Smugglers 3 Accidental Kingpin (2 page)

At two minutes to three, a car pulled up in front of the house, and a young man got out and swaggered up to the front door. He didn’t bother ringing the bell.

I opened the door.

“You have something for me,” he said in an accent I was sure was South American.

I pushed the screen door open and handed him a gym bag in which I’d stashed the money. He turned and strode away.

“Hey,” I yelled. “What about Tomas?”

The man jumped into the car which sped away. Carmen pushed past me and ran into the yard, yelling for Tomas. She yelled until I dragged her back into the house where she cried for at least the next hour.

We decided to wait there in case the kidnappers called back with instructions on how to get Tomas back. 

“We will get him back,” I reassured Carmen who decided to cook up a storm to keep herself occupied while we continued to wait.

The sun was just about to set when we heard a car screech to a halt outside. I ran into the front yard to see Tomas shoved out of a black SUV.

Tomas had a black eye and a few busted ribs, but he would survive.

We were all relieved, but that he was okay, but now we had a new problem: our cover was blown. We were open to kidnapping and extortion of all kinds.

“Okay, here’s where we stand,” I told everyone over dinner where we ate Carmen’s delicious food. “The way I see it, we have some choices to make. One, we can throw the shit back in the ocean and get out of the drug dealing for good, or two, continue to sell what we have, keep the money, and hunt down the kidnappers and kill them.”

The room went silent. I knew we had to make a decision quickly, or one more of us would be kidnapped or worse yet, killed. Or someone’s kid would be up for grabs, and I didn’t want it to be mine.

“How are you going to vote?” Roberto asked.

“You all know where I stand,” I said. “So what will it be?”

“I gotta think this through,” Tomas said, “and I’m too groggy to make a decision right now. They drugged me with some sort of sleeping pill.” He rubbed his eyes like a little kid.

“Okay,” I said, looking around at my buddies and Carmen. “Think it over tonight, but I want an answer by breakfast tomorrow.”

I drove home to see if my family was okay. Lucia had just returned from getting her nails done, and the kids were getting off the school bus in front of the house.

I hugged my cute little Mariposa, my beautiful butterfly.  Vicente didn’t like to be hugged anymore, so I high-fived him.

“Are you okay?” Lucia asked as I went to the kitchen to dig up some snacks for the kids.

“Sure. I just feel like hanging with the kids,” I said. “And you, too,” I added. The two of us hadn’t been close for a while; in fact, I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d made love.

I stuck close to home that entire week, keeping an eye open for strange cars driving by or any other unusual activity. When we’d found the cooler floating in the ocean, we had opened a door, not knowing that there was a five hundred pound tiger on the other side. I was on full alert.

We guys met at my house the following Sunday and took a vote. Each of us had become accustomed to large amounts of easy money and the new lifestyles money provided. It was unanimous to continue our sales.

“I want to get those dirt bags,” I added after the vote. “Who is with me?”

Tomas was quick to answer. “Death is too good for them, so I think they should suffer before they meet their maker.”

“I’m in,” Juan said.

“Me too,” added Roberto. “And I want our money back.”

“I’ll set things up and get back to you,” I said, slapping my knee with satisfaction. “Who wants another beer?”

We partied like there was no tomorrow, and after the guys left, I drove over to Rihanna’s and fucked her brains out.

Later that week, I bought an old car for cash and tracked down the kidnapper’s house. It didn’t take long for me to find him. I scoped his place out over the next several days. There was no sign of him before noon, ever. I discovered he had an apartment in Miami, giving him better access to nightlife. Suspicious characters stopped by the house or met him at the apartment, and I was sure one of them was the driver of the SUV that had dumped Tomas off.

We hatched a plot to kidnap the South American one night when he was leaving a bar, when he was hopefully too drunk to defend himself. 

One night, he left a bar with the guy who had probably driven the SUV, so we followed them into the parking lot, pretending we were heading to our car.  We let Tomas take the first swing at the driver, who he hit in the head with a fish bat and knocked him out. Meanwhile, I put my gun in the South American’s face, disarmed him and shoved him in the trunk.

