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

by Gerald McCallum

  Our next run was at a totally different time and place. It was moved ten miles north and to a different time in hopes that the Coast Guard and DEA would be going in for a shift change.

  We headed out for the meet, and halfway there, Terry’s headset quit working, so we had no communication between skis. We had decided to use our infrared goggles to see if any DEA boats were getting set up for a bust. We did this along the way at a bridge and marina where Holiday Isle Resort used to be at Isle Islamorada.

  Our goggles came to life with all kinds of activity, and there were four go-fast boats ready to give chase. We turned around and went back to our boat. One of the good things about the jet skis set up was that their radar print is next to nothing, so the DEA didn’t even notice us turning around and going home. Obviously there was a bad leak somewhere on the Mexican side.

  We got a call on the Trac phone about sunrise, asking us what had happened. We told the caller that they have a leak and the DEA was all set up with four chase boats full of armed men. They knew where we were going and what time we would be there, and that they were set up in advance. The caller denied any leak and went into a long explanation as to how the DEA got there.

  I replied that we didn’t care how the DEA got there; we quit and did not want to be in a cell for forty years or dead. “We quit, you have a leak!” and hung up.

  Terry asked me, “How did they take it?”

  “Not good, I guess we’ll have to see what happens.” We went back to the dock for coffee and were introduced to ‘Cuban’ coffee by some of the men and then went to see what Tara and Ebony were up to. The truth was we were both ‘hot’ from the past nights’ events. Either way we were going to see the girls.

  About noon we all got up again and decided to spend the day sightseeing by water and jet ski. We packed lots of beer and headed off for Holiday Isles’ old location and The Sand Bar. All the cops were gone, and because it was midweek, The Sand Bar was much quieter with only between one and two hundred people there.

  After spending the day drinking and hopping from bar to bar, we headed back to the marina, getting there just before dark. Everybody was on the dock and in a party mood, so naturally we joined in. By ten we were down to the real hard core partiers, so we went to the main salon of our boat and continued to party, and then by midnight we had gotten down to four couples, Pat and Mike, Terry and Ebony, Tara and myself and Bob and Hedy. Bob and Hedy were in their mid sixties, tall, and at present were boyfriend and girlfriend, but had been married to each other two times in the past. They had a new Chris Craft, a fifty footer, a house in Boca and a condo on Singer Island. They liked cocaine and wanted to get high with us, so I broke out some of our stash, and we all did some lines. This got the party going again, of course. Tara and Ebony had been making trips to the bathroom and tooting before we got back on the boat, so they were already up and in the party spirit.

  We could tell that Bob and Hedy liked to party for some time now and were glad they joined us. We had a one hour instrumental CD playing, and it was a great dance song. The CD was made at a club in South Beach. The girls started to dance with Hedy and Bob joining in. The more we danced and drank and tooted the less clothing we had on. Before long we were down to our underwear.

  While the men were at the bar and the women taking a bathroom break, Bob told us the story behind him and Hedy. It seems they had been married three times to each other. They both had been married to other people before also, but they kept going back to each other. It was just one of those things, with no rhyme or reason to it, other than the fact that they have great sex together and a lot of fun. Sooner or later they would start fighting like cats and dogs and break up, start seeing other people and then in a few months they would be back together again. They were both grey and distinguished looking and had the look and smell of aristocrats with money.

  The girls reappeared, and Tara and Ebony had changed into high heels and black dancing costumes. Hedy had redressed and told Bob she wanted to go home. He put up a fuss at first, but in order to avoid one of their fights, he relented and left with her, much to his chagrin. We kept on partying, and the girls, who were experienced tittie bar dancers, knew all the right moves and were driving us wild. They were the best of the best, had it and knew it. They always knew the right things to do and say to turn on men.

