FLIRTING WITH SKIRTS

After the close call in Canada, I decided to cool off, at least for a while.

I’d lost a lot of money and I was oblivious, numb, to the recklessness that had become my life. It was the beginning of my misfortune. Not just in my business affairs, but with Angie, too.

I had met a girl in Bogota and I got her pregnant. When I confessed, my relationship with Angie fell apart. She was humiliated and mortified, and for some time, all she did was bicker. A reaction that stemmed from the torment.

Reflecting back, I’ve come to realize how “fucked-up” I acted with my loved ones, inflicting them with pain and suffering without a care in the world.

I was no different than the corrupted men in this business. We become so selfish only thinking of our own self-gratification while destroying those closest to us, crippling their nurturing spirit and trusting heart. Our feelings are hardened and we grow cold to emotional entanglement. Our sense of love and our morality stiffens as we are desensitized. Our ego is so elevated that we fail to see the humanity in others let alone in ourselves.

Even though I betrayed her trust, Angie forgave me and we managed to pull through it, mending the broken pieces of my unfaithfulness. Unfortunately, this didn’t last long.

Joey, my Colombian buddy who on occasion, would offer me an enticing deal or the opportunity to negotiate something lucrative, called me out of the blue. He said that he needed to see me about some business I would be interested in.

Since he lived in Miami, we agreed that he would fly into Bogota with a friend of his named George.

From the moment they landed, I treated them well, inviting them to “high-end” restaurants and bars around the city, and accommodating them in style within the confines of a hotel that resembled a temple of “Gods.”

While enjoying his stay in the capital, Joey got it in his head to call Leila, a friend of his—and a madam—to go out with me and Angie on a double date. But since Leila was sick, she arranged for a young decent woman from Santa Marta to be his companion instead.

That night proved to be yet another fracas with Angie. The very moment I laid eyes on Joey’s date, I was smitten. As in all the things and people I wanted and needed to possess, I went after her.

No matter the consequences and the heartbreak I would cause Angie, the woman who loved me and stood by me throughout my corrupt lifestyle and years of selfish deceits, would once again be under my wrath, and as I came to find out later on, scarred forever.

 

BARRELS OF (NOT SO MUCH) FUN

Angie and I touched Canadian ground around 6 a.m.

At the Montreal airport, my friend Rick waited for us with boots and heavy coats to shield us from the violent rain and snow before driving us to our suite in Centre Ville.

We arranged to meet at the hotels bar at 7 that evening so that Angie and I could do our “thing” during the day.

At the bar, Rick told me that the merchandise was safe and that it would be going through its customary handling the following morning.

We ordered two drinks and I felt at ease, relaxed, knowing that everything was running like clock-work made me feel empowered. The feeling soon diminished upon the arrival of two men who took a table near-by where another gentleman nursed his scotch. As soon as they sat, the guy waiting for them pointed at us.

“Rick, I think we’re in trouble,” I murmured underneath my breath.

“Why do you say that?”

“There are two men heading this way right behind you.”

The men in heavy black coats and thick hats, identified themselves.

“Mr. Richard Watson?”

“Yes.”

“We are R.C.M.P. Can you please stand up, Sir?

“Yes…what seems to be the problem?”

“You have been accused of conspiracy to introduce drugs into Canada, Sir.”

While they were saying this they handcuffed Rick and asked me a few questions. I couldn’t believe it. As quickly as they entered the bar, they left, leaving me to my racing thoughts and sick feeling. I tried making sense of the craziness—an impossible task at the time—but nothing logical came to mind.

I paid the bill and left walking two blocks to the hotel. I didn’t want to use the underground walk-ways that are like man-made caves to shield people from the brutal cold in the winter time. The temperature was 24 degrees but this didn’t faze me. I was like a phantom, walking the streets without being able to feel the wind hitting my face like sharp razors.

Everything was so dark and there wasn’t a soul around. I kept walking as fast as I could until I got to the hotel. Angie was asleep and I woke her up.

“C’mon…hurry, we need to get out of here!” She didn’t know what the hell was going on. She never knew about my business. None of the women I dated knew what kinds of dealings I was involved in.

I decided to check into this horrible motel just a few blocks down the road where one-night stands where an ordinary thing to throw off anyone who might be watching, stalking, eager to put their cuffs on me. I was so paranoid that I thought the cops would at any minute storm through the door and capture me like they did Rick.

It was 4 o’clock in the morning and I hadn’t shut an eye. The anxiety was so intensely suffocating that I decided to leave Montreal.

Poor Angie, she didn’t know what to think—and she never questioned my behavior—although by the way I was acting, I knew she must have figured that I was in deep trouble.

Without elaborate details or explanations, or even hint at the slightest pandemonium that just went down, I asked her to trust me and headed to the airport. It was empty, no one around. The bulletin board had announced the first flight out of the city to Jamaica and I bought her a connecting ticket from there to Mexico City. I didn’t want to involve her in my mess so I thought it best to separate. I would exit from Toronto and meet her there.

I took the next train to Toronto but when I got there, it was closed. There was a sign at the door announcing its hours of operation starting at 6 a.m. The temperature was so cold that I thought I was going to die. An older lady working the cashier booth in the parking lot took mercy on me and let me into her office and gave me hot chocolate.

Minutes later they opened the station and while I was waiting for the train, Angie arrived. She couldn’t leave me there knowing that things were “fucked-up.”

As soon as we boarded the plane to Mexico City, the pilot announced that there was a mechanical problem and that some technicians would need to check the instruments.

My first thought was that it was all a hoax and that the so called “technicians” were cops coming to arrest me. Oh God, I didn’t know what to do.

Since we were sitting in first class I could see them entering the pilot’s cabin. After a few minutes, the two guys left and everything resumed to normal. I was just paranoid.

