Everyone has a story. Everyone dreams. If I'm gonna tell a real story, I'm gonna start with my name. Steven Kalish...
Judgement Day
1980
"I think it’s important to note that Steven never asked me to cheat, lie, or steal, and never asked to present false evidence for him or for anyone else I represented for him."
Dick DeGuerin, Criminal Defense Attorney based in Houston, Texas most notable for defending Tom DeLay, Allen Stanford, David Koresh, the American leader of the Branch Davidians religious sect, Kay Bailey Hutchinson, and Robert Durst.
The brown Crown Victoria illuminated with the patrol car’s light. The rumbling gravel beneath the wheels halted. A lone deputy stepped out, his hand gripping the holster, drew close enough to spot the Cubans dressed for combat. The deputy backed away, upholstered his gun.
“Out of the car. NOW!”
The Cubans complied. I exited the passenger front door, immediately dropping to my knees so I could open the baggie and toss the blow before pitching the baggie into the cold wind. The deputy freaked because he wanted me standing. He nearly shot me trying to keep track of four guys who shouldn’t be driving Highway 288 in Brazoria County at 4 a.m. He radioed for back-up.
I raised my hands as I stood.
“Lean on the back of the car! NOW! RIGHT NOW!”
I obeyed, spread against the trunk of the Crown Victoria when two more patrol cars carrying about six deputies pulled up. They jumped out into the Gulf mist, leaving lights on and doors opened. Two charged straight toward me like demented pit bulls in a fighting ring. My legs spread, one deputy searched me to find Jamie Rowsey’s temporary paper driver’s license Don had given me in the top pocket of my shirt.
I faked fear like a kid throws a fake tantrum to snatch another cookie off his mom. They knocked me around as if adding numbers to a scoreboard they’d later brag about to their buddies. I gave them the story with the sincerity authority demands.
“I hardly know them. We met at a Houston gym, and they invited me to go fishing.”
The deputies laughed. “You think we believe your ass?”
Nothing I said mattered. They continued slapping me around and pressing for something significant. We didn’t have any fishing gear or any catch to back my story. One deputy held up the baggie of coke residue while I thought about the Cuban half-load still stuck on the sandbar in the ICW. I figured when daylight rose over the Gulf, law enforcement would discover the shrimp boat. Steven Kalish would be the first name out
of their mouths. But they never did. I was clueless as to why. Would be so easy for another smuggler to spot.
After the deputies tired of squeezing me for information, they transported us separately to the Brazoria County Jail. These good ol’ boys figured it was too hard for a man to fight alone, busted, with so little to fight for. But they didn’t know me or that they were just one hand too late even with the baggie of coke residue in their possession.
At the Brazoria County Jail, I was booked as Jamie Rowsey on cocaine possession. I was photographed, fingerprinted and handed jail clothes as I turned all my belongings over. The Miami Cubans and I were separated. In a cell with a few others, I thought one breath to the next how much I regretted my decision to help the imposing Armando Alvarado. He'd always been a man I would not want to cross. The guilt burned away when I shut my eyes from exhaustion. Even then, I never lost sight of my goal to climb the next rung of the ladder as surely as there was heaven and hell.
The next day a man whose opinion it seemed he liked the world to know represented me and the three Cubans. I would have been in awe had I been allowed that choice.
Didn't matter who stood in Texas attorney Percy Foreman's intimidating presence, they were mesmerized by his distinction to move mountains with one push of his middle finger. That's why Miami Drug Cartel Leader Tony Jimenez hired him with an upfront 250,000 dollars to cover Armando's, Diego's, Ruben's, and my bond. At 6'8", 300 pounds, his face strapped with an alcoholic nose, Percy's bail reduction to 5,000 bucks and re-election checks cut to the judge and sheriff were the kind of offer no one could or would ever refuse.
THE TRUTH BEHIND THE LARGEST DRUG SMUGGLING RING EVER DISCOVERED IN THE UNITED STATES...... COMING 2018-2019 the non-fiction crime epic "The Last Gentleman Smuggler" by former Texans Steven M. Kalish, a fifteen-year-old hippie drop-out to one of the largest pot smugglers and money-laundering masters in a tribe not his own, and Nikki Palomino, award-winning author/filmmaker DAZED Novel Trilogy, rock journalist, former grunge rock musician/radio personality. The true crime story about the largest smuggling operation in U.S. history.
You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view—until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.
July 1984
“I have been involved in marijuana smuggling for most of my adult life....I am Steven Michael Kalish, convicted narcotics smuggler.”
The Infiltrator is based on a true story of the undercover sting operation to catch Pablo Escobar by using FBI files on Steven Kalish's money-laundering scheme for Medellin Cartel at the BCCI in Panama City. The two-year operation starting in 1986 would have been successful had the U.S. government not jumped the gun forcing the undercover narcotic's agent's hand too soon.
American Made is about airplane pilot Barry Seal who smuggled coke for Escobar. One day in 1984, Ochoa of the Medellin Cartel asked Steven Kalish, "You ever heard of Barry Seal?" Steven Kalish aka Frank Brown said, "Never heard of him." Ochoa said, "You bring him to us alive, it's a million dollars. Dead, 500,000."
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