Stephen Leather - Breakout

‘It’s quite a place,’ Harper said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it.’

Don Lorenzo smiled. ‘You won’t have, it is unique. Here anything is possible. You can live well and get anything you want, drugs, women, caviar and champagne, I even have a sauna, a hot tub and a masseuse. And you know the best thing of all? No one can arrest me or deport me and I can’t be guilty of any crimes because I’m already in jail. However, one can tire of the same people and the same conversation, so a new face is always welcome. Won’t you join me for a drink, señor , or perhaps a little coca?’

Harper thought fast. ‘That’s very generous of you, Don Lorenzo, but I’m here to visit an old friend. Could I take you up on your kind offer a little later, after I’ve seen him?’

The prison boss’s smile remained in place but his eyes, glimpsed though his sunglasses, were hard and predatory. ‘People do not usually turn down my hospitality señor , but as you please.’ He paused. ‘But tell me, who is this prisoner you are visiting? Perhaps I know him and can help you find him.’

Harper felt a warning pressure as Lupa placed her hand on his arm. ‘It’s all right,’ he said out of the side of his mouth. ‘I can handle this.’

‘He is another Englishman like me,’ Harper said to Don Lorenzo. ‘A man of about my age and build, called Scouse Davies. Do you know him by any chance?’

Don Lorenzo’s smile snapped off. ‘I know no one of that name, señor , and believe me, I know everyone in this jail. Nothing happens here without my being aware of it, so I can assure you that there are no Inglés in San Pedro. Bolivians, Colombians, Peruvians, of course, and sometimes we have even had a Yanqui in here , but an Inglés - never.’

‘Then I must have been misinformed,’ Harper said, giving him a friendly smile. ‘But you’ll understand if I make sure of that before leaving.’

Don Lorenzo hesitated then inclined his head. ‘As you wish, but allow me to send one of my bodyguards with you for protection. This is no place for strangers to be wandering unprotected, least of all when one of them is such a beautiful young woman.’ He flashed Lupa a smile.

‘That’s very generous of you,’ Harper said, ‘but she is perfectly capable of protecting herself and if she needs any extra help, myself and my friend here are all she’ll need.’

‘Nonetheless I must insist. I would never forgive myself if anything should happen to you while within these walls.’ He gave a chilling smile. ‘So Mateo will look after you.’ He turned to murmur something to one of his bodyguards, then bowed. ‘I hope we will meet later. Ask anyone and they will show you to my cell.’ He and the other bodyguard disappeared into one of the passages, leaving Harper, Lupa and Ricardo under the brooding gaze of Mateo.

‘Do you speak English, Mateo?’ Harper said.

The bodyguard did not respond.

‘ Hablas Español ?’

Mateo gave a slow nod.

‘ Pero hablas Inglés ?’ Lupa said.

He hesitated, then shook his head.

‘Do you think he’s telling the truth?’ Harper murmured to the others, studying Mateo’s face as he did so. ‘No matter, let’s speak quickly to make life more difficult for him, but anyway, best to assume he understands more than he lets on and be a little cautious about what we say. So… looks like we’ve got company for the rest of our tour but we’ll just have to put up with it and if things turn ugly, I’ll deal with him or whatever else comes our way. So, where now?’

‘One more section,’ Ricardo said, leading them into another passageway, this one so narrow that Harper’s shoulders brushed both walls as he walked through. It was cold and dark, the floor was wet and the walls were filthy and stained with damp. ‘This is the last one,’ Ricardo said, ‘and definitely the worst, the place where those who have no money and no influence have to sleep. People who have to exist here, don’t tend to live that long.’

Harper nodded. ‘I can see why.’He studied the faces of the men sitting against the walls, their faces and hands so filthy that he had to look hard to even establish their race. He scanned each face but once more Scouse was not among them. ‘Have we seen it all now?’ he said. ‘If so, either Flores was lying or Scouse has already been taken somewhere else.’

An old prisoner, grey-haired and dressed in rags, was sluicing the yard with a bucket of water. He looked up, saw Harper and at once dropped his bucket and brush, and hurried over. ‘Cocaine señor ?’

‘No thanks,’ Harper said.

‘You sure? We have the best you can buy.’

‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ Harper said, ‘but the answer’s still no.’

‘Maybe you could give him a few Bolivianos anyway, Lex,’ Ricardo said. ‘This is Luis, he’s an old friend from my own time in San Pedro.’

When the old man heard Ricardo’s voice he broke into a broad smile and embraced him. ‘Ricardo? Is that you? I didn’t recognise you. You look so… so different.’

Ricardo laughed. ‘So I should. I’ve washed off all the filth, shaved and had a haircut, changed my clothes and eaten enough proper food to put on a few kilos since the last time you saw me.’

‘For you,’ Harper said, giving the old man a handful of Bolivianos .

‘ Muchas gracias, señor ,’ Luis said. ‘ Eres un caballero - you are a gentleman . ’

‘That’s one thing I’m not,’ Harper said, ‘but you’re welcome. What are you in here for anyway?’

‘For dealing coca,’ Luis said. ‘Almost everyone here is in for that.’ He shrugged. ‘You don’t bribe the right policía or someone else pays him more, and they send you here. Once you’re in, it’s hard to get out and this place is heaven and hell all in one. It’s a heaven because everything a man could want is here - alcohol, coca paste, cocaine, marijuana, prostitutes - and every one a lot cheaper than they are out there in the city, but a hell too because you can never stop and you can never leave, or if you do, you soon find yourself back here.’

Ricardo and Luis chatted for a few minutes and then Ricardo said ‘You haven’t seen any new gringo prisoners recently, Luis, have you?’

Luis shot a nervous glance at Mateo, standing impassive next to them.

‘It’s all right,’ Harper said, ‘he doesn’t speak English.’

Luis gave him a doubtful look. ‘Please Luis,’ Ricardo said. ‘If you know something, tell us.’

‘Well, I’ve not seen one myself,’ Luis whispered, ‘but I’ve heard rumours of a gringo being held in the isolation cells.’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows if they are true, there are always rumours.’

‘Is that the only place we haven’t seen?’ Harper said.

Ricardo nodded.

‘Then let’s go.’

Luis had tucked the Bolivianos inside his jacket and with a farewell wave, abandoning his bucket and brush, he headed for one of the bars to celebrate his new-found wealth while Ricardo led the others through another dark passageway into a cramped, enclosed courtyard. It sloped steeply downwards and at the bottom end, carved out of the bedrock beneath one of the prison buildings, was a row of six iron doors, each with a hatch and a tiny grille set into it. The cells were guarded by two scowling and powerfully built convicts.

‘I’m guessing those are two more of Don Lorenzo’s boys,’ Harper said as he studied them. ‘But where are the guards?

Ricardo shrugged. ‘They’re lazy pigs. The cells are locked and unless there’s a prisoner to interrogate or beat up for sport, they’d rather be pocketing bribes at the front gates than scuffing their boots in the dust back here.’