Confrontation Ch. 04: On the Border

It's hard to know where to look. Our server- Estela she says- has her fine rack inches from my arm. They're full and firm, with dark nipples that project out like little bullets. She seems to make a point of moving to the music, making them sway side-to-side. I can hardly take my eyes off them.

Meanwhile, my two bodyguards are mesmerized by the slim girl kneeling with her legs apart on the stage right in front of them. She wears nothing but a garter on each thigh, and they're busy looping bills underneath them, an easy excuse to touch her mocha skin.

"Having fun guys?" our server shouts over the music, and they nod eagerly.

"She'll take you for private dances over there," Estela adds, pointing to a door along the side wall.

Then she turns her charm on me.

"What's your name?" and I tell her it's Pedro.

"Mmm, I like you. Come over here with me, OK?"

I'm no more Pedro than she is Estela, but that's how it is in this place- all about no-strings sex for cash. They talk; they dance; or anything else you want. The women here are hungry, with pimps to pay off and families to support. They want money and are ready to do whatever it takes to get it. This is life stripped down to its most basic element. You pay. They fuck.

Estela brings us another round and one for herself, but gets up to usher some guys to a table before returning to ours. The stripper has finished her routine and has stepped down totally naked, reeking of sex and cheap perfume, to work on the brothers. Alphonse motions to the woman behind the bar to send a drink over for her, and grabs an empty chair. There are five of us at our little table now and the not-so-subtle negotiations are underway.

Another dancer comes to our stage and starts to peel. She's a bleached blonde with big tits that she really tosses around. Arturo watches intently as Blondie gets nude through her three songs. By the end, she's spread wide on her back with him gazing at her body like it's the Holy Grail. He orders a drink for her, and soon Blondie is all over him as she sips the expensive concoction sent from the bar.

After another round for everybody, Alphonse is the first one to trapse across to the door of the private room with the skinny stripper. She's still nude, carrying what little she wore in her hand. Minutes later, Arturo is gone with the buxom blonde, a grin on his face a mile wide. Both of them will get laid tonight, but I'm a little uneasy to be without my bodyguards. I've seen danger before and I sense it in this place.

"And you, Pedro? A private dance too?" Estela looks over to the same door.

"Could we just go somewhere quiet to talk a bit?" I suggest because I don't want to cheat on Marina.

"Just talk?" she laughs. "So, why are you here Pedro?"

"It's these louts I'm travelling with. My wife's cousins," I pretend.

"And you don't want them telling on you."

"Right. She's a good woman."

"Well... I'm working you know, so you'll pay to talk with me."

"Yes, but away from this noise."

We finish our drinks, and she leads me in a different direction, signalling the bartender as we walk by. Then it's through a short corridor and up a narrow staircase to a low door. She opens it and leads me inside. The room isn't very large- a bed and cupboard, a few chairs, a wash basin and mirror, and not much else.

"My room. The only quiet place here. I hate the music sometimes myself," she confides.

"I'll pay you to talk now. But get something on before I change my mind."

"Oh, I hope you do," Estela jokes, before slipping into a long robe hanging on the back of the door.

Then, for the next twenty minutes or so, we sit in the chairs just chatting. She relaxes and through scripted conversation I uphold my false story of travel with relatives while prying a few bits of information from her. I learn that this is a favourite stop for long-distance truckers, and that so many dancers work here that she only knows a few of them well. The money is good, but the girls seem to come and go regularly. She has no idea why.

Afterwards, she leads me downstairs to my table before leaving. A few minutes later, Arturo and Alphonse stagger back to join me, with silly grins on their faces.

"Got fucked in there did you boys?" I comment.

They smile some more and nod to each other, eager to talk about their time in the private rooms.

"And you just sat here waiting for us, Jag? Marina will be happy about that."

"Be sure to tell her," I advise. "Now let's get back to our place for the night. We started the day about twenty hours ago!"

That night we sleep like tired children until the rising sun shines in our faces. Then we make our way next door for breakfast. Coffee, some eggs with fried bread, and fresh fruit- it fills us up while we quietly discuss a plan for the day.

