We hung out with Mickey for the rest of the show, getting to know each other. Mickey had plenty of stories to tell, and he held court. When Mickey spoke of the glory days, people listened.
The show finished with the Blue Angels performing unbelievably precise aerial acrobatics. Flying wing tip to wing tip demanded the utmost in skill and attention.
Flynn suggested we all grab a drink on Oyster Avenue and kick around ideas for the biopic. We wanted to get out of there and beat the rush before the traffic.
I called for a rideshare. Five minutes later, a black Lincoln Navigator pulled into the parking lot. We hopped inside, and the driver pulled out of the lot in the nick of time as patrons spilled into the parking lot, heading back to their cars.
It was a nice evening, and Mickey wanted to drink margaritas on the deck of El Señor. It was a tropical restaurant bar that served nachos, quesadillas, fajitas, and burritos. The margaritas were giant, and one was enough to put you over the limit. Two would lower your inhibitions, and by three, you were making bad decisions.
On the way, a cardboard sign on a corner readYard Sale, written in black Sharpie. Mickey saw it as we approached the intersection and instructed the driver to follow the arrow.
I shared a curious look with JD and Flynn. Now seemed like a strange time to go thrifting, but it was Mickey’s show, for the moment.
We meandered through the residential neighborhood, following the cardboard signs. The sale was easy to spot. Cars lined the street. People came and went. Items sat atop card tables on the driveway.
The driver pulled up to the home, and Mickey gave him 20 bucks to wait while he sifted through a few items. “I’ll be right back, he said.”
Mickey hopped out and hustled up the driveway.
“What the hell is he doing?” JD asked with a wrinkled brow.
Flynn shrugged. "Just roll with it, boys. Mickey can be an odd one at times."
That was the pot calling the kettle black.
Mickey perused a bunch of books on a table. He surveyed them quickly, then moved on. He asked the host something. She shook her head.
Disappointed, Mickey returned to the Navigator and climbed inside. "Sorry. I make a habit of stopping at every garage and estate sale I see.”
The driver put the car into gear, and we continued to our destination.
"What were you looking for?” I asked.
Mickey grinned. "Just a particular book. A somewhat rare edition. It’s got sentimental value.”
Mickey didn't elaborate, and I left it at that.
The driver dropped us off at El Señor. A cute hostess looked starstruck when she saw Flynn. She could barely contain herself. It was no longer Mickey’s show. For now, and probably the rest of the evening, it would be Flynn’s circus.
The hostess grabbed menus and seated us outside.
People stole glances as we chilled on the patio, crunching on chips and queso, sipping salty margaritas. Mickey continued to regale us with tales about running drugs. He’d seen a lot of crazy things in his day—wild parties, free love, and brutal killings. Youcan’t have one without the other in that lifestyle. Mickey told us about the mansions and cars he had, and how much money was flowing through his pockets on a daily basis back then. It was insane, especially in the ’80s when money went a lot farther than it does now.
Mickey had served his time and cut his deal. He was untouchable for everything that had happened prior to his term. I think he reveled in the opportunity to tell two law enforcement officers about all kinds of illegal things he could no longer get busted for.
Flynn finally asked. "Is it true you hid $150 million of Pepe Sandoval’s money out there somewhere?”
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Mickey grinned. “It’s all rumor and speculation. I’m happy to have people believe whatever they want to believe. It adds to the mystique. But don’t you think if I knew where $150 million was buried that I’d go get it?”
Flynn smiled. “Maybe you don’t want the trouble that comes with it.”
Drug money rarely comes without strings.
We filled our bellies, drank copious amounts, and told stories.
It was somewhere near 3:00 PM when Mickey said, “I like you boys. I want you to tell the story. I'm in if you’re in."
