Jhon Jairo Velásquez Vásquez in uniform from the Naval School in Baranquilla
A man named Nandito, an easy living man that worked for Pablo Escobar in administrative tasks, once asked me to go with him to check out a mechanical bull at a farm that belonged to the famous mobster. I met with the engineer in the Magdalena Medio Antioqueño.3 We arrived at a beautiful farm with a small plane decorating the entrance. It was the famous Nápoles Hacienda of Pablo Escobar Gaviria and Gustavo de Jesus Gaviria Riveros. We headed towards the pool area, where we found the mechanical bull. While the engineer checked the machine, I looked around in awe. I felt dazzled by the wealth and power that could be breathed in the very air of that place. I passed tools to Nandito while looking around in anticipation, hoping to see the famous Pablo Escobar. Some armed men, sitting in chairs around the pool, confirmed his presence at the hacienda.
Finally, just as we were leaving, Pablo appeared on the second floor balcony. There he was, staring out at the horizon. He was pensive and distracted, as if trying to solve a problem. We left the house satisfied with his brief appearance. We drove back the whole way in silence, pleased and impressed with the imposing and captivating power that one man could inspire.
In my district, there were four beautiful women. They drove all the boys crazy with the flair and rhythm in their walk. I would have died for one of them in particular. Her name was Ángela María Morales Velásquez. She was the most beautiful—but, considering my lowly position, I knew it was impossible to even think of having her. She dated Roberto Striedinger, one of Pablo Escobar’s pilots. In the afternoons, driving his fancy cars, he would look for her while she was still in her school uniform. Destiny marked her to one day be my wife and to give me my only child, Mateo. With time I discovered that Ángela was a woman without principles. What she had in legs and body, she lacked in decency. She was nothing but a doll at the service of the mob. But she was worth it for my little boy Mateo. One of the other dolls was Claudia Zapata; she committed suicide because of troubles stemming from the mafia. The other two dolls, also marked by the laws of mafia, were named Sandra and Mónica. Ambition for money and greed destroyed everything those women touched.
My life in my district went by monotonously; I lived somewhere between the innocent craziness of youth and my sighs of platonic love for Ángela María. I left my job with the engineer and was unemployed for a full year. One afternoon, I was sitting around the corner from my house with my friends Hugo Franco and Juan Diego Morales. We were just in the street having a beer and listening to tango music when Ángela María’s brother came by disguised as an employment opportunity. What he really offered was destiny. The three of us were offered jobs as drivers/bodyguards for a beautiful woman.
Hugo, the son of a medical doctor, was offended and rejected the offer. Juan Diego, the son of a retiree, did the same. I accepted immediately. In fact, I took my new job with seriousness and enthusiasm. My new employer, Elsy Sofia, was Pablo’s lover. I could hardly believe it. I, a boy from Yarumal,4 unafraid of death, who desperately wanted colonel’s honors, now knew the secret places where the chief of the most powerful mafia in the world enjoyed his woman. My job was to take her to the exclusive stores of El Poblado and Oviedo, to the hairdresser, to the gym, and to the plastic surgeons where she would get beautiful for “El Jefe.” I would wait for her until daybreak, when their lustful and lascivious nights of love concluded. Working this position, making friends little by little with Pablo Escobar’s personal bodyguards, I finally obtained their appreciation and confidence, amidst the smiles we would exchange in response to the audible screams and whimpers of the woman during her orgasms. Without a doubt El Patrón was fortunate: Miss Medellín was clearly a good lover.
Once when returning by helicopter to Medellín from a vacation, Pablo, Elsy Sofia, and bodyguard Ruben Londoño (known as La Yuca) had an accident over Envigado, in the hills of El Chocho. The rear engine of the helicopter failed and the machine began to plummet to the ground only to land in a leafy tree. Pablo, Elsy, and La Yuca fell out of the helicopter, but, luckily, a cushion of leaves broke their fall. Pablo quickly got to his feet, up to his ears in mud. Elsy broke her left hand, La Yuca complained of pain in his broken right leg, and the pilot, unharmed, was trapped inside the helicopter, which was still up in the tree. The second helicopter that always accompanied Pablo witnessed the accident, and, losing no time, zoomed toward the group. Upon landing it picked up Pablo, Elsy, and La Yuca, and took them to the Envigado hospital. After this, Elsy Sofia went, with a cast on her hand, anywhere Pablo wanted her to go.
But Pablo Escobar was hardly a one-woman man; there was always a new one, prettier, younger, more lustful, or more refined. However, the latter was hardly a requirement—many of the most beautiful women in his collection came from the comunas5 or modest municipalities. Some mothers offered their daughters to Pablo, teaching them first how to best please him in bed.
As time went on, I became more and more familiar with the organization. It came to the point that my loyalty was so appreciated that one day Pablo Escobar, after he had ended his relationship with my Patrona6, asked, “Popeye, do you want to die with me?” I answered with a good dose of optimism, “Patron, you’re never going to die.”
From then on, there wouldn’t be a more important day in my life. I had entered the world of the mafia. And there I was born again. In my district the news spread like wildfire. Everyone murmured, but with no amount of jealousy: “Popeye is getting killed this year.” Those that made the most predictions about my death were my friends Hugo Franco and Juan Diego Morales. Alas, paradoxes of destiny: I’m still alive and they are both dead. Hugo was killed, shot defending a woman. Juan Diego’s death also involved a woman.
A few years later, I returned to Yarumal. My hometown was the same as before. I visited the main square. At the foot of a cold, antique statue was a sign proclaiming: “Wanted: Jhon Jairo Velásquez Vásquez, alias Popeye, Dead or Alive. Reward: $50,000 U.S.” I felt nothing. I left, silent and thoughtful. The sign had replaced the colonel’s honors that I once dreamed of—from then on, I was just a thug.
Chapter II
The Forging of a Gangster
Pablo Escobar never forgot his humble origins. He had a simple personality, free of pretension or a superiority complex. He ate any kind of food without complaint. In fact, he enjoyed a simple plate of rice and scrambled eggs as much as lobster with caviar. He swore he would never trade in his tennis shoes, his blue jeans, and short sleeve shirts for designer clothes or especially those bought at El Éxito.7 He was 5’5”, with black curly hair, a robust build, and a penetrating stare. Pablo was almost always in a good mood. He had a decent vocabulary, and treated his security and work personnel in a friendly way. This was partly why those who knew him intimately loved him.
Although he loved to party and stay up all night, he never got drunk or used cocaine. He only drank beer, which he always drank with three puffs of marijuana. He got high when he was very happy, usually as a reward for the success of some delicate operation. He preferred family reunions over social gatherings with friends or business get-togethers. But, just as he could be the best of friends, he could also be the most ruthless and bloodthirsty of enemies. He never forgave betrayal, and as far as Pablo was concerned, to violate a pact was the worst offense you could ever commit. He was a warrior in every sense.
Son of Doña Hermilda, a schoolteacher, and Don Abel, a humble district watchman, Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria was born on December 1, 1949, in Rionegro, Antioquia, a chilly town forty-five miles from Medellín. In his youth he lived in the La Paz District, in the municipality