by David Fisher
I am living on a farm now, like my father, with some cattle. I own some land. The days of the wars are long behind me. I don’t visit with many people from those days when Pablo seemed to own the world. There are still many people in prisons in my country and the United States who will stay there for the rest of their lives, but others like me have finished their sentences and have moved on.
Not too much of Pablo’s possessions remain. I was able to get back from the judge some of Pablo’s possessions from the Cathedral, in addition to some of the racing bikes my company had made. I still ride, but close behind a car that I can just see in front of me. I also walk to stay in shape, and I don’t drink or smoke. I dedicate my time to my family. I still continue to work on my AIDS project, which has become a reality. I believe I have helped alleviate the suffering of a lot of patients and there is research being done based on my discovery.
I have never returned to Napoles. It is a shell, falling apart and lived in by the homeless. The roof has holes and there are rusted bodies of Pablo’s classic cars. People have come there and pulled apart everything for their use or for memories of Pablo. Only the rhinos have survived; the herd has grown much larger and they live near the river. Some of the rhinos have traveled more than three hundred kilometers upriver, and with those rhinos lives Pablo’s memory. They are too big to move, too dangerous, and the government does not know what to do about them.
And finally there is the money. It is impossible to even imagine how much money remains put away somewhere, probably never to be discovered. People who managed millions of dollars got killed without telling anyone where the money was hidden. Or they took the money and disappeared when Pablo was killed. I feel sure there are undiscovered coletas in houses all throughout Colombia—but also in New York and Miami, Chicago and Los Angeles, and the other cities in which Medellín did business. I am also certain there are bank accounts in countries whose numbers have been lost and forgotten and never will be opened again.
And there is money hidden and buried in the ground.
For me, it’s over. I still have the pains from the bomb and from my memories. I live quietly with the help I need. And also with the knowledge that whatever is thought about my brother, from the people who loved him to those filled with hate, he will live forever in history.
Pablo’s mug shot.
With my sons, Jose Roberto (left) and Nicholas, in a photo taken at the maximum security Itagui Prison in 1994.
Proposing a toast, sometime in the mid-1980s.
Pablo at his happiest, speaking to the people during a political campaign.
Unlike other politicians, when Pablo gave his word to the people, he kept it: He always brought in his people to supply or build exactly what he’d promised.
Pablo with some of our cousins.
At the clinic for Christmas 1996, we made these candles by hand, to be given away to the poor; this helped me earn time off my sentence.
Pablo during the good times, riding a watercraft on Peñol Lake in 1986.
Our sister Marina at a costume party.
Pablo’s many good deeds have not been forgotten in my country. This town organized a parade to show its appreciation fora new soccer stadium.
At my daughter Laura’s First Communion, with my mother (left) and my brother-in-law and sister Marina.
Pablo fought against Colombia’s policy of bowing to the United States and allowing drug cartel leaders to be extradited to America for trial. Here he is at a protest rally.
Pablo was never afraid to speak to reporters—in fact he died because he was answering questions for a German magazine. Here he is in 1984, while serving in congress, giving a TV interview.
A family picture taken inside the Cathedral in 1992; I am hugging my daughter Laura. We never wore any prison uniforms, just our regular clothes.
Pablo at the Cathedral in 1992, with his son, Juan Pablo, and our sister Gloria.
Although the government and our enemies were looking hard for us, Pablo threw a twelfth birthday party for his son, Juan Pablo (left), at Napoles in 1989. He is seen holding his daughter, Manuela, and our mother.
Me and Pablo’s wife, María Victoria, in 1987. It’s difficult to believe the good life we could still lead while the government hunted us.
At a gathering in 1986. The man with the mustache is our cousin Gustavo, who started the entire business with Pablo and ran it alongside him.
Tito Domínguez with his famous pet mountain lion, T.C., for “Top Cat.”
With the trophy I won for the mountain segment of the 1966 Colombian Mountain Tour.
In this 1965 race, I’m running second to my friend Jose Momeñe.
Here I am as a seventeen-year-old in 1965, working on a bike with world champion Martin Cochise Rodriguez.
At the finish line of the 1967 Halaixt Colombian Tour.
Pablo probably contributed to the construction of more than800 soccer fields, including equipment and lights. This is at the dedication of a field in La Paz.
As I look today.
Acknowledgments
This book, with its language and logistical difficulties, required the assistance of many people. For obvious reasons some of them have asked not to be identified. To those people, we certainly respect your wishes, but we also want to express our appreciation to you for your invaluable contributions.
We especially would like to acknowledge the hard work done by Alex Orozco, who was instrumental in putting together this project and who fostered it through many days and nights, and whose phone bill must have been enormous. In addition, Michael Planit brought together many complicated components into one sensible and cohesive unit, creating the business structure that enabled everyone to contribute to the best of their ability.
Our literary agent, Ian Kleinert, originally with the extremely capable Frank Weimann of the Literary Group and later with the newly founded Objective Entertainment, worked diligently to find us the best possible publishing situation, and eventually put us together with the extraordinarily respected executive editor Rick Wolff of Grand Central Publishing in America and Jack Fogg at Hodder & Stoughton in the U.K., both of whom have been tremendously supportive throughout the process—and pushed at all the right times.
Among those people we can thank publicly we especially want to offer our thanks to Magistrate Judge Cheryl Pollack, a relentless prosecutor and a respected judge, who offered us her memories and her transcripts; and DEA agent Sam X. Trotman, who was in charge of America’s investigation of Pablo Escobar, and whose exploits and courage should one day result in his own story being told. In addition we offer our gratitude to Florida attorneys Fred A. Schwartz and Alvin Entin, Guylaine Cote, Ron Cloos, Robert Zankl, and Pat Mitchell for their contributions and Richard Canton for his personal stories.
We would also like to express our thanks for their space to Jerry Stern and Penny Farber. And the amazing work of the Geek Squad of Cross County Mall, in New York, for saving the day.
It would have been impossible to complete this book without the unfailing assistance of Tito Dominguez, who was always there to answer questions, create contacts, and interpret their answers. Tito also has an amazing story to tell—and we can’t wait to see the movie.
Working in two languages is especially difficult, and we would be remiss not to thank Suzanne Copitzky and her crew at the Karmen Executive Center in Seattle, Washington.
And David Fisher would like to express his personal appreciation to Roberto Escobar. What he did was very difficult, but this was a story he wanted told, and I am very proud to have worked with him.
And, and always, David wants to recognize his beautiful wife, Laura, who makes his days shine brightly; and his sons Beau Charles and Taylor Jesse.
ends