The plane finally made its way to the end of the runway and took speed, climbing into the airway heading towards Mexico City.

TROUBLE IN MONTREAL

My people in Canada had informed me that my good friend was performing well until a stripper he knew in Miami stepped foot in Montreal. His dependable work ethic was replaced by boozing, coking, and partying, and my once flourishing connection was now dwindling and immature. He had become sloppy.

One evening, after finishing a “run,” he decided to cross the border from Niagara Falls into Buffalo N.Y. with his companion. They rented a room at a semi-lux hotel and began their night of fun in the “Big Apple.”

The city was young, inviting; full of provocative adventure, but the thrill it promised still wasn’t enough. They needed to seek pleasure on the other side, too.

He left his car full of money at the hotels parking lot and re-entered Niagara Falls through a van that conducts trips across the border every day.

On the way back to the hotel, Customs found more than $10,000 undeclared bills in the stripper’s purse as well as the car keys from the rental car in Buffalo.

Thankfully, a few days earlier, he had given my share to a partner of mine in Montreal and so there wasn’t anything that could link me to the guy, much less the fiasco.

Custom Agents confiscated the car and found more than a million dollars in its trunk. My friend was arrested but the girl was let go.

Meanwhile, in Bogota, his family pleaded with me to “front” the bill—a whopping $100,000—to get him out. I provided the money but I never used him again. In fact, days later, on his return to Colombia, I ended our friendship and decided to take matters into my own hands.

I flew into the city of MONTREAL CANADIENS, but this time, things got really nasty for me.

DRUG DEALS AND PRIVATE DANCERS

My “drug-deals” in Canada had become somewhat successful. I’d travel to Montreal every 3 to 4 months, collect my money in checks, and head back to Colombia without a hitch.

But, as things started to become problematic with security, I didn’t want to fly anymore. I decided to control everything from the beautiful office I shared with two other friends and colleagues behind the World Trade Center in Bogota.

My office looked more like the headquarters of a huge corporation than a nest of drug-traffickers. Wooden columns and marble tiles laid across the floor, and a long exquisite customized “retro” table took up space in the middle of the conference room. The bar was always stacked with an assortment of brands as well as the wine cooler which usually kept delectable authentic petit fours, fresh and preserved.

Not only did I conduct business within these four walls, but “stripper” parties where enjoyed once a week. No drugs around, just strippers. In every one of these occasions, 10 to 15 exotic dancers were hired to bare nude across the long table and around glassed drinks, slithering their curvaceous bodies like serpents to entice the men. It was more like our own private club. Some of the most respected drug traffickers in town engorged women and drinks well into daylight.

The women were selected from a catalog that Sandra with her gay friend provided as part of their gentleman’s business. Most of them were “respectable” ladies who worked their professional jobs on T.V. by day and moonlighted as strippers by night. The catalog also included beauty queens and models and even mothers who objectified themselves to earn a living.

My life consisted of dealing, womanizing, and becoming increasingly popular with the drug-lords since I was making them a fortune.

Just before sending another cargo to Montreal, and old friend of mine suddenly re-appeared. I had known him for more than 20 years. He quit “trafficking” to go into the restaurant business. He was a good guy but kind of naïve. He asked me for a job to fund yet another restaurant. He needed a hefty amount –$100,000 worth—to get it going.

I figured since he was a U.S. citizen, I could use him to collect the money from my people in Canada and get it to N.Y. where my connections would then transport it to Miami. It was a real solid crime ring and now, I could count on a reliable source that would monitor and see things through. I decided to offer him the “gig” and in 5 days, he was in Montreal.

During the 2 weeks he was there, everything ran according to my instructions.

Out of greed, I decided to go ahead and send another cargo to take advantage of his overseeing my “deal.”

He did everything he was supposed to until he committed a foolish mistake that put everything in jeopardy.

 

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

I decided to “skip” Mexico and head for Canada instead. I needed to make sure everything was running smoothly.

Ricky and his wife waited for me at the Montreal Airport before taking me to the Ritz Hotel in Centre Ville.

The city was exciting, very cultural, and full of beautiful people. Bustling restaurants and cafes stretched across downtown and the safe environment contributed to my exploring it without inhibition. It was summer-time so the weather was yet another factor for keeping me outdoors throughout my stay.

I contacted Gaspar, a Colombian who I hired to conduct all the “dirty-work” in the warehouse where the merchandise was brought and stored. He had no problem undoing the containers and handling the “coca.” He did this along with a French guy who worked for the Italians in the city.

I didn’t care for this part of the process, I didn’t want to touch anything except the money even though this was also a hassle and a risk. The good part was that my share was given to me in company checks from a friend who ran a legitimate business. This would allow me to appear as if I earned it legally and I would cash them at a local currency exchange that had ties to his business. The whole thing was interchangeable, convenient, and lucrative in the way negotiations were handled. He would charge me 12% for the transaction but that was okay. As long as I was able to take it back to Colombia in bills is what counted.

The first thing I did was settle my debt with Mr. Montero. I didn’t want to have any problems with him or anyone else for that matter. From the remaining handsome “loot” I made on the deal, I was able to buy some property around the city of Bogota and a beautiful apartment on a mountain-top over-looking the capital.

Money-wise, things were working out perfect for me. After my sixth trip to Canada, I went to Mexico to see my kids and to come “clean” with my wife about a woman I’d been seeing. Obviously, the news hit her hard and it crippled our marriage. We were soon separated. I could have opted to continue the deceit but for some reason, it felt better to confess the truth.

Afterwards, I returned home with Angie. We got along real well. With her everything was fun. We used to travel all over the globe, even to Canada where my “drug-deals” was by now, a booming and customary thing. We enjoyed every moment of it until a turn of events corrupted, soured, and destroyed our love-affair.