#velvet clotilde | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoochieblues · 3 years

Note

laying their head on the other’s shoulder for anders & isabela? (platonic or otherwise!)

Tysm! <3 I went... quite not platonic with this one! Can probably be considered adjunct to The Thing With Feathers, for Anders' time at the Pearl, and features a cute post-foursome interlude with magic-for-sexual-purposes and even a smattering of Anders-Fantasises-About-Freedom soft angst. I hope you enjoy. :)

for @dadrunkwriting

Freedom's Just Another Word E | ~2k | Anders/Isabela

AO3 (for those who prefer reading there)

The room was warm, too warm, thick with the scents of floral-perfumed candles, of bodies and sweat and pleasure… his favourite kind of messy afterglow, to be honest. Anders flexed his feet, trying to ease the incipient ache in his legs—well, they would ache, given where they’d been—but there was a weight on them. The weight groaned and slapped his knee.

“Oh. Sorry, Clo.”

She lifted her hand, waving dismissively at him as she rolled off his ankles. Anders shifted position and she flopped back down, face-first into the blankets, with a soft groan. The way her shoulders were bunched made the griffon wings tattooed across them look as if they were about to beat, to bear her up in magnificent flight… though she’d looked pretty magnificent earlier, and if that wasn’t flying he didn’t know what was. Faustine leaned over and stroked the back of Clotilde’s head, the soft, short-shaven hair bristling under her fingers.

“Worn out, lovely darling? I’ll go find some more wine. Maybe something to eat. Anyone else hungry?”

Anders vaguely remembered food, but it seemed like too much effort. Then again, his stomach did feel hollow, and he could use the break. He shrugged.

“Sure. Captain?”

Beside him, the self-styled queen of the eastern seas was sitting up in bed, a mostly-empty bottle of rum in her hand and the embroidered cotton blanket rumpled in her lap. She didn’t look tired, which was a miracle. He felt sure she must be a secret apostate or something. Maybe a demon.

“Mm, sounds good,” she said, brushing her hair back from her shoulders, fingers combing lightly through the ends of it as she straightened herself up. “What time is it?”

“Time has no meaning in the Fade,” Clotilde mumbled sonorously from the foot of the bed. “Which is where I am. ‘Cause I’m dead.”

Anders prodded her ass with one slightly less cramping foot. “I thought Wardens were supposed to have incredible stamina,” he teased, winking at Isabela. “Everyone knows that, right?”

She grinned. “Oh, yes. Lay Wardens even more so. Those tattoos aren’t stolen valour, are they, darling? We’d have to punish you if they were.”

Clotilde groaned again, though not in a way that suggested she disliked the idea. She stretched against the covers like a sun-warmed cat.

“It’s almost dawn, I think,” Faustine said, peering through the shutters. “It’s getting light, anyway. I’m sure someone’ll be up downstairs. Anyone want anything else?”

“Well, I need to freshen up,” said Clotilde, dragging herself upright enough to slither off the bed and make for the washstand in the corner. “Some hot water, please? And more towels.”

“Those little almond pastry things,” Isabela said, squinting into the empty bottle. “Maybe some fruit?”

Faustine nodded and slid on a silk robe before she slipped out of the suite’s door.

“Very healthy,” Anders observed of Isabela’s breakfast choices. It was technically still breakfast if you hadn’t slept, wasn’t it? Probably. “Does that keep scurvy away, then?”

She laughed, soft and rich and full, like the whisper of velvet on bare skin, and dropped the empty bottle to the side of the bed, where it clinked against its hollow fellows.

“Very good. We could make a sea-dog out of you yet, Runaway.”

There was a gleam of challenge in her eyes, but it was hard to focus on when her breasts were right there, full and heavy and glorious. She still wore her jewellery—never take off anything you might need to run with, as she said—and the heavy gold necklace crested the upper curves of her chest magnificently. Anders let out a breath that fell where a smartass quip should have laid. His mind was fried, his body burned out… he knew why he felt what he felt in this moment, and he knew it wasn’t real, but by Andraste’s flaming ass this woman was something else.

Right then, if she’d asked him, he’d have done anything she wanted, and that knowledge scared him a little.

The candles had burned down to stubs, their light warm and soft, with tones of a greyish pre-dawn filtering through the shutters. He watched the way it changed on her skin, gold to bronze and brown, and traced the lines and curves of her tattoos, and of the scars he’d been busy learning by touch and taste. So far, his favourite was a two-inch line on her ribs, long and thin like the scratch of a lover’s nail. He liked the lies she told about them, too; he could tell they were lies even before the stories changed. And they did change. Everything about her shifted with the weight of the wind.

The lap of water from the washstand signalled Clotilde splashing her face, but in Anders’ mind it became the tongues of waves on the hull of a ship. Isabela smiled, enjoying his attention, and twined her fingers into his.

“Hey. While we’re waiting… let me ride the lightning again?”

He gasped, affecting prim shock just for the way it made her grin proudly. “Again? Why, Captain, whatever would—”

The rest of the words were smothered as she drew his hand down between her strong thighs and kissed him, the easy slide of her tongue like the play of her blade along his throat last night—part threat, part promise, and part bright, glittering delight. Anders slipped his fingers between her lips, earning a hum of approval, and started to rub slowly, back and forth against the wet jewel of her clit.

“Good,” Isabela murmured, nipping at his chin. “Like that. Slow. There’s no rush.”

Her jewellery clinked gently, bangles cool against his shoulder. Anders was fairly sure he couldn’t rush if he wanted, but the feel of her moving against him—the heavy scent of her, the warmth and nearness of her body as she leaned into him, grinding against his hand—stirred things that should have the good sense to lay low for a while longer. He was too wrung out to get hard but, Maker, he wanted to.

He reached up, curling his other hand around the bedframe for support. Last night’s ropes and cuffs still dangled there, the whole room adorned with the wreckage the four of them had made. It had been Isabela’s third night in a row at the Pearl. He didn’t want to think about how much the good captain must owe Sanga, but then he guessed shore leave was worth every copper. He slid deeper, two fingers sinking into her slick heat and the heel of his palm circling on that tight, hard knot of sensation. She closed her eyes and sighed happily, a smile buried at the curve of her lips, and grabbed hold of his shoulder with one hand, her wide, heavy hips setting the pace she wanted. Anders crooked his fingers and leaned in, only too happy to bury his face in her breasts, kissing his way across soft, warm skin, tongue glazing her curves and teeth scraping the hardness of chest and collarbones, and the uncompromising weight of gold.

It was nice like that for a while. A long while, even, until she got impatient for more.

