It's 7:45am and I'm in my car navigating through the morning downtown rush trying to leave the city . I love this drive I take every month to go north east of the city to a predominantly Southeast Asian enclave . A stronghold. Where Caucasians usually are not welcomed or accepted unless you're going to the big mall to buy stuff the Asian vendors offer. bootleg movies maybe, or aftermarket car parts. but I'm not going there. I'm going to a non descript strip mall that looks like a million others.

you see, I'm a different type of Caucasian.
I'm one who has penetrated a couple of different worlds. I have long ago penetrated the Triads . this is as loose a term as it comes. like saying mafia to refer to the variety of Italian organizations that exist that use such names as the Cammora, or the 'Ndrangheta. it's not accurate. I have people I love like family who's families are entrenched in the 14k Triad, the Big Circle Boys, the Luen Kueng Lok, and the Sun Yee On. I found out accidentally I'm the first white boy who's caught the attention of the elders. I also found out accidentally that they lovingly call me "Gweizai" which is a derogatory term for white people. It literally translates to "ghost boy" . I liked it and went with it. That really made them laugh when they knew I knew what they were calling me and I liked it. that's when we became family. by going through great times and bad times together. not betraying , never cooperating no matter how much time you're facing. cause what you learn is they come on strong in the beginning but the years drop as time goes by in court, as they see you've hired a good lawyer and aren't going down easy with some cowardly plea. fuck it.

today I'm going to pick up my new ECC device so I can continue operating . cause the real ones don't use or trust anything besides PGP/ECC. No Wickr, no Signal, none of those fake encryption systems.

Going back to the Sky.

I love this drive because as traffic flocks to city I'm leaving it. I'm going against the flow. It's how I grew up doing things. It doesn't always feel right, but it's what i know better than anything else.

take off guys

"no no non ti procopare" the native italian man reassured its hh high-a-heat-a " he pronounced it in his broken english. probably another import this guy i thought to myself. the old man sent him and on his word which I know to be good. an old friend of my fathers god rest his soul. he was sending me multiple kilos a week of (hh) high heat cocaine as it's known , with a (bp) boiling point in the low to mid 220s from what i can remember. some of the best and purest cocaine that ive seen. that soft kind that mushes but breaks up into fine white powder? that's that magic shit.

I learned a lot during my rise.. I learned a term "take off guys" crews at the airport who use encryption PGP/ECC that I mentioned already to co-ordinate with as many as up to 5 middlemen some domestic, some international/European, some South American with guys in airports over there who would put usually 2 duffle bags in the cargo hold area of commercial flights. first is a put on so when it's removed it's the last 2 bags , fitted with the pure kilos , an encrypted GPS device that both sides held the public key for . flights would originate in panama, the d.r., the Netherlands, but usually the d.r. or panama. the bags are hidden somewhere where I won't reveal and left on airplane until the planes manifest changes . ex. panama > New York, then New York > Chicago > back to New York. It's now a domestic flight again and not scrutinized as much. a picture is taken of the hiding spot and sent to the waiting "take off" crew. which is interesting because only fairly recently was ECC encryption introduced which exclusively held the ability for the first time to send pictures from berry to berry. so the crew takes usually 20-30 percent in product from your total load as their fee. someone rolls up to the arrivals and parks, unlocks hitch on trunk. remains in car . someone approaches , loads merchandise into trunk, closes trunk and walks away.

done. 30 kilos at $10,000 a kilo for sale in a major north american city.

that's only one method of drug smuggling I've worked in.

there are many more inventive and fascinating methods used in a variety of ways.

what a trade!

from UNODC (United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime) :

According to data from the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) and European crime-fighting agency Europol, the annual global drugs trade is worth around $435 billion a year, with the annual cocaine trade worth $84 billion.

5 am

It's 5:00am on a warm spring day a few years ago . I'm lying in my highrise luxury condo downtown. My longtime girlfriend is lying beside me with her little chihuahua that I've come to love as my own. In what seemed like 5 seconds we are both awake and realizing that what's woken us is someone banging hard on the door.

"I think we're being robbed ." She says

later she tells me that even though I was still confused and half asleep I suddenly sit up and announce

"It's the cops"

At that same moment the door I reinforced suddenly gives with the sickening sound of splintering wood and multiple voices announcing "Police! Search warrant" and all of them yelling "HANDS! HANDS! LET US SEE YOUR FUCKIN HANDS!" I'm now on my feet, with all of this occurring within about 5 seconds. The police have strormed into the condo and all I can think to shout to them over a couple times is "WE ARE UNARMED!" "WE ARE UNARMED because now there's people grabbing me, there's guys pointing guns , there's confusion and there's my girlfriend and her dog on the bed . Now I'm pulled out of the small bedroom and pushed to the floor. Hands are cuffed behind me and I'm sat on the couch by the officers.

That's when i had my first thought.

I'm in trouble.

There's about 15 men swarming around me and my condo all wearing vests that say something different . "Asian Organized Crime Task Force." "Drug Squad" I remember was one I found funny for some strange reason. Too vague . "Gangs and Guns"

The first thing one cop says is
"What the fuck is with your door ?!" Later In court he comments " I've hit hundreds of doors I don't know what this kid did to his door but we had to take turns smashing on this thing with the ram before we eventually just smashed the wood away" my lawyer leans over and says " wow he's really impressed with your door "

One of the officers says "ok kid where is it? Just give it up."