We drove him to a house we had rented for just this purpose.

We’d prepared the house ahead of time. We had sealed the single window in a bedroom with one-inch plywood and three-inch screws. The room was connected to a bathroom and had a single bed with a twelve-foot chain bolted to the bed. We attached the other end of the chain to his ankle. The bed was screwed down to the floor, and one of us would be on guard twenty four hours a day.

We quickly persuaded him to give us the number of the main man who had our money.

I made the call. “Your pretty boy is tied up right now, but he wants you to rescue him. We can’t let that happen, though, unless we get our money back.” They didn’t know it, but we had decided we would not kill our captive, as we just wanted our money.

“I’m listening,” said the voice on the other end of the connection.

“You know that 7-Eleven near the causeway? Drive there and park at the east end at exactly 10 tonight. I’ll pull in behind you and flash my lights. That’s your cue to get out and walk to the orange trash can that will be by the front door. Bring the money in a plastic shopping bag and drop it into the can. Then get back in your car.”

The drop went exactly as we planned: the guy walked up to the orange can, dropped the plastic bag there and turned back to walk to his car blocked by mine. As I backed up and put my car into forward, Juan walked out of the store, casually retrieving the bag of money. I pulled up, he jumped into the car and I sped off.

We thought all had gone smoothly as I turned the car toward my house where we planned to divide the money up. Suddenly, a car I’d never seen before pulled up beside us, and the car in front of us came to a sharp stop.

I jammed on the brakes and yelled, “You sonsabitches!”

Tomas was riding shotgun with me literally and had a 12-gauge pump full of double 0 Buck. We had all been trained by the US Army and had done time in Afghanistan, so we were taught to never run. Like a well-oiled machine, we jumped out quickly and took our places, me to face the car behind us with two big chip 9’s and Tomas heading toward the car in the front.

I shot at the rear car, blasting out the front window, giving me a straight shot at the men in the car. They never had a chance.

Tomas fired into the rear window of the car ahead of us, and within seconds, it was all over. The two cars were full of holes, and all six of the occupants were dead. I knew at this point that we had to go back and dispose of our captive, so I went to the rental and finished him off. 

We rendezvoused back at my house where we divided up the money and discussed the events of the day.

“Let’s face it,” I said, “we are no longer just dabbling in the drug business. We just killed seven people and could be up to our eyeballs in murder charges.”

“We have to get rid of all the guns we used at the scene,” Roberto said.

“I’ll get rid of my two 9
s and get new ones,” I agreed. “It’s not a good idea to buy guns on the street. We’ll buy new ones from stores or dealers on the side. If you get a gun on the street you don’t know where it has been. It could have been used in a murder or bank robbery, and you could be stopped and linked to these crimes and go to jail.”

We agreed to always buy new guns and deep six them as needed. Meanwhile, we would keep our jobs for cover and not spend excessive amounts of money.

Tomas and Roberto had already bought bigger houses, not mansions, because of our poor Cuban upbringing, but we needed to stay “within our means” so as not to attract too much attention.

Tomas, Roberto and Juan continued developing dealers, and I kept cutting and providing the cocaine for the deals. We were making money hand over fist and were at half million a month at this point. There was no word on the seven dead men. No connection was made to us at all.

It wasn’t long before we had over a million in cash at home, and the money was trying to burn a hole in our pockets. We were getting cocky and sloppy like we had just before Tomas’s kidnapping. We got to acting like we were bullet proof.

I discovered that Roberto was selling more than triple what the other two were selling. I brought this up at one of our weekend meeting
s, and after some prodding we found out that he had dealers with lots of street dealers who were able to turn the goods quickly. After much discussion, Tomas and Juan decided to do the same so we would deplete our supply sooner, which would allow us to retire from the drug business and just live the good life.

Within a week our sales more than doubled, and in two more weeks it doubled again. We were at the half way point for goods and selling faster and faster.

One day when going through Hialeah on my way to a pipe sales call at City Hall, I was pulled over by a plain clothes cop car. I thought it was for speeding, but when the two policemen got close to my car, they separated, and one went on each side. I handed the one on my side my driver’s license and insurance card.

