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I’ve been getting some flack from people regarding my association with the New York Police Department – including some angry emails from guys “on the job.” Let me clarify for you the facts. I was not an “official” member of the NYPD – However, I did work closely with them as an undercover “operative” dealing in the trafficking of large amount of cocaine in the areas of Manhattan, Queens and Long Island. I am very proud of the work I did with those guys – and think that my cooperation helped get a lot of bad people off the streets.
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It started when I was tending bar in the lower east side of Manhattan when I was 25. I was writing a lot of freelance back then for several news papers and magazines. I had plenty of free time and since my finances were solid, I took a job at a local tavern in my neighborhood. Everyone there loved me – as I am what some would call a “people person.” It was kinda like “Cheers” – but with a tougher crowd. Bars in New York are open till 4:00am, so there was many a late night. Keeping bars open that late means people will be drinking longer. People drinking longer usually ends up that many of them are doing things to stay awake. In this particular case, there was a lot of cocaine use by the patrons.
I tried coke on whim when a buddy of offered me a “bump” at a bachelor party. It made me feel great – confident. It made people very friendly and talkative. It’s a social drug – to a point. People with addictive personalities tend to become hooked and they often withdraw and become paranoid. I keep my usage to a social level. Others around me did not. Dealers started using the bar a central hangout spot – mostly transactions out front or in the bathroom. But either way, the bar became a known spot for cocaine activity.
I made a lot of friends at the bar. One guy named Kenny was a plumber who started coming in quite frequently. He was a cool guy and everyone seemed to like him. Soon Kenny was friends with a few of the coke dealers – he and I even did some coke together one night when the place was closing. Long story short, Kenny comes in one Friday night very early before the crowd and he asked me if I could “get him some blow.” I told him no one who was holding was at the bar. He said “it was for later” and handed me 300 dollars cash – saying he’ll “be back at 10 o’clock.” Like a fucking idiot I took the money. Out of greed I had my friend Doug come by and drive to Jackson Heights where he could get an “8 ball” – which is an eighth of an ounce of cocaine – for $180 dollars. So we made $120 to split. Kenny showed up and I gave him the coke. This went on three more time over the next 2 months, and then Kenny just disappeared. Or so I thought.
Kenny called my home phone one day when I was off and asked me if I could get him more coke. I felt kinda weird having him call me at home – and didn’t like the way he was talking so direct and specific. I told him to come by but he said he couldn’t “because he had his work van and it wasn’t registered to be driven outside of Queens County” – which thinking about now is fucking nonsense, but at 25 it seemed possible. Like a dickhead, I drove to Jackson Heights and bought 2 eight-balls – one for Kenny, and one for myself. I then drove to meet Kenny at a strip bar in Queens on Jamaica, Avenue. We had a beer and I slipped him his coke and he gave me $300 dollars. He was acting all paranoid and told me he was moving to Florida. He wouldn’t make eye contact. I got a bad vibe so I told him I had to take care of some stuff in the city. He hugged me and said “be safe – sorry about all the trouble.” Trouble?
I was two blocks from the bar when two undercover cop cars pulled out in front of me. They exited with guns drawn and had me step out of my car. I was fucked. I had Kenny’s money in my front pocket and the other 8-ball in my coat. To make matters worse, there was an unloaded sawed-off shotgun under my right passenger seat and small box of DMV issued smog- certificates stickers. My friend who is a mechanic gave me them.
They took me back to the stationhouse and told me I was under arrest for the sale of a controlled substance, drug trafficking, possession of an illegal firearm, crossing county lines with the intent to sell narcotics, all sorts of shit – it was crazy. I was so pissed off at myself, but I kept my mouth shut and called my lawyer. Once they started looking into the DMV Smog certificate stickers they started bringing in a whole new angle of how I was part of a “syndicate that were dealing in stolen documents.” It was getting ugly. But I didn’t talk.