  Bob returned to our boat and wanted to continue to party with us, and the girls jumped right in by kissing him and each other, but a cooler head prevailed. I told him to go home as we were about to wind things down and that he needed to go home and take care of Hedy. He left with reluctance and we continued to party. You could tell that Ebony wanted Bob to stay and that she wanted him, but I told her we could not afford to get in the middle of their fight.

  I knew that Hedy would be mad as hell if he stayed here without her. I looked at Terry and told him I thought we should leave here in the next week or so. Terry agreed and said, “So let’s party tonight!” With that declaration we all did another line and we got into kissing, etcetera, and returned to the main salon with drinks and mirror in hand.

  We were all excited that we were once again making love with each other. We removed the rest of our clothes and kissed, groped and fondled the women. Terry and Ebony landed on the bed first, continuing the same, and Tara and I joined them, and soon we were a tangle of tongues, lips, fingers and tits. At one point we were trying to eat and kiss Tara, covering every inch of her body with our mouths.

  All of a sudden we heard a voice asking, “Can we join this party?”

  We all looked up to find Bob and Karen. “Yes!” we replied in unison. The girls helped them take off their clothes to find that Bob’s fully erected member had risen to the occasion. At that moment, Tara dropped to her knees and started giving him head, but just enough to give him an idea of what was to come.

  All six of us returned to the bed and continued making love to each other in earnest. It was daylight when we went to our separate rooms to make love again, fall asleep, and come or whatever occurred first.

  No one arose early, and the first ones were Bob and Karen, of course. Eventually the rest of us joined them for coffee and fruit and laughed and shared stories of the previous night’s orgy. We decided to leave the marina the following Friday for Miami, giving us a week’s time to enjoy the area and party with the people we had met.

  Later that day, we took the girls out for the afternoon on the jet skis, and then went bar hopping. As we went from bar to bar, we talked to a lot of people about the marina, the murders and of course, the Chief and his part in the local smuggling business. We found out that he had been doing this for many years without being found out.

  As the week went on, we hosted a few parties, some of which turned into orgies. We said our goodbyes and told everyone that we would return after seeing Miami.

  CHAPTER 19

  The trip was uneventful, and we obtained a slip downtown next to the Hard Rock Café in anticipation of staying at least a month. There were hundreds of shops and restaurants, and street vendors galore. The girls brought home more stuff than the boat could carry, and we ate and drank our way through Miami, eating at the Hard Rock Café most nights. One Friday night, as we were walking from bar to bar, we were stopped by a teenage boy who asked us for money. I told him no, and all of a sudden we were surrounded by fifteen boys and girls, the first one speaking to us being the youngest. They seemed like a teen, Cuban street gang who liked to scare older tourists and ask for money at the same time. One of the boys who appeared to be the leader said, “Give us your cash.” Before I could say “What?” Terry knocked the kid down with his 9mm, and I pulled out mine. At that point, they backed away, realizing that we meant business and seeing their leader on the ground with a bloody face. Before they left, they told us how ‘bad’ they were, and they would not forget this, and then they were off.

  Later that night on the boat we had good laugh about the kids that attempted to “strong arm” us. We were sure that they wer
e surprised when these two “old” men pulled guns. Little did they know that these two “old’” men loved the excitement of a gun fight, or any fight, for that matter. I had a saying that goes, “Fight, fuck or go for your gun,” and that was our attitude. We finished our drinks and conversation and went to bed about midnight.

  At about four a.m. I awakened to a feeling of a presence other than ours on the boat and grabbed my pistol from my nightstand. I went up to look around and see what was going on and ran into Bob in the hallway, the captain holding his 9mm in hand. He had had the same feeling that an intruder was on the boat.

  As we cleared the stairwell from the galley, several shots came from the main salon. Two of these shots hit Bob in his upper leg and just barely missed his side, knocking him to the ground. I took one of the shots in my hip which I did not even feel at the time. I returned fire, almost instantly killing two of the intruders.