"I got some information last night. Lots of long-haul truckers go to that place, and there's a plenty of staff turnover with the girls. These two things might fit together."

"Maybe. Are you thinking the girls cross into Brazil with the truckers?" Alphonse asks?

"Willingly or by force?" Arturo wonders. "And what's this got to do with the valuable stuff stolen from Peru that Elena told us about?"

"I figure either the girls or the truckers- maybe both- are moving the goods. Some of the girls might be trapped, forced into sex and smuggling."

"It sounds like a big operation. How can you prove any of this, Jaguar?"

"Today we're going to stake out the only way from here into Brazil. There's a bridge across the Rio Acre past the titty bar, with a Customs office that regulates movement between Peru and Brazil. Maybe we'll see something there to support my theory."

"Do we go with you or can we just wait in the bar?" Alphonse asks hopefully.

"You're my bodyguards, so you stay with me. That's why the National Museum is footing the bill. I'll pay for breakfast now and we'll get started."

It's easy to find the Customs office because there's just one road out of town in that direction, the Inter-oceanic Highway. We find a spot to park with a good view of the government building where we won't likely rouse any suspicion. Every few hours we'll move to a different place. I have field glasses and a good camera to record anything noteworthy.

Surveillance is tedious work, watching for hours with nothing much happening. A bus pulls up and some people with luggage file into the building. Some of them are young women. After ten minutes or so, everyone boards again and the bus crosses into Brazil. A few cars cross too, but overall there isn't much movement. By the end of the morning, this seems like a dead end.

One thing which surprises us is that there are few trucks crossing the border. The highway was built to promote trade between Peru and Brazil, but there doesn't seem to be much this morning. Then a big transport pulls up to the building, and the driver holds some papers out the window. A uniformed agent looks at them, then walks around the trailer before waving him through.

An hour later there's another transport and the same sequence of events unfolds. Then another and another and another. The inspections are hurried- paperwork and a quick walk around the trailer. By mid-afternoon the three of us are in the car, ready to doze off when another big truck arrives. This one has a large sleeper unit behind the cab. The same walk-around routine takes place.

Suddenly, another officer dashes from the building and orders the driver to open the cab door. They argue loudly until the official pulls a handgun from his holster and points it up at the cab. The driver jumps out and puts both hands on top of his head. While the officer trains the gun on him, the other inspector goes into the cab. Not a minute later he emerges with two frightened-looking young women in tow.

All at once, the trucker makes a run for it. There's a warning shout, then two blasts from the pistol before the fleeing man falls face first onto the ground and doesn't move. Minutes later police and an ambulance arrive. Was there a tip, or did Customs officials see something suspicious? We've just witnessed a human trafficking takedown. The truck driver may have paid for it with his life.

A bit later I go into the Customs building posing as a driver myself.

'I haven't crossed here before. Where do I get the papers I need to bring my truck across with goods bound for Brazil?"

"Take the trailer to our impound warehouse at Puerto Moldonado, a couple of hours from here. Your cargo will be inspected there."

"And the papers?"

"If everything is in order, you get them there, then drive here to cross with them. The trailer will be sealed, so you can't load or unload in between. We check the seal before you can go."

We return to watching until sunset before calling it a day. Nothing else out of the ordinary happens and I'm still left wondering how the precious pieces of Peru's past are being smuggled into Brazil. Do the young women crossing by bus have them in their baggage, forced by pimps to act as mules in the operation? Do the truckers involved in human trafficking carry illegal parcels too? We need answers.

Tomorrow we'll drive to Puerto Moldonado to take a closer look at the Customs operation there. Depending on what we see, we'll cross the border ourselves to try to trace where the smuggling chain goes from here.

Bit by bit the pieces of this puzzle are beginning to come together; however, there are still many parts in motion. But I'm determined to do as much as we can without involving the authorities.

Based on past experience, I don't trust them very much. Too much shooting first and asking questions later. Too many quick fixes without uncovering the real culprits.

We can do better than that. We have to if we're going to stop this illegal trade in Peru's ancient past.

Elena and I won't settle for anything less.