100 Pounds Pt. ii

Julia Manchester was born on May 8^th, 1957. She was the daughter of John and Susy Manchester. I’ve heard many stories where parents of the fifties were extraordinary. They worked hard and took care of their children. This was not the case for my mother Julia. In earlier times, the word “strict” had a different meaning. By today’s standards, their definition of “strict” would be considered excessive.

John was a fairly successful man in his time. He did a lot of important work for a telephone company and even did some work for NASA’s space program. He could definitely be considered financially successful and had a wife, three sons, and a beautiful little girl. I envy the life that he had. Sometimes the things that we dream about belong to those that don’t want it. I think that he hated his children. I don’t know exactly why, but his actions lead me to believe just that. He provided all the physical abuse needed to damage the children. In some cases where there was an abusive father, the mother is also abused. This also was not the case. Suzy stood by not showing a bit of pain while her children were beaten for absolutely no reason. She provided all the emotional abuse needed to tear down the children.

Julia lived the most precious years of her life in fear. She was never allowed to walk directly on the carpet down the hallways of her house. She would have to walk along the sides of the walls or she would be beaten. The day that she first had her menstruation period is one that she will never forget. A day that I, as a man, have come to understand is an important milestone in the life of a woman. I learned about periods when I was young, but Julia was never told about it. When she bled on her clothes she thought something was wrong with her. She didn’t handle it well, she was very scared. Her mother Suzy didn’t comfort her. She told her she was stupid. While she lay crying in her room on her bed, John entered with a hanger and beat her legs leaving more blood that was far from natural. John would use hangars to beat Julia, but preferred to use his golf clubs on his sons. You see, John loved to play golf.

Julia never had good experiences with the men in her life (Maybe I changed that). She had her first real relationship when she was eighteen. His name was Tony and she loved him more than anything. With this relationship Tony took the last of her innocence along with the life of her child.

Tony was her high school sweetheart. Like most of the town, Julia saw Tony as the perfect young man. He was the only son in a wealthy, well respected family. He was sort of a mamma's boy, but still man enough to make the women drool. He was very sweet to Julia. He treated her like the princess that she was. It was easy for her to fall in love with him, and just as easy for him to fall in love with her. Their relationship seemed perfect, but ended voilently soon after Julia discovered she was pregnant with Tony's child. You see, Tony's mom wasn't ready to be a grandma. Instead she decided to make tea with ground up leaves from a Tephrosia plant. I know that you probably don't know about Tephrosia plants, so I'll tell you. Tephrosia plants can be used to cause abortions. She gave the tea to Julia, probably telling her that it was a special family recipe that would be good for both the pretty young pregnant girl and her unborn baby.

Of course, Julia left her first boyfriend after such a traumatizing experience. It was a couple years later that she met Lucian Duarte. She told me about how they met once.

This is me

I wonder how many times the average person reaches a state of enlightenment in their lives. I would guess the possibility could be endless. Unfortunately I don’t think that it’s possible to hold on to it when it is happening. It’s like climbing out of a quicksand pit, sometimes you may reach the top but you cannot stay there forever, we all sink. I can remember the first time I had reached that point in my life. I was eight years old. I was in a hospital in a small pinkish colored room that only contained a small table, two chairs, and a doctor with a notepad. The doctor was asking me lots of questions. I don’t remember what the questions were about but I do remember why I was there. I had just had my first nervous breakdown and they were trying to figure out why. I’m not sure if they ever figured out the reason, and I didn’t understand much of what was going on with me emotionally then, but I do understand now. I saw the world for what it was. I understood the evil that it produced. I had seen so much of it in the short time that I was alive. It was too much for such a little heart to accept.

I have had many years of therapy. I have a clear understanding of my life. These writings are the form in which I will teach what I have learned. We have all been told that everything happens for a reason. We hear it so much that it can easily pass by you unheard or unnoticed. I have known since the age of 17 that the reason for my birth was to have a positive effect on one person’s life. I have never been completely sure but have always felt that it would be someone that I did not know. I have been given strength by the many powerful souls I've encountered on my journey that I must now pass on to those that need it. While you read this, remember these thoughts. The following events happened to me so that you may read it and walk away with something that wasn’t there before. Take it with you, but remember to give to others as well. If you do, then I will have fulfilled my reason for existence.

The First Pickup

I received the call at about 10:00 PM. It was the call I was waiting for all day. I didn’t think that they would call so late, but I would soon realize that every call would be at night.

The call was to tell me it was time to leave my house and head across two states to make my first pickup. I packed up an extra set of clothes, my toothbrush, and other bathroom stuff, then hopped into my moms 3/4 ton Chevy Silverado. Sitting in the passenger seat was the only person I trusted, my mom. We backed out of the driveway and headed out.

Before that day I was what you would call a reckless driver. I had no respect for other drivers, and even less respect for the laws of the road. But for this trip and all that would follow, I became the perfect driver. The trip took eight hours total, we only stopped for energy drinks and to pee. Staying awake was the hard part, but I had a few weapons of choice: Radio, Red Bull and Newport's. Smoking was my ultimate weapon. The strong flavor of the Newport along with the cold air blowing in from the cracked window were enough to wake me up every 20 minutes.

