DeCubas Alex - Full circle: the remarkable true story of two all-American wrestling teammates pitted against each other in the war on drugs and then reunited as coaches

Copyright 2018 by Chuck Malkus

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Tom Lau

Front cover photos: Barry Zimler (top left and right), James Burke, Boca Raton Police Department (bottom left), Patrick Farrell, From the Miami Herald, April 6, 1997 1997 McClatchy. All rights reserved. Used by permission and protected by the Copyright Laws of the United States. (bottom right)

Back cover photo: Sandra Padilla Malkus, From Malkus Group, 2017. All rights reserved.

Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-2466-2

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-2468-6

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

T wo All-American teammates who ended up on opposing sides of the law is a story that has spanned four decades. Ill always remember when I first witnessed Kevin Pedersen and Alex DeCubas on the wrestling mat as juniors at Palmetto High School. I was a sports correspondent for The Miami News, a high school student myself, at another school.

There was something very unique about these two guys and it was more than the differences in their height and weight. Kevin was quiet, getting it done through hard work and a special dedication to practice. His teammate, Alex, well, he simply achieved success with God-given abilities.

They both earned titles as state champions, their photos appearing in Sports Illustrated. One of the stories I wrote was the selection by Pedersen to attend West Point Academy and Alexs choice of the University of Georgia.

When I began my first career position as a sports editor at the daily South Dade News Leader, there was a reason to avoid Alex DeCubas. He had become a cocaine cowboy and someone who was known to throw his coke earnings around Miami like money was going out of style. Meanwhile, Kevin Pedersen was one of many friends on the other side of Americas cocaine madness in the 1980s through the 1990s. As a DEA agent, Pedersen was one of the good guys in the shadows trying to clean up the messy War on Drugs.

The size and magnitude of this story has required assembling a team to help conduct research from several cities in the United States in addition to the countries of Colombia, Brazil, and England. Im grateful for my co-writer Jerry Langton, who went the extra mile in researching and connecting this story. Im appreciative of my wife, Sandra, who served as my right-hand researcher and interviewer, and of my mother, Conaere, who served as line editor and provided invaluable encouragement. Ive been blessed with a couple of researchers, Madison Watt and Kendaline Watt.

This book could not have been completed without the help of a number of law enforcement members, who are dedicated to keeping all of us safe and providing a quality of life that is underappreciated most of the time. First, DEA task force member and current City of Boca Raton police executive James Burke, who has been there since the beginning; former DEA agent Jim Hoy; former FBI agent Scott Rivas, a high school classmate; and all those who have worn the badge and pledged to make this a great country.

Id like to offer special thanks to former Palmetto High coach Barry Zimbler; former Palmetto wrestlers Jeff Cutler and Mike Pedersen; University of Georgia wrestling coach George Reid; the team of journalists at the Miami Herald; my Skyhorse Publishing editor Ken Samelson; and literary agent B. G. Dilworth.

Finally, my rescue Belgian Shepherd Troy has sat next to my desk at home for hundreds of hours, including when I returned from visits at the depressing Miami Federal Prison. When Troy wagged his tail, he provided additional inspiration for me to share lessons learned from an era that should not be forgotten.

CHAPTER I

An Unlikely Friendship

H e was impossible to miss.

Impeccably decked out in an immaculately tailored white suit and carrying a walking stick (just for show, of course), Luis DeCubas made a characteristically magnificent entrance into the stands at one of the three baseball diamonds in Suniland Park. Every eye in the park was on him, exactly the way he intended, exactly the way he liked it.

He probably wouldnt have such a big splash these days, but you have to understand that he was far more of an anomaly back in the summer of 1970.

These days, Pinecrestwhere Suniland Park is locatedis a placid and affluent suburban town just southwest of Miami. Entry-level houses there start at about a million, and most of the population these days is made up of wealthy families of Cuban descent.

But back in 1970, it was more of a white-bread southern town, with far more in common with similar communities in Georgia or Alabama than the Miami region we know today. It was, as one resident recalled to me, little more than a two-lane highway and some houses. It was the kind of place where you could still get hot dogs at the Burger King if you wanted to eat out.

Not many men in Pinecrest back then would wear a suit to a kids ball game, especially not one so fancy and eye-catching as the one Luis had on.

He was a big, not tall, just big man who was naturally and enormously strong. Silver-haired, exuberant, and extremely gregarious, Luis wanted to be everyones friend. He loved his community, and he loved the United States of America. And he had good reason to.

Back in the 50s, Luis had been a pretty big deal in Cuba. And, at the time, Havana was the place to be. With gambling, nightclubs, and entertainment provided by the biggest names in show business, Havana was more Las Vegas than Las Vegas could even hope to be. It was wild, sometimes a bit lawless, but always a good time.

And Luis had been a big-time player there. He parlayed his preternatural sense of style, easy charisma, and ability to talk with just about anyone into one of the best gigs on the island as the fashion columnist for El Habanero, the citys most influential daily newspaper. He was welcome everywhere, barely ever paid for a drink, and was treated to the finest the fashion industry had to offer, free of charge. If a designer could get Luis DeCubas to wear his design back then, he knew it would sell.

It made him a good living, and Luis and his young family had an enviable house near the beach in Playa de Santa Fe, just east of downtown Havana.

Suddenly, it ended. After years of guerilla fighting, Communist rebels led by Fidel Castro stormed into Havana just after New Years Day in 1959. By the end of the week, Cuban president Fulgencio Batista and some of his inner circle fled. The revolution had succeeded. Cuba was a Communist state and Castro was its unquestioned leader.

Things did not look good for high rollers like Luis. Communists dont exactly look kindly upon guys who bragged that they had a thousand different pairs of shoes. And when politicians, military officers, and even policemen with ties to the autocratic Batista regime started being executed en masse, Luis knew he had to leave or face the communists wrath. He would later learn that his brother, Pedro, would be sent to a prison for little more than not being a communist.