Months had gone by and I was still on my game. My business partner in Colombia took care of sending me merchandise (kilos of cocaine) from Bogota while I ensured it got off the planes safely once it landed at Miami International Airport. 
Julio and I enjoyed the exotic but reckless life of a drug boss. No party was too big or ostentatious for our tastes. We basked in the glory of women, showering them with champagne and cocaine while splurging on luxuries that large sums of money could afford.
The kind of fun we had lasted only a short while.
When Julio decided to move to Miami, I became aware of the ruthless man he really was. He was absent of principles and had no sense of scruples. Even among criminals and in the world of drug-trafficking, there is an air of self-integrity and a respectable way about conducting business that Julio lacked. Because cocaine is the choice of trade, it doesn’t mean it is void of the same business values and practices found in enterprises around the world. Selling a car versus selling 10 kilos is just the same. Both are equal in merit.
Non-the-less, I continued our dealings but at arm’s length. His shadiness and backstabbing ways came to light one day when he told me he had sent me merchandise that never arrived. He wanted to accuse me of theft so he could fatten his pockets with my money.
Things intensified even more when he demanded I introduce him to my workers to interrogate them at his discretion. I wasn’t having any of it. I immediately produced the load he claimed was stolen, paid him off, and sent him on his way. I washed my hands of the whole partnership and instead married up with some other “heavy-hitters” in Colombia who knew my reputation well, and who had no problem collaborating with me.
The last I heard of Julio, he was completing a 30 year sentence in a federal prison for kidnapping a Washington couple and holding them hostage.
As it turns out, the husband and wife bought a few Panamanian Rattan couches from Julio’s furniture store in Coral Gables that unbeknownst to them, housed several kilos of cocaine tucked underneath the frame and its cushions. Because Julio was accountable for the substance, he had to retrieve it somehow, someway. He took the next flight to D.C. and broke into their house terrorizing them for hours until he was able to extract the white powdered “bricks” from the sofas.
The event—inevitably—ruined Julio’s life, and sealed his fate without recourse.
TONY ROCA THE AUTHOR 