Buying coke Acapulco

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Buying coke Acapulco

O n a warm morning in May a few years ago, Edgar Valdez, a drug lord who goes by the nickname La Barbie, woke up in one of the houses he owned in the resort city of Acapulco. In the s, this beautiful beach town was the premier haunt of American celebrities: Frank Sinatra used to prowl the hotel lounges, Elizabeth Taylor had her third of eight weddings here, and John F. Kennedy honeymooned on the coast with Jacqueline. The glamour started to fade in the s, but the city remained a popular vacation destination until a few years ago, when the Mexican cartels transformed Acapulco from a seaside paradise into one of the most violent flash points of the drug war. He felt bad about it, a little, but that is the way of the world, he thought — eat or be eaten. Barbie has olive skin, but his nickname comes from his good looks and green eyes. He was known for his happy-go-lucky personality, though he could turn terrifying and bloodthirsty in an instant. At 31, he still had the strong, raw body of the linebacker he had been in high school: five feet 10, pounds. He preferred to dress like a sophisticated South American on holiday, favoring polo jerseys with an emblem of a horseman and a stick, the kind that real Argentine jockeys wear. He is the only U. The U. Most of the drugs went to Memphis and Atlanta, where Barbie is believed to have been the main supplier for several violent networks, including one run by the half brother of DJ Paul from Three 6 Mafia. Instead, he simply loaded the cash onto flatbed trailers and trucked it across the Mexican border. In the lawless world of the cartels, that kind of money made Barbie a prime target. On this morning in Acapulco, he decided to eliminate the most immediate threat he faced. One of the policemen he kept on his payroll had informed him that four hit men from the Zetas — one of the most violent cartels, led by elite, American-trained soldiers who defected from the Mexican army — had been sent to Acapulco to kill him. So Barbie dispatched some of his own guys to ambush the hit men. To their surprise, however, the hit man had brought along his wife and two-year-old stepdaughter, figuring he might as well enjoy a family vacation while he was waiting to kill Barbie. The hit man and his family were taken to a house surrounded by an electric fence on the outskirts of Acapulco. Barbie climbed the stairs in the afternoon, carrying a video camera and a pistol tucked in his belt. With the camera on, he began interrogating the men, asking them where they came from and what kind of work they did for the Zetas. The words came spilling forth. They must have thought they were going to get some concessions for divulging so many secrets. But Barbie had other plans. He raised his gun. The man never got a chance to answer. Later, they sent her away with her mother, giving them 1, pesos for bus fare. Barbie believed in vengeance, and in taking care of his enemies. L ike many Texans, Barbie grew up right across the border from Mexico, in the city of Laredo. The place feels like something from a Mexican postcard, with cobblestone plazas and picturesque waterfalls — except for the massive, multilane bridge to Mexico that cuts straight through town. Until the drug war, everyone in Laredo saw the two sides of the border as one; many families, after all, had blood ties in both Mexico and the States. As a kid, Barbie loved to visit Nuevo Laredo, a border town bustling with donkeys, food carts, girls in little embroidered dresses, shoeshine boys and the smell of roasting corn. It was like stepping into another world, and all you had to do was cross the bridge. In high school, Barbie was in the popular crowd, horsing around in the breezeways outside of class and waging egg wars after school. On weekends, he went to keggers on ranches, played elaborate scavenger games and hung out with his steady sweetheart, Virginia Perez, a bubbly, blue-eyed blonde. At school, Barbie was an inside linebacker on the football team in a year when the United Longhorns won the district championship. He was a solid player, getting a sack or two a game, but he was never a star. His nickname came from his coach. Barbie never sold drugs in high school, according to friends, but he and his buddies engaged in a common teenage exploit in Laredo: roping cows in the middle of the night, loading them onto trailers and selling them to the highest bidder. Mostly, he liked hitting the bars across the border after a game on Friday night, and driving his Chevy with its custom red-and-gold paint job, especially on a desolate stretch of road where