The Last Undercover by Bob Hamer Page B

pay him in hundreds, fifties, and twenties, I’d use small bills. I planned to purchase an ounce and a half of rock, at a total cost of nine hundred dollars. I would make the payment in tens and fives, figuring I could capture Eligh counting the money on tape.
    Late that evening I drove down into the heart of South Central, only a few blocks from the famous Watts Towers. I always made my purchases while remaining in the truck and had no plans of ever leaving the sanctum of the well-worn vehicle. I also kept my .38 on the front seat between my legs, available for quick access should it be necessary. As I slowly rounded the corner and made my way down the street, a young boy who had not yet reached puberty rushed the vehicle and offered to sell me drugs. I told him to get me Eligh and then get his tail home. Or maybe I didn’t say “tail.” South Central, remember?
    Within moments Eligh and an associate approached the truck. I told Eligh I wanted an ounce and half and he instructed me to wait in the truck, an order I had no problem following. When he returned he demanded to see the money. I handed him seven hundred dollars in fives and tens. He handed me two clear plastic sandwich bags, each containing chunks of rock cocaine, each rock the approximate size of a baby’s tooth.
    I patiently waited as Eligh and his associate attempted to count the money. It was dark and not only did they have trouble discerning the fives from the tens, they had trouble counting. My recorder picked up the two counting the money, then becoming confused, dropping a few f-bombs, and beginning the counting process anew. Finally they announced I was a hundred dollars short. Knowing I was actually two hundred short, I handed over another hundred dollars. After counting that, Eligh announced I was still a hundred dollars short. When I protested, he ordered me out of the truck. That was all the incentive I needed to pony up the remaining hundred.
    I had achieved my goal. I had purchased an ounce and a half of rock for nine hundred dollars and recorded the lengthy counting process on tape.
    Weeks later we did a sweep, arresting all the thirteen gang members who sold us rock cocaine. Eligh was one of the thirteen, having sold me drugs on five separate occasions.
    We brought each of the thirteen back to the CRASH off-site building for interviewing and processing prior to taking them to the federal lockup. When I confronted Eligh, I looked him in the eye and asked, “Eligh, you had to suspect a white guy coming down here and buying rock, didn’t you?”
    His answer was priceless. “I talks it over with my homeboys and we figure the police would be too stupid to send in a white guy.”
    Eligh was the only one of the thirty-three gang members I arrested and subsequently convicted who went to trial. Everyone else pleaded guilty. Eligh was convicted in a jury trial and sentenced to thirty-one years.
    Los Angeles, 1989
    Going into the NAMBLA operation, I had to constantly remind myself and my case agent that sometimes, to make the collar happen to maximum advantage, you’ve got to wait for matters to unfold in the right way. Had I rushed into the New York conference wearing a wire and pushing members to make criminal admissions, it’s likely the case would have ended right there. Despite my almost continual disgust with what I was hearing and with the social agenda NAMBLA espoused, I had to remain patient and in character as I slowly but surely built the government’s case.
    Similarly, the advantages of patience made themselves known in my 1989 investigation of a drug operation centering on an upscale restaurant in the heart of Beverly Hills. In fact, patience and my unwillingness to renege on a commitment to my son—coupled with a brazen bluff and dumb luck—actually served to enhance my credibility with a fairly sophisticated drug distributor.
    Peter was Sicilian and opened a posh Beverly Hills eatery, his second. His first establishment was in New