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.

Camouflaged In A Concrete Jungle

I drove slowly back to the hotel. Everything was looking fine so far. Unfortunately, that only lasted a short while. 

As soon as I eased into the parking lot, the same agents that harassed me the day before intercepted my car. This time, they escorted me up to my suite.

One of the agents asked me if I had any more money on me, but I lied.

The team of four ransacked the entire place turning it upside down without any care, remorse, or civilized manner.

Minutes later they found the money and the man in charge told me that this time they had to arrest me.

While they turned me around to hand-cuff me, he made a phone call. As soon as he hung-up, he gave the order to let me go.

I was dumb-founded, perplexed. I didn’t know if I was dealing with real cops or just plain robbers. They left. And I was a free man, yet again.

I looked around in a daze, completely confused, trying to grasp the craziness of it all. I couldn’t think straight and my body felt limp, overwhelmed by the terrifying experience.

I quickly snapped back into reality and figured it was time to go.

I peeked out the window and recognized an unidentified car that was surely there to follow me once I stepped out of the building.

With a flight bag in tow, I paid my bill at the reception desk and rushed out of there.

As soon as I veered out of the parking lot, I saw the suspicious car moving in my direction. It was rush hour and the traffic was bumper to bumper. The vehicle behind me was about 200 ft. away and I knew I had to cease the moment to escape.

I sped up the car, turned right, and then another right and quickly hid behind a huge dumpster that camouflaged me from preying eyes. I was in such a panic that I waited there until sunset. I thought it best to abandon the car and walked a few blocks in the dark where my ex-girlfriend picked me up.

Barbara explained that since her husband was away on a business trip, I could “crash” at their place for a day or two, giving me enough time to plan my next move.

At one time Barbara didn’t have any money and I helped her out. She said that it was the least she could do to show her gratitude.

The following day, I gave Barbara some money to buy me a new cellular phone given the predicament I was in. I had to makes calls but I knew the cops were trailing my old numbers. I said goodbye to my parents and retrieved a phone book from their house that concealed some important contacts.

Going back to Barbara’s, I decided to keep a low profile. I took several small and secluded “back- ways” that led to a wall separating the main road from her apartment complex. I jumped over it and messed up my ankle. I was in such pain that night that I knew it wasn’t just a swollen foot. My problem now was that I didn’t want go to the hospital where I had to produce an I.D.

Fortunately, Barbara’s friend worked the day shift as a receptionist at South Shore Hospital, only 3 blocks away.

She pushed me through the “red-tape” and had the doctor look at me. I was given crutches to walk with and medication to relieve the pain. It wasn’t broken but I needed to wear a brace to support it while it healed.

As soon as we returned to the sanctuary of her apartment, I called my assistant and instructed him to bring me $20,000 dollars in cash.

At the West Palm Beach Airport that afternoon, Barbara and I bid our farewells, and I boarded a flight to Houston, Texas.

Interrogation: Part 2

So far the drive ran smoothly for us. It was around 1:30 in the morning when we arrived at the lobby of one of the best hotels in town called Pernik. We had spent at least 3 hours at the airport terminal and now we were to settle in for the night. It was the end of November and some people who looked like foreigners were having fun at the bar a few feet away from the reception area. The coronel told us to go ahead and deposit all the money we had with the cashier who would give us a room. My friend and I couldn’t believe how hospitable they were. I guess since I was from the same country, they took this into consideration, so I thought.

Our room had two single beds. The coronel told us to rest and that the next day he would return to pay us a visit. Two armed guards with assault rifles and pistols, and the strictest of orders, were placed at the foot of our door to ensure that we didn’t leave under any circumstances.

That night we hardly slept. I asked Johnny about his interrogation and he told me that it was conducted the same way as mine, vague and unsubstantiated.

I finally fell asleep—about 2 hours’ worth—and got up around 7 in the morning to a hungry stomach. There was no menu anywhere in the room to call for service, and the telephone on the night stand between the two beds was old with no buttons to push. I grabbed the receiver and waited for someone to answer on the other end. Suddenly, a lady appeared and spoke to me in a rude and raspy voice. I informed her that we wanted to have breakfast but she replied that the only thing available was “bocaditos,” (miniature sandwich made of soft roll with spam ham inside it) and Hatuey beer. Frustrated, annoyed, and a bit appalled, I hung up. There was no way I was going to have beer that early in the morning.