I'm sitting silent at this point , and they're standing over me asking me where it is. I know what they've come for it was just dropped off the night before which I'm sure was no coincidence.

My mind starts racing. Who ratted me out? There could only be one person and I refuse to believe it. Not my best friend who lives a few floors up.. there's no way it could be could there?

That's when my brain turns on, and the first words out of my mouth since I was cuffed:
"I'm not talking to you, and I demand to see the warrant right now."

The officers exchange looks and the older one who told me to give it up nods at the younger one who puts the multi paged warrant on the couch infront of me.

He even allows me to read it and flips the pages for me since I'm cuffed.

That's when I realized I hadn't been ratted out at all, that this was a huge investigation, and that my best friend was also named in the warrant alongside me. That means his door is smashed upstairs too.

One of the cops pulls out a huge bag of over 500 grams of powder from my cupboard where It was sitting in plain view.

"What the fuck is this?"

"It's nothing " I say honestly. A bag of vitamin b powder I stuck there as a diversion In case of this situation or robbery.

"Doesn't look like nothing to me " officer says .

I quickly catch myself and start to act like they found it.

"Ok ok it's coke.. that's all I have .

Hoping they wouldn't find the kilo of heroin that I've broken down into smaller packages and hid inside electrical components strewn around the condo.

They lead me out, into the glare of the media who's waiting downstairs for us and my friends who live in the same building. I keep my head up. Fuck all of you I'm not going down hiding my face like a coward.

Later when I see the newspaper I think ahh maybe I should have hid my face like a coward lol.

So now both my girl and I are in the back of a squad car where we will remain for 5 hours while waiting to get booked with the rest of the boys and their girlfriends who all happened to stay the night too. We later discover they did that purposefully to use the charged women as leverage to get us to plea out . Fuck that. Eventually the court withdrew all the women's charges. I don't hate the police but I always thought that was a really low underhanded thing to do. It's is very painful to have your hands cuffed hard behind you while they're pressing against the car seat and getting tighter for 5 hours. When they remove the cuffs my wrists are ripped up and bleeding .

The first thing that hits you when you are first brought to a police station and led down to the cells is the smell. Horrible. Smells like wasted life and hopelessness mixed together. Someone had scrawled "keep stacking " beside a diagram of money. I then realized how hopeless the drug trade really is . It never ends well. If you're not caught it will be impossible for you to live your life without at some point going back into it if you manage to get out before you're caught.

Because this is technically my first offence (but not really , more on that later) I'm let out on bail and remanded to live with my mother who was my surety.

The good life is suddenly over. In the first days after something like that you feel useless because what you were good at is now gone as the entire organization is temporarily out of business and most not making bail. Loud noises jar me awake at night . Panting trying to catch my breath.

Flash forward to a few years later : I still think it was really no big deal to be raided and invaded like that but my therapist thinks otherwise. She thinks I'm some kind of victim. It's ridiculous I know . She thinks my years involved with this life.. being a witness to my friend being shot to death has scarred me.. made me develop a form of PTSD . I laugh when she suggests this. I tell her I'm no fuckin victim. In my head I wish I could have the courage to tell her
"Are you fucking crazy? I made profit off the inevitable misery of others addictions." I feel like spitting in her face, or maybe I feel like spitting in my own face. I don't say anything which is another problem and I politely tell her truthfully that I have to go as I've got meetings to attend to that I don't have the option of being late for. Therapy will have to wait. It was back to business 3 months after the raids.


it's 9:30pm on a Thursday night in downtown . I'm strolling through a liberal park just off west the downtown core and all I hear is sirens .. firetrucks.. often first responders on Fentanyl overdose calls that have plagued this city really since winter of 2015 when it almost overnight became impossible to source even wholesale amounts of real heroin. even as a skilled and experienced wholesaler and retailer with 8 years entrenched in multiple organized crime groups . even then it suddenly becomes impossible.. even with 5 solid upper wholesalers/importers at my beckon call each one at different times vying for my business commitment based on how much I can in turn move for them. a relationship is created .. a bond.. over those amounts of money.. a real bond , friendship, loyalty.. those things are very real and very meaningful. personal.. with the potential to both help and seriously harm you at the same time.

on this night I'm reminded of another day in April of 2014 .. another day where the drone of sirens ruled the city's air waves . the first day that i was followed. the plainclothes officer that stops me infront of a clients house tells me I match the description of a robbery suspect. they search me and find nothing incriminating, but before leaving i notice one of two of them checking my drivers license out hard. there was no robbery.. they needed a name and a face since the lease agreement they had was in a fake identity that i had. multiples of. still do.

old habits do die hard

but tonite the sirens won't be used as a diversionary tactic by the Asian Organized Crime Squad like it was in 2014. this time I noticed their play. this time I was a bit older, a bit wiser. and sober. a sober heroin and cocaine trafficker and sometimes importer and exporter. so this time I cashed out just as a rash of bad Fentanyl deaths hit the city. mayors meeting with task forces and the police to find a solution. will they try to arrest their way out of this problem? (ed. note: won't work) whatever happens someone will fall. for sure. and that person could be a close friend of 10 years who's missing 2 weeks now.

baaad time to be in the heroin business.

so I'm out, with a story to tell . no more 3 phones plus the mandatory PGP on a blackberry. not easy to carry all that . but now comes the hardest part.. breaking old habits and temptations.