“We have the four of you on tape and your dealers also, so from now on we are your new partners,” he said, holding my license but not looking at it. “We get one hundred thousand a month and in return we eliminate the competition and see to it that you and your wives don’t get busted and go to jail. We know that you don’t want your kids to end up as wards of the state, so we will be at your garage Saturdays at two in the afternoon to pick up the first one hundred thousand. We don’t like to get up too early,” he added as he handed me back my license. “Have a goo
d day,” he said, tipping his cap to me before returning to his car.

I waited for them to drive off, and I was so unnerved, I had to cancel my sales call. After that, I called Tomas first, then Roberto and Juan to set up an emergency meeting.

We met at a bar close to Rihanna’s apartment, and when the others heard the news, the reactions were mixed, but we all agreed in the end to pay them what they wanted. We really had no choice, but decided to tell the cops that we would give them fifty thousand on the first and fifty thousand on the fifteenth when they came to pick up the first payment that Saturday.

After the meeting, I drove to Rihanna’s. She was waiting at the door with a tumbler of Scotch on the rocks, my drink of choice when I was under pressure. She was also naked, which always took my mind off my troubles.

Before handing me the drink, she spilled a generous amount on her breasts, and I hungrily watched the golden liquid dripping over her taut nipples and on downward to the dark curling hair between her thighs.

“You naughty girl,” I growled and reached for her. We coupled on the
foyer floor, and I soon had her screaming for release as I drank the liquid between her legs.

All thoughts of the cops, the seven dead men and the money went out of my head as I drowned in all that was Rihanna.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 2

 

The cops were as good as their word, and before too long, there was virtually no competition in our territory and our net had doubled, and of course so did theirs at two hundred thousand a month.

When we saw them next, I told them that we were running out of “free” cocaine.

“We didn’t know it was free,” the taller one said. “And we really don’t care. We just expect the two hundred thousand a month to continue.”

“You don’t get it,” I said. “We’ll be out of our supply within three months.”

“We don’t give a shit,” the second one said.  “We expect the money to keep flowing, even if you have to start selling houses or cars or whatever, but all is go on as scheduled.”

“You work for us now and the pick-up is fifty thousand weekly,” his partner added.

After my discussion with the greedy bastards, I called a meeting with my guys.

“We have to find a supplier for some new shit,” I said. “Our free ride is about to end.”

None of us had any immediate ideas, so we cut our meeting short, putting off any quick decisions.

Over the next several weeks we got down to twenty pounds, and the next time I paid the cops I came up with an idea. “I need a supplier or the money will dry up by the end of the month,” I reminded them.

One of the cops said, “If the money stops or you are seconds late, you will all go to jail and your kids are state raised.” They took the fifty grand and left.

About a week later I got a call that the cops wanted to meet at a Miami Heat basketball game at a specific place and time. “Don’t be late.”

When we met at the game, one of the cops gave me a Trac phone with instructions. The other one introduced to a South American man they called Carlos, probably not his real name.

“Carlos is your new supplier,”
the cop verified. “The two of you work out a deal.”

The cops faded into the crowd, leaving me with a new business partner. Carlos suggested we leave the game and reconvene our meeting at a place in the hood we both knew of. “We’ll talk over coffee,” he said.

In the coffee shop, I learned that Carlos was a man of few words, but after some strong Cuban coffee, we talked in Spanish for two hours, mostly feeling each other out but also getting our deal set up.

I did not like buying my goods after getting it for free over the last two years, but I did not have much choice at this point. I told him I had enough goods to get me through the rest of the month, so we did not need to get the first ten kilos until the first of the next month.

After we agreed on the price, pick up time, place and security, I headed home.

The rest of the month was uneventful except for a couple of collections when we had a leg breaker on the payroll to handle these situations.

We started our deal with Carlos, ten kilos, and paid, with ten more to come on the fifteenth. We had to increase the distribution to cover the increase in cost, and with that came more risk and eventually more money for us. Within six months we doubled our income, and as a result, each of us moved into a larger homes and bought newer and fancier cars.

