My Life in The Valencia Cartel #2: "Any [Expletive] That Takes A Shot At Me...I Won't Just Kill Him, I'll Kill His Whole [Expletive] Family, Too"

I was sat behind a fruit stand. I was bleeding, bad. I was covered in Juan's blood and brains. Goddamnit, Manuel. Why'd you send me on this fuckin' run? I told him-

Butch slapped me out of my daydream. "Motherfucker, you better get your head in the goddamn game!" he screamed. Blood flying out of his mouth. I nodded. "I would, Butch, but I've got a hole the size of Texas in my leg. So, if you don't mind, I'll sit this one out." How'd I get here? Why'd I get here? Well, in the immortal words of Fire Marshal Bill Burns- "Let me tell ya something!"

It was 2013. I'd been working for Manuel for 7 years, now. I was running coke, fucking prostitutes, and living the highlife. That was, until we were sent out to a little shithole in Bolivia, called Prados Amigables. May I remind you all, my crew was Butch, Juan, and Jack (and me). We were sent out in a shitbox seaplane (we almost crashed multiple times, but thanks to the experienced pilot Butch was, we were alright), taking about 8 1/2 hours. We landed in Medellin and took a rental down to Bolivia. We arrived in P.A at 1 AM. Manuel had set us up in a roach and whore infested motel where it was equally common to catch syphilis, as it was to catch a stray bullet. 

Our first full day in P.A was a Monday, August 26th. We were there until the day I'll be discussing in detail- August 31st. We were scheduled to meet up with some coke dealers on the 31st, so we spent the days leading up to it drinking, smoking, having sex with paid women, unpaid women- each other- it was wild. Soon, the day in question rolled around, and we got ready- meaning we did some coke, strapped knives and guns to our thighs, and got dressed. I kissed Juan passionately (when we DID have sex with each other, he was my go-to top). We drove out to a town square in our rinky-dink Jeep. 

We rolled up at high noon. In the deserted town square, 10 men sat, waiting. All Hispanic, all dressed like the homeless equivalent of Pablo Escobar's crew. One of them spoke up. "Hola, soy Gustavo. Te mandó Manuel, ¿verdad? (Hello, I'm Gustavo. Manuel sent you, right?)". Butch nodded. "Yeah, yeah. You got what we need?" I translated. Gustavo scratched his chin. "¿Qué? ¿Puedes ser un poco más específico? (What? Can you be a little more specific?). I shouted "¡La cocaína, gilipollas!" (The cocaine, asshole)". Gustavo smiled. "Si, si!" he went into his jacket, retrieved a gun and badge, and shouted "Gustavo Rodriguez, DEA! Put your hands up!" 

                                                                           SHIT

I drew my gun, as did Jack and Butch. Juan booked it for the Jeep and retrieved a shotgun. Gustavo sighed. "Why're you makin' this hard on me, boys? Just put your fucking hands up." Butch laughed. "How about you do the same, we call things even? Me and my boys'll leave, you can take your [F slur] ass motherfuckas back up to the States. You ain't takin' us alive." Gustavo smiled. "Lo escucharon, muchachos. (You heard him, boys)" In a blink of an eye, the rest of the fellers next to Gustavo retrieved their guns. "Oh shit-" was the last thing I heard from Butch before the gunfire started. One of the men let out a burst of bullets from his AK-47, with 3 bullets shredding into my leg. I screamed and crawled away as the rest of the men (including Gustavo) let out a spray of bullets. Butch had 2 Colt .45s and emptied one of them into 2 men. He slid next to me behind the fruit stand. I saw Jack- who had an Uzi- empty his clip into 3 of the guys, before being shot to hell. He fell not 2 feet from my head. Still twitching. At least 20 bullets in him. I started sobbing. Butch slapped me. "We in this ass deep now! Get your gun out and start blasting!" he shouted as one of the men ran up to him. In a flash, I drew my M9, and fired 1 shot, dropping the man. Butch finished him off.  Now, 5 men remained. Juan was blasted his shotgun off, only clipping 1 man. He ran up to me to retrieve the gun I was holding for him. "¡Bebé, consigue mi arma!" (Baby, get my gun!) he shouted, running towards me. I screamed at him. "I told you not to bring a motherfucking double-barrel shotgun to a meeting, but-" as I screamed, one of Gustavo's goons let out a burst of bullets from his AK-47, making pudding out of my Latin lover's head. I screamed, and sobbed harder. We were fucked. 

Now even Butch was rattled. Something went out of his eyes as we watched Juan's body tumble to the ground. He just got angrier. The scene from the first paragraph played up, and all of a sudden, Butch stood up, throwing caution to the wind, and emptied the last of his bullets into 2 men- including Juan's killer- before getting one fatal bullet to his neck. He collapsed right next to me. He gurgled a little. "B, I just-" he coughed, "I just wanna tell you.... I love you, man. You tell-" he sputtered a little. I was crying now, knowing I couldn't do anything. "You tell my wife n kids I love 'em too." He smiled, and shakily clasped my hand. He died right then and there. In shithole Bolivia. I was done. I wiped tears from my eyes, and I got even angrier than Butch did. I cleared my throat. 

"Now I'm going to say this in English, so that you know I'm serious. I've had it up to here with you little fucks trying to arrest us for trying to earn a living, so I'm going to give you a chance to leave right now," I shouted. I was met with guffaws, and laughs. "You're outnumbered, pendejo! Come out with your hands up!" I heard Gustavo yell. "I'm hit. Bleedin' bad. I'm going to stand up. I'm going to walk to my Jeep, and any cocksucker that takes a shot at me...I won't just kill him, I'll kill his whole fucking family, too!" I said, shakily. I stood, wincing from the pain. I limped towards my Jeep, when I heard a gun cock. I whipped around, falling to the ground. I let out the remaining 14 shots, hitting the knees of Gustavo (permanently crippling him), and killing the remaining gentlemen.

Next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital. I was arrested. Charged for running cocaine, 2 counts of murder, and 1 count attempted murder. "Well, fuck," I moaned, as my lawyer, cousin Barty Goldstein walked into my room. "Hey, baby! You fucked up big time!" he said, laughing. I flipped him off. Well, long story short, I made a plea deal, and sent Manuel to prison. I only got 2 years. I wasn't sent to witness protection, or any other bullshit thing like that. Everyone hated Manuel, and everyone loved me, so nothing ever happened to me. Hell, I even stay in contact with a few friends from the cartel (which has since disbanded). Oh, and Manuel? He got ass-raped in prison and
hung himself the next day. Dumb bitch. And as for the families of the two fellas I killed, they're fine. Just an empty threat. 

And to the truthers who I KNOW will bring this up: Yes, this is a story of me and 3 other people doing horrible murderous things, but NO, that doesn't mean I kill my lover, that other dude, and shot my husband. So you can run and tell that, homeboy!