“Fuck, yes… harder. Light me up,” Isabela murmured, as he pulled one thick nipple between his lips, teeth tugging on the gold stud that pierced it. When she hissed, he tugged harder, and bit her, which only got another sweetly filthy curse of praise. “Fuck… now. Do it.”

Drawing his hand back, Anders allowed the tide of power to swell and coalesce inside him. He squeezed his eyes shut, visualised the spell—a shimmering, crackling tongue of purple and blue, like the beautiful sweet sting of a half-healed bruise—and sent it down his arm. Carefully, so carefully, with the kind of control that made his body throb and his head buzz, he let the power bloom in his palm and ebb into his fingers, spark by torturous spark.

Isabela dug her nails into his shoulder and squealed, bucking hard against him. Energy hummed and vibrated against her, then inside her too as he slid deeper, magic embracing and teasing, cajoling and tormenting. He went harder, faster, his aching arm and shoulder a distant, half-remembered awareness. He could hurt later. Right now, only this. Only this. She gushed in his palm, then her thighs clamped tight and her free hand went to his throat, squeezing just on the right side of his comfort level as she came, panting hard on the gentling glitter of the sparks he traced around her clit.

“Maker’s cock,” she purred, riding his fingers to a slowing pace and stroking his throat as if she was smoothing down a ruffled shirtfront, “you’re good at that. So fucking good. Such a good boy.”

Anders grinned, acknowledging the rush of pleasure the words gave him… not to mention the thrill of pride and lust and accomplishment at what he’d given her. Maker, he was half-hard again… he hadn’t thought a body had enough blood in it to make that happen, not after last night. He brought his hand to his lips. Isabela caught his wrist, then licked a stripe up his palm and kissed him, sharing her taste and a few residual sparks of magic still looking for a home. The taste and bite of magic sank between his lips, chasing that familiar thrill through his flesh, and Anders groaned into the kiss.

She pulled away too fast, but he’d already learned not to expect more from her than she wanted to give.

“Mm,” she moaned happily, settling back beside him as he licked his fingers, and laying her head on his shoulder. “What would you say if I said I needed a cabin boy?”

Anders chuckled softly, leaning his head to the side and letting his cheek rest against her thick tangle of curls. Life at the Pearl wasn’t perfect, but it was the best he’d ever had it. Still… it didn’t do to get stuck in any one place, and Denerim had a bloody big templar compound. No templars on the ocean, right? Nothing but horizon, and there was probably no better represent of the one thing he’d always wanted above everything else: freedom.

“I’d say, ‘what’s the catch?’” he said, glancing down at her without moving his head.

She was a beautiful contradiction, this queen with no throne. Sharp and sweet, strong and soft, hard but gentle, and never out of control, not even for a flicker. Every curve, every scar, every scent of saltwater and rum in her clothes, of oakum and wood in her hair, every taste of honeyed brine when she shook and swore on his tongue… every single thing promised a wild, free life of the kind Anders had never dared dream of knowing.

And yet… he couldn’t tell. Was he afraid? No, not of that. It wasn’t the freedom, or the ocean. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, tasting bliss and dry skin. He needed sleep, water, and a meal… maybe not in that order. Some way of getting his head straightened out again.

“Are you crazy?” Clotilde said, scrambling back onto the bed and crawling up the ruined covers, between Isabela’s legs and into her arms. She planted a kiss between those full, incredible breasts, and then another on Bela’s wide, smiling mouth. “Beautiful pirate queen comes to take you away from everything, you don’t ask what the catch is. You say—“ She kissed each corner of Isabela’s mouth, and then her chin, just below the large golden stud under her lip, and flashed her a sultry look from underneath her lashes. “—when do you want me in your quarters, Captain?”

“See?” Isabela laughed and wrapped her arms around the girl. “This one gets it. You’ve got to learn not to question so much, Runaway. Life doesn’t give you chances every day. When it does, you have to grab them.”

She grabbed Clotilde’s ass for emphasis and, giggling, the two of them pitched into Anders’ lap, locked in a kiss. He stroked Bela’s hair back from her forehead as Clotilde kissed her neck, and she reached up to tap the end of his nose.

“Think about it,” she said, as Clotilde worked lower, mouth brushing over her breasts. “The wide open ocean. Freedom for miles. Doesn’t that excite you?”

Anders shifted, making her grin widen.

“Something certainly does,” she teased, and he laughed. She narrowed her eyes. “Think about it. The open ocean. Free as a bird, Runaway. Isn’t that what you want?”

She certainly made a few very compelling points. Anders smiled, though it was an uneasy smile. He wasn’t afraid of the ocean, though his very few experiences with large bodies of water hadn’t been pleasant. It wasn’t that, or the emptiness, or the freedom… it was owing it to someone.

If you needed someone else to give it to you, if you depended on them for it, then it wasn’t freedom at all… and he was done with illusions.

Read on AO3

#dadwc #da fanfic #anders/isabela #the electricity thing #lemon #da smut #my writing

15 notes · View notes

asarsgyan · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2 “The Tranny Mafia”

The Mafia with the exception of the music, the cigarette smoke that flooded the place dimmed everything: the robotic colored lights chasing heads, the beauty of the women, the shadows of some bodies dancing to the rhythm of the bass, the protrusions left by the weapons in the waistbands of some men's trousers, the dancers lined in suggestive white satin fabrics and caged in wooden cells provoking the clientele, the waitresses wandering around the room like unbraked cars and juggling a tray full of liquors and drinks. The only thing that remained unscathed by the smoke was the strident music that made the hearts of those who passed near the columns of sound jump, some of which reached two meters in height.

In the club of yore, the tables were arranged around a round dance floor, full of inlaid multi-colored lights on the floor. However, some of them, semi-hidden and suspicious in the corners of the place, seemed to be reserved, in perpetuity, for characters whose only figure was mixed with smoke, laughter and constant ringing of cell phones. It seemed a paradox because on slow nights, the main tables, those that surrounded the dance floor and therefore the most desirable ones, remained unoccupied while those at the back, those that served as an accomplice to certain dense customers, remained occupied. They were the tables of the trachets. They were nailed near a secret emergency exit through which the supplies for the place entered and were far from the main entrance. These tables were conducive to "showing no face", to warn of the arrival of the enemy, the entry of the police, to measure the fidelity of women. In one of them were "El Titi" and Clavijo with their official girlfriends, the Ahumada sisters. The first with Marcela and the other with Catherine.

The Ahumadas, without a doubt, were the most beautiful women in Pereira and, there is nothing strange about the whole land and its surroundings as well. For their perfect faces and sculptural bodies they had nothing to envy the most famous and beautiful models and queens in the country and the world. Marcela, for example, looked like the incarnation of the Virgin Mary, only her hair was much longer, shiny, straight and blonde. As smooth as a velvet tablecloth, as bright as a glare from the sun on an asphalt road in summer. It was time to move them so as not to confuse them with wax statues with their exact details and perfect skin without any defect. His deep, yellow eyes and wide, sand-colored lids seemed like a heavenly haven from which you could hardly get out with your heart unharmed.

