Flooring his racer on the back straight of the Indy 500 at the same time that his barge with 80 tons of pot bucks up waves along the California coast, Randy Lanier didnt let me go until the last page of his ripping, true saga.
BRUCE PORTER, bestselling author of BLOW: How a Small-Town Boy Made $100 Million with the Medelln Cocaine Cartel and Lost It All
Randy Laniers need for speed was his true addiction. Part Miami Vice (1980s fast cars, fast money, cigarette boats), part Talladega Nights (as a gentleman driver funding his race team with cash from his vast marijuana smuggling enterprise), and part Blow (fueled by adrenaline and humor and recklessness), Laniers story perfectly illustrates why the War of Drugs was always doomed. The rewards for smuggling drugs are just too huge for wily-crazy operators like Lanier to resist. Like any self-respecting outlaw, Lanier has a hell of a time breaking the law, even as knuckleheaded hubris promises ruination, but you cant help but cheer for him as the glory and despair of the checkered flag of his rookie Indy 500 finish line and clanging prison doors loom on the horizon.
GUY LAWSON, bestselling author of War Dogs: How Three Stoners From Miami Beach Became the Most Unlikely Gunrunners in History
So the guy has become this international racecar driver, a star, rookie of the year at Indy and all that. So he has a secret, the fact that hes also a big-time international drug smuggler. Socue the musicall this is taking place in the Miami Vice eighties with the cool clothes and the big hair and the FBI has taken notice and Tell me youre not going to read this whopper of a true-life tale. Buckle your seat belts. This is one terrific ride.
LEIGH MONTVILLE, bestselling author of The Big Bam
As the test pilot for the worlds most dangerous amusement park, I was thrust right back into those harrowing days as I read the story of Randy Lanier and his wild ride of a life from drug smuggler to race car driver. Its non-stop action and a thrill a minute. Strap in and blast off!
ANDY MULVIHILL, author of Action Park: Fast Times, Wild Rides, and the Untold Story of Americas Most Dangerous Amusement Park
Copyright 2022 by Randy Lanier
Cover design by Chris Allen
Cover images (top to bottom): Postcard Heritage Image Partnership Ltd / Alamy Stock Photo; Article: Jon Saraceno - USA TODAY NETWORK; Portrait of Randy based on the original in IMSA Archives / International Motor Racing Research Center; Car (Blue Thunder): Marshall Pruett Archives; Randy in car IMS Photo Archive; Randy in crowd John Smierciak
Cover copyright 2022 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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First Edition: August 2022
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2022936525
ISBNs: 978-0-306-82645-0 (hardcover), 978-0-306-82647-4 (ebook)
E3-20220829-JV-PC-COR
For Pam, Brandie, and Glen, and my mom
and my dad, may they rest in peace.
It was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice.
JOSEPH CONRAD , Heart of Darkness
This is a true story.
Some of the names have been changed.
O n October 10, 1987, at sunrise, I stepped out of the salon and onto the rear deck of my custom-built sixty-foot Hatteras, a sport fishing vessel that I named Reel Liv-In . I stared out at the Caribbean. The sunrays bounced off the sapphire ocean, like the sea was boiling with diamonds. It was one of those halcyon tropical days where you feel like nothing could possibly go wrong. Slight breeze, scent of salt water, warm humid air.
I was anchored off the leeward side of Barbuda, the sister island of Antigua, and my three-person crew (two ship captains and a girlfriend I had with me) were readying a Zodiac, a motorized inflatable boat, to head for the grassy shallows. We were going to dive for our lunchfresh seafood. I had my mask, my snorkel, my knife. Suddenly, I heard the sound of an engine buzzing overhead. I looked up.
What the fuck do you think that plane is doing? I said, turning to my main boat captain, Slick. Whys that aircraft flying so low, so early in the morning?
Probably tourists, Slick said.
The little plane disappeared over a sandy beach and some palm trees on the island. There must be an airstrip right over there, I said.
We launched the Zodiac and spent the morning pulling conch off the grassy seafloor and lobster out of the crevices in the coral reef close by. Afterward, we pulled anchor, turned the Hatteras, and made for port in Falmouth Harbor, Antigua.
Id been on the run from the law by this time for ten months. Aside from the crew on my boat, nobody in the world knew where I was. I aimed to keep it that way. I was a fugitive, separated from my two children and their mother, Pam, my best friend. Up to this time, my life had been all about speed. I was a motor-racing international champion and an Indy 500 Rookie of the Year, crowned the next big thing at the temple of IndyCar racing. Now my life was dictated by a different kind of speedalways moving fast to stay one step ahead of the law.
Falmouth Harbor sits on the southern edge of Antigua. To get into the harbor, you line up with markers to steer safely through an inlet. On one side is a rocky cliff, and on the other, a coral reef that can tear the guts out of your vessel if you dont approach correctly. I was standing on the enclosed flybridge with Slick, holding binoculars as he steered the boat into this postcard beautiful harbor full of anchored sailboats. I did a full 360 with the binoculars, and thats when I saw this gray ninety-foot patrol boat by the rocky cliff to our port side. It looked like a navy ship.
What do you think theyre doing here? I said, handing the binoculars to Slick.
Shit, he said, they might want to board the vessel and see our paperwork.
I dont like this. Lets pivot the boat. Lets get the fuck out of here and head back out to sea.
The moment those words came out of my mouth, the patrol boat made its move. It motored toward the opening of the inlet, blocking the only way out of the harbor.
Hell no! I screamed. Theyre here for me! Get the Zodiac in the water!
I was wearing baggy shorts, no shirt, and no shoes. I had no identification on me. I didnt know where I was going. But I knew I had to get off this vessel, and there was no time to spare. I had a hundred grand in cash and a fake passport in the ships stateroom, but I was in too much of a hurry to get it. My crew winched the Zodiac into the water, and I climbed down into this rubber vessel. I took off, weaving through anchored sailboats. When I made it to the harbor dock, I tied up the Zodiac, climbed out, and started running, down to the end and onto a dirt road.