there was nothing but desert in the distance. One night, two months before graduation, he collided with another car. The other driver, a middle-school guidance counselor, died instantly. Barbie faced trial for criminally negligent homicide but was cleared of all charges. When Barbie graduated from high school soon after, his dad pushed him to go to college. Before long he was hanging out at border nightclubs, being flashy with his cash. He stopped to say hi, and we saw that he had bulletproof windows. We just thought he was rich. By age 20, Barbie was deeply involved in drug dealing. Laredo is the biggest commercial land crossing on the Mexican border, and customs agents can check only a small fraction of the 8, trucks that pass through the town every day. Barbie knew that if he could smuggle pot from Mexico in his truck, the resale price would instantly skyrocket. He started out bringing in small quantities, just to pocket a little extra spending money. But once he realized how much there was to be made, he and a friend began smuggling as much as pounds of pot over the border at a time. Eventually, they expanded into cocaine, making their initial sales by FedExing the drugs to midlevel traffickers in Louisville and Memphis. The Valdezes began making plans to move to the ritzy part of town, and Barbie married Virginia, his high school girlfriend. But the sudden influx of cash did nothing to stem his drug dealing. He had a good eye for deals — and, even more important, for when to walk away. I guess he smelled something. At one point, the cops captured a trafficker in Mexico who was supplying Barbie with cocaine. Terrified, Barbie pursued the time-honored path for criminals on the lam: He fled across the border into Mexico. Instead of putting an end to his career as a drug dealer, the indictment inadvertently paved the way for his rise to the top of the Mexican cartels. F or a year-old drug dealer on the run in the Nineties, Nuevo Laredo was an ideal spot to do business. The violence among the Mexican cartels had not yet exploded, and there were pockets along the border where the drug trade remained largely free from their influence. From the start, Barbie liked operating on his own. Unlike his flashier rivals, he liked to keep a low profile, driving a Chevy Malibu and a Nissan Sentra, though he demanded that the cars be washed regularly — he hated any hint of sloppiness. Within a few years, the big cartels started warring for regional control, and Nuevo Laredo, one of the jewels of the trafficking trade, suddenly became too valuable to remain independent. By , the Zetas began to move into the area in allegiance with the Gulf cartel, which was run by Osiel Cardenas, better known by his nickname, the Friend Killer. Then Cardenas took over and immediately jacked up the price of cocaine. Barbie was angry about the killing of Garcia, but all he could do was bide his time. With the Friend Killer gone, Barbie, then 29, staged a brazen tax revolt: He decided to stop paying the piso imposed by the cartels. It was a big moment, the one that started the cycle of violence in Laredo for the next few years. These days, he quietly directs the Sinaloa cartel from a mountainous part of Mexico where a single road goes in and out, his outer security posted hours away from his door. Arturo quickly saw the value of an American kid who knew both sides of the border, and he promised Barbie protection if he could help them win the crossing. Two months later, the officer sent to protect Barbie was shot dead by the Gulf cartel. In the end, the Zetas proved too strong for Barbie. With their military expertise and connections, they were able to up the ante by detonating car bombs, and Barbie suffered a further blow when U. He had also reached a low point in his personal life. He separated from his wife, Virginia, and sent his two sons to be raised by his parents in Texas. Barbie gave his men comical nicknames, like the Monster, the Korean and the Clown. In the resort city, Barbie had time to enjoy himself. For safety, Barbie moved around constantly between his homes on the beach, in the ranch country and in the tony Mexico City suburb of Santa Fe, where he had several apartments in different luxury complexes. Plug your ears. Barbie proved to have a flair for the dramatic. It was the beginning of a whole new style of publicity that would soon be adopted by all of the cartels: offing your enemies and posting the evidence online as a warning. To bolster his popularity, Barbie placed a full-page ad in a major Mexican newspaper, blaming the Zetas for the cycle of violence. The Mexican press ate Barbie up, eagerly chronicling his exploits. He