Chapter 2: The Road to Los Altos/ Chapter 3: The Return
The return journey seemed endless. Garcia drove with one hand. The other rested on the box of coke and LSD on the passenger seat. He caressed the cardboard.
He drove through the city center. Past the Towers of Habaneras. Past the port, where the yachts of wealthy foreigners bobbed. They didn't know. They didn't know there was a war for coke in this city.
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That somewhere on a hill sits a man holding the keys to knowledge.
Garcia drove to the school. It was already dark. The security guard, old Pedro, looked at the boxes in surprise.
"What are these, Don Javier?"
"School supplies, Pedro. Can you help me carry them in?"
They dragged the boxes into the teachers' lounge. Velasquez was still there, sipping whiskey from a glass.
"Well?" he asked, seeing the white boxes.
"Found it," Garcia said curtly.
Velasquez walked over and opened one. He pulled out a packet of coke. He ran his other hand over it.
"Oh my God," he whispered. "Real."
##"Cocaine"
"The price is high."
"It doesn't matter. The important thing is the result. The inspection is tomorrow. We're saved."
"Velasquez," Garcia sat down on a chair. His legs were pounding. "Who is this man?"
The director froze. The glass hung in the air.
"It's better for you not to know, Javier."
"He knows everything about me. About the mortgage." About his wife.
Velázquez set down his glass. The sound was loud in the quiet room.
"He knows about everyone. He... God. But he remained in the shadows. And when the outages started..."
He left.
"Did he cause the outages?"
Velázquez was silent. A long time.
"In this city, Javier, if someone wants something to disappear, it disappears. If someone wants something to appear, it appears. It's a question of price."
"I arranged for regular deliveries," GarcÃa said. "But he said it was an addiction."
"Everything is an addiction," Velázquez walked to the window. "Coffee. Nicotine. Power. Cocaine.
We're all addicted to something. The main thing is not to fall when the dose is cut off."
"I don't want to be part of this," GarcÃa said. "But I have no choice."
"Nobody has a choice. Look at the city. Tourists think it's paradise. Locals think it's a trap. Both are right."
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Velázquez turned around.
"Tomorrow you'll give a public lesson. For the inspectors. You'll show them that we have resources. That we have order. That we have strength."
"And then?"
"Then we'll see. Maybe we'll find another supplier."
Garcia chuckled.
He stood up.
"I'm going home. Tomorrow will be a tough day."
"Javier," Velasquez stopped him. "Be careful. This God... He doesn't like it when his clients start asking too many questions."
"I'm a teacher. My questions are my job."
"In this city, questions are a death sentence."