Smugglers 2 The Sheriff: Sex, Meth & Murder; The Cartel from Tucson to the Florida Keys

by Gerald McCallum

  At first I was excited by the sight of all the money, but as the day went on, several other thoughts came to me. It was going to be difficult to get the fifty to one hundred pounds of money out of the house, and that Terry and I had about ten million ourselves and our freedom.

  All this hidden money was proof that the Chief was dirty and involved in the cocaine business, so I decided to leave the money with the Chief handcuffed to the box and call the DEA.

  When the Chief arrived home, I surprised him and handcuffed him to the box after taping his mouth. I called the DEA from his phone and told them his story and where to find him. I was wearing double vinyl gloves so I did not need to worry about prints, was wearing a jump suit taped at the ankles and wrists, and had not shot a gun, so there would be no DNA to tie me to the scene. I would later burn everything I wore.

  Before I left, I started thinking that the DEA would most likely turn the Chief, and he would spill the beans on me, so I decided he had to die. I went back into the kitchen to shoot him, but God had intervened, and I found him with no pulse. It had most likely been a heart attack as he was sixty five, and at least one hundred pounds overweight. I left by the back door and walked several blocks back to where Terry was waiting for me.

  Upon arriving at the boat, I turned on the TV to watch for any reports on the Chief and his death and the money. Of course, there were, and it went on for days with no mention of Isabel, Terry or I, or our boat. We were free of the situation at last, so we spent most of the evening with our new “dock” friends at “The Sand Bar”. We were able to relax and not worry about tying up loose ends for the first time since arriving at the dock a few weeks ago. All the conversation revolved around the Chief, the money he had hidden and his involvement.

  No one could believe that he got busted and now the DEA knows why no one had gotten busted there for years. The laws had changed back in 1986 to a heavier sentence. The previous sentence had been three-four years for cocaine smuggling and after 1986 increased to thirty-forty years. This had given rise to a lot of snitches as no one was willing to go away for thirty-forty years. It was why the cocaine smuggling business had gone down 90%, temporarily.

  We decided to hang out at the marina for the rest of the summer before continuing on to Miami. The people at the dock were very friendly and loved to party, and new people arrived every weekend which was fun also. Both the dock and the town continued to be alive with talk of the Chief and smuggling. Many stories were being recounted about past related events, including the mysterious disappearance of people from the area.

  Terry and I talked and thought it might be a good time to let all the craziness go and buy a home in the Bahamas or a larger boat, and just love our women. We thought it might be the right time “to sit back and smell the roses”, but this was short lived. We spent the next month sightseeing, going out to dinner or clubs and partying on the boat. Then at coffee one morning, Terry asked me if I was satisfied, or if I was just marking time until the end. We realized that we were with beautiful young women, twenty years our junior, who at some point would leave us. We were well aware of how attractive they were, and that they were being hit on by younger men and women frequently. It was exciting for them right now, but in five years, who knows, we may just become two old farts to them, albeit wealthy. They both had at least two hundred thousand a piece and counting, which would make it easier for them to leave.

  So this discussion led us back to Terry’s original question; was I satisfied? I answered Terry, “Not completely; I miss having a purpose and feeling in charge of my destiny.” I asked Terry what he wanted to do.

  “I never felt more alive than when we were at odds with the Cartel,” Terry admitted. “Sex was better and I felt younger, and we are getting older as we speak. Let’s put four hundred grand aside for the girls and keep it between us. We will make up wills and have the money released to them upon our death and leave the boat to Bob and Karen. We’ll go into town, get a local attorney today and have the wills drawn up.” We shook hands over the deal and went to see an attorney that same day.

  At the attorney’s office, we made arrangement to leave our estates to each other and then to our girls at the time of our demise.

  It was over the next week when we found out that the Cartel had switched their smuggling in Florida from cocaine to Crystal Meth or “Ice”. They did this as the product was much smaller to transport, and they made it themselves.

  People also got hooked on it really fast; it caused big time weight loss, and, unfortunately, tooth loss. Women loved it, except for the really bad smell. It was pungent, very strong and could not be hidden from DEA dogs. A hundred pounds was a very big load, as opposed to a thousand of cocaine or four thousand pounds in bush (grass).

  We went to work finding a connection for Ice here that would pay us to smuggle one hundred pounds into the US at a time. Jet skis were easily modified to make both a water tight compartment for the contraband and to heat shield the engine compartment from DEA’s infrared view, while exhausting the engine under the vehicle. Out of the box, it did ninety miles an hour which was fast enough, and with its maneuverability and size, it couldn’t be beat.

  Terry and I started making runs on jet skis, as the loads were so small and the vehicle was so small it was hard for radar or infrared to pick up.

  In order to obtain the first load, we had to pay for it when we picked it up, C.O.D. Our pickup was at three p.m. at a GPS setting about thirty miles out, and we were meeting a small go-fast, not a big mother ship.

  Since the loads were so small, the big mother ship stayed between seventy five to one hundred miles out from the coast. In the case of Key West, the pickup was Cuba, which was ninety miles away from the Keys by go-fast.

