Drug Mule: Down & Out in Paradise
by Dave Drimer
So I was near dead broke in Miami in the middle of a blistering
summer and I needed do-re-mi. Yeah, it’s a thing. “Judge Yoda not, needed the
money Yoda did, mmm.” Got a no skills/no experience necessary job doing
inventory in a gigantic airplane parts warehouse alongside lifelong proles and
ex-cons.
One guy had been a union forklift operator at the airport, working
on the international cargo loading dock. In the 70s, he was making $65 per hour,
time and half for overtime and double time over 50 hours. Sometimes he worked
60-hour weeks and he socked away a lot of dough. So he and his best friend got
entrepreneurial in a creative way that only uneducated guys with too much money
and a lot of time on their hands can. America is the land of opportunity,
right?
They went down to Jamaica, bought one ton of weed (it was easier
to make connections like that, given the place and time, than you would
imagine). They had their box shipped to a fictitious company in Miami.
The plan worked perfectly: the weed came in; he picked it up and set it aside;
called his friend who rented the truck. They agreed they would do the pick-up
right before closing time when everybody was tired and nobody gave a crap. For
my shipping industry pals, it was classed as “Household Goods, NES.” This was a
perfect crime; nobody ever checked. Not ever.
About 5 minutes before he expected his friends and the truck, he
sees a little cold, wet black nose turn the corner and come through the door, 2
uniformed customs agents in tow. He didn’t even have time to register his heart
sinking when the dog goes freaking berserk (this was before they were forced to
do the passive reaction thing, which is another drug mule story for another day).
The agents release the dog and he runs right to the guy’s crate, starts barking
up a storm, literally biting the box. They crack the crate and it’s packed in
so tightly the contents burst out, flying up into the air.
The entire loading dock crew pissed themselves laughing. The
agents were high fiving and jumping up and down because they finally made a
bust. My guy was kicking little bits of pot into the corner, trying not to
burst into tears. He ended saving about an ounce and a half. He was never implicated,
just out $12K plus.
Terrific denouement for the story: he ended getting laid off from
his great union job. Some real world irony, right? Totally broke. Working in an
airplane parts warehouse with me, and a lot of big scary guys you didn’t talk
to if you didn’t have to and never, ever looked them straight in the eyes. I
lasted 2 weeks on that job. The boss didn’t appreciate my cogent opinions about
improving warehouse logistics.
To this day, I am confident my co-worker doesn’t realize he was
set-up by his seller. You see, throwing a one-time buyer under the bus
was no sweat off his nose. In fact, it was good for business. Everybody was on
the take in those days, it was take the money or be dead. People chose being
rich over being cold. The agents had to show something occasionally to
avoid the scrutiny that eventually ended up coming their way (greed gets you
every time). My guy thought he had bad luck. He never had a chance.
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David Drimer