See like an unscathed palm tree on a windless beach. His lips looked like a couple of stuck strawberries and his teeth, arranged with art, looked like the keyboard, without sharps, of a new piano. Although not very tall, his body looked like a Carrara marble sculpture signed by Michelangelo. There was no smaller waist, no bigger breasts, no fuller, more lilting hips, no more wiggly legs, no rounder and higher tail than hers. Her sister Catherine, for her part, in her whole, was more beautiful than Marcela.

Seeing the Ahumadas sitting on the legs of “El Titi” and Clavijo, any impartial judge, any DEA agent, any unsuspecting human, any mutilated policeman or any victim of the war against the gangsters could arrive, with total ease. , to the novel conclusion that the problem of drug trafficking was not the poisoning of millions of people throughout the world; nor the family breakdown of the homes of millions of drug addicts; nor the flight of currency from the United States treasury; not the hundreds of judges, police officers and journalists murdered in Mexico and Colombia; nor the thousands of public and private officials infiltrated by dirty drug money; nor debased customs; nor the financing of political campaigns with illicit money; nor the inclusion of soldiers and police officers on the payrolls of the bosses; nor the maddened boy beating his mother and selling his household goods to pay for his dose of crack, ecstasy, marijuana or cocaine; nor the moral decomposition of the nation; nor the ethical collapse of all state institutions; nor the creation of an emerging class, economically very powerful, with a desire for political power; nor the obsession of the drug traffickers for the land; nor the massacres and internal purges among the drug cartels; not the ether, acetone and sulfuric acid destroying the neurons of the brain; nor paramilitaries and guerrillas tending crops and selling coca to finance the war. No, none of the above. When seeing the Ahumadas sitting on the legs of El Titi and Clavijo, one could deduce, with many possibilities of being right,

At least, that was what Titi and Clavijo said with their very bad sense of humor when they got drunk and looked for justifications for the hatred they aroused. "What happens, brother, is that those bastards" said "El Titi" referring to honest politicians, officials of the US embassy, priests who did not build churches with their money, the incorruptible military, citizens outraged, all of us— they die of envy because the cutest old woman can get up, we can get in whatever car we want and we can buy the head of whoever we want. As they cannot do the same ...

"Okay," Clavijo said, half intoxicated and added: "Those who criticize and persecute us are those who have not eaten of our money." He drank a drink and continued, "but as soon as you smear their hand, they deify you, there is no place to put you and then they come this way and they want you out of business. The Ahumadas nodded at each assertion of their boyfriends with the sole purpose of implying that they were understanding something that they really did not understand a damn about for having dedicated all the years of their youth to cultivating the body, face and hair and not intellect and good manners as any girl with a mother would have done in this world. Therein lay the problem, that they did not have a mother.

They were raised from the age of two by their grandmother, Mrs. Clotilde, after her mother, Mrs. Lucy Ahumada, left with the father of her third child, Manuel, Marcela and Catherine's middle brother, not for that reason as beautiful as them and that He was now a prisoner in the Bella Vista jail, serving a 42-year sentence for stoning to death a street vendor who deceived him by assuring him that the Reebook sneakers he sold him were original. Manuel learned, some time later, when a friend showed him his own, that the shoes were "chiviadas" and went to make the claim to the seller who started laughing saying that if he aspired to have legitimate shoes for "shit 15 thousand pesos". Manuel was so enraged that he had no problem picking up a four-kilo stone that he found on the floor with his hands. wait until the seller was careless and walk behind him until he surprised him and delivered the first shock to the head. The vendor fell to the floor, mortally wounded, and Manuel pounced on him, viciously, until he killed him, then took fifteen thousand pesos out of his pocket and threw the uncooked shoes that cost him his life on his face, in the process of cooling. That happened five years before the Ahumadas got engaged to "El Titi" and Clavijo, and since then Manuel has never received a visit from his half-sisters or a visit from his mother in jail. The Ahumadas were sorry to say that they had a brother in jail and Doña Lucy gave birth to a fourth child with a jealous truck driver who never left her at home, remembering that if she already had children with three different men, including him, nothing would guarantee that yours would be the last. For this reason, the Ahumadas never saw her again and took advantage of that lack of maternal and paternal authority, because they never knew their father, to do their will, which they began with the determination not to finish high school.

They barely went to school at the time when they still couldn't manipulate their grandmother and withdrew from high school when they were in their second year thanks to an invitation from a young man who was standing at the school door with business cards, to do a "casting" in a modeling agency, which was nothing more than a front company to recruit beautiful women and then sell them to the mafia.

In this way her photos, put in an album along with those of 23 other girls in bathing suits, ended up in the hands of El Titi and Clavijo. Shocked by their beauty, they were taken to a farm and on the same day they met they were taken to live in a sumptuous apartment equipped with all the luxuries they did not have when they were children. The Ahumada's apartment had nothing to envy that of a Magistrate, a Senator of the Republic or a corrupt contractor. He had everything invented and to be invented. In each of the rooms there was an electric walker, a bathroom with a tub and Jacuzzi, feather blankets, embroidered towels, several closets full of clothes from the best and most expensive brands, a special closet to house the 75 pairs of shoes that each had. a, Marble sinks with automatic faucets and air conditioning, not to mention the paintings of famous painters and bronze sculptures that were displayed in the living room or the twelve-seater dining room that they bought for them two alone and in which they lost each time they sat down. . All over the apartment they had appliances and electronics scattered around some of them brand new. For this reason, Yésica was right in stating that the girls in her class were not forced to study and the reasons were obvious: a pretty girl willing to fuck herself could achieve the same or more in an instant than a lawyer, a doctor , a scientist or a business administrator, after studying 20 years and working another 20.

But nobody imagined that Marcela and Catherine meant so much to the two half-haired drug traffickers who at that hour were hiding in the hidden tables of the disco.

In these, an electronic song sounded and the Ahumada rose like springs to pull El Titi and Clavijo to go dancing, but they apologized with arguments of all kinds, although always stupid, so in the end, the women they ended up dancing alone in the center of the dance floor without anyone, who knew where they came from, dared to look at them. From time to time a couple of unsuspecting "Play Boys", usually foreigners on a tourist trip, would panic when they saw them alone and would approach them in anguish to ask at least for the phone but, as always, or end up eating dirt on the disco parking at the hands of the bodyguards of «El Titi» or they were lost forever in the cold waters of the Otún River, without heads and without fingerprints.

