Cancun at the time was undoubtedly a “cash cow.” Nine months out of the year people from all over the world would vacation there to “blow” their money on fun.
I decided it was time for me to open a restaurant-bar-marina so that I too could cater to the tourists and adventure seekers, reaping the pockets of those who visited while legitimizing my business and entrepreneur ideas.
It took me four months to mount everything, hustling from one place to the other as I “worked up” a place and a reputation for being the best new “hot spot” in town.
I started to feel happy because I was finally doing something right. Those days of looking over my shoulder were soon becoming a thing of the past, a faint and distant memory that dwindled in the wind as it swept across the ocean.
I stopped trafficking and I even quit snorting the “shit” all together. Not even socially would I touch it. My life was wrapped up in the demands of my business. I wasn’t willing to jeopardize my investment—monetarily or otherwise—at the expense of illegal activity. I guess you could say I was growing up, or perhaps, gaining some wisdom. Either case, I was done. No more “fucking” around with danger or crazy risky “bullshit” that could ruin me or threaten my family.
My venues were flourishing but my marriage was falling apart. I used to think it was her fault because she was the jealous type but in actuality, the problem was me.
I remember how she used to catch me red handed flirting with ladies at the bar or sneaking out of hotels rooms late at night. One day, early in the morning, four beautiful Brazilian women wanted to rent my boat to go fishing and I told the captain that I would allow it under the condition that I go too. Well, instead of fishing, it turned into something else. We docked at 8 o’clock that evening to the furry of my wife who waited for me with dagger eyes.
I can’t recall the number of abortions I funded with a doctor I knew who told me I was his most reliable and consistent customer. This was not only in Cancun, but in Miami as well. I had an apartment on the ocean front that I used for the sole purpose and motive of taking women there from the clubs along South Beach, and flight attendants from Aero-Mexico.
On one such occasion, I met a kind and beautiful woman named Angie who became more than a casual lover. She was my mistress with whom I developed a strong bond.
Our first encounter happened on a flight from Cancun to Miami. The night we landed, I invited her for a drink but she wasn’t having it.
Little by little I started to win her over, meeting up with her in her native Mexico City, Cancun or Miami. We became so close that she overlooked my marriage and turned the other cheek whenever I needed to be the dutiful husband.
Not even my infidelity with other women, or my outright vulgar behavior with Lydia, her supervisor who she caught me in bed with, did anything to diminish her loyalty. She even forgave me after it was found out that Lydia and I had been an item for quite some time.
Looking back, I realize that I was a cold blooded son-of-a-bitch who cared for no one but himself.
My personal life was a charade, but my professional life was a serious matter. My businesses were a success and I was living good and comfortably, until fate decided to knock at my door once again.
A turn of events would have me at the mercy of my old trafficking ways, and at the thresholds of hell.