kept it hidden so as not to endanger them but if they figured things out, it was by their own doing. I never brought it to the forefront, much less make a conversation of it once they found me out.

She also asked me if I trusted my friends, Pacheco and Elvis.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know…a woman’s intuition I guess, but forget it…forget I ever said anything.”

I just looked at her without uttering a word, and turned my attention to the glass of wine I was savoring.

Pacheco came to pick me up the following day and introduced me to a pair of siblings—a brother and sister team—who had recently arrived from Colombia, each with a kilo of cocaine in their stomachs.

The usual routine took place except this time, a day later, they were taken from their hotel room.

By who? I don’t know. Why? The mystery still eludes me.