"El Titi" was a talkative and arrogant man, of great stature and bad taste. He wore fine brand clothes, more because of their price than because he knew the style and trends they represented and on some occasions he used up to four lotions at the same time. A scar that surrounded his left cheekbone reminded him, every time he looked in the mirror, a past full of tragic stories and violent anecdotes. "El Titi" was born into a humble and broken family where the normal thing was not to see his father very often and where his mother confused love with pandering. She tolerated her excesses so much that one morning she ended up being beaten by her son when she refused to give him the money for the lunch he needed to gamble in a mobile casino that cyclically came to the neighborhood. That obsession with money was cultivated since childhood when he ran errands to the neighbors, in exchange for money he invested in the purchase of different games of chance with which he multiplied his income to levels impossible for a child. He was very good at playing tute, 21, relancina, poker, dominoes, marbles, spinning top, parquet, chess, kite, coke, five holes and even yoyo and, for that, he deservedly earned the gambler's remoquete. Other times he stayed with the change of errands by making use of gruesome tales like the imminent bite of a dog leaving the store or the bus that almost threw him across the street. The truth is that he never remained without money in his pockets and that magnet for finances led him to become what he was today, a third-order tracheo about to access the upper echelons of the mafia, thanks to the large volumes of drug exported during the last two years and his coldness to discount enemies, and even friends.

The drug trafficking came from the hand of "Negro" Martín, a childhood friend who left one rainy day when he was 15 years old and reappeared eleven years later, in the middle of the same downpour, in a late-model black 4X4 pickup truck. various antennas and tinted windows. The people of the neighborhood were speechless when they saw the transformation of the Negro and immediately began to weave all kinds of conjectures without having to kill many neurons: he had become "a tough one." His imposing reappearance had a double effect: the girls in the neighborhood were hopeful when they saw that the blue princes did exist and the boys understood that getting easy money to captivate those same girls was possible. Although they knew of the only business that could bring them such a fortune, without going to college, receiving inheritances, or inventing a device to guess the number of lotteries, they needed to know the formula and the secrets of the lucrative and damned trade. For this reason, "El Titi" approached him and greeted him with laughter, remembering with sorrow that as a child he had rolled him against the pavement of the school field for insinuating that his mother was a whore. "Well, as you can see, partner ..." He replied smugly, letting things and facts speak for themselves.

And things and events spoke so much for themselves that Titi arrived home tired, packed the only two changes of clothes that had no rips or stains, and left, thinking forever. He hardly says goodbye to Dona Magola, to whom he gave a mischievous smile and a kiss from a distance and in the middle of the run, when she came out the door wiping her hands on her apron and yelling at him where he was going. As El Titi, who by then was not called El Titi but Aurelio Jaramillo, only smiled, Dona Magola wielded one last argument that was on the point of taking him away from his black destiny for the rest of his life:

—Mijo, wait, don't go ... I've already prepared your guava juice in pure milk! Aurelio was about to return, tempted by Dona Magola's intelligent strategy of offering him his favorite juice, to which they only poured milk instead of water once a week, but his desire to return one day in the same conditions was stronger. that Martin had done it, so he kept running. Passing saliva when he remembered the thick and pleasant taste of the drink that he had just despised for the first time in his life, Aurelio ran like crazy through the streets of the neighborhood, while Martín started the car to leave, receiving wrapped papers through the window of his truck meticulously by the less shy girls on the block in which they asked him: when does he come back, may he not be so cocky, when will he give me a ride in that car that, by the way, is very cute, if he has a girlfriend, what if he wants her, that he is not going to come back believed because now he has money and a number of other innocent reasons, according to the time when drug traffickers aroused more admiration than hatred and when none of them had even shit on the heads of a whole generation of women.

When Aurelio arrived at Martín's mother's house, the «Negro's» car started, albeit slowly, as if he wanted to give him a little wait, but keeping the promise of leaving without him if he did not return in five minutes. Four or five years passed without news of "El Titi", so his absence lent itself to all kinds of conjecture. Someone claimed that a gang from Cali had murdered him for stealing a gold watch that no one knew where he got from. Others said that he was fighting the government from a guerrilla front installed on the border with Venezuela, a country to which they fled when they deemed it necessary, taking advantage of some ideological coincidences with their leader. Others affirmed that he was fighting the same guerrilla from the ranks of a paramilitary group to which many drug traffickers were arriving by parachute seeking a political status that would shield them from safe extradition to the United States. A government official said he was being held in a Spanish jail on charges of renting his stomach to traffic heroin. "He went on a mule," added the official and assured, incidentally, that Aurelio was serving a twelve-year sentence along with 3,562 other Colombians who one day left an airport with the hope of returning with pockets full of money to defeat the poverty of their houses, ignoring that they were simply going to make it worse. Others said otherwise. That "El Titi" was able to crown half a dozen trips with his stomach full of cocaine and that he had made enough money to become independent and start in the drug business in medium and highly technical quantities.

Several agreed in his present as a drug trafficker, but all disagreed with his fate. Even some of his childhood friends came to the block to say that Aurelio, who now called himself "El Titi", was indeed a crooked man, they had captured him on a ship full of drugs that was moving through the Bahamas and then he had been extradited to a Florida jail in the United States. Many people swore they had seen him on television, without remembering doing what and, very few others, like Doña Magola, had the sentimental certainty of seeing him again one day, standing at the door of his house with a briefcase full of dollars in his hand left. And the thesis and the unequivocal premonitions of a mother in love triumphed. "El Titi" returned: fatter, more elegant, with his neck full of chains and gold and platinum charms, As rumors come faster than people, as soon as Dona Magola found out about the arrival of "El Titi" to the neighborhood, she ran to prepare the guava juice in pure milk that he liked so much, while her son snooped, from his van with tinted windows and at 15 kilometers per hour, every street, every house in the neighborhood, wanting to find out, first-hand, about the physiognomic changes of girls between eight and ten years old, who had not seen five years ago and who by then should already have to have left its infantile shell. Liliana, who just turned fifteen, waited standing on the platform for the "El Titi" truck to pass so she could cross the street. I was going to the store to buy lunch. He had grown so much, due to a hormonal problem, that he was taller than all the inhabitants of the neighborhood. For this reason, as he passed by, "El Titi" could only see her from the neck down. "What a great old woman," he exclaimed and then looked at her in the rear-view mirror as she crossed the street to conclude with laughter and with a strange and morbid good humor: there would be no way, it would have to be folded! Two houses later, he observed Marcelita talking with Paola. The first very pretty face, but very poorly dressed and a bit obese and the second so slim and provocative that it almost made him crash. He barely saw her with her hair up.

