Leak in the Pipeline

From the cobblestone streets and red roofed houses to its pristine beaches, Puerto

Vallarta is a place you take your beaten body to heal. This is the primary reason I bought

land and built a home there. The vista surrounding my home is breathtaking and I can easily

blend into its surroundings and become non-existent.

New York is a powder keg of activity since the Newman murder trial. The police and

FBI have joined forces to form a task force to bring me down. The pressure has become

intolerable. My bookstores and film labs have become cash liabilities instead of cash cows.

My escape from the cocaine dealers in California and their subsequent execution in

New Jersey have weakened my position in the Times Square area. My sources of income have

been stymied, I need to turn some of my Mexican holdings into cash.

* * * *

In Mexico it takes me two weeks to accumulate $160,000. An advance on the

remainder of cocaine I have stashed in California. I head to Acapulco to make arrangements,

for my return to New York. No one knows of my home in Mexico, because I fly in and out of

there from various locations. My money is in a belt around my waist as I plan to fly to

Acapulco where I’m meeting a friend, Johnny Brown. He also will wear a money belt with

half the money through customs. No use taking chances. My sister always reminded me that

half a loaf is better than none.

David Surretsky

2

It’s an uneventful flight home. Most of my thoughts are about what my next moves will be.

Johnny is sitting three rows in front of me, where I can keep my eye on him and

appear not connected. On deplaning we...

... middle of paper ...

...ome, clown.”

“Come on, give me cab fare.”

“Now Bob, that’s really funny.”

“Where’s a receipt for my money?”

“Sign this Robert.”

“What is it?”

“Your desire to donate the money to the Custom’s Widow’s and Children’s Fund.”

“Where’s my copy?”

“You’ll receive it in the mail.”

They move me past the partition and let me go. My mood darkens as I think how

customs found out about the cash. There’s a definite leak somewhere in my pipeline, but who?

Who can I trust now, and how much have the cops learned from their undercover snitch?

I know who it isn’t…it isn’t my dog, Lollypop. She’s the one thing in my life that’s

always a constant. Johnny better be waiting for me. Something’s not right. I wonder if

they’re going to try and follow me, to see how I get home.

First a little hide and seek, then I’ll get my retribution.