bought flashy discos, closing them down a few nights a week to party in them himself. Barbie refused to divorce Virginia, fearing she might win custody of their kids. He was older now, and family was important to him. T hings seemed to be looking up for Barbie. They knew there was only one person with the motive and the means to take down Alfredo: Chapo, their longtime ally in the Sinaloa cartel. Soon, corpses were turning up all along the Pacific coast. But Arturo, the head of the cartel, was becoming more and more erratic, partying at all hours and reportedly even dabbling in cannibalism. Barbie was there too, keeping an eye on the two dozen or so bodyguards with gold-and-diamond-studded pistols who roamed the property. But just as the party was getting started, Mexican special forces suddenly stormed the house. As chaos erupted and the girls scrambled to hide from the gunfire, Arturo fled with his most trusted men to a nearby condo. A few days later, just before Christmas, government commandos descended on the condo in armored trucks and helicopters. Armed with only half a dozen men and a few grenades, Arturo barricaded himself inside, cowering next to his statue of Guadalupe. Grabbing the phone, he called Barbie. There was no way he was going to surrender, he declared. He begged his friend to send more men to back him up. He told Arturo the situation was hopeless, and urged him to turn himself in. He was going to shoot his way out of the condo, he told Barbie, or die trying. According to one law-enforcement source, the commandos had no intention of taking him alive, and he was killed in the chaos of the raid. Someone close to Arturo, who stood to advance from his death. Someone with no blood ties to the family. Someone who was not even Mexican. He also turned to El Charro, the father of his new wife, Priscilla, who reluctantly agreed to support his son-in-law. He was done with the Mexican cartels, he said — too much of a headache. In , he started his own outfit, the Independent Acapulco Cartel. The former linebacker from Texas was now a full-fledged Mexican drug lord. Shortly after Barbie declared his independence, the authorities raided his high-rise complex in Acapulco. Alerted by his outer security, Barbie escaped downstairs as the soldiers burst into the apartment. He fled on a motorcycle wearing a backpack full of grenades. A former associate shakes his head at the story. Decapitated bodies were hung from bridges. Thirteen people, including five police officers, were killed on a holiday weekend. Hundreds of people were killed as Barbie tried to carve out his own turf. Sometimes the bloodshed was personal: When four bodies, one of them headless, were dumped on a sidewalk, a note attached to the corpses mocked Barbie for his fashion sense and fussy grooming. He suffered a major setback when the Indian was captured by the Mexican police. His men were always making boneheaded mistakes — including one that threatened to unravel everything Barbie had worked to build. In Mexico, he hung out with Barbie until he was arrested by the police for a minor infraction. Unfortunately for Guajardo, he happened to ask the question of an honest Mexican jailer, who promptly arrested him. They also found the U. Both Petties and Guajardo were shipped back to America to stand trial. With his allies dwindling, Barbie was once again on the run. He moved back and forth between Acapulco and Cuernavaca and Mexico City, rarely staying anywhere for more than a night, and started looking for a new country that would take him in. One day, desperate to go out and do something, anything , he told one of his men to put on a baseball cap and drive him to the main tourist strip in Acapulco. They bought ice cream cones and walked down the street with its T-shirt stands and tourist shops, the sun warming their faces. After a half-hour, though, Barbie started to get nervous. There, was that person looking at him, over by the street corner? Was that a sniper, there on that roof? Barbie retreated to his car, more sullen than ever. Two officers jumped out of their black truck, guns drawn. They demanded to know where Barbie was. Terrified, the assistant caved. Barbie was at a ranch house on a secluded lot, he told them. Police descended on the hide-out, and Barbie was seized while he was trying to flee through a side door. The police paraded Barbie around the station so the press could get plenty of photos, which were soon splashed all over the media. At first, Barbie was confined to a temporary holding cell in Mexico City, where his lawyer was allowed to bring him moisturizer, Crocs and fresh polo shirts. But these days, he is being held in one of