In two side bow ties, her impeccable school uniform although with the skirt a little higher than what is allowed in the institution and the white blouse with a button on the top unbuttoned on purpose, Aurelio forgot that he was driving and focused all his attention on the Paola's perfect golden legs. When the tires of his truck bit the platform, El Titi came back to reality amid the laughter of the girls who made fun of the carelessness of the clueless driver who almost crashed a taxi driver who had no problem sticking his head out out of her car window to talk to her mother, completely unaware that she had just signed her death warrant. In effect, Aurelio stopped,

Ten minutes later and while savoring his second glass of guava juice in pure milk, Aurelio counted in bundles two by two, 20 million pesos to his mother so that the happy lady would send him to melt the concrete slab at the house and build two rooms and a cove on the second floor for her son where he planned to keep drugs and dollars without her knowing.

While asking for a third glass of juice, evoking memories of his childhood, El Titi asked his mother about Luz Helena, the love of his whole life and found out that she lived with a boy from Dos Quebradas with whom they already had two children. He was so enraged by the news that he smashed his glass against the wall and left his house possessed by the force of arrogance.

When he arrived at Luz Helena's house, he found her emaciated and badly dressed, nursing her three-month-old daughter and staring into nothingness, listening to vallenatos. She barely averted her eyes to look at him, without any illusion, as she listened to a whole sermon from his lips about what can happen to a woman when she loses faith and does not wait for what is to come. "I thought you were dead, Aurelio." It was the only thing the resigned woman managed to answer with boredom as she changed her daughter's breast. The truth is that «El Titi» felt lazy to recriminate her to the limits that he used and forgot about her as soon as he observed Paola, through the window, leaving her house with her impeccable uniform of blue and white squares, her hair woven into two thick and long braids and her feminine charms on the surface. When Aurelio was convinced that this could be his next diversion, he wanted to go out to the street to set out to conquer the little woman, but a bus took her away at full speed without giving him time to see or speak to her. Luz Helena, who had observed the scene from the same window, wanted to show solidarity with her ex-boyfriend's anguish and gave him invaluable information:

—She's a friend of Ferney's. Thanking him with a smile that also signified shame and revenge, "El Titi" crossed the street and walked to Ferney's house to help him in his desire to win over Paola. Ferney was not there, but his younger sister was, who opened the door for him. Her name was Yésica and he loved it as much as Paola, but for a few moments he couldn't help but imagine her as the little girl running down the block after a dog, her panties torn and dirty and her face black with dirt. Despite remembering those images, he noticed that the girl was no longer the same. Despite her fifteen years old, she already looked like a woman. At least that's how her breasts stood like mountains, her lips painted fuchsia and her insinuating looks, accompanied by the chew of a massacred gum and no longer sweet.

"Ferney isn't there, but I'm here." —The adolescent answered with profound flirtation to which "El Titi" answered with some curiosity, looking at her through the wrinkle-free canyon of her breasts, which, although small, looked like two rocks: —But you are not useful for what Ferney will help me, Mommy. -Oh no? That's what you think, partner, "he replied insinuatingly while Luz Helena, who was still breastfeeding her baby, watched the scene from the window of her house, mired in the greatest sadness.

When noticing Yésica's coquetry, El Titi understood that he was not dealing with a girl and he dispatched himself with compliments and proposals towards her. A few days later, after making love to her in various motels in the city, in vans, farms and apartments of different styles, he sent her with one of the bodyguards to a shopping center and made her buy all the clothes he had and to have, he She wrote a check for the nose operation, another for the silicone breast implant, and traded the surgeon a step horse for the adolescent's liposuction, despite the fact that the surgeon advised her, with good judgment and honesty, that A girl of such a young age could not have such a large number of operations, least of all that of the breasts and nose, because during the completion of his growth he would experience size changes in his skeletal system that could end in an aesthetic tragedy of great proportions. Yésica took the risk, the doctor alienated her thesis in the presence of the checks and the horse, and "El Titi" did not say anything other than to be calm, because if she had to have surgery again when she turned 18 and her "fucking Bones stopped growing, he sponsored irresponsibility.

The truth is that two months after having performed at least half a dozen surgeries and cosmetic treatments, Yésica looked spectacularly beautiful and transformed. So much so that all the little girls in the neighborhood began to suffer from envy and to organize implausible plans in order to achieve the dream of looking as beautiful as her. The one who suffered the most with Yésica's transformation was Paola and when she found out, "El Titi" felt that her strategy was working. Paola's envy was such that she relegated her pride and showed up one morning at Yésica's house on the pretext of asking her why she hadn't returned to school. Yésica replied that she no longer needed to study again in her life because she was not going to suckle for 10 more years, stuck between desperate libraries, hot classrooms, stinking bathrooms and a horrible uniform. In the midst of gossiping and envious classmates, reading books by Homero, Cervantes and García Márquez, reciting poems by Calderón de la Barca by heart, doing experiments with toads, lizards and beans and sweating during the strenuous days of physical education or dance class to achieve a degree that was of no use to him if he did not have enough money to go to university. Paola did not agree with all her assessments, but she had no hesitation in accepting them when Yésica reinforced her phobia of the studio with another barrage of criticism. She told him that she was not going to continue to suffer with teachers who believed themselves to be the owners of the world's education and who threatened to make her lose the year if she did not dance well bambuco, torbellino or cumbia; if he did not go around the schoolyard in 9 seconds and 79 thousandths; if he didn't make a perfect roll on a sweaty, non-sudsy mat. That education was poorly designed because a student should not be put through the eyes of subjects that he does not like, that he does not understand and for which he has no talent or aptitude. That she wouldn't continue to stress herself with the threat of losing the year if she didn't solve 125 algebra facts by the next day; If he did not calculate the friction that a car drives around a curve at a descending speed of 90 to 70 kilometers per hour in 4.5 seconds with a force of 125 horses and a weight of 470 kilos with flat tires ; If he did not point to the geography, on a world map, the exact place where the Cayman Islands or Madagascar were; if he did not tell history the reasons why Alexander the Great was assassinated and if he was homosexual or not; if he didn't recite from memory, to chemistry, the elements of the changing periodic table; if he didn't tell the same professor how many DNA molecules make up the human genome; if he did not recite to the Englishman the irregular verbs in all their conjugations; if he couldn't get the biologist all the species of plants and butterflies to put them in a black-leaf album; if he did not recite to the religious one "The Song of Songs"; If he did not decipher the one in geometry, the result of multiplying the sine cubed by the cosine squared by the hypotenuse or, if he did not sleep with everyone who asked him in exchange for a note that would drag him the average.

