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THE VELASCOS

Because I was running the tour business, a restaurant and my own shop, the other inmates seemed to think that I was made of money. In fact, I wasn't; buying supplies for the shop and paying off the guards used up most of my cash flow. That was the only money I had left since I'd called on every contact around the world that owed me money to help me fund my court appeal, which had been unsuccessful. The appeal judges had confirmed my original sentence. I had only one appeal avenue left: the Supreme Court in Sucre, the nation's capital. Those judges were going to be expensive but the inmates were always begging me to lend them something. And very often, it was hard to refuse. Especially if they were good friends, like the Velascos.

The Velascos were into all sorts of money-making scams in the prison. One of them was receiving and distributing counterfeit banknotes, which was big business in Bolivia. Fake bills were circulating in every part of the economy. You had to look out for them at the markets, in shops, and especially with the moneychangers along the Prado. I even heard that employees in the banks were in on it. Some of the cash teller machines dispensed the occasional fake 100-boliviano bill, especially on weekends, and then the banks refused to accept responsibility when they reopened for business on Monday.

Fakes were so common that it was standard practice for anyone receiving cash to check it thoroughly. Mostly, the copies were easy to distinguish, if you knew what to look for – the feel of the paper or the colour – but the quality was getting better and there were always people who got fooled or forgot to check, especially tourists. I never heard of a traveller making it through the country without getting stung at least once.