Her thoughts slid back 7 years into the cold walls of the Mexican prison. She saw the large common room of the women in the basement of the jail. He had always looked Sam like a medieval dungeon.

Through the four barred skylights rarely a sunbeam strayed. The old walls seemed to sweat the sweat of fear and the despair of countless prisoners. This again sour smell mated with moldy rottenness to a cocktail that itched in the nose and put on the tongue as a bad taste.

The wet and cold room was bathed in diffused light even at lunchtime. The women were able to create additional light sources by igniting pitch torches attached to the walls. These had to be ignited by the guards. The torches were so high up that they could only be ignited by the all-round gallery to which the women had no access.

The room had various niches hewn into thick rock. At the end was the largest niche that housed the women's collective showers. In one corner of the room, old wooden chairs were stacked on top of each other, offering women seating beside the cold ledges. Three thick steel beams had been erected at a distance of 6 meters, which subsequently supported the heavy vaulted ceiling.

In this room the women spent most of their prison life. They were often gazed at by the gallery by the uniformed and Sam felt like a rare animal in a zoo at first.

Particularly popular were the places in the uniformed, when Lapuente held his weekly peacemaker night. Sam remembered her first job as a peacemaker, after which she spent almost four weeks in the prison's infirmary.

Sam was awakened by two guards, it was just after midnight, and brought to the common room with 7 other women. Under the eyes of 3 armed guards, they had to undress completely and take a shower.

The women stood crowded and trembling in the middle of the common room. Sam saw the panic in the faces of the other women and whispered to one beside her tripping Mexican. "What's happening?"

The woman whispered to her hectically. "They're letting 40 prisoners go, 5 men for every woman."

Sam's eyes widened. "Why five?"

The woman's face was a mask of fear. "Because that pig Lapuente believes a peacemaker can feed five men at the same time."

Sam clasped the cold skin of the Mexican's upper arm with her numb fingers. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You can get it two with your hands, one puts it in your mouth and how many holes you have left free, you know yourself, behave well and do not cause any trouble, then you'll get away with some bruises."

The woman peered appraisingly at Sam's naked body. "You will have nothing to laugh today, fresh meat always grab the Brutalos under the nail."

Sam looked up at the gallery, which was crowded with at least 10 uniforms. They smirked and gesticulated in the direction of the women. Naked rage spread in Sam, warming her trembling body from within. Furious, she stepped from one leg to the other.

Disgusted, she looked at the group of women huddled together like a flock of scared sheep. She proudly raised her head. She did not associate with these cowardly creatures. To distance himself optically, Sam stepped aside. She would not make it easy for the men, and in no case did she want to make peace here. On the contrary, she would spend as much power as she could.

The door to the common room was pushed open. Sam glared at the incoming men angrily. Forty inmates in the same dark gray clothes that Sam wore otherwise entered the room. They were accompanied by the computer geek and the superintendent, all of whom called Muerte (Mexican Death) because he looked like he could kill a full-blown ox in one fell swoop.

His dark blue uniform stretched over his huge upper arms, his broad back reminiscent of a heavyweight class prize-fighter. On the narrow hips he wore a baton and stun gun.

Muerte stepped in front of the men and looked at his wristwatch. "You have 2 minutes to split you up. He pressed a button on his watch and stepped over to the computer geek. Casually, he studied Sam, his face looking like marble, no emotion. Sam heard the murmur of 40 male voices. She felt like she was at the cattle market.

A group of five particularly scowling men stood apart and stared at her. Sam gave them stinging glances. Of these men, two were tattooed strikingly. Sam could see the dark patterns on her forearms and neck as well. The remaining three wore tattooed tears on their faces. Sam vaguely remembered a conversation with Jo. Had not he talked about a brutal Mexican gang whose members wore a tear to their faces for every man killed.