  Our first trip went flawlessly, and they picked up the goods at our dock by car and paid us. We divided one hundred pounds and one million dollars, which was enough temptation for the crew of the go-fast. We made two hundred fifty thousand dollars per trip, and we put the goods in one jet ski, while the other one was to run interference if we were pursued by the DEA.

  The clean ski would run a little behind the loaded one, and if that didn’t work, we would split, and hopefully they would pursue the empty one which would take off in the opposite direction, of course. If that did not work, we would “run for our lives with every man for himself.” We made several trips over the next few months without incident.

  It was during this time that Terry and I heard that the Chief’s crew got life and that the findings were that the two dead cops were killed as a result of the drug business they were involved in. They made no connection to Terry and me.

  We received an overnight FEDEX at the boat, and inside the envelope was a Trac phone and a note instructing us to turn on the phone and press send one. After discussing whether to do this or not, we waited until noon and then turned on the phone. The person on the other end obviously knew who we were and wanted to know if we could up the weight to two hundred pounds. They wanted us to discuss this and call back in fifteen minutes. We felt that the way we had been doing things was the safe, smart and right way, so we called back and turned them down.

  There was silence on the other end of the line, and we knew that whoever he was, was not used to be being told no. He said, “we’ll get back to you,’ and hung up.

  When we got the call back, he asked, “What would make you happy?” In the meantime, Terry and I had discussed that two hundred pounds would be our maximum. As it was, we would lose eight mph, as the jet ski would be loaded down with the additional weight.

  We had done several test runs with weights to see how it would run and handle with different amounts. The only thing that made our jet skis appears different were small pencil beam lights in the middle. They had a push button switch on them and sat on the handle bars. The light only stays on when you hold the button down and it shoots out a small six hundred foot beam.

  We agreed to do the two hundred and also agreed that there would be no
prior payment from us, but that they pay us instead when they picked up the goods. We requested five hundred thousand in cash, not goods. The next drop was to be in a week or so, and we agreed to four hundred thousand.

  When the time came, we left for the go-fast with only our side arms and our flat black jet skis. As usual we wore wet suits under a complete jumpsuit made of cotton and stocking masks. We would get the whole works wet from time to time, and we carried no cash and no ID’s.

  When we got to the pickup point, all went well, and we were on our way. The smell of the crack penetrated the air even though it was wrapped and sealed in the compartment on the jet ski. We went back to the dock, taking a route we had used several times. We never turned on the lights and traveled about half speed in the total darkness.

  At the dock, the pick-up was made, and we were given our money. Everyone was happy.

  The next trip did not go as well, as there was no go-fast boat at the appointed coordinates, but there were plenty of Coast Guard and DEA boats in the water. We could see them a mile away, so we stopped and watched as we sat side by side, just floating in one spot for an hour or so. We were there so long we had to shut off the jet skis so the plugs would not foul out. Finally, we went home and called the Trac phone number and there was no answer. We went and had a drink or two, then went to bed.

  The next day about noon, the Trac phone rang and the explanation given was that the go-fast could not meet us due to the water being full of cops, and that we were to try it again next week. He told me that an eighty-footer was on fire and that was why all the cops were out. Later that week when I was at the café having breakfast, I overheard a cop saying that they had caught a go-fast full of crack. I interjected that I had heard that an eighty-footer had been on fire, and he said that this was not true.

  We knew now that the DEA was watching that area of water for go-fast boats and that that was the weak point for us; the pickup. The DEA used their radar to follow the go-fast boats to their rendezvous. We always knew that they would lie to us just to keep us running, or simply kill us if it would advance their end. They know no loyalty; that is the nature of the business.

  Our next trip came with a new pickup point, and we added two loaded flare guns to each jet ski. Both were loaded with white flares and ready to shoot. We had holsters bolted to the engine compartment which were within reach. When shot, the flare would blind the driver of the DEA boat and would shut down any infra red radar, like a fighter jet does to throw off heat seeking missiles.

  We left for the first pick up of two hundred pounds around one a.m. and reached our coordinates within an hour. We made the transfer quickly, but we could not get the engine compartment completely closed, so we had to leave four packages behind. About half way home, a Coast Guard Cutter was in our path and the boat was totally dark. They saw us and gave chase, putting all their lights and sirens on, but did not shoot at us in fear of killing us without cause. The cutter was able to travel at fifty miles per hour and drew five feet of water, compared to our jet skis that did eighty-five miles per hour and drew six inches of water.

  We knew they had little chance of catching us, so we continued and watched as the chase boat got smaller and smaller, finally disappearing from view. When we got to the marina, we had time to count and weigh the packages. We had eight tightly wrapped waterproof packages that weighed approximately two hundred pounds, and the four we left with the go-fast must have totaled twenty pounds by themselves, which meant they were screwing us out of money. More importantly, we learned that they were not to be trusted, and if the extra twenty pounds wasn’t noticed by us, they would not say anything to us. We decided not to bring up the twenty pounds we left with the go-fast because we wanted to see if it was some kind of mistake. If so, they would bring it up, but they said nothing.

