book excerpts
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I went back to California and told Rick Sanders the deal was on. "Line up your people. We're bringing three kilos, and the price is $210,000. I want half the money up front, the minute the coke gets here. You can pay the other half in a day or so." Rick was ecstatic; his dream was coming true. My nightmare was just beginning. A few days later , Rick told me his people were ready. His partner, Joey, came over, showed me $75,000, and offered it up front as a token of confidence. We chose a Friday, around rush hour, for the delivery at the San Francisco airport. If all went as planned, I would never have to actually touch the cocaine: I would only pick up the money. When the big day came I drove to San Francisco, checked in at a hotel, then picked up a rental car - a Chevy. No use being too conspicuous. As I drove to the airport, I kept worrying about what my mother would think of my new venture.
At least that was the plan. I kept watching the clock. Well past five and still no sign of Juanito. Anxiously I left the car and walked inside the airport. The plane had arrived and passengers from his flight were already gathering at the baggage carousel, but Juanito was nowhere in sight. I was really nervous now: ten minutes passed, fifteen minutes, and still no sign of my friend. Finally I saw Juanito, ashen-faced and sweating profusely, coming toward me. He told me he was afraid somebody was following him. He was so upset, I thought he was going to cry. I tried to shock him back to his senses by growling quietly but intensely, "Juanito! We can't lose this cocaine!" He was too frightened to care. "I'm not going to go pick up that suitcase, Jorge." "What's the matter with you?" I responded. "We could get killed. How can I explain to these drug people that we abandoned their suitcase? I'd rather be arrested than have to face them." "You go get it," Juanito said. "All right, fine," I said. "Give me the claim ticket."
I stepped away, pretending I was going to use the phone, then returned to the carousel and waited again. The number of suitcases was quickly diminishing as passengers retrieved their luggage. When I saw the black Samsonite pop through the rubber flaps, making it's way toward me again, I said quietly, "God, help me this one time." The case was now only a few feet away. I reached down, snatched it off the belt, and headed toward the exit. .............................................................................................................................................. NEVER, NEVER AGAIN
I awoke at about one-thirty, thinking I heard a knock on my bedroom door. At first I ignored the sound. Tap, tap, tap. There it was again. I lifted my head off the pillow and listened intently. Just then, I heard a sound that haunts me to this day. "Daddy. Daaad-dy?" Instinctively, I jerked a bedsheet over my naked body. The women stirred next to me. "Daddy? It's Krystle," I heard her tiny voice calling. I shook the women violently, scaring them awake. "Get out," I said tersely. "Get out now!" "Why? Jorge, what's wrong?" "Shut up and go!" I whispered harshly. Quickly the women gathered their clothes and started toward the door. "No, not that way! out the window." "Jorge, this is ridiculous." "Go!" I shrieked hoarsely, glaring at them with a face that clearly convinced them to obey. As the women scurried out the window, still wrapping themselves in their clothing, I pulled the bedcovers up around my neck. Again the angelic voice called through the door. "Daddy! Daddy, it's Krystle. Please open the door. Daaad-dy! Please!" I felt as though I'd touched the ends of a live electric wire. I began to perspire profusely; my body was trembling. The more my baby girl kept calling for me, the more I continued to sweat and shake. I closed my eyes tightly, as if by blocking my vision I could somehow block out the sound. But just as I had experienced when the plane careened toward the earth in Panama, my life passed before my eyes. I blinked hard. I didn't want to see it. Is this the end of my life? Krystle's voice gradually diminished from a high-pitched call to a heartrending wail to a sniffling whimper. All the while I clutched the covers around me, as if the bedclothes could cover my shame. How could I be doing this to my little baby girl? I've never been subjected to anything as horrible as what I'm doing to my darling daughter right now. How could I be so evil? What had consumed me? If my guns had been close by at that moment, I wouldn't have hesitated to shoot myself. Finally, I heard no more sounds from Krystle outside my door. Only then did I stop trembling. Slowly, ever so quietly, I slipped out of bed. I was repulsed by myself, but it wasn't the perspiration glistening off my skin that made me feel so repugnant. Filth seemed to emanate from deep within me, seeping out, inexorably working it's way to the surface. I wanted to check on Krystle, but I was too dirty. I wanted to run to her, to hug her tightly, but I felt so filthy. She was so pure - and I was so corrupt, so vile. If I even touched my daughter, I would taint her forever. I stumbled toward the shower, turned on the water as hot as I could stand, and tried washing away my foulness. Scrubbing my body roughly, over and over, until my skin was raw, I stayed in the shower until it felt that my flesh itself was going down the drain. Finally I shut off the water and wrapped myself in a heavy terry-cloth robe. I opened the bedroom door, and the image I saw was burned forever in my memory. My precious baby girl was lying on the floor crying, her face pressed against the doorjamb as if she was trying to catch any glimpse at all of her daddy. She looked up at me through tear filled eyes. "Daddy!" she cried. I knelt beside Krystle and hugged her. Cataclysmic upheavals of emotion ripped through my body. I held Krystle tightly and promised, "Never, never again! Never again will I ever put you through this." By now, it was three in the morning, but I called Mom anyway. I quickly allayed her fears about my early morning phone call. With Krystle still in my lap, I said, "Mom, I'm finished. I'm through with this kind of life."....Through her tears, she just kept thanking God, over and over, for answering her prayers. ................................................................ COMING CLEAN |
Before Leaving Miami on my first cocaine run, I stopped to visit my parents. While Mom prepared dinner, I slipped into my parents' bedroom. As memories of my mother praying so often in that room flooded my mind, I let down my guard and said in a hushed voice, "God, if you protect me in this deal that I'm about to do, I'm gonna buy a better house for my parents. God, please make sure that nothing happens to me. You know that I'm not hurting anyone, that the ones who buy this cocaine are rich people and movie stars, and that I'm not doing something immoral." I honestly thought that I was telling God the truth.
Juanito's flight was scheduled to arrive at five PM. I pulled into the airport loading area a few minutes early and left the motor running as I waited in the car. Juanito was to pick up the suitcase in the baggage claim area and bring it to the car; then we would drive to the hotel. 
The suitcase, Juanito explained, was a black, hard-shell Samsonite. I hurried to the baggage claim area and crowded as close to the carousel as possible, scrutinizing each piece of luggage as it passed by on the conveyor belt. I looked around nervously, then froze. Somebody - airport security, FBI, DEA, CIA - might be watching and waiting to slap the cuffs on whoever picked up the suitcase. Motionless, I watched as the suitcase passed me by and continued on it's way back through the rubber flaps, behind the wall, then back outside again.
My appetite for pornography and perversion increased dramatically after Sherry's departure. One weekend when I had two women partying with me at the ranch, Sherry unexpectedly decided to drop Krystle off for an overnight stay. After Krystle went to sleep, the women and I resumed our drinking before ending up together in bed.