Caught in Traffick

September in New York is feeling more like September in Los Angeles with the unseasonably warm weather we are having. My Yorkie, Edith, was having the time of her life in Washington Square Park, and as usual - she was a total kid magnet. However, for once Edith had reeled in a kid with a ridiculously hot Dad attached and no Mom in sight. A rare score - and no ring on his finger either! Good job, Edith Piaf.

I intentionally fostered good relations between the dirty, little four-year old girl and my dog by giving her some treats to feed Edith - while I began to chat up the "DILF" (an acronym for "Dad I'd Like to $#@*" for those of you not as familiar with the even more common acronym of "MILF.") He was completely responsive - and totally gorgeous. Once his daughter's attention span had shifted away from my dog, the DILF got my number and promised to call - soon.

He completely had not been kidding about calling soon - because he actually called within the hour and asked if I wanted to get a glass of wine that very night! His ex would be picking up the little girl in a few hours and then he would be free. I had no intention of delaying gratification here because he clearly was not into playing games, so why not just go with it?

We met in a cozy, dimly lit bar just South of the park that was thankfully free of NYU students despite its proximity to the school. The DILF was tall, with dark curly hair, green eyes and a chiseled face. He clearly had to be a model at some point - because he looked as if he had just stepped out of the pages of a men's fashion magazine. His voice had a slight outer-borough twang to it (ewwwww!), but luckily his looks more than made up for the slightly Soprano-esque accent. It turns out that he was indeed a model a few years ago and now he is a personal trainer. Hmmm...O.K., so he falls into the "Mr. Right Now" as opposed to the more desirable "Mr. Right" category. Good enough though for a last minute date on a Saturday night though when I had zero plans anyway! I must consider the alternative for the evening before I get too picky.

Conversation didn't flow terribly easily. It didn't seem this guy got out much. He complained about having trouble making ends meet and having to pay child support. He rarely sees his daughter and he is currently staying on a friend's couch. In fact, the DILF even admitted that the child was the product of a brief fling he had with a woman in her late 30s who lied about being on birth control. She had basically tricked him into getting her pregnant because she was dying to have a baby and time was running out for her. Clearly, this guy has some great physical genes and it seems she found him to be the perfect sperm donor and she had hoped he wouldn't stick around. However, she miscalculated slightly and the DILF actually wanted to have some role in the child's life and so in exchange for paying child support he can barely afford, he gets to see the kid about one afternoon per month, if her Mom doesn't forget that he exists.

This evening was clearly going nowhere and this guy was turning out to be a complete loser. He proceeded to order a second round of drinks that I got the feeling that he had no intention of paying for after he had eyed the Cartier on my wrist. He asked me my age (which is SO polite on a first date) and I, in turn asked his. He is eleven years younger than I am. I suppose because he was so tall and he had a daughter, I was mistakenly assumed him to be in his 30s. Misreading disappointment for disbelief, the DILF pulled out his passport to prove his tender age - and here is where it gets interesting. Very interesting!

The DILF's passport was absolutely full of stamps from international travel for an impoverished, young, washed-up model turned personal trainer with an illegitimate child. There were probably ten trips to both France and Argentina taken within the past couple of years and a few to Brazil as well. Maybe this guy wasn't a total loser after all? I began questioning him about his favorite spots in Paris and Buenos Aires - two of my favorite cities, and he surprisingly seemed to know nothing about either of the cities which he had frequented quite recently. He had not been to any museums, did not have a favorite district, never heard of even the most touristy restaurants, and couldn't even place the name of the hotels which he had stayed in. Something was not right and it was clear that he regretted letting me leaf through his passport.

Finally, the DILF decided to come clean. He laughed a little and told me that I was going to hate him. He asked me if I knew what trafficking was. Gulp. I admitted that I did and then I asked him if he was a drug or (gasp) human trafficker, as I wondered if I would end up in a cage headed for Thailand in the not too distant future. Luckily, for me he turned out to only be a drug trafficker. I actually ordered a third round of drinks that I was suddenly all too happy to pay for as I planned to get the entire story before this night was over. It was bad enough that I had ended up on a date with a drug trafficker (who had my phone number, no less!) - but at the very least, I was going to get the skinny on exactly how he did what he did for the sheer entertainment value of it all. Why stay at home and watch CSI, when you can be on a date with an entire episode of it?

The DILF said that there are several different people involved in transporting the drugs (cocaine - in his case) and they don't know each other. He will receive instructions on where to do his pick up and from whom. Usually, he will fly to Argentina and then he will travel close to the Bolivian border where the drugs arrive from and he picks them up. He takes the cocaine (which costs about $2-3,000) to Buenos Aires where it is packed in brick like forms, wrapped in Glad Wrap, and sprayed in some substance from an art supply shop that makes it impossible for the dogs to smell the drugs through. It is then wrapped in some sort of carbon paper in reverse so that it does not show up on an x-ray. Lastly, the bricks are sewn into a huge bulky hang glider and packed in a hang glider's travel case with lots of complicated folds that would be too cumbersome for most custom's agents to want to deal with. He then boards the plane, with the hang glider as over sized luggage to Paris. He pretends that he is a avid hang gliding aficionado who frequently visits the Andes, the Alps, and any other mountain he can think of and then he delivers the hang glider to someone in France for about $25,000 per brick. If he thinks he is being followed he pretends to forget the hang glider because you only have broken the law if you leave the airport with it - apparently - not by simply travelling with it. However, he could get killed if he doesn't complete the delivery and give the money to his contact person - so inevitably, he always goes back to get it. I didn't bother asking what his cut of the money was as clearly it didn't seem to be the most lucrative business in the world for this guy as even renting a small studio seems beyond his reach financially. He also added that he is pretty sure that the DEA knows exactly who he is and what he is doing, but they don't typically arrest the "small people" - and even if they did, he couldn't lead them to the person in charge of the operation as he doesn't know who it is himself. The DEA is probably aware of this and thus he seems perfectly convinced that he will never get arrested. I suggested he rent "Maria Full of Grace." She was arrested. The DILF didn't care. He said movies about drug trafficking are really fake and that he knows what he is doing. Fine. Whatever.

At the end of my fascinating, but not terribly sexy date - I paid the bill. He seemed to find me irresistible...again, mistaking my voyeuristic interest in his criminal activity for a genuine interest in him as a boyfriend. He even added that he would be happy to have more kids if I found myself wanting any since I was in my mid-30s and all. I thanked him for the offer and left in a taxi, alone. He promised to call tomorrow and I silently made a note to self to change my phone number - like immediately. How ever do I find these people?