The Cocaine Diaries: A Venezuelan Prison Nightmare - Plot & Excerpts
The lockdown did little. Gunfire still crackled into the night. Executions were rife. Bloody corpses were regularly flung out of wings. The jefes were literally running riot, armed to the teeth as ever: Uzis, revolvers, grenades, the whole lot. The cops and the National Guard were outgunned and outnumbered. They knew it. The whole jail was one big powder keg. Even the passageway cell-block outcasts were still robbing and stabbing to beat the band. A masacre was looming. Something had to be done. The prison chiefs knew it. I woke up in the morning to the shouts of the luceros. ‘Levántate, Levántate.’ (‘Get up, get up.’) Men stood up from the sea of bodies in the cell. I sat up, got on my knees and rolled up my colchoneta. Afterwards, we all gathered out in the yard waiting for the número. Some were still sleeping while sitting on paint tins, dozing. A lucero walked around slapping them with a knife on the head. If you missed your number it pissed off the guards. They might retaliate with a wing search.
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