Ten minutes later the lady rang the room again asking if we were the gentlemen who arrived from the United States the night before. I confirmed her inquiry and she immediately raised the embargo by first apologizing and then saying that we could have whatever we wanted. I remember we ordered steak and eggs and freshly squeezed orange juice. An hour later they brought in a small mini bar with all kinds of goodies inside. Much to my surprise, I found out that local tourists were treated poorly as opposed to “posh” guests. There were no house menus for them only a few bad items from a meager list. The hotel menus were reserved for international tourists with dollars to spend.

As time went on, we grew increasingly bored but most of all, we worried about the situation. Right around 2 p.m., I heard some noise outside. I opened the window to see what the ruckus was about and saw several rows of youngsters marching while praising Fidel with accolades that they sang from the tips of their vocal chords. They were the “Pioneros” (pioneers: young Cubans who are immersed in politics and patriotism to keep the revolution alive).

The scene made me remember my own childhood when school professors tried to brain-wash me. They infested my head with stories about Fidel and his revolution and they would place a red and blue bandana around my neck like the ones that the marchers wore to convert me into a little soldier. One day, my mom had had enough so she raced to the school to confront Ms. Raquel, the school principal, and threw the garment at her saying that her son was no communist.

By night fall we were hungry again. There was nothing else we could do but order room service. We were literally trapped within those four walls and the uncertainty of things just kept mounting and picking at our nerves.

We had hamburgers and fries with a few beers from the mini-bar before we retired for the night. Even though we were fidgety and restless, the hunger had gotten the best of us. Our famished condition had become too unbearable to tame.

Around 2:00 in the morning armed guards swarmed into our room and aggressively woke us up ordering Johnny and I to follow them in a hurry. This is when our nightmare began.

Interrogation: Part 1

No more than 10 minutes had gone by when we were already surrounded by army trucks carrying soldiers. Johnny and I exited the plane with our hands in the air and they immediately dismounted and ordered us to lie on the tarmac. One of them frisked us for weapons. They didn’t find anything except a bag that contained my passport, wallet, and $20,000 dollars in $100.00 bills held tightly together with a rubber-band.

The main guy gave us the order to get up from the ground and then asked me how much money was in the bag. He observed it with his flash light and didn’t even bat an eyelid when I answered. We were ordered to board the plane again and follow them to the main terminal as he flipped the bag back at me. One jeep escorted us up front while another trailed us from behind until we reached the Holguin City terminal where two big portraits rested on top of the roof overlooking the facade with lights on either side of them. One was of Calixto Garcia, a hero from the region when the War of Independence took place, and the other was of Fidel Castro.

Right away, while in the privacy of the aircraft, I decided to take a one hundred dollar bill and slip it inside the sole of my right tennis shoe, just for good measure.

Moments later we made it into the terminal’s lobby and they sat us in separate areas. We didn’t even have time—in the cockpit—to concoct a plan that coincided with each other’s story once the interrogation got under way. We knew that that was coming. We weren’t told we were under arrest but we knew that the siege was just the same.

The Coronel in charge sat across me and with a stone cold look, stared me right in the face. Before long he started asking questions.

“Why were you flying over Cuba?”

“We got lost.” I could tell by his expression that he didn’t believe me.

“Where were you headed?”

“Great Inagua…”

“You have a Cuban accent. What part of Cuba were you born?”

“In Havana…” I kept my answers short. I didn’t want to lead him on. Concealing my identity was of crucial importance.

He then asked me for my passport and I proceeded to open my bag extracting the little booklet. I handed it to him and he observed it, browsing the pages meticulously and with inquisitive eyes. He fixed his stare on me holding it while rising from his chair, and then directed his attention to the other group of policemen that were interrogating my friend Johnny.

Minutes later we abandoned the airport in a Russian car that was followed by two jeeps full of armed guards. I could tell we were heading towards the city. The increasing traffic clearly indicated that we were entering the metropolis.