It's still cold up here in the mountains, even though the morning is half over. The sun is blinding in the dazzling blue sky; the sparkling air is so crisp that it feels almost like winter, a coldness that slices right through us. We shiver even though our bellies are full of hot coffee and breakfast.
"This better be worth it, Jag. My head is still pounding from last night," Alphonse complains and his brother Arturo joins in before I stop them short.
"I didn't bring you here just so you can drink and screw all night. You're working too!"
"Yeah, alright. We get it. But where the Hell are we going now? Seems to me like we're in the middle of nowhere."
"The Customs compound at Puerto Moldonado. We need to see what's going on there with inspecting trucks before they cross into Brazil."
"Sounds exciting," Arturo mocks before they both laugh at me.
"Oh, fuck off you clowns. It's a long drive, so go back to sleep for a while,"
Two hours later we've descended into the tropics and arrived at the compound. Now it's time to start looking around, but first I need to remind them how to act with the Customs officers here.
"You have to act like you belong here. Anyone who wants to challenge you needs to feel like they're taking a risk. Imagine that you're a trusted employee or even the boss."
"Easy for you to say, Jaguar. You're the one in charge of this trip."
"Not here though, but I'll sure pretend that I belong. So let's fan out. I'll go ask questions at the office. You two split up and watch different trailers being inspected, then sealed. Act like it's your own rig. Any questions?"
There aren't any, so we start investigating the Customs terminal, hoping to see some ways truckers could illegally transport Peruvian artifacts into Brazil. These priceless items, the skilled work of ancient cultures, are passing into the hands of international collectors at an alarming rate. I want to stop the trade.
We're standing outside a compound of warehouses surrounded by a very high chain link metal fence. There's one apparent way in and out, a sliding metal gate operated by a guard in the Customs office at the end of it. Behind the fence, truckers have backed enclosed trailers into the doors of large covered sheds where inspectors are going inside to examine the cargo. There are a few officers with drug dogs at work.
I enter the Customs office, posing as a trucker like I did yesterday at the Inapari, Peru border crossing.
"I haven't been here before. How's this work?"
"Where's your truck?"
"Back along the road. Overheating. Too humid down here...."
"It's simple. You give us the shipping manifest and we go through your load to check that it conforms. Takes an hour, maybe more if we're busy. You can leave the trailer and come back next day to hook up. Or you can wait over there."
He points to a small building.
"That's it? No duties to pay, stuff like that?"
"None to pass between Peru and Brazil. The trailer will be sealed and we'll stamp the manifest. You go to Customs at Inapari and show them that the trailer is still sealed. They'll want to see your stamped papers. Then you're done."
It conforms exactly with what I was told at the border crossing yesterday.
I leave the office and stand around watching for a while. I don't see anything out of the ordinary, a smooth operation, though I'm surprised the cabs themselves don't seem to be inspected. Smaller items could be smuggled that way.
Arturo comes to me and says everything seems alright. I tell him to slip around the back to see if there are any other ways to get in or out. He's back a few minutes later with an interesting fact- only by way of the front gate. When his big brother Alphonse returns he has nothing to report, so we pile into the rental car for the dusty two and a half hour drive back to our room in Inapari. A dead end.
"Waste a goddam time!" Arturo declares with disgust. "A whole day here for nothing."
"So are we done now, Jaguar? Can we go to Chicas bar again for some cold beer?" his brother asks hopefully.
I know what they really want at the bar. The place is a sexual paradise to them.
"Yes, but let's get some food while you still have some money left, then we'll go over. I have some work to do there anyway."
"Yeah. So do we!" And Alphonse humps his groin so there's no mistaking their intentions. We all laugh.
By the time we turn left at the red neon CHICAS sign it's nearly 9:00. I lay out a plan of operation before we leave the car.
"You guys have until midnight then we're back to the room. Keep your eyes open if you can. Watch for anything unusual going on."
Alphonse just scoffs. "You must be kidding Jaguar. We're going to drink and get laid. Don't expect anything else from us."
"How about you, boss? Another night being true blue, Marina's good boy?" Arturo chides before Alphonse speaks up.
"Little brother, if you had one like that, you'd probably do the same thing."
I remind myself that they're my bodyguards, nothing more. The sleuthing is up to me. There are plenty of transports out behind the bar, some just cabs without trailers. I'm going to park out back to watch what goes on after dark at this place. Nothing will surprise me.
"Don't get too drunk. We have an early start tomorrow. Midnight we go back to the room."
"You're not even coming in?"
"Why? Do you need a chaperone? I'll be in later to pick you up. I'm going to look around outside first."
I drop them off by the front door and wait long enough to see a topless woman usher them inside. They're like two kids in a candy store. Then I drive to a strategic spot out back where I can see the back door of the bar and several trucks parked nearby in the dark. I settle in to watch, with an eye to packages and women going into the cabs.
During the next hour or more, I see a lot. Girls from the bar come out with men. Half-naked, they shiver in the cold night air before climbing up into trucks. Some of them carry a bottle of liquor, ready to party and fuck. A pair of them jump into one truck, a menage a trois for some horny driver. I hear laughing and moaning from the sleeper units. There's shouting and a nearly nude girl runs for the back door of the bar.
Some men come to the trucks too, shady characters carrying parcels which they leave behind. Is it drugs or could there be valuable Peruvian artifacts too? Money changes hands. Smuggling is rampant behind the bar. Everything is for sale out here in the dark: sex, drugs, and ancient civilizations. It's the last one that interests me most, but it is also the most elusive.
Suddenly I see a commotion. There's a young woman being half dragged, kicking and screaming toward a truck in the distant shadows of the parking lot. Two men are on her, one pulling forward and the other pushing from behind. It looks like she is only partially clad and clearly doesn't want to go. Then a loud slap rings out and she's stuffed bodily into the cab, which is fired up and speeds away. I've just witnessed sex trafficking.
I've seen so much but there's nothing material to show for my efforts. The only photographs are stored in my brain. Crime is rampant here, but I don't have any evidence. I need licence plate numbers or truck registrations. So I simply don a baseball cap and walk around among the vehicles, acting as if I'm trying to find one for a delivery.
I memorize two plates of cabs where I've suspected crime, then go to my car to record them. Out again, I get two more, then two again, making six in all. I'll follow up tomorrow with the local police.
About 11:00 o'clock, I head inside to look for my two friends. I'm met at the door by somebody familiar- pretty Estela, the hostess tonight. Her fine breasts are bare and her painted lips are inviting. Her gold lame thong and stilettoes shimmer in the dim light. She seems to recognize me, and she lays a welcoming hand on my shoulder.
"Hi Pedro"- the phoney name I used yesterday. "Will we just talk again, or do more this time?"