He also said that after all that he was not going to end his life waiting for a cardboard that was not going to serve him but to decorate his room and inflate his mother's ego, because, surely, he was going to end up washing dishes or taking care children as his sister was doing, who did finish high school, for a miserable salary. But Paola, although convinced by Yésica's forceful arguments, needed to go further, to know the different alternatives to the study that Yésica proposed for her life and continued to speak to her with clues. She told him that she did have to finish high school because she didn't know what else to do. That her mother killed her wherever she left school, that she was the girlfriend of a cousin of hers who was jealous and stingy more than her father, that she was desperate with the financial situation of her house, that she thought at all times that she was crazy. He made his life change and he put a world of more complaints on him, waiting for proposals not to wear out, asking him to tell him how he had managed to get the money for the operations and to buy so many clothes. "Sister and you can't take me to those guys?" I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get out of this motherfucking situation! Yésica recalled that "El Titi" used to tell her that he was dying to be with two women at the same time and took advantage of Paola's desire for overt involution to make the proposal.

"How can you think of it, sister!" She responded indignantly, but her incoherence and weakness led her two days later to a farm in Cartago where "El Titi" was waiting for them dead of happiness, full of whiskey, food, varied music, pure cocaine and a porn video with which She was going to explain, in a veiled way, to her two guests what they should do, without having to resort to words. A month later, Paola already had her silicone tits on and was walking proudly with them all over the block while Vanessa, Ximena and Catalina speculated about the origin of the money invested in the surgery. Paola believed she had done enough to demand that "El Titi" consider her his girlfriend, but she crashed into the world when he told her, laughing, that it was impossible because he was engaged to Marcela Ahumada, the most beautiful woman of the earth, his official and true girlfriend, the only one, the complete owner of his heart, the lonely recipient of his sincere caresses, the owner of his love and his money and who did not think to change her for anything or anyone in this world. Yésica, who was pretending the same thing as Paola, was cut off by her intentions, warning her not to dream because neither she nor any other woman could aspire to the throne that Marcela held. That if he wanted to, he would accept her along with the 20 or 30 women he was dating in exchange for certain details and to see if he liked things that way or to do whatever he wanted to do.

For this reason, while "El Titi" chatted with Clavijo and the Ahumadas sisters at the disco, Yésica tried to invent a way to get revenge on Marcela, exploiting the lust of "El Titi" by putting the most beautiful girls in the neighborhood at her service. He told Ximena to stop being silly, that studying was useless, that life was very short and that you had to enjoy it to the fullest, that these guys were cool, that if you behaved well with them, they would behave well with one, they were all gentlemen. He told Vanessa to stop being prudish because the whores took her, not to stop the boyfriend because he drove her crazy and to rebel at home, calmly and without remorse, because the parents were aware that they had raised crows and not children and that they were only waiting for them to take out their eyes to be satisfied with the fulfillment of their popular premonition. She told Catalina that when she was going to change her pants, that the blouse she was wearing looked old and out of fashion, that she needed clothes, that Albeiro was only useful for drooling, every other night, at the door of his house and to give him stuffed animals and that the only good thing that his house had was Bayron, who walked very cute and looked like a player from the Argentine soccer team. That she didn't worry about her mother because if she got angry when she started to lose herself on the weekends, the temper would happen to her when she arrived with a market for two months and the ticket to put her in Nacho's beauty salon.

And while "El Titi" watched from his secluded table the arrival of six policemen to the disco, Vanessa, Ximena and Catalina accepted the business of leaving Yésica with him on weekends, in exchange for clothes and money to undergo surgery until the laugh. Of the trio of beautiful damsels, the most interested was Catalina, but, likewise, she was the least likely to be accepted by "El Titi", since two irrefutable facts played against her: her size 32A senitos and her quality of virgin girl. When Clavijo began to sneak into the disco kitchen through a secret door that the owner designed for him and other exclusive clients, "El Titi" identified the officer in command of the patrol who had just entered the disco. It was Lieutenant Arnedo.

"Stay calm, Clavijito, mijo, the man is from this side, he's a friend," he told his frightened partner while Marcela and Catherine Ahumada laughed when they saw how a man like Clavijo who bragged about killing and eating the dead man he urinated on his pants when he saw a uniformed man. In effect, Lieutenant Arnedo belonged to the immense group of soldiers bribed by the mafia and his presence in the place was justified by the fact that Cardona was about to enter the place. When "El Titi" found out about the imminent arrival of his boss, he took Marcela by the hand and urged her to leave. Marcela, among whose goals was to conquer a more powerful drug lord than "El Titi", refused to leave the club, falsely arguing that she was having a great time, so "El Titi" took up the challenge firmly and took her by the hand with force and then crossed the room with her, almost dragging her, to the general surprise of everyone. And although she yelled at him to stop being bitter and to let her stay a little longer, «El Titi» knew that if Cardona knew her and her sister, he would ask them, by way of order, for his collection personal. And since "El Titi" could not deny Cardona a favor, he decided to leave early with his girlfriend, his sister-in-law and his buddy. as an order, for your personal collection. And since "El Titi" could not deny Cardona a favor, he decided to leave early with his girlfriend, his sister-in-law and his buddy. as an order, for your personal collection. And since "El Titi" could not deny Cardona a favor, he decided to leave early with his girlfriend, his sister-in-law and his buddy. Not a few were terrified to see the pair of divine human sculptures, humiliated, dragged and sullied throughout the disco, so more than one onlooker sneaked out to the disco parking lot in order to know the outcome of the scene that it was none other than the pair of women shoving and slapping a pair of luxurious trucks. When Cardona arrived, "El Titi", Clavijo, and the Ahumada were going far.

The next day and in accordance with his habit of not satisfying his instincts with a single woman, "El Titi" appeared on Catalina's block and stopped his truck at the house across the street, which was Yésica's. When she left, he delivered the good news without even giving her time to say hello. "'Titi', I have another three divine peladitas!" "El Titi" smiled, asked all kinds of questions and got so excited that he left them money for their clothes and stayed to pick them up at night. Yésica stole the money from the clothes and took Ximena, Vanessa and Catalina home. He lent them all her clothes, which he no longer wore, so that "El Titi" would not miss the new clothes he had sent them to buy and made the announcement: "The man is coming at night ... He also announced the arrival of "El Titi" to Paola, but she, who had already known him for a long time, was not so enthusiastic, but not because it seemed boring to go with the same man, but because it made her angry that other three girls the neighborhood were fighting for it. After all, he understood that beyond accepting gifts from "El Titi", his heart beat harder for him than for any other man. When the night made its appearance, Catalina, Vanessa, Ximena and Paola sat in the front garden of Yésica's house to wait for the now famous client. They looked as pretty as they were impatient and none of them stopped looking at the others and at the same time at the corner, seeking to know who was prettier and at what time the blessed "Titi" was going to appear. From her window, Dona Hilda looked at the scene with suspicion, while Yésica dialed in vain the narco's number from her cell phone. Suddenly a call came in. It was "El Titi" who spoke in code to Yésica. He told him that he did not have much time and that it would not be possible to spend the whole weekend with the four girls, so he asked him to enlist only one of them, but to leave him two options to choose from. When Yésica hung up, the others opened their eyes with concern asking, at the same time, what was happening. Yésica told them that "El Titi" just called to cancel the appointment. They were all disappointed and returned home bored, but the second Yésica returned and secretly beat Paola and Catalina at their doors, took them out again when they were about to push themselves up, and made them aware of the mistake.