I bought Rihanna a diamond necklace, and she rewarded me with the hottest sex I’d ever had. I didn’t go home for three days, I just stayed in Rihanna’ bed where she taught me moves I didn’t know existed. She also invited a girlfriend who had sex with me and Rihanna at the same time. I enjoyed the smorgasbord of breasts and lips, my hands exploring uncharted territory. I sucked at Rihanna’s breasts as her friend licked at her clit, and soon we had Rihanna screaming her climax. Then it was my turn, one girl plundering my mouth, the other sucking my
erection. It was my turn to scream.

 

The cops wanted to increase their earnings to seventy five thousand per week. I objected, stating that they weren’t leaving us with much.

“It’s not a request, it’s what’s going to happen,” they told me.

All four of us were angry.

“They can go to hell,” Tomas said when we met to discuss this new situation.

“Let’s kill them,” Roberto suggested.

Juan nodded to both options.

We turned silent with thought. We knew that we would have to kill them and their partners, and on the same day, or the survivor would be after us to seek revenge.

“Okay, let’s get them together in the same place. It can’t be at one of their homes, cause I’m not into killing wives or kids.”

“Agreed,” Roberto said.

“And no outside people,” Juan added.

“Yeah,” Tomas said, “just the four of us.”

We went to work, tracking their movements for the next week or so to see if we could come up with a place where we could take care of business. 

We discovered a coffee shop where they met regularly, but they were usually surrounded by a sea of blue. There were cops in every booth and at every table, so this was out.

The plan was to call in a drug bust in their territory when they were together in the booth in hopes that they would all go to the bust to make sure it wasn’t one of their cash cows being gored.

Roberto, Tomas and I set up at the location, and Juan staked out the coffee shop to see if they took the bait.

“A king that makes peaceful debate impossible makes violent resolution inevitable.”

We got set up and made the call, and it worked. They arrived on schedule together in two cars. We were ready with light silence Mack 10 machine guns and walkie-talkies.

When they pulled up I told my guys over the walkie-talkie to let the other car pull in first. The second it did, we stepped out from behind a dumpster holding the silenced machine guns.

For a split second I could see the fear in the cop’s eyes as he figured out what was about to happen—the look of horror came over his face as he tried to get his gun out.

The cop next to him was drinking coffee out of a paper cup when the windshield exploded with forty bullets passing through it and their faces.

We each put in a second clip, opened the car doors and filled their heads with more shots. All took place in seconds.

We left the scene of the crime and deep sixed all the guns, masks and coveralls. Next, we sent an anonymous letter to the newspaper, TV channels and state attorneys, revealing that the cops were dirty, and that someone should check their bank accounts, houses, cars, boats and also the property rooms for missing cocaine, as they sold pure cocaine that they claimed came out of that room. We signed the letter with
“Adios.”

They made a big mistake, stealing from us! We had thrown in the
Adios
in hopes that we could keep them off track by making it look like it could have been a South American Cartel that was responsible for the murders, not Cubans.

At any rate, we were in the drug business and now involved in all the violence and money, with the confidence that comes with it. We were high on ourselves and could take over the state, the US and the world!

We started making moves that only our reputation could support. My theory is that it’s better to be feared than respected. The underworld talk was of the four cops that were murdered and us in the same breath, but never to us. Soon we were moving hundreds of kilos per month and making millions.

With more money, of course, comes yet larger houses, boats, cars and diamonds and soon lots of attention! We were bigger than our supplier even though he got bigger along with us; therefore we wanted better deals.

Before long we got a call from our supplier’s boss requesting a meeting at the diner in little Havana where I first met with Carlos. I was surprised to see him there with someone else. When we sat down to talk, the man called Equator told me he wanted me to meet the man who moved truckloads of goods each month.

He said that all things would stay the same, except our goods would be cheaper by six hundred dollars per kilo, and Carlos would get rid of all his other customers and deal with us exclusively from this point on. He would be paid on the side.

After the meeting I thought about the new deal, and thought it good, but wondered why we even needed Carlos. I had noticed that during the meeting while Equator was speaking, Carlos had a lot of tells going on. I could tell he did not like this one, and that he knew his time as a middle man was limited. He knew his days were numbered.

