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.
TONY ROCA THE AUTHOR 