HEAVEN CAN WAIT

As of March 13th, I started insulin treatment for diabetes. I have been a prediabetic for a number of years but I have never been on any medication. Now along comes chemotherapy with all its wonderful side effects, one of which is very elevated blood sugar. I now "pop pills"and I'm "shooting up"...believe me this was not a part of the narcotics industry I ever wanted to experience...

In the latter part of 1985, I met Geraldo, a trusted member of the Pablo Escobar drug cartel. As it turned out, Geraldo was in the Escobar cartel hierarchy overseeing their money laundering activities here in the US. A confidential informant told us Geraldo was also a major trafficker. Given that I had established a relationship with Geraldo, our agency would spare no expense to bust him and hunt down his amigos.

The mid-1980s was a crazy time in Los Angeles for drug traffickers. It was a "Westward-Ho"movement as all federal agencies were putting a lot of heat on the "narcos" in the south east region of the United States. Smuggling cocaine through Tijuana was on the rise which meant the dopers needed local contacts to help launder their cash.

I've had money couriers drive up and throw a satchel through the open passenger window of my car, containing as much as a quarter of a million dollars in cash. Crazy shit when you think about it, imagine if the courier mixed up my car for that of an innocent bystander!

I've taken in millions of dollars meeting in hotel suites; but for good old Geraldo we used the crème de la crème of our smoke and mirrors props...the "storefront", which was an expensive operation to set up.

The "storefront" was slang Feds used for an undercover business office,  completely wired for sound and video recording.  I leased an office space in Glendale in my undercover name. Chico, my Bolivian informant introduced me to Geraldo at my new office digs.  Little did Geraldo know that this was the grand opening, expressly created for him...and anybody else he chose to bring along.

Over the next few months I converted Geraldo's narco bucks into wire transfers or cashiers checks. Business was a rockin' and a rollin' with Geraldo sending in some of his underlings to boot.

We knew the cash was the proceeds from cocaine sales. But to tell the truth, at this point I had no idea how high up in the food chain of this Colombian organization Geraldo...all 5' 7" of him, stood. As time went on, Geraldo seemed to trust me more and more. Finally one day he told me that he worked directly for Escobar. He asked if I could handle all the organization's money coming into Miami!

"Mi amigo, of course I can! My partner Raoul and I have well established operations in Southern Florida."

I drove to Geraldo's home in Montebello. There were four young men mulling around his front yard. I didn't approach the house, I just leaned against the front fender of my Mercedes. They stared at me and I stared back.  A couple of hours later, Geraldo and I settled back in our first class seats heading for Fort Lauderdale. Geraldo was an affable little guy and fortunately for me he spoke decent English. "Those guys at my house told me not to go with you. They thought you were a cop." I joked around about his comments, even telling him he probably should've stayed home. I inquired about a courier Geraldo had sent to my undercover office that wore crazy bright colored striped pants. For some reason the courier thought he had $385,000, but when we counted, it was only $310,000. He seemed very upset and confused over the short of $75,000. I never saw that courier again and I was curious if he was still working for Geraldo. "No, he was called back to Columbia, he was tortured, and his body was cut up and thrown in the river"Geraldo said in a matter-of-fact manner, as he grabbed a pillow to take a short catnap.

Raoul, my undercover counterpart, who was meeting us in Fort Lauderdale, was a sizable and impressive man. A flashy dresser, he fit that "OK Corral" reputation Miami was known for. He was born in Cuba and at about 6'4" with thick wavy black hair and a full beard... no one would ever guess he was an undercover agent. I had worked with Raoul in the past and I knew he would have both Geraldo and me impressed with the "smoke and mirrors" props he laid out for this operation.

Each of us had a posh suite at a luxury hotel on the marina in Fort Lauderdale. Docked in slip at the marina was a 55 foot Hatteras sports fishing yacht, used only for undercover operations... it was completely wired for sound and video. Raoul had planned a little cruise that evening to impress Geraldo and the boat was stocked with food and booze. Geraldo had his own little surprise, he invited a local Colombian along. As an undercover agent you can never under estimate guys like Geraldo...they will always have someone covering their back. Sometimes you see them and sometimes you don't.

It was a beautiful evening as we slowly motored out of the marina towards the Inland Waterway. As we passed a moored yacht, Geraldo and his newfound pal pointed at the boat's stern, laughing at the name..."Heaven Can Wait". I've never forgotten that night looking at that name and wondering to myself what kind of humor was going through these two Colombians minds. I learned early on, that life was very cheap in Colombia. Perhaps they knew their careers had a limited life span, but for now life was good and heaven can wait. That was my impression.

We spent several nights in Fort Lauderdale discussing our new business venture with Geraldo and a great deal of time entertaining him. You could say it was a lot of "wine, women and song" with the emphasis on procuring women for Geraldo.

Finally Raoul and I got our bonus... Geraldo placed a phone call from my hotel suite to Pablo Escobar, and Raoul negotiated to meet with Escobar and a person called the chemist, in Rio de Janeiro.

I know some may doubt that we really talked to Escobar. But when multiple federal agencies join together in a high-level investigation like this, amazing technology happened even for those days. The phone Geraldo used to make the call from my suite was tapped and the number he called was a known phone number belonging to Pablo Escobar.

I had parked my Mercedes in one of the large garages across from the Delta terminal at LAX. Geraldo and I were joking about something and we casually strolled up to my car. I went to put my key in the drivers side door and was startled that there was no lock. The lock was drilled out without leaving a scratch on the paint. It was the same with the trunk lock and the glove box lock. I quizzically looked over at Geraldo who just shrugged his shoulders and grinned. Since I didn't have a bullet in the back of my head, or something worse, my car obviously passed the white glove test search done by Geraldo's comrades.

You never underestimate guys like Geraldo or ever take them for granted. I now knew that Geraldo would never have stepped foot on our yacht in Fort Lauderdale had my car search turn up anything that  linked me to law enforcement.

I was pissed at the little Colombian shit sitting next to me, but at the same time I was thrilled to be alive. Guess what I was thinking as we drove out of the airport... "heaven CAN wait"!!

I go tomorrow, Wednesday, to start another 10 hour day of chemotherapy. The after effects seem to worsen with each treatment. But what's the hey, I knew what I signed on for and I'm so happy to be close to one of the best cancer centers in the country. When the aftereffects of the chemo and my diabetes hit me, I have no choice but to bend over, reach down, grab a root and growl...and growl again.

I truly can relate to Geraldo and his Floridian buddy, when they laughed at the name of the yacht moored in Fort Lauderdale. As perilous as things may seem, I agree with them and I also truly believe that "Heaven Can Wait".

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