After two hours I noticed my mom looked extremely tired. “You know mom, I’m gonna be fine driving so you can put your seat back and rest.”

“No I can’t sleep in cars, I’ve never been able to. That’s okay anyway son, don’t worry about me.” But I kind of wished she would fall asleep. She was very jumpy the whole way, which made the trip a lot more difficult for me.

The world seems empty sometimes when you are driving through the Midwest in the middle of the night. I guess that's a good thing when you are doing what I do.

We arrived to the capital of Arizona at 8:00AM the next morning. It was a foggy morning which made it kind of hard to see the road. My employers had left a reservation for us at a small motel just outside the downtown area. I went to the front desk and got our keys, then took our luggage to our room. We each had a twin and we fell right into them. We were both exhausted but couldn’t rest for more than an hour. We were meeting my employers for breakfast at a local restaurant. The hour flew by faster than a dream.

We met my employers at a Mexican restaurant near the motel. One of them asked for my keys, and took my moms truck. When we sat down with the employer that I’m going call the CEO. He told us that the other guy (who I’m going to call the VP) took the truck to prepare it for the trip back, and would be back in an hour. I ordered juevos rancheros and a shot of Remi to help calm myself. It was then that my mom told me that my Dad always drank Cognac.

We spoke to the CEO about our trip, everything else was just small talk. When the VP returned he asked me to follow him to the truck. “Get in” he told me as he opened the door to the passenger side and pulled the seat forward. I climbed into the back of the truck and waited for him to get in on the other side. Once inside, he placed his hand on one of the compartments on the side of the back of the cab. “If you reach your hand into these compartments you can pull them out like this.” He lifted the compartment about an inch. “When you get home, pull these out all the way and remove every package inside the walls of the truck. Do you see?”

“Yes.” Then we said goodbye and headed back to the road. The drive back wasn’t as bad. Probably because of the daylight. I was nervous about what I was carrying, but I hardly saw any cops, and I doubted that they would suspect a young man like me, driving with his 40 year old mother. I was right.

100 Pounds

In my first post I said that I'm not a product of my environment. I admit that my current place in this world probably has a lot to do with who I came from. I think that I should cover my parents. So first, my dad:

My fathers name was Lucian Duarte. He grew up in Mexico on a farm in Sonora, born into a family of Yaqui indians. He knew how to speak Yaqui. I even got to see him speak it at an indian pow-wow he took me to in upstate New York when I was 10. 

The photo above is not my dad, it's a Yaqui deer dancer from Sonora.

Lucian lived with his mom, sister Conception, and younger brother Alvaro. His dad was killed in a farming accident when he was young. Lucian had no chioce but to take his place as the head of the family. His mom, brother, and sister became his responsibility. Lucian worked like a dog with his best friend Manuel for a couple years, farming. 

One day Manuel told Lucian that he was able to get a job for some local gangsters that would pay them a lot more then they could normally make working their asses off. Of course Manny was able to get Lucian in on the deal.

Lucian and Manny began work as collectors for the Mafia. They had to get pretty rough with some people every once in a while, but made lots of money doing it. To Lucian, being able to support his family was the most important thing, nothing he did mattered as long as his family had everything they needed. Manny on the other hand, was working for Manny. He wanted to have everything to himself, and was getting into drugs, but it wouldn't last.

Lucian was called to meet the mafia boss one day. Lucian was a good worker and made lots of money for the boss. The boss wanted him to continue working for him, but as a hitman instead. He offered the position to Lucian, promising him more money then him and his family could spend. Lucian told him he would take the position, and also asked if Manuel would also be offered this work. The boss told him that Manuel wasn't going to be made hitman because he was stealing money and getting high all the time. The boss told Lucian that he would have to kill Manny. 

I don't know if Lucian was heartless when he killed his best friend, but he was able to show his employers that he would do anything asked of him.

This isn't my dad, just a picture I found online.

Lucian didn't stop there. He continued to be a cold blooded murderer (I will write about some of the murders he commited) while transporting countless plane loads of drugs into the United States.

Introduction

My name is Sonny, and this is a narration of my life as a drug dealer. 

When you hear the words 'drug dealer' you probably think of a disgusting pimp shoving crack down the throats of children. If you are going to read my story, then you are going to have to clear those thoughts from your mind. 

In this case I want you to think of someone you know, a good kid, maybe your neighbor that helps you with your yard work, or maybe your son who is in college, working towards a bachellors degree in computer science, or engineering. You see, I am not a product of my environment, feeding off of society, I am your neighbor, I am your son. I am the product of society and the economy.

I am not selling crack to children. I'm not selling crack at all. I am selling weed, and a lot of it. I have buyers aged 17 to 77, though they haven't actually met me and probably never will. 

I'm not going to debate with anyone about the "dangers" of marijuana so don't waste your time. You obviously know where I stand on that subject, even though I don't smoke weed myself. 

My story isn't just about being a drug dealer. It is also about family, the mafia, the government, and growing up in the witness protection program.

So if you are still reading, and you are interested in hearing my story, without judgment, then continue on. This is what I call the Autobiography of an American Tragedy.