My lawyer – who knew every DA in the city - told me I was looking at 3 to 5 years at the very least. He suggested that I cooperate with the police. I’m not a rat or snitch or a fucking pussy. I told him I wasn’t taking any deal – I wasn’t a dealer! I was a dumb kid who was set up by some scumbag. The cops came back and said that since I made a sale from my apartment (the phone call with Kenny) that they were considering taking my apartment as part of a “government seizure.” When I was 16, I was involved in an accident that nearly ended my life. I went thru a year pf physical therapy. It was hell. The only upside was that I won a hefty settlement from the company that cause my injuries. My parents put all my money into real estate – I had a 9 unit apartment building in upstate New York, as well as a small commercial building. In addition, I bought a two-bedroom co-op apartment in Manhattan from my uncle. I was financially set. Now the cops were trying to tie my personal assets into some kind of fucking “Drug Empire!” I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was about to lose everything over doing some scumbag a favor. I took the deal and started working undercover with the cops.
The cops informed me that I was to wear a wire and try to make drug buys in certain bars they had targeted including two nightclubs in a rough section of Long Island know as “Five Towns.” My friend Rob Weiss made a ganster movie about the area called "Amongst Friends." I was surprised that they were sending me to Five Towns and almost backed out of the deal. Five Towns is not an area that you go to unless you have backup or are carrying heat. Kids on the streets of Hewlett are lucky to make it to their 16th birthday. I had no choice to but to do what they said. The two detectives I worked with were actually pretty cool to me – and are still friends with me to this day. They knew I was in a spot and they helped guide me. Like Kenny before me, I had to bring them “three people” before they would drop my case. The more I cooperated with the police, the easier it became on me and the sooner the nightmare would be over.
In less than 4 months I was able to deliver my three drug dealers to the cops. It was scary as hell at times but I developed a strategy for survival. I targeted the younger middle-class white kids who frequented these clubs. I’d win them over as drinking buddies, by them drinks and gain their trust. Then it was all business – I wanted coke and I wanted it now. I flashed cash, told lies – did what ever the detectives told me to do. I was a natural. The first kid I collared was the young son of a prominent businessman. I bought from him on tape half a dozen times. I had him drive in to the city for one sale – which is key. The cops needed to have these people crossing into different jurisdictions to make the case stick. It was joint effort between all agencies. The more violations the better the collar.
My last two dealers were not easy as I had begun to develop a sense of remorse for fucking up these kid’s lives. It was their choice, in the end – but I was persuasive as hell. The second arrest was a 19 year old girl. She was overweight and not super attractive so my sudden attention to her made her feel special. She started to develop feelings for me and we slept together a few times. She was a single mother with a young son who worked as waitress at one of the clubs. She knew everyone at the club. She wanted nothing to do with drugs, but after my pleading she agreed to middleman a few deals for me. When they arrested her she was in tears. Her son went to foster care. I felt bad. But I had made a deal and had to keep my end of the bargain up.
The only one I feel actual remorse about was Brandon. He was a dishwasher at one of the clubs that the police suspected was involved in narcotics. He had a learning disability of some sorts but was otherwise a good kid. Over the course of a few weeks I befriended him and got him to gain my trust. His older brother was in a gang and would kick his ass if Brandon ever joined a gang. So he was pretty much a straight arrow. One night I convinced him to see if he could get drugs from his brother. Sure as shit the next night he showed up with weed and coke. I made a total of two transactions within a 10 day period. Brandon was arrested. He was scared to death. I almost felt responsible for the whole thing. I wanted to ask the cops to let him go and I’d find another dealer to replace him. It was too late – Brandon hung himself with his shirt and took his own life while he was in the holding cell at the stationhouse.
The detectives knew I was upset about Brandon – and they were as well. I think about Brandon often and how scared and confused he must of been. Why did he have to get involved in the drug trade at such a young age? I had delivered my three dealers and the streets were somewhat safer – at least in the eyes of the police department. I put my life on the life every night. If these dealers found I was wearing a wire I could of been killed on the spot! I think I was addicted to the rush. The danger. Was it worth it? Hell. know. At the end of the day – the “war on drugs” was a joke. $500 billions dollars and 400,000 people in jail for using drugs? I think there are bigger problems in the world. People are gonna use drugs either way.
Peace Out,
Brett
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