SOS CALL FROM THE PHILIPPINES

Busted for money laundering and put on the No Fly List

[Sent from my lawyer’s office computer]

What was going to be a great trip to attend a wedding has turned into a nightmare and lefty me up shit creek without a paddle in the Philippines. I’ve spent time in a Cebu prison and can’t return to the U.S. because some DEA asshole has put me on the No Fly List. This is an SOS call for help.

You might say that my troubles began during the early 1990s when a bunch of Italian tourists began scamming banks in third world countries by cashing in their American Express Travelers Checks, then rushing to the nearest telephone to report the checks stolen. American Express then would immediately cancel the checks, leaving the banks holding a pile of worthless paper. And by the next day, the Italian scam artists would have a new batch of checks to replace the ‘stolen’ checks, leaving them free to pull the same stunt at the next bank and so on. That forced me to carry large sums of cash on me whenever I was in South America or Asia because banks there refused to honor any more travelers checks.

Which brings me to my present predicament. I left for the Philippines on October 19 to attend the wedding of a close friend. I hid $1,000 in 20s, 10s, 5s and ones in a special money pouch that you can tie around your waist and conceal under your trousers. My son said, “Dad, you’re making a mistake. The airport security people ager going to pull you out if they notice that bulge under your pants.” I brushed him off, telling him, “Nawh, that’s not going to happen.” In fact, I breezed through the TSA checkpoint at Houston’s George Bush Intercontinental Airport as well as at the security checkpoint in Seoul Korea’s airport.

But when I got to Cebu, disaster struck. As I was passing through the customs and immigration checkpoint, I was pulled aside and taken to a small interrogation room where one of three customs officials touched the bulge on my belly and asked, “You carry cocaine?” I replied, “You gotta be kidding.” He wasn’t kidding because – whack – he slapped me across the face. They made me drop my pants, took the pouch, and after opening it one of them exclaimed, “Ah ha, you laundering money for Sinaloa Drug Cartel. You under arrest!.” Before I could say anything – whack – another slap in the face.

I was handcuffed with my hands behind me. They placed a leash around my neck and one around the handcuffs. Then I was led through the airport in my undershorts, with one officer leading me by the leash around the neck while another officer trailed behind holding onto the leash tied around the cuffs. Everyone in the airport was looking at me. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. They drove me to the Philippine National Police prison in Cebu City. I gagged from the stench as soon as I set foot on the prison grounds. I was thrown in a cell with three other inmates. More about that later.

For three days I was interrogated about my connections to the Sinaloa cartel. My pleas that $1,000 could hardly be considered Sinaloa drug money were ignored. Finally I was allowed to contact the American Consulate in Cebu City. Three days later, Elizabeth Fairweather, a consulate official showed up with some guy she introduced as Justin Arschloch, a DEA agent assigned to the U.S. Embassy in Manila. Man, was I in for a surprise.

Fairweather said it would go a lot easier if I just went ahead and confessed to money laundering and gave up my Sinaloa cartel contacts. I said, “Lady, you’re crazy,” and –whack- Arschloch slapped me across the face. I turned to the lady and said, “Hey did you see that? He hit me.” She said she did not see anything and the DEA asshole said, “Nobody hit you, you’re imagining things … you been smoking dope?” After several hours of trying to convince them that $1,000 could not be considered drug cartel money, Fairweather said she would have a lawyer contact me.

It was back to my cell which made America’s worst prisons look like Club Med by comparison. I would estimate the concrete cell was about 12x20 and had only one common wooden bunk with no mattress or bedding. In one corner there was a bucket for me and my three cellies to pee and shit in. There was no toilet paper.

We got two meals a day, a bowl of rice in the morning and one in the evening which also contained a fish head. Those bulging eyes also made me gag. I gave the fish head to my cellmates. I noticed the rice was infested with weevils. My cellmates said I should look at them as fresh meat. Each day a plastic container was filled with water for us to drink. Rice, fish heads and water seems to be standard prison fare. I was told that as a special Christmas treat, they serve pork in place of the fish heads.

I think the cell temperature easily reached 110 degrees. Where in the hell are Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch? Those two do-gooder organizations have long complained that Texas prisons are inhumane because during the summer months the cell temperatures exceed 85 degrees.

Friday was exercise day. All inmates were taken to the prison yard and forced to participate in calisthenics led by one of the guards. Saturday was shower and laundry day. Everybody showered with their clothes on. Sunday was Blessing Day. Some poor schmuck comes around every Sunday morning to empty the ‘honey bucket.’ Catholic priests show up to bless everyone. The priests also provided us with an additional fish head for the Sunday evening meal.

Now about my three cellmates. Surprisingly one of them was a woman. She was rather good looking and her skintight mini dress accentuated the positive, if you get my drift. The two guys – I don’t now what they’re in for – kept asking me if I could get them a job working for the Sinaloa cartel. The gal – Leona was her name – kept asking me when we were going to make love. “I’m hot for long noses,” she said. (‘Long noses’ is a Filipino term for whites.)

At night, Leona would snuggle up to me on the bunk and nibble on my ear. After a week of that, I finally succumbed to her advances. Throwing caution about STD to the winds, I rolled over and we passionately kissed one another. I began to fantasize that I was making love to my friend Dorina Lisson, the beautiful Australian campaigner against the death penalty. To the applause of the two guys, I spread Leona’s legs apart and reached under that tight fitting dress … what the fuck! It was the wrong plumbing. Leona was not a she. She was a he. Now I know why they put Leona in the same cell with us.

Finally some Chinese guy shows up. He’s the lawyer that bitch Fairweather got hold of for me. He gave me his card. He listed his name as ‘Din Ga Ling, Esquire.’ Underneath it said, “A Totally Honest Lawyer In A Totally Corrupt System.” He asked if I had any money for a lawyer. I told him they took my $1,000 but that I should have $108 in my wallet. He left and returned to tell me I only had $28 in my wallet. He said I was lucky they didn’t take my credit card which he would use to pay for his services.

On October 30, the day of my friend’s wedding, he returned to inform me he would get me out on bail later that day. By the time I got out, the wedding was over and the newlyweds were on their way to Boracay for a honeymoon. As I retrieved my property, I noticed the officer was wearing a watch that looked very similar to the Raymond Weil watch my wife had given me as a gift. I said, “Sir, this is only $28, I had $108 in this wallet when I got arrested.” Whack – another slap. “You only had $28.” Worst of all, when I reached for my watch, I noticed it was a tinny Goer watch, a cheap Chinese brand. Then I saw that it was my watch he was wearing. “Sir, that is my watch you are wearing.” Whack, whack – two slaps this time. I took the Goer watch.

Mr. Din Ga Ling put me up at Hotel Quickie, a hotel that catered to streetwalkers and their johns. He gave me some Philippine pesos so I would be able to eat. A couple of days later he told me I was free to go back to the U.S. He had pled me guilty to money laundering and paid my $5,000 fine. At this point I just wanted to get out of the Philippines. My return flight was scheduled for tonight, so I rushed over to the Korea Air counter for my boarding passes. That’s when I got more bad news, really bad news. The agent told me, “So sorry sir, but this ticket is no longer any good, DEA has put you on No Fly List.

Now, I’m stuck in the Philippines. I’m back in the Quickie. My credit card is about maxed out and my visa is about to expire. I cannot get on a plane because that asshole Arschloch had me put on the No Fly List. SOS, I need help. My lawyer’s email address is dingaling@yahoo.com. Please contact your congressman and your two U.S. senators and ask them to get me off that damn No Fly List.