Biting his nails, between sips from a bottle of tequila, Will wandered around the Hostel desperately searching for someone who would go for a drink with him or go out and party. He stunk like a brewery, and traces of a once good looking frat boy surfer were obscured by the roundness of excessive alcohol consumption. His eyes were those of a madman. 5 days after his arrival, around three o’clock in the morning, relieved that he could pour his story out to someone; slurring and repeating himself he mumbled on and on… This is the story of the rise and fall of a former coke smuggler.

I started selling weed for my cousin at school because this way the older kids respected me. If you deal you have respect, because people see that you’re connected to someone dangerous. Especially when you’re thirteen and your custies are sixteen and seventeen year old high school kids. The high school kids say you’re cool, and the assholes who bugged you before, are scared of them.

It was me, Rob and Neil, just another bunch of random surfer boys from Jersey, partying in Mexico. Except that when the vacation was over, rather than random sombreros and novelty tequila bottles, our bags would be filled with kilos of cocaine, which would later supply the entire US east coast.

Rob instigated the idea. A friend of his asked him what he would do if on Monday he was given $10,000 in cash to take a four hour plane ride. Rob told him that he’d tell his boss at Pizza Hut to fuck off and go traveling across South America. He did go on a trip to South America; all expenses paid and came home $20,000 richer.

With the Red Alert and War on Terror between 2001 and 2005 you’d think it would have been impossible to sneak anything into the country. All the bureaucracy and protocols caused such chaos at airports that it was easier to smuggle 3 kilos of coke in a carry-on than a 200 ml bottle of Chanel. We’d book student package tours based on college holidays and semester breaks then, go down to Mexico with a bunch people and spend one week surfing and getting drunk. After that a flight home and a serious payday. Nobody fucked with us. Our Mexican friends would drop by the hotel to party and leave us with 5 kg each to put in our luggage. Each brick was just a little over a kilo because they were wrapped and dipped in a layer of honey that kept the dogs from sniffing it out.

You see, Mexico to vacationing white folks is an emotional and physical toilet bowl. It’s a place where you let it all out. Basically, what happens in Mexico doesn’t stay in Mexico, because after it happens, it’s like it never happened. You know what I mean? The job was a dream. Our popularity grabbed the attention of the Zeta Cartel who own the territory around the Yucatán Peninsula. These guys control everything illegal that goes in and out of the country. In other words, we had it made. We could cross the Mexican border with clear plastic bags if we wanted to. There was no way of getting caught. Absolutely no way of getting caught.

One day while partying with some Zeta guys at a bar in Reynosa, shit went down. Since, Mexico is famous for its pharmaceutical laws, hard partiers like us had no trouble pushing the limits. At this particular time we had been doing uppers to help us drink more, Vicodin, to make the hangover go away, Viagra and Valiums to deal with the come downs and so on. Cash was flying, liquor was pouring and everyone was completely fucked up. The 3 Zeta guys acted as our tour guides. I always said that I wanted to start a travel agency because that would be the perfect way to smuggle. Package Tours.

A group of girls from Finland who we had met earlier at our hotel, walked into the bar. We called them over, ordered more drinks and started to party. The wetbacks were lovin’ their blonde blue eyes and European ignorance. There was one guy, Jose, he was the most anxious motherfucker out of all of them. He would have fucked a mop if it resembled blond hair. At one point he got so annoying that one of the girls, honest mistake; not knowing that he was a member of the most notorious crime organizations in the world, pushed him a way telling him to fuck off. To which he pulled out his dick and advanced towards her. I jumped up and clocked him one. The bouncers broke us up and Neil told me to spend the rest of the night in the hotel room to let shit cool off.

In the morning, Neil came into my room and told me to pack my shit because the fight hadn’t blown over. Great, I was broke, my real estate bills were coming in and I had no capital. I sold one of my properties and started to figure things out again. A month later Rob and I met up in Miami. Knowing that I had bills to pay he asked me to drive his car to Jersey with a stop in Atlanta. It was an easy run. I grabbed a couple of beers for the road, cause no one really cares in red neck country and if you’re too stiff then you’re suspect. Where I fucked up was, driving out of the liquor store parking lot without a seat belt. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, a cop car appeared out of nowhere, signaling for me to pull over. When the cop came over he saw my open beer in the cup holder and told me to get out of the car.

Since the car wasn’t mine he asked if he could search it. I told him “Hell no, I know my rights, you’re not searching the car!” So he said that we’d wait and he’d let a dog walk around it. I said “Go ahead!” Ten minutes later a K-9 unit showed up and they walked the dog around the car. The dog started barking like crazy around the trunk. I couldn’t believe it. I got charged with possession of fifteen kilos of cocaine and a concealed unregistered firearm.

I went to jail for 6 years. My mom put up the house, I bought for her, to cover the bond. Possession of such an amount can also be tried as attempted murder. So as not to risk going back to jail for twenty-five years, I took off to Mexico. I went back to our old stomping grounds, this time just partying, surfing and spending my money. I didn’t want to think about anything. After six years in jail I just wanted to live again.

After a scuffle with some local punks in Acapulco who pulled a gun on me, I knew I couldn’t stay there anymore. Going back to the States wasn’t an option since I’d skipped bail and trail. I had to think quickly. Europe! I had some friends in Munich and Berlin that I’d met in Mexico who’d be sure to help me out. At the airport on my way to book my ticket I lost my credit cards. Rob wired me the money for the ticket.

On the plane I was so nervous about getting through customs that I faked a seizure and they let me through without checking. Now I’m here. What day is it? How long have I been here? I have to get a hold of my friends in Berlin. They couldn’t make it tonight, but they’ll be here tomorrow.

Vote UpVote Down