Cocaina: A Book on Those Who Make It by Magnus Linton, John Eason Read Free Book Online Page B

is still unclear what the weapon will be used for. Perhaps for exacting revenge on the person who killed Javier’s brother here exactly six months ago. Maybe it will be used to carry out Alonso’s next murder assignment. Or perhaps Deyner will use it in his newly formed vigilante group, which tries to rid his neighbourhood of crime. Or maybe for all these things.
    Alonso, a hit man who is busy cleaning his glasses, steps off to the side a bit before he begins philosophising about his particular areas of expertise: murder and drugs. Mostly the former, through what is almost always a consequence of the latter. ‘Here the power isn’t to the people, but to the drugs. They are what steer all decision-making, and ultimately reign supreme. All the wars and fighting between gangs, leaders, children, mafias, cities, neighbourhoods — everything is attributable to drugs. Cocaine is the main culprit, but marijuana also plays a role. Actually, it’s pretty much 50-50. The reason there’s so much violence at Barrio Antioquia is because historically it’s the part of the city with the most drug activity. Drugs are sold on absolutely every street corner. Literally in every nook and cranny.’
    Christmas decorations twinkle from a balcony across the street while scooters, taxis, and SUVs cruise by. Occasionally someone makes a mad dash between a car window and the front door of a building, but overall the drug activity is inconspicuous, lost in the pleasant, everyday bustle of the neighbourhood. Eighty per cent of the residents here make their living on drugs, and the remaining 20 per cent get by on remesas , remittances — money sent to them by family in the United States or Europe. Pharmacies, stationery shops, kiosks, and bars serve as facades for dealing, and the vast majority of those who purchase their drugs here know exactly which dealer they are looking for and what the going rate is at any given moment. All business is carried out in silence.
    Suddenly, two police motorcycles appear on the scene and park in the middle of the intersection. Alonso sniggers. ‘It’s a little lockdown, but it won’t last long.’
    Routine police checks in Barrio Antioquia are merely a way for the officers to play up to the crowd. These two men in shiny reflector vests, Alonso explains, have taken up a place in the middle of the street because they are disgruntled over their poor earnings. Normally they just pass through to collect their bribes, which are more like salaries, lying in wait for them in one of the shops. But tonight something has gone awry: they didn’t get as much as they usually do and are irate. The motorcycles serve as a blockade, and the policemen are fully aware that as long as their vehicles remain parked in the middle of the intersection like luminous protest placards, all drug trading will cease. The customers will not recommence with their activities until the officers are gone. The standstill will only come to an end once the dealers have had a chance to quickly scrape together enough bribe money to appease the officers.
    The policemen know exactly what they are doing. Ten minutes later they are gone.
    ‘ Listo . There we go,’ says Javier.
    Alonso spent 13 years in prison, convicted for nine counts of murder, but was released two years ago. Since then, he has continued to work in a violent profession that in other countries would have made him a rare breed, but in Colombia during the cocaine boom of the 1980s became an accepted way of getting by: he is one of los sicarios , hit men, men who murder for pay.
    Alonso never takes less than ‘ cinco ’ — five million pesos, or 2500 USD. Often much more, in fact. It depends on who will be killed, but never why. ‘Motives are no concern of mine. The customer simply says what he wants and I do as he says. I don’t ask questions. Price, place, person; that’s all. It’s no more complicated than ordering at a restaurant. I’m like the waiter: tell me what dish you