  At that point Terry came running to our aide with a 9mm blazing in the direction of the intruders. More wild gunfire came from the main salon, hitting the ceiling, appliances, not even close to hitting us. The surviving intruders ran off leaving the dead and wounded behind.

  Within fifteen minutes the boat, dock and marina was awash in blue. Cops were everywhere as well as paramedics. After relating our story, the cops came to the conclusion that this was a robbery that went wrong. They took into account that I was a retired sheriff and that the three of us were attacked on our boat by a known gang. There were a hundred cops trying to find the two or three gang members that got away and the guns they used. As a courtesy from one cop to another one detective said ‘off the record’ they knew who the shooters were, but could not prove it at this point, because no one would talk and were denying any involvement, of course.

  Bob and I were taken to the hospital where they treated our wounds, and Bob was probably going to be hospitalized for at least a week. I was released a few days later, feeling pretty sore, but glad to be going back to the boat. The girls picked me up in a cab and once back at the boat I was amazed to see the damage the intruders did, not to mention what the cops did in their search for evidence.

  It took a carpenter four full days on board to fix the damage.

  We now had police guards who checked on us four or five times a day and were within eye sight of our boat at all times. Bob was released from the hospital after five days, pretty uncomfortable, but none the worse for wear. The police suggested that we move our boat in closer to the office which was monitored twenty-four seven so the marina guards could keep a better eye on us. The police guards would be going back to their regular duties shortly.

  Over the next couple of weeks, Bob and I fully recovered. Terry and I and the girls decided to venture out to town one night to the Steak House, and when we were returning to the boat we saw ten or fifteen people coming toward us from down the street. As they got closer, Terry and I filled our hands with P-12-45’s (boat guns).

  When we were face to face, the leader of the gang said, “you are the two from the Bayliner.”

  We did not answer. One of the gang reached for his gun and both Terry and I said, “You can die here if you choose.”

  Terry took all of their guns and knives, and as he was doing this one of the gang members pulled his blade and attempted to stab Terry, so Terry shot him. As the rest of the gang ran off in different directions, the shot member fell to the ground, holding his side in obvious pain but not fatally wounded. He told us that his friends were going to find us and kill us for what we did to him. He said they would kill all of us, including the two on the boat, and that we should show him and his gang some respect and do whatever they said.

  To us it was like a double dog dare, as they live by maintaining fear in others, and we had no fear of them and certainly no respect. We told them we would welcome a gun fight and walked off, leaving him to his pain.

  As we turned to go down to the dock to our slip, gunfire erupted. The gang was on one dock and we on the other. We instinctively pushed the two women to the ground as we fired back, hitting two of them on the get go.

  Most of their shots were over our heads or way to the right or left. Maybe it was nerves from fear or they were just poor shots or that they held their guns sideways like rappers. Whatever the reason, they were missing us by a mile, and we were picking them off one by one, and with little or no change in heart rate on our part.

  We couldn’t tell if they were men or women or both, as they were over fifty feet away and in groups which made them easy targets. Soon, half of the gang was down, and the others started getting smart, hiding behind dock boxes, although the dock boxes were made of thin fiberglass and did them no good as you could still see them and shoot them.

  A few minutes into the fight, one of them got lucky and hit Terry in the head, killing him. After seeing this, I became so angry, it boiled up in me, and I grabbed Terry’s gun, running to their side of the marina, firing as I ran, killing one after another.

  I just kept running to the roar, and when I was hit in the side of the head, I fell, and as I was getting up, I was hit again in the shoulder, which rendered that arm useless. Getting to my knees, I fired three more times, taking out at least two of the ten or twelve members left.

  I remember that I kept moving forward and firing as I went, hitting one after another. I was hit again but somehow kept moving forward and was just a few feet from them and still seeing them fall. I limped up to a gang member behind a dock box and was about to put a bullet in him when the hammer on my gun hit an empty chamber. I remember that for a split second the eyes of the remaining gang member and mine met as I threw my empty gun at him. He ducked as he shot at me and missed.