  They had told us we could expect three or four trips per month, all at different locations so the DEA could not set a trap. When we finally brought up the extra twenty pounds we left with the go-fast, they tried once again to talk us into taking the extra one hundred in the clean jet ski. This told us that knew about it all along and had planned it, which we did not intend to do for any amount of money. We were expendable to them, of course, so we turned down the extra one hundred pounds, telling them it would not fit. This made them angry, to say the least.

  CHAPTER18

  The next week flew by, and the night came for our next load. After we put the coordinates in the GPS, Terry and I double armed ourselves because there was something bothering us about this trip.

  We left the dock, and about an hour later, we saw the go-fast, and I went up to load, leaving Terry to drift about one half mile from the boat. I finished and headed out and picked Terry up, who was running about fifty yards behind me.

  We knew that the Coast Guard and DEA would not open fire unless we shot first, so our plan was not to shoot unless we were cornered, as it was forty years for crystal meth ice and we would be better off being killed trying to escape.

  Terry and I had a long drive back to the dock at Seven Mile Bridge, and the DEA was there waiting for us in a go-fast with four men and several guns. We saw them as we passed under the bridge in the dark traveling at full speed. They turned on their lights and sirens and gave chase.

  The go-fast was as fast as we were or faster, so when we got on the other side, we split up, hoping they would pursue Terry in the clean jet ski. He would tell them if they caught up with him that he had been out racing and didn’t know who I was. When we split up, to our dismay, they kept pursuing me.

  As they were gaining on me, I headed for the canals and housing where I knew I could escape from them. There was a big culvert and bridge at one entrance, but not big enough for the go-fast pursuer. About one hundred yards from the culvert, I turned on my light and slowed down to fifty, and they were right on my ass at this point. I could hear their engines and voices.

  When I entered the culvert, I slowed to twenty five and could hear my heart beating in my chest. The culvert was two blocks long, and the go-fast would have to go around three islands and several bridges and street to get to where I was about to come out. Once out, I let the jet ski go full throttle with the lights off and headed back to the dock.

  Terry was nowhere to be found, so I helped load the goods, took the pay and sat on the back of the boat and had a drink.

  It was over an hour before Terry got back. He told me he had to hide in the weeds for a little while, until he could get a clean shot back. In any case we both made it and got our money without having a standoff with the DEA. They were, after all, just men who were doing their jobs, like we were. They had wives and families and were not like the Cartel or other bad guys.

  After Terry had a chance to settle down, we talked over the run, and thought that there had to be a leak in the Mexican side. We came to the conclusion it was just luck, so we took a break and went for breakfast at the diner. It was full of cops and Coast Guard as usual, and we knew some of them to say hello to at this point.

  One of the younger cops said, “I thought you two would be home in bed with those beautiful women!”

  “Keep it in your holster, Wild Bill,” I said. “We’re going fishing, and you know it kind of smells the same!” This comment brought the house down with laughter and one of the older cops said, “Young men, that’s all they think about is getting laid.”

  After breakfast we went back to the dock and mingled with the other boat owners and Pat, the marina owner. She was the only woman up and a fine woman at that. She always looked hot in her blue shorts and white polo top and white tennis shoes. She sat and had coffee with all the men, and you could tell all the men wanted to sleep with her and would if they had the chance, no matter how big the risk would be.

  The next load was the following week at a different time and place. We left for the go-fast, and approaching the coast, we saw two other go-fast silhouettes about a mile away, closing fast. Terry let me know on my headset he was going to his right, so I kept
going at full speed to a canal. It was the one I had taken before, and it had a low bride, too low for any boat to get under, even a DEA go-fast.

  I headed for the bridge at full speed with one chase boat coming up behind me and gaining on me. It was going full speed with lights on and sirens blaring, and just when they were about to catch me, I hit the pencil beam light to make sure I hit the bridge dead center. I went through the bridge at eighty miles an hour as the chase boat was slowing down and doing a one eighty to avoid hitting the bridge. I kept going at full throttle with the lights off and even with a half-moon, it was hard to see and even harder to hear due to the sound of the exhaust coming out under the jet ski and the wind.

  As I continued toward home, I went by a canal and out from it came another DEA boat. It was on my ass in a few seconds, so I pulled out my first flare gun with a white phosphorous flare and shot it in the air in front of me, knowing that the light would blind all on board and take out their infrared capability. They pulled back on their throttle immediately. After discarding the first flare gun in the water, I pulled out the second and fired it in the air also. The white flare lit up the sky and stopped their pursuit just long enough for me to get away and ahead for the rest of my trip home.

  When I got to the boat at the marina, Terry was there, and I asked how he had beaten me. He told me that he took his chase boat to the hidden canal with the Mangroves over it, and they ran out of water and were “high and dry”.

  I told him what I had done, and he remarked that he had forgotten about the flare guns and the blinding affect they had.

  Over the next week, we heard the crew on the chase boats had taken to wearing red goggles to block out the light from the flares, so we bought a pair and went out to see if they worked. They did, although if you wore the goggles at night with no flares up you could not see shit.