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twenty-seven f

Busted

M ike, Adam, and I spent the rest of the week getting high and touring the better parts of the city. On our last morning, Mike helped Adam tie condoms full of cocaine and stick them up his behind. I didn’t ask if Mike planned to do the same, but I suspected Mike entrusted their entire stash to Adam. What was a friend for, if not to serve as a drug mule?

Adam boarded a morning flight home. Mike and I were scheduled for a later flight. I prayed Adam would make it through customs without the condoms bursting. Mike wasn’t worried.

“He’ll be fine,” Mike said, laying out the last of our private stash.

“That’s more blow than I’ve ever done at one time!”

“Would ya rather we leave it for the maid? We’ll do a doobie before we leave. It’ll balance us out,” Mike said.

The two of us were wired and mellow at the same time when we arrived at the airport. I was under the illusion that the combination of drugs made me appear normal. One agent from the security service agency of Colombia, Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad , or DAS , disagreed. She spotted me in the restroom.

“ Ven conmigo, se?orita ,” the woman said in a gruff voice.

The only word I recognized was “ se?orita .”

“ No hablo espa?ol .” I must have appeared straight if I remembered how to say I didn’t speak Spanish.

“Come with me, miss.”

She couldn’t arrest me for drugs in my system, and because I wasn’t carrying anything, I knew I was safe. The best thing for me to do was comply.

“ Sí, Se?ora Alvarez .” If I could read her badge and treat her with respect, I was sure she’d treat me well.

I was wrong on all counts. Se?ora Alvarez held me by the elbow and shoved me into a windowless cubicle lit by flickering fluorescent tubes. Rifles were stacked behind a metal table. She sat with her back to the rifles and instructed me to sit across from her.

“You are carrying drugs to America,” she said.

“No, I’m not,” I replied honestly.

“Strip!”

“I’m not carrying drugs!” By now I was in tears.

“Strip!”

In a space barely large enough for me to stand, I removed my slacks, blouse, and shoes. I stood wearing nothing but my bra and panties.

“Strip!”

If I thought standing naked in front of Se?ora Alvarez was the ultimate humiliation, I was wrong.

“Bend over.”

She probed every orifice of my body. I thought of Jack and Adam and hoped they had left the country safely.

“Get dressed. Give me your shoes.”

She tore the insoles from my shoes and felt for any traces of cocaine. Finding none, she returned them to me.

“Your bag.”

Se?ora Alvarez dumped the contents of my purse on the table and ripped open the lining. Finding nothing, she handed the bag back to me. She opened my wallet and pulled out half a joint.

Holding the joint in front of her face, she screamed, “For this you will get three years in jail!”

“My God, no!” My life was over.

“How much money you have?” She handed me my wallet.

I held up my last fifty dollars.

She slipped the American currency into her pocket. “Get out and never come back.”

“T-thank y-you,” I whispered, and backed out of the room.

I checked the departure schedule once I was free. I still had time to make our flight. But where was Mike? Had he met a similar fate?

I saw him not too far from our assigned gate. I waved but was met with a blank expression. Maybe he didn’t see me. I waved again. Mike stared at me for a moment, then his head tilted back as he began turning in a clockwise circle. He kept spinning and spinning. I ran to him.

His eyes rolled back in his head. Foam escaped from his mouth as he collapsed. He lay on the ground, his legs kicking at nothing.

“Mike! Can you hear me?”

His body continued to convulse.

“Somebody, help!”

People stopped to stare, shook their heads, and left us.

I had no idea what to do. Was Mike an epileptic? Had he shoved condoms of cocaine up his behind? Had one exploded? Was he going to die?

After what seemed like an hour, two police officers arrived. They stood over him, speaking in Spanish. One officer left, I assumed to find medical assistance.

Seconds later, Mike shook his head, opened his eyes, and stood.

“Okay, I’m ready to go now,” he said.

“ What? ” I held his arm, afraid he’d have another seizure.

“I’m ready to go.”

He shifted his eyes away from me and stared at the police officer, then at the crowd surrounding him.

“What the—”

“Honey, are you okay? You collapsed.” I was afraid to use the word seizure. More than that, I was afraid they’d search Mike, find cocaine, and arrest us both.

Apparently, Mike had no recollection of what had happened.

“ Se?or , you cannot fly,” the officer said.

“I’m fine.”

“Our doctor must see you,”

This is the end of freedom, the end of Mike and me.

The medics arrived, listened to Mike’s heart and lungs, then took his blood pressure. They spoke to each other and the officer in rapid Spanish. I awaited our fate.

“You have epilepsy?” one medic asked.

“I-I do,” Mike replied.

Or was it too much cocaine?

“You have medicine?” the medic asked.

“I do,” he lied.

“You cannot fly today, se?or . You must return to your hotel.”

Mike was smart enough not to argue.

“My wife can help me,” Mike said.

Wife?

“Come with me,” the officer said.

The three of us approached the ticket agent and explained our situation. It was too late to retrieve our luggage, but the airline assured us it would be waiting for us in Philadelphia. We took a taxi back to the InterContinental Hotel.

“Ava, you shoulda gone home. I’m fine,” Mike said.

“And leave you? An epileptic?”

“Hell, I’m no epileptic. Too much blow is all. Guess now I know my limit.”

Mike had enough money to pay for one night at the hotel. He wired his parents to send money to get us home. We flew back to Philadelphia the next afternoon.