  By that time the cops were streaming down the dock and firing at what was left of the gang members. I was drifting in and out of consciousness as the medics tried to save my life during the trip to the hospital.

  After three weeks and several surgeries, I was released with a hitch in my stride and on antibiotics and pain killers. I was back on the boat with the girls, Bob was healed and right as rain, and we all missed Terry.

  At this point, we had not seen any return of the gang members, and our attorney said that it would be two to three years before the survivors went to court. We decided to return to Bayside Marina and the people we knew and liked.

  They were all happy to see us and upset about Terry’s death and all our troubles at the marina in Miami. I would always need a cane to walk and had lost at least thirty pounds.

  When I regained my strength and some of the lost weight, Ebony sat down with Tara and me and told us that she would be leaving soon. She told us that wherever she looked, she saw Terry and heard his laughter and realized things would never be the same, that we three would never be “the four of us again”. Terry had provided for her in his will, so she would never have to work or worry about money again.

  We told her we understood, and I agreed to help her buy a new car by the next week.

  When Tara and I were in bed later that night, I asked her if she wanted to go with Ebony. I told her that I would give her money to live on which would last her the rest of her life. To my surprise and chagrin, she said yes. I did not fuss, as I loved her but not the way I had loved Elena. I also knew I did not want to live with the same guilt I had been living with over Elena’s death.

  The day came for the girls to leave, and we all hugged and kissed and said our goodbyes. They promised to call every week as they drove off in their new Corvette heading for LA. I knew in my heart that I would receive a few calls from them and then would never hear from them again.

  I stood there with my cane and leg brace, a thin old man, and watched them until all I could see were their tail lights. I went back to the stateroom to lie down to rest and ponder the good times the four of us had had over the past four year.

  After feeling sorry for myself for the next three or four days, I went on a vigorous regimen of weight training and physical therapy daily. It took several months, but I
got my strength back and regained my weight, although I would always have the leg brace and cane.

  I approached Pat one day and told her I needed a companion for dinner and conversation and perhaps something more. I asked her if she knew of anyone who would be appropriate for this, and that I would pay five hundred for two hours of just dinner and conversation. She told me that she did and wanted to know when and what make and model, i.e.: black, white, tall, short, blonde, brunette, etc. I told her my preferences and as she was leaving, I added, “And not too stupid, please.”

  The date was arranged, and I had the cook prepare lobster and steak with all the fixings. I proceeded to get dressed, trying to look my best for a man in his mid fifties who had been shot a half dozen times and was wearing a leg brace and using a cane.

  When she first arrived on the dock and started walking toward the boat, I was amazed at how pretty she was, but as she stepped on board snapping her gum and talking nonstop nonsense, I knew I was in trouble. We got through dinner, and she went on her way, and I felt myself missing Tara all the more.

  When I saw Pat on the dock the following day, I told her I wanted someone older, not a dancer and darker in skin color for the next Friday night. The following Friday, the same scenario occurred, except that this one was older and meaner, although better at conversation. She was pretty enough, but drank to excess and then became argumentative.

  This continued week after week, always ending up a disaster in some way or another. Then one day at breakfast, Karen said, “Mack, I know what you want, and I knew Tara and Ebony and more importantly what you have been through. Let me help”. I agreed, and I let her take over setting me up for the following Friday.

  When Friday came around, Karen really outdid herself as a very pretty Vietnamese woman showed up for dinner. She was thin and about forty years old and divorced. We had a great time and agreed to see each other again the next week. Her name was Phoun, and she owned the local nail shop, had two grown sons in California, and did not mind hanging out on the boat. The best part was that we got along well, so we started seeing each other a lot and talking to each other daily. As she put it, we got “thick fast,” and she called me ‘Dinky Do,’ which means crazy in Vietnamese. I thought it was funny. When I wasn’t spending time with her, I hung out with Bob and Karen, as we had formed a very close friendship after the shootings and going through so much together.