The Hunter
08-11-2005, 08:38 PM
There are three types of people on this planet: those who think what they do is wrong, those who know what they do is wrong, and those that don’t realize that there are only two types.
I’m…what, 57 years old this August; I’ve been in this institution since I was 27 years old. But as far as regrets, I don’t have any. Regrets are for the weak, people who can’t accept that what they did is behind them, and that they need to seek some sort of vindication for any wrongdoings they’ve done. I haven’t done anything wrong, not really. I’ve simply capitalized on other people’s needs, and happened to find it beneficial to provide them with what they yearned. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s a flaw in our society to deem certain needs higher than others, because in the grand scheme of things, people should be granted the opportunity to choose what’s most important to them.
I sound like some goddamn relativist, one of those people who like to think that everyone is equal, that people are intelligent and capable of making reasonable and positive decisions. That’s not true, though, I know that half the people on this fu*king planet are prone to make the dumbest mistakes possible, which feeds into what I had to do.
I never really considered myself a drug dealer or a trafficker; that title is below me, it has those connotations, the ones that make people cringe, and look down on you. Hell, I’m a Christian man, I tithe, I follow the Bible, and I help others. I used to call myself a pharmacist, a prescription narcotics contractor for those who were in need. No different from your doctor, you pediatrician, I was there to fix what ailed those in sickness.
First time I got arrested, it was on a trafficking charge…cocaine. That was all I dealt with, coke, that other sh*t was too sticky, too much competition, too much trouble. I was stuck with one-thousand three-hundred and ninety grams of coke and 10 grams of the base. That is some high quality sh*t, my friend, and the cops knew it. This is back in…’75, way before those goddamn federal trafficking laws got so strict. This was in the early days of the industry, back when things were new, product was fresh, and everybody was just starting out. I was the man in Philly, but the cops busted me, and they caught me red-handed, my name was all over the lease to the plane we flew it over in. They gave me twelve years, and this was back in the day, when the rules weren’t as stringent as they are now, so I got out in four years. Like I told you before, I’m not a bad guy, so it took no effort to get off for good behavior.
You know, I met Escobar once? That’s right, the Escobar. I visited his home in Colombia in…what, ’84? Yeah, ’84. You can’t imagine just how amazing…I mean, the guy had a goddamn zoo at his house. Not like the zoos we have here in the states, this guy had actual an actual zoo with lions and all that exotic stuff roaming around on his property. His driveway was made of gold, and when I say driveway, I don’t mean that little strip of cement we call a driveway. I meant like a whole avenue of paved gold that led to his home.
But enough about that, you’re not here to listen to me rant on and on about Escobar. Between ’79 and ’90, I was, basically, his personal usher into Philadelphia. Times were good, the first half of that year, business was booming, we had established a very good business arc. But…I guess I got greedy, got in over my head. I was cocky, I had beaten the feds before, and four years is a joke, so I figured I was untouchable.
Only problem…I got touched. Big time. 8 kilos of product, 75 grams of base. That kind of big. I was 42, then, that charge got me life, which is why I’m still here. I just don’t get it. I was a good man, had a family, a wife, a son, two daughters, I went to their soccer games, my boy’s baseball games…Three types of people, remember that. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but was it really? If it wasn’t coming from me, it would’ve come from someone else, so why let another man dine on my dime if I have the means to provide? Like I said, I’m not a bad guy, I was only doing what I had to do.
I’m…what, 57 years old this August; I’ve been in this institution since I was 27 years old. But as far as regrets, I don’t have any. Regrets are for the weak, people who can’t accept that what they did is behind them, and that they need to seek some sort of vindication for any wrongdoings they’ve done. I haven’t done anything wrong, not really. I’ve simply capitalized on other people’s needs, and happened to find it beneficial to provide them with what they yearned. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s a flaw in our society to deem certain needs higher than others, because in the grand scheme of things, people should be granted the opportunity to choose what’s most important to them.
I sound like some goddamn relativist, one of those people who like to think that everyone is equal, that people are intelligent and capable of making reasonable and positive decisions. That’s not true, though, I know that half the people on this fu*king planet are prone to make the dumbest mistakes possible, which feeds into what I had to do.
I never really considered myself a drug dealer or a trafficker; that title is below me, it has those connotations, the ones that make people cringe, and look down on you. Hell, I’m a Christian man, I tithe, I follow the Bible, and I help others. I used to call myself a pharmacist, a prescription narcotics contractor for those who were in need. No different from your doctor, you pediatrician, I was there to fix what ailed those in sickness.
First time I got arrested, it was on a trafficking charge…cocaine. That was all I dealt with, coke, that other sh*t was too sticky, too much competition, too much trouble. I was stuck with one-thousand three-hundred and ninety grams of coke and 10 grams of the base. That is some high quality sh*t, my friend, and the cops knew it. This is back in…’75, way before those goddamn federal trafficking laws got so strict. This was in the early days of the industry, back when things were new, product was fresh, and everybody was just starting out. I was the man in Philly, but the cops busted me, and they caught me red-handed, my name was all over the lease to the plane we flew it over in. They gave me twelve years, and this was back in the day, when the rules weren’t as stringent as they are now, so I got out in four years. Like I told you before, I’m not a bad guy, so it took no effort to get off for good behavior.
You know, I met Escobar once? That’s right, the Escobar. I visited his home in Colombia in…what, ’84? Yeah, ’84. You can’t imagine just how amazing…I mean, the guy had a goddamn zoo at his house. Not like the zoos we have here in the states, this guy had actual an actual zoo with lions and all that exotic stuff roaming around on his property. His driveway was made of gold, and when I say driveway, I don’t mean that little strip of cement we call a driveway. I meant like a whole avenue of paved gold that led to his home.
But enough about that, you’re not here to listen to me rant on and on about Escobar. Between ’79 and ’90, I was, basically, his personal usher into Philadelphia. Times were good, the first half of that year, business was booming, we had established a very good business arc. But…I guess I got greedy, got in over my head. I was cocky, I had beaten the feds before, and four years is a joke, so I figured I was untouchable.
Only problem…I got touched. Big time. 8 kilos of product, 75 grams of base. That kind of big. I was 42, then, that charge got me life, which is why I’m still here. I just don’t get it. I was a good man, had a family, a wife, a son, two daughters, I went to their soccer games, my boy’s baseball games…Three types of people, remember that. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but was it really? If it wasn’t coming from me, it would’ve come from someone else, so why let another man dine on my dime if I have the means to provide? Like I said, I’m not a bad guy, I was only doing what I had to do.