the most violent prisons in Mexico, charged with murder, money laundering and trafficking illegal narcotics. He is locked in solitary confinement almost 24 hours a day, a video camera monitoring his every move. Once or twice a week, officers wearing ski masks and toting machine guns remove him for a shower. He gets a phone call every 10 days. The Mexican government agreed in November to extradite Barbie to the U. According to several law-enforcement sources familiar with the case, Barbie has secretly been talking to the DEA for at least two years. Once or twice a year, Barbie would call the DEA, or his older brother, Abel, a former probation officer in Texas, would call on his behalf. Wherever Barbie winds up facing trial, no one expects him to receive less than life in prison. In Memphis, his old customer Petties may be willing to turn evidence against him, to avoid the death penalty for murdering four rivals. But since he was arrested, they have reportedly started to squabble among themselves. Several Porsches and Lexuses are parked in the driveway. His father, a lithe man with sparkling green eyes, is careful to distance himself from the boy who became La Barbie. Before he was captured, Barbie did have a bit of good news: He was going to have his first baby girl, his second child with Priscilla. His daughter was born in a hospital in Laredo. But he was glad it happened that way. He wanted her to be an American citizen. Rolling Stone is a part of Penske Media Corporation. All rights reserved. By Vanessa Grigoriadis , Mary Cuddehe. The Greatest Guitarists of All Time. The Greatest Albums of All Time. The Greatest Singers of All Time. In this article: drug bust, Drugs, long reads, Texas, War on Drugs. Sub Culture Sub Culture News. More News. Isaiah Colbert. They're Huge on TikTok. In the Clurb By Annie Goldsmith. Issy van der Velde. Go to PMC. Most Popular. You might also like. Powered by WordPress. Log In. Sub Culture. RS Films. RS Recommends. Culture Council.

An American Drug Lord in Acapulco

Buying coke Acapulco

He agreed to take us on a ride-along as he worked. The phone never stopped ringing, not for a minute. How was it? I won. We split the pot. I got 1, pesos. It was relaxed. Do you have contacts with the police or politicians? Everyone is well connected, and everyone is so full of bullshit—epecially over there in the organized crime and anti-kidnapping units. I take care of the heavyweights from the AFI. They send their bodyguards to me in armored cars and shit. No, just candy for my diabetes. If you do not complicate your existence, fuck, life is worth shit. Have you ever gotten a blowjob from one of them when you were really coked up and horny? With hookers, of course. Do you work all over the city? More cops. More probabilities. Sure, years ago when I was powerful and moved a lot of kilos. The thing is, you get caught and you get kidnapped, fucking kidnapped. Here, they grab you with the intention of getting your money. They just take you in a car and do all sort of things to you so that you shit your pants. Anyway, I used to carry weapons, but not anymore. They only get you in trouble. That was in the 90s when I made 10, 15k daily. But so much dough goes to your head. The cops fucked me up three times in two years. They had you on a short leash? Remember, all great empires fall on account of women. Women fucked me up. But the first rat was an asshole who worked with me. He ratted me out. Not anymore. Do you sell to anyone? Not to rapists and kidnappers, not me. Not to that kind of asshole. How about year-old kids? No, not at all. It would look like pedophilia. No kids or pregnant women. But the thing is, generations change. You have to adapt to your times. Sometimes, someone kind of young calls me, and they get the vibe, so they never call me again. And where do they get the money? They steal it from their parents. Do you have new clients every day? No, not anymore. I have my client base. I hate it. I used to have a lot of fucking energy, health, and balls. I still got the balls and the energy, but I lost my health. I need to get my rest. What kind of movies do you like? Extreme violence. Cops and robbers. Do you have vacations? Everyone tells me to go to Acapulco. I could go to Cuba or the States or wherever the fuck I want to go but the only thing in my mind right now is my kid, Fatty. He has autism. He was deaf, but now the little fucker can hear thanks to a cochlear implant. My motivation, my goal, and my project is my kid. Does Cocaine Make You Smarter? By Dwayne Jenkins. By Melanie A. Share: X Facebook Share Copied to clipboard. Videos by VICE. Weekly Horoscope: October

Buying coke Acapulco