I informed my partners of the new deal and pricing. They agreed that we didn’t really need Carlos in the deal at this point.

“Let’s leave it like it is for now, but I’ll think about it,” I said. “We’ll talk about it in a month or so.”

Roberto and Juan then announced that they had both given their notice at their “real” jobs, and Tomas said he was tired of being a plumber.

“Are you guys crazy?” I said. “Tomas, you’re driving a one hundred thirty-five thousand Land Rover and all of us have boats and have purchased huge homes. We’re cop magnets and are drawing too much attention to ourselves. We’ll end up in jail if we keep this up!” I reminded them of “Scarface,” the movie, and that it was our hill to die on if we screwed up. “I think we must cool it a little and stop flaunting our wealth.”

“Roberto and Juan,” I said, “I want you to go back and buy the businesses where you worked so you’ll have a job and a legitimate income. Tomas, I suggest you do the same with the plumbing company.”

Tomas cut a deal to buy the plumbing business later that same week. Roberto and Juan met with me, saying they were unable to buy the companies they worked for.

“I’ll fix it,” I said and met with the owners of the companies and in no time set up a deal to keep Roberto and Juan on the payroll. They would cash their checks every two weeks and give the cash back to the owner with no receipt, of course.

Now, at least, all three of them had a job on paper and a “legitimate” income.

By this time, our cocaine business encompassed half the Eastern Seaboard from Florida to New York. We were having trouble storing and getting rid of the money. We had pallets that held ten million per pallet in storage lockers which would soon be full.

Carlos called to have a meeting at a warehouse in downtown Miami that night. He said he had something very important to discuss that concerned us all. We met him at midnight, which made us a little nervous to begin with, so Tomas and Roberto staked out the warehouse starting at noon.

About 7 p.m. several well-armed men arrived and went inside. They were obviously setting a trap and were going to kill us.

We loaded up with hand guns and several clips and four auto 12-gauge shot guns and lots of 00 buck each. We decided our best play would be to keep them waiting long enough so they think we are not going to show up.

We spirited up in two cars and set up across the street from the entrance and waited for them to give up and leave. When they finally came out together about 3 a.m. we let go with the double 00 buck until our shotguns were empty. Then we went to our pistols after we threw the 12-gauges to the ground.

Carlos’s group got off a few shots, but they hit the air and dirt because the 00s were already tearing through their bodies as twenty rounds of 12-gauge were fired at them in a matter of seconds before they were assaulted by the big clip 9s. They were most likely dead before the 9s.

When the smoke cleared we saw that the walls behind them were full of pock marks, and eleven men in all were lying in a pile.

We put our guns in one trunk, and three of us got in the other car. Juan drove the truck with his tools on the seat next to him and was dressed in his work clothes. If he was stopped he could claim that he was on a call to a customer whose air conditioner had broken.

I took all the guns out of the car when we arrived home to my garage and took them apart. I then put the parts in bait boxes with live bait and water in case I was stopped on my way to deep six them. I would throw them in the water here and there. I didn’t have to worry about the jumpsuits we wore, but even the shotguns could be identified by the strike marks and empty shells. There was no hard evidence to tie us to the murders now, only circumstantial.

Soon we had a new problem. In a week we would be out of cocaine, and we did not know how to get in touch with the big boss.

We just sat on our hands and waited for him to call, half expecting a hit squad from him to take us out.

Finally he got in touch with me, asking to meet with me on his terms. I was to meet him at a diner the next day and was told to make sure I brought my Trac phone with me.

I arrived at the diner on time, and my phone went off. I was given instructions to meet him at another place.

When I approached my car two armed men put me in the shotgun side after disarming me. One of the men sat directly behind me in the back seat. During the whole trip I thought he was going to shoot me in the back of the head. I prayed it would be over quickly.

The shot never came, and before long we pulled up to a white house. Waiting for us inside were four heavily armed men and the boss. He was sitting at a desk, and I sat opposite him, thinking that I was going to be tortured and killed for what my partners and I had done.

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