Charlie Spillers - Confessions of an Undercover Agent: Adventures, Close Calls, and the Toll of a Double Life

CONFESSIONS OF AN UNDERCOVER AGENT

Confessions of an

UNDERCOVER AGENT

Adventures,
Close Calls,
and the
Toll of a
Double Life

CHARLIE SPILLERS

University Press of Mississippi / Jackson

www.upress.state.ms.us

The University Press of Mississippi is a member of the Association of American University Presses.

Photographs are courtesy of the author except where otherwise noted.

Copyright 2016 by University Press of Mississippi

All rights reserved

Manufactured in the United States of America

First printing 2016

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Spillers, Charlie, author.

Confessions of an undercover agent : adventures, close calls, and the toll of a double life / Charlie Spillers.

pages cm

Includes index.

ISBN 978-1-4968-0520-1 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-4968-0521-8 (ebook) 1. Spillers, Charlie. 2. PoliceUnited StatesBiography. 3. Undercover operationsUnited States. 4. Law enforcementUnited States. I. Title.

HV7911.S594A3 2016

363.45092dc23

[B]

2015028440

British Library Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

To Evelyn Smith Spillers, my intrepid wife; to our son,
Terry Lee Spillers; and to our beautiful granddaughters,
Michaela Brooke Spillers and Hannah Elizabeth Spillers

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

[F]irearms are tools of the trade of those engaged in illegal drug activities.
US Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit

Junior, a wiry black man in his late twenties, sat behind the steering wheel of his parked car and held a .25 semiautomatic pistol just below the rim of the open car window, jumpy and ready to shoot at any movement outside the car, be it a passerby or someone getting out of another car. Lips pressed tight with nervous tension and a wild glare flaring in his eyes, he swung his head from side to side searching the area, trying to watch in every direction.

A few moments before I had parked next to Juniors car, a maroon Buick parked facing an apartment complex. I had just slid onto the passenger seat and wore a hidden body wire, ready to buy an ounce of heroin from him. I would give the code word coke to trigger the bust. Other narcotics investigators in unmarked cars waited nearby to rush in and arrest both of us. They would pretend to arrest me in order to preserve my cover, and I was unarmed. At the last minute the investigators added a couple of uniform police units to assist with the bust.

I needed to alert the others to the danger.

Gun, man, why you got a gun? I said gun loudly and distinctly, hoping the investigators listening over the wire would be able to hear it.

Man, you dont need no gun, I repeated.

He didnt answer and instead jerked his head from side to side, trying to watch everything around us.

I could tell he was strung out. He flinched at any movements nearby and his dilated eyes flashed back and forth from outside the window to me. Junior gripped the gun tightly but his hand trembled and I feared he might shoot at the slightest provocation. My heart pounded in my ears. I tried to keep my voice relaxed and calm to settle him down. I focused. For me the world didnt exist outside the car and I needed to try to control what was going to happen inside.

But I was also in danger from the uniform officers who waited to help make the arrest. In order to protect my cover, they werent told I was an undercover officer. They thought they would be arresting two drug dealers. If any shots were fired from inside the car, then the officers might riddle it and anyone in it, including me.

You got the money? Junior asked. His high-pitched voice almost cracked and he spoke quickly as if he wanted to hurry and get away.

Yeah, I said. Its eight hundred, right? But he wasnt paying attention to me any longer. He was staring hard at a man coming out of one of the apartments and walking toward a car. Eight, right? I repeated.

He glanced back at me, but his eyes kept darting to our surroundings. Eight. Yeah, eight, he said loudly, almost shouting, and I felt tension crackling inside the car.

You got the stuff? I asked.

Junior suddenly jumped and jerked the gun up as a car rattled past behind us, and he flinched again as a gray cat ran from behind a garbage can.

What about the stuff, the smack? I repeated.

He was watching the surroundings so intently that he still didnt hear me, and I asked about the heroin again. He clutched it in his left hand. Reaching across his body, he put the baggie of heroin on the seat between us. He wasnt going to let go of the gun. As I picked up the heroin, he kept scanning the area, jerking around with the gun up when someone happened to walk by the rear of the car. He was becoming more agitated and I needed to set things in motion before he got worse.

Okay, man, heres the money. I put the heroin down and reached into my front pocket for the money. Its all here. You can count it if you want. Junior glanced around and then put the gun down between his legs so he could take the money.

By the way, I said, pulling out a wad of cash, can you get any coke?

Suddenly we were in the middle of a deafening racetrack. Powerful car engines roared and tires squealed. With screaming engines and flashing lights, police cars raced at us from both sides. In an instant, Junior grabbed the gun and was raising it toward his window to shoot the oncoming officers

PREFACE

These stories involve a wide-ranging cast of characters in the criminal world. A wealthy Memphis businessman involved with Mafia and Mexican drug-smuggling operations in Houston, Texas; a cabdriver on the Gulf Coast working with heroin dealers from Mobile to New Orleans; a Jackson, Mississippi, drug dealer meeting suppliers in New Orleans; a safecrackers accomplice; a hospital worker involved in drug trafficking; a PCP dealer arrested with his suppliers in Baton Rouge; and a crime figure sending stolen cars from north Mississippi to Alabama, Louisiana, and Florida. These characters all had one thing in common. They were all the same person, me, a lone undercover agent playing different roles using multiple identities for ten years to make cases on drug traffickers and other career criminals.

As an undercover police officer with the Baton Rouge Police Department (BRPD), and then as an agent with the Mississippi Bureau of Narcotics (MBN), I dealt with memorable criminals and experienced exciting adventures and anxious moments. I often worked alone and sometimes unarmed. Some encounters were heart-stopping moments filled with rushes of visceral emotionanxiety, fear, relief, and exhilaration. Successfully handling a tight spot felt like barely dodging a horrible accident and winning the lottery all at the same timesurges of relief and elationand I became addicted to the excitement of working undercover. It was also satisfying to accomplish challenging missions and infiltrate criminal groups, all while attempting to walk the thin line between success and disaster.

At the beginning of my undercover journey I had no idea of the tests I would encounter, and the experiences and challenges that lay ahead.

CONFESSIONS OF AN UNDERCOVER AGENT

MY PATH TO AN UNDERCOVER LIFE

Cajun Roots

I was born in Louisiana into a family with a rich Cajun French heritage. Living deep in the heart of Cajun country, my great-grandparents, Bertrand Borel (pronounced bow-rail) and Bernadette Perrilleaux (pair-uhloh), grew sugarcane near New Iberia, and couldnt speak or understand Englishthey spoke only Cajun French. During our visits, my mother and grandparents, who spoke both languages, acted as interpreters.