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CHAPTER 4

CANADIAN PETE

On our way to San Pedro Prison Kevin and I stopped at the marketplace and picked out a nice, fat chicken. We asked the butcher to clean it and cut it up.
A handful of officers patrolled the prison gate.
‘Who’ve you come to visit?’ they demanded.
‘Pete, the Canadian.’
‘And what’s in the bag?’
‘Pollo.’
They led us into an anteroom, and after a quick body search one of them said, ‘You can go in.’
Prisoners flocked about us in the courtyard.
‘Who’ve you come to visit?’
‘Pete, the Canadian.’
‘Pete again?’ one of them grumbled in disbelief and then yelled, ‘Hey, Pete, you got company.’
Pete hurried down from the second floor, waving at us energetically.
‘You lucky son of a bitch, Pete,’ a gringo prisoner growled. ‘This is the third visit you’ve had this week. Look at the belly on you!’
‘Are you Israelis?’ Pete asked with a smile.
‘I’m American,’ Kevin said. ‘My friend here is