Working Undercover

By Richard Holiman, Jr.

Copyright 2012 Richard Holiman< Jr.

Smashwords Edition

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It was February 7, 1992, and my birthday and I was stuck being duty agent, on a Saturday night in the DEA New Orleans Field Division. The last place I wanted to be was attached to my phone, getting every crap call, from everybody with a bitch or a score to settle. Every one of whom was getting forwarded from the dispatcher to me at my home. I had begged, cajoled, and tried to make a deal with every agent I ran into that Friday, to get them to take my duty so that I could have a decent birthday weekend. Later, I would remind the ones who turned me down, while showing them what they had given up.

Around two in the morning, already into Sunday, I was awakened once again by the dispatcher, telling me he had a person on the line who wanted to report drug activity. When he put the person through, he gave his name as Roy. Roy was obviously, drunk, drugged, or both. He said he knew someone trying to sell twenty kilos of cocaine, and he could set up a deal for me to buy it. Sensing bullshit, not really awake, and still mad about missing my birthday celebration, I asked Roy if he knew what time it was, gave him the number to my pager, and told him to call me back in the morning. As I lay back in bed, I started to wake up, and wondered if I had just put off a crank caller, or just given up what would have been the biggest score of my fairly new career with DEA.

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