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Europe Edition. News Sectors. Announcements Click here to receive this news directly in your inbox. In the hot tub, which they anointed with aromatic Vitabath. After he left, one of the girls who had been to this kind of rodeo before explained a thing or two about the mysterious Coot: He kept a low profile outside the Mutiny and didn't want anyone to know where he lived. Endowed with an enormous cock and uncommon stamina — even when coked out — he had an insatiable appetite for younger women; one remembered him slapping his manhood against the side of their room's TV.
The Coot always kept a gun in his boot.
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He once pointed it at the head of some guy who dared beat him at arm wrestling. And the old spook often repaired upstairs to an always-booked suite whose balcony was equipped with a shortwave radio. He was receiving messages from Biscayne Bay and beyond — from dealers, spooks, gunrunners. Who knew? Point was, the girls told Band, people at the Mutiny knew not to ask.
Coconuts and Cocaine
As for the legend that he was somehow involved in the Kennedy assassination, the Coot would only smile when a clubgoer dared ask if it was true that he had photos from Dallas's Dealey Plaza. After the all-nighter, Owen Band drove home. His head spinning, heart pounding, and mouth dry from all the cocaine and alcohol, he proceeded to sleep until 10 at night. Then he sped back to the Mutiny.
Only, through the back this time, and straight to the Coot's table. The old man greeted him with a big Cuban hug and a rascally grin — as in: Shall we do it again? It was the middle of the week. The Coot took him around the club. He introduced the well-spoken Jewish kid — "this is my smart nephew" — to Carlene Quesada, a coke lord who held court at a corner table.
When Quesada got up to hug the Coot, the anti-Castro hero, he extended his hand to Band, who refused to shake. He thought of Quesada as a rat, remembering him in the pages of the Miami Herald. Nevertheless, Band took a seat at the doper's table and hit on his groupies.
Rotting papayas, oregano, coconuts and... cocaine
Later in the men's room, "Super Papi," Quesada's bodyguard, walked up behind Band at a urinal. Band apologized and swore he didn't intend disrespect. He could explain. Flying through stoplights on Biscayne Boulevard at 80 mph while reaching into his glove compartment for cocaine, Super Papi remarked, "Hey, if you're going to be a criminal, be a criminal percent of the time. You know? One night, while Band was having a drink at the Coot's table, none other than speedboating kingpin Willie Falcon sent over a bottle of Dom and gestured for him to come over.
They shared some wine. No words exchanged. Just nods and heads bouncing to the DJ's latest spin.
It was a body-language check. Band glanced back at the Coot, who nodded back approvingly — as in, just roll with it. Falcon's deputy, Venao the Deer , later materialized. He invited Band to a hallway connecting the Upper Deck to the hotel, where the Muchachos kept several suites.
They rode the elevator up to an especially large suite that practically covered a whole floor of the hotel. Venao shut the door and opened the curtains to a gorgeous view of the bay. There were maybe sailboats speckling the water. Venao cracked open a kilo of shiny blow.
It was scaly and translucently pink — hallmarks of high quality, someone had told Band. Venao gestured thumbs-up and pinched some into an indentation he was able to make in the fleshy area that connected his thumb and forefinger — the anatomical snuff pouch, it was called at the Mutiny. Band realized he was being recruited.
It would be shrewd diversification on Willie and Venao's part: Enlist an educated, well-spoken white kid to move the stuff among spoiled pals up North. Surely, the Coot had filled in the Muchachos. But Band also knew he was a guppy. He could probably traffic in grams, not kilos. He crunched the risk-reward scenarios in his head as Venao tooted more of the pink stuff and licked powder up into his gums.
If Band took on more than he could deal, he'd lose any goodwill or rep he had built up at the Mutiny, however inadvertently. If he took on grams, he'd be laughed at. After another toot, Band mustered the courage to ask Venao for a special arrangement. The Deer shrugged an OK.watch
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He learned that even when he cut Venao's blow with powdered baby laxative, his stuff sold like mad up North. Then there were old acquaintances from Boston University, spread all across the most moneyed parts of Long Island, who would pay top dollar for "good shit" to powder up with before hopping the evening train into Manhattan. One was the son of Pittsburgh steel money who partied hard at New York's Studio He introduced Band to co-owner Steve Rubell and his head of security at the mobbed disco.
Liza Minnelli. Morgan Fairchild. The 'disco dust' that all these 54 people were so used to was so fucking stepped on — so cut, abused, and watered down. It might have been 20 percent pure.
£50m of cocaine found
Band's stuff, by comparison, was 50 percent pure. And, validating the gambit made by Venao, he was white, well-spoken, and nonthreatening, compared with the stereotypical Cuban or Colombian cocaine cowboy.
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- Brooke/Cocaine To Coconuts🥥.
Band was summoned to Steve Rubell's mansion at least three times to deliver his product. He was flying up from Miami four or five times a month now. The 7 a. Always buy round-trips, even if you were only going to use one leg. Band would walk into Miami International with three ounces of his cocaine in each boot. The discovery led to the arrest of those receiving the goods, a Venezuelan woman and two Colombian men, all of whom have been charged with endangering public health.
A tiny hole had been bored into the top of the coconuts and their natural juice had been extracted with a syringe and replaced with liquid cocaine. They had then been resealed with a resin the same colour as the coconut in attempt to disguise the process. The kg shipment contained both fresh coconuts and bananas. Only one 'doctored' coconut had been placed into each of the 65 boxes of coconuts, so as not to raise suspicions.