I became an independent cocaine supplier soon after being discharged from the US Air Force. With my military training in an F-15 Eagle, my services were ideal for the Cuban that had cut off J.D.'s balls so we became partners.I did the flying while Pedro handled the local Bolivians. The D.E.A was spending their time with Pablo and we were flying in and out of Bolivia in a 29 million dollar Falcon 7x. A beautiful jet and a lot of fun to fly. The money was incredible. I could not spend it fast enough. I had attorneys handling everything for me. Hell, I did not know all the properties I owned. Didn't care. All I did was fly like an eagle, round the sea, fly like an eagle letting Pedro show the way.
We stayed busy until the rainy season. Pedro let me keep the jet to go back to my musician buddies. The ones that loved the coke and the ludes, anyway. You know what time it was; Party Time! I picked up Stephen Tyler in Boston, stopped in New York to get Sammy Hagar and some friends of the female variety. It was very important that I maintain the perception that I was operating a legitimate transportation choice for the wealthy. That meant no drugs at least 12 hours before getting in the cockpit. While flying to Vegas a beautiful brunette took care of my cockpit.
Landing at McCarran is when all my fun began. First, we had to help Tyler out of the jet and pour him into the limo. I would have to make a final search of the cabin to make sure there were no more 714's passed out. We made it to our suites on a Monday and by the time Friday came I had sold 34 Birds, or kilos, as us old schoolers called them. Pedro would let me have on front everything for $10,000/kilo and I would sell 35 at $25,000/key. You do the math. It was a fucking lot.
I spent the days playing golf, betting ridiculous amounts for shit like closest to the hole, longest drive. I made sure I passed around the Rorers, not taking any myself giving me a better shot at hanging onto my money. This went on for several years and all I was doing was flying a beautiful jet making millions. Until I met a guy named Joker. What he did was not in the least funny.
We stayed busy until the rainy season. Pedro let me keep the jet to go back to my musician buddies. The ones that loved the coke and the ludes, anyway. You know what time it was; Party Time! I picked up Stephen Tyler in Boston, stopped in New York to get Sammy Hagar and some friends of the female variety. It was very important that I maintain the perception that I was operating a legitimate transportation choice for the wealthy. That meant no drugs at least 12 hours before getting in the cockpit. While flying to Vegas a beautiful brunette took care of my cockpit.
Landing at McCarran is when all my fun began. First, we had to help Tyler out of the jet and pour him into the limo. I would have to make a final search of the cabin to make sure there were no more 714's passed out. We made it to our suites on a Monday and by the time Friday came I had sold 34 Birds, or kilos, as us old schoolers called them. Pedro would let me have on front everything for $10,000/kilo and I would sell 35 at $25,000/key. You do the math. It was a fucking lot.
I spent the days playing golf, betting ridiculous amounts for shit like closest to the hole, longest drive. I made sure I passed around the Rorers, not taking any myself giving me a better shot at hanging onto my money. This went on for several years and all I was doing was flying a beautiful jet making millions. Until I met a guy named Joker. What he did was not in the least funny.
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