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I transferred from robbery to narco.
Started hitting it, you know, 24/7.
Street rips, knocking down doors, and within 3 months
I was ripping off couriers or ending up in a Ramada Inn
with a couple of ***' eight-balls.
Oh, yeah.
Somewhere in there, Claire left,
and somewhere in there,
I emptied a 9 into a crankhead
for injecting his infant daughter with crystal.
Said he was trying to purify her.
State attorney gave me one chance to stay out of jail.
He said, "You can keep your profile, but we want to make you our wild man junkie."
So they did. They made me a floater, like a trick.
You know, any agency or department needed a deep undercover narco,
they got me,
and there was no ***' expiration date, baby.
And they kept you out there for 4 years?
Mm-hmm.
And then, February of '93,
I killed 3 cartel men in Port Houston.
I took three 25s in the side and ended up
at Northshore Psychiatric Hospital in Lubbock, Texas,
which is kind of funny in its own rite
psych ward being in Lubbock, Texas. Heh!
You ever been there? They offered me a psych pension.
Jackpot, right?
And I said no.
I said, "Put me on homicide somewhere."
By then, I was owed quite a few favors,
and, uh, Louisiana was what they had.