—The man just wants to go with one of you and he asked me to enlist two girls to choose her. - She also told them that she thought that one of the two was the prettiest and that was why she had cheated on her other two friends, but to wait and see what the client said, warning them in passing that neither Ximena nor Vanessa could know anything. about the little plot. "El Titi" arrived in one of his trucks and stood in front of Yésica's house looking at Paola and Catalina, with the advantage of not being seen thanks to the darkness of the car's windows. Yésica approached him and told him what he already knew, that the women were ready. He looked at them with desire as he made morbid comments with his driver and one of his escorts who accompanied him. When the advanced apprentice pimp asked her to choose her toy on duty, Titi responded without flinching that Paola: "You know that that asshole kills me."

Added. Immediately afterwards, and perhaps without meaning to, he pronounced Catalina's fate forever:

"The other one is pretty, but her teats are very small." Rather, it has not! The escort and the driver gave out laughter that annoyed Yésica. "Here among us," she told him secretly, "although she has them small, she is a virgin." -Worst! "El Titi" answered annoyed and argued: "With those peladitas it is very easy and I don't have time now to teach anything to anyone." I also have the police, the DEA, the prosecutor's office and my girlfriend watching me as if to start fucking with virgos at this point in my life. While Yésica looked at Catalina with regret, Cabrera, the host of "El Titi," gave the final point: "She's a better known regular than a good one to know, boss." —With a laugh, "El Titi" approved his own election and Yésica went to the two little women who were waiting nervously and impatiently to deliver the verdict: —What the man repeats with you, Paola! The chosen woman smiled, melted with love for the money from "El Titi" and Catalina's face was instantly disfigured.

When the truck started with a smiling Paola on board, Catalina asked with a feeling of frustration mixed with helplessness and anger about the reason for the choice of "El Titi" and Yésica had no qualms about telling her the truth about her delirium. narco friends for busty women. That was the day that Catalina set herself, as the only goal in her life, as the ultimate goal of her time in this world, to get the money to undergo surgery on her breasts and become the girlfriend of a tracheum. It would not happen since then, the second of her life, without her being able to imagine something different from her image in front of the mirror with a pair of breasts trying to burst her bras.

While Paola chatted with "El Titi" in a farm with 24 rooms and the same number of bathrooms, getting to know the money wrapped in boxes and getting terrified by the most unimaginable extravagances; and while Catalina chewed her anger at not having been chosen, trying to cope with her courtship with Albeiro and her relationships with her mother, and while Yésica was eagerly looking for more little girls for the harem of El Titi, Mariño, the expected Mariño landed in the El Dorado airport in Bogotá, from Mexico City, along with three other friends, they do have hands of pure strain, very different from the fine-featured gallants seen in the novels made by quantities in that country. That is, fat, short, big-headed, Indian, one of them with gold inlays in his teeth, Yucatecans, and the three with expensive clothes, but not elegantly dressed,

Mariño was the right hand of «El Titi». He was no more than a traquetico, novice of the fifth or sixth category, hitman of 28 important figures in the recent past, who had just received, for the first time, a mission other than to kill someone from a motorcycle for a good sum of money. They sent him to Mexico City as a prize for murdering "Negro" Martín, teacher and friend of "El Titi", whom he proved, with a couple of shots to the head, that, when power and money are through the middle, neither loyalties nor feelings count. "El Titi" wanted to be third in the organization, but to do so he had to remove the black Martín from circulation, the only thing that on some occasion he preferred to his appreciated guava juice in pure milk. And so he did. The details do not matter because all the deaths produced by the mafia, by the hundreds, are the same, but the anecdote does count because, since then, "El Titi" demystified the immortality of his bosses and set out to reach the top of the organization at whatever cost. But for that he needed men like Mariño and Mariño did not want to continue his adventures, murdering as a second-in-class hit man and less at that moment when he had many secrets from Aurelio Jaramillo to exploit. "El Titi" sent him, a month earlier, to wait in Mexico City for several commercial flights from Colombia, Venezuela and Panama in which 65 people arrived, between Colombians and foreigners, with their stomachs loaded with drugs. As planned, during that month, 60 of the 65 people with their stomachs full of fingers of surgical gloves tainted with coca and heroin passed the controls. Two were poisoned and three fell into the hands of the police. Those captured, a woman at the Bogotá airport and two men at the one in the Mexican capital, were betrayed by the same drug traffickers in order to inflate the ego of the police and distract them with the captures, thus facilitating the passage of other traffickers. . All the mules, who traveled at the rate of five per flight, were instructed on what to do in order not to end up in jail or the cemetery. First, and to adapt his esophagus to the size of the rubber fingers with coca, he swallowed several large grapes whole, and then sausages the size of a thumb. Three days before swallowing the 100 or 150 bags of drugs, they suspended all kinds of solid foods in order to prepare their stomachs for the arrival of the strange food. They were told that after ingesting the cursed capsules, they could neither eat, nor drink anything, nor even pass saliva, because the gastric acids were going to riot, resulting in the rupture of the sachets and death. That is why all the mules during the flight received everything that was offered to them and even took it to their mouths and chewed it. Once the flight attendants disappeared, they spat the half-chewed food into their hands and carried it into their pockets and then disposed of it by depositing it in the plane's sink.

Something went wrong because Blanca Perdomo and Euclides Ibáñez, the first mother of two daughters and the second father of four, died as a result of several drug-filled bags exploding inside their bellies. Blanca, who dreamed of paying off her debts and guaranteeing the education of her two little girls abandoned by her father since the oldest was three years old, died in flight after writhing from the burning in her belly and after a flight attendant, innocent, he will supply a glass of water and a paste for gastritis. His stomach exploded into a thousand pieces. Euclides Ibáñez died on the way between the Mexico City airport and the apartment where Mariño was waiting for him with a whole team of paramedics and laxatives to extract the merchandise. As is customary in these cases, his body was opened to extract the expensive merchandise and then dismembered and disseminated through all the black water pipes of the city while his four children and his wife continued to wait for him smiling and loaded with gifts as the first time when traveled to Madrid.

