Kathy’s entry into the Loro Machaco Cartel (Part Ten)
“No, no!” Kathy cried. She had been leaning forward; he didn’t respond he didn’t hear her, he apparently was in some kind of thinking process or, trance, “Turn back, and don’t go on!” she insisted.
When Tony said what he said to Kathy, that he was going to take her, or rape her, or slay her, she almost slammed his foot on the brakes with her foot, now she knew why he was heading into the dark side of the highway.
“I was just kidding,” Tony said, “we’ll just park next to the river bridge (near Saint Jeronimo, in the Mantaro Valley, Peru; Kathy had been dating Tony going on a week now, she was twenty, him, thirty-five, both from Huancayo, it was the winter months of 1975, she was a student at a nearby college, him a professor from the same University).
Her face was pale, eyes blind with rage, hers mouth open, and him, he was in some kind of agony of despair, as if to surrender, but Kathy had taken the situation, at face value, and watched his hand set the lever back into gear, no longer about to stop the car and rape her, as she felt he thought he might; his foot came down on the gas pedal hard, and again he was racing down the valley road back to Huancayo, the throttle wide open.
“You said it yourself,” said Kathy, “you’re going to rape me or slay me…!”
It was about an hour after sundown, Tony stopped the car, and she got out, and he watched her disappear down the road toward the township of St. Jeronimo, where her uncle owned a silver shop, by the name of Jesus, she figured she’d get a ride home from him.
He honked his horn at her to return, she made no reply, it was as though she had not heard it, but he knew she had, then with his headlights, he saw her in motion, descending the dark street into the township, her skirt lifted from her trim, ankles and feet, he wanted her even more now, perhaps that was why her voice was no longer quiet, and she yelled at him to leave her be, and she picked up a large stone, it overlapped her palm and hand and as the car came closer to her she swung the stone at his window, and he lost control of the car, and Tony Jose Martino, hit a post, and just died, just like that. She did not telephone anyone she just went on down the road to her uncle’s, shop and house (combined) and stayed the night.
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Kathy Delia Herrera, met Juan Diego Martinez, at a house party in Huancayo, the following month, it was near Christmas. He had stopped there, before heading back to Villa Rica, to join his gang of thugs.
He had planned to stop in Merced on his way back, and he stayed there in Huancayo a full week gathering information from a few of his police friends on busses, that being, which ones would not be watched and so forth, those would be the ones he had intentions of robbing.
Juan was a little on the drunk side, which he often got, but was yet consciously aware of, and when he saw Kathy, a passionate sense came over him, if not belief in immanent romance, and expectations.
Kathy was at this time under suspicion for the premeditated murder of Tony Jose Martino. Court dates were set up, and a trial was in place, and she was seeking relief, she was at first impervious to it all, but now the strain had hit her, and she was in a state of intoxication often, if not escape, apparently he was not wrong, when he asked her to dance, and drink with him, she did immediately. Even before they had introduced themselves to one another formally, meaning, they didn’t really know each others names at that point and time.
It was no more than twenty-minutes after they left the house and its party, and they spoke to each other as old friends, and slipped into a taxi and Juan supplied the address for the hotel he was staying at.
She had learned in those twenty-minutes, when he went to the bathroom, his reputation, who and what he represented; and it didn’t seem to matter to her, matter-of-fact, to the contrary.
She didn’t talk, nor even look at him, sitting in the back set of the taxi on the way to the hotel. She was with him, and that was that.
Juan knew something was wrong with her, a kind of depression, aloofness, yet wanting to hang-on to him, a small tenseness to her lovely eyes, and long black hair; the taxi stopped. She turned to face him, who had been sitting tightly in the corner of the cab, “I’m sorry she said,” he looked at her strange, “it’s a rotten trick I’m playing on you, I need your help?”
“I don’t mind it at all,” said Juan, “just mention it, and I’ll see if I can help you?”
“Come into the hotel with me,” replied Diego.
“Yes,” she said.
“It’ll be all right.”
He looked at her face, “I believe you really do need help,” he guessed, “I won’t let you down,” he added.
And they spent the night together, and she explained the following day, what her problem was. And he asked her, “Do you trust me?” and she replied, “Yes,” and that was that, he fixed it with the judge to drop the charges of premeditated manslaughter, indicating, she was fighting for her life; furthermore, the report was totally rewritten by the police. And for his assistance, she had to agree to a year with his organization. And accordingly, this is how Kathy got involved with the cartel (The Loro Machaco); and for a while after, they dated. And after the dating stopped, they remained close friends.
Written December 10, 2008, at my apartment in the night, in El Tambo, Huancayo, Peru
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