The apartment where Mariño recruited the mules and made them ingest the recommended laxatives to expel the drug-containing finger fingers was located in the exclusive Zona Rosa sector in Mexico City and was hidden behind the facade of a Latin food restaurant. Once the work of digestion and cleaning of the precious packages was finished, Mariño paid each of the mules 5 or 10 thousand dollars, depending on the amount and type of drug transported, and prepared to collect it and then lower it with talcum powder and deliver it to its recipients, who were none other than the camouflaged minority distributors of candy and cigarette sellers organized by Fernando Rey, the lord and master of the streets of Mexico City. Rey had formed a Little Poster that, following the death of the "Lord of the Skies",

To that Carthage Cartel that, by giant steps approached the ostentation, bribery capacity and the power of political manipulation of the Cali Cartel and the military arrogance, intolerance, violence and economic ostentation of the Medellín Cartel, belonged , in their order, Morón, «Cardona», and «El Titi». The others, such as "Mariño", were in the way, but they hardly represented the new generation of the business and did not mean much within the organization, even if they were called to put their heads in front of the authorities in the face of any setback, since they were in charge of the tasks more difficult for drug trafficking, such as the collection, manufacture, packaging, transportation, marketing and collection, by hook or by crook, of the merchandise.

Although the new narcos were no less defiant than members of the dismantled Medellín and Cali cartels, they were more cautious, less ostentatious, and arguably smarter and more elusive. They no longer repeated, for example, the story of the drug dealer who was not accepted into a prestigious social club in the city of Cali and who, in a fit of arrogance, had an identical club built for himself on one of his farms. Nor the story of another drug dealer that he had built in Caquetá, a department nestled in the Colombian jungles, and bullring using the same architectural plans as the "Las Ventas" bullring in Madrid, Spain. Not the story of a drug lord who had an exact replica built in one of his properties, but on a scale of the White House in Washington. Not even the story of the mobster who ordered him to put air conditioning and even a work by Picasso in his stables. Nor the story of another mobster who had the plane with which he crowned his first shipment hung on the portal of his farm. Farm that also had, for the fun of the narco's children, a zoo with species from the five continents that any capital of a world power would envy. Nor the story of a drug trafficker who wanted to buy more than two million hectares of land to build a private road that would leave Pacho, a municipality of Cundinamarca in the center of the country and will end in the sea, after traveling about 1000 kilometers. Not the story of a tracheo who bought several bulletproof vests and decided to test them against the humanity of his butler whom he destroyed with Galil rifle bullets and then exclaimed: "How bad!" To which the salesman refueled: —I warned you boss that they only resisted revolver bullets and pistols.

Nor did they travel in private planes across the country. They no longer installed gold taps in their bathrooms or built Olympic swimming pools, and discos in their homes. They also gave up owning complete professional soccer teams to collect titles, cheerleaders for their parties and talented players for photographs in their family albums or to launder dollars by selling them abroad for half the declared price. They were no longer giving away entire neighborhoods and they were not participating in politics by giving away outboard motors, motorcycles and money to their voters and arousing the ire of professional politicians who saw in them a serious threat to their seats.

Although they were still ruthless and ruthless thugs like those of yesteryear, the new drug traffickers did not as obsessively aspire to the land as the former lords of the Medellín and Cali cartels did. They were more motivated by business, venture investing, capitalization, partying, expensive watches, sleeping with models and actresses, foreign properties, and secret accounts in Switzerland, the Cayman Islands, and Panama. They were no longer buying $ 100,000 cash carts in canvas bags. Now they preferred mid-range cars and paid for them with bank loans so as not to arouse suspicion among the authorities.

They belonged to a generation more prepared than that of the drug traffickers who started the business in Colombia and, therefore, better designed their strategies to launder their capital and legalize their enormous profits. For this they had financial experts, trained in the best universities in the world and with military strategists imported from the former Soviet Union as evidenced by the discovery of several submarines found on the coast of the department of Nariño, in the municipality of Facatativa and in the Guajira, made with Russian technology. One of those submersibles, the one found in Facatativa, just 30 kilometers from Bogotá, had a capacity to transport 10 tons of cocaine. Aside from the daring and novel method of getting drugs off the continent in radar-proof submarines manufactured in their own shipyards, drug traffickers achieved their greatest feat and daring by shipping drugs to the United States with soldiers from that country, ironically installed in the territory. Colombian to fight the drug cartels and what is worse, in planes with the American flag. That happened in the spring of 2005 and the event filled the government of the northern country with shame and indignation, determined, albeit wrongly, to end this scourge that was ending the mental health of millions of young people around the world. But this was not the only act through which the drug traffickers took revenge for the extraditions to which they were being subjected by the gringos. On some occasion it happened that a military man from that country sent drugs in the diplomatic bags that came out of the United States Embassy based in Bogotá, under the cover of his sentimental relationship with an official of that consular representation. Of course isolated cases that did not compromise the government of that country, but that did make it clear that when money in non-negligible amounts is involved, nothing is impossible for drug traffickers bent on making fun of their worst enemies, to mitigate in part the humiliations and the great blows that they were inflicting on them with the economic and military aid they were giving the Colombian governments. protected in his romantic relationship with an official of that consular representation. Of course isolated cases that did not compromise the government of that country, but that did make it clear that when money in non-negligible amounts is involved, nothing is impossible for drug traffickers bent on making fun of their worst enemies, to mitigate in part the humiliations and the great blows that they were inflicting on them with the economic and military aid they were giving the Colombian governments. protected in his romantic relationship with an official of that consular representation. Of course isolated cases that did not compromise the government of that country, but that did make it clear that when money in non-negligible amounts is involved, nothing is impossible for drug traffickers bent on making fun of their worst enemies, to mitigate in part the humiliations and the great blows that they were inflicting on them with the economic and military aid they were giving the Colombian governments.

However, bribes at this stage of drug trafficking were more selective and the care of their laboratories and crops was in charge, depending on the geographical area, of the guerrillas or paramilitaries, groups that justified this contradictory action on the premise of not giving advantage to the enemy, since both obtained with the monumental income of this illicit activity, enough money to buy the weapons that would guarantee their permanence in the senseless war that was bleeding the country and that already claimed the lives of more than a million people since the 1960s and displacement of 3 million Colombians since the 1980s. No other country in the world would see five presidential candidates assassinated in a period of 9 years, between 1986 and 1995: Jaime Pardo Leal, Luis Carlos Galán, Carlos Pizarro, Bernardo Jaramillo and Álvaro Gómez Hurtado who bravely crossed the path of the daring and arrogant drug traffickers of the Medellín and Cali cartels.

0 notes