Charles Cosby Meets Griselda Blanco

I was watching the news in February 1985, and Griselda Blanco's arrest was an endless fuckin' loop. I was fascinated—she was a billionaire moving 2,000 kilograms of coke a month. It blew me away. I never knew of a drug dealer, much less a woman, who could make those amounts of money.

Years later, I was in Los Angeles at my relative Kevin's house, and I met this Panamanian chick, Manuela. We got to talking about coke and shit, and she wove some fascinating stories about Griselda, the bitch I admired. Throughout my life, I've always been an opportunist, and what better opportunity than to fuck with Griselda Blanco? Niggas could call it groupie or whatever, no muthafucka in his right mind is gonna wanna pass up that chance.

I asked Manuela if she could cut me in. She let Griselda know, "This young man admires you, he just wants to reach out and say hello.” Our first conversation was July 4th. She [called and] said, "This is Griselda Blanco. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. Why have you decided to reach out to me?” I said, "I just wanna rub elbows with a legend. If you're accepting new friendship, please allow me the honor.” We developed a bond from that very first phone call. Griselda was like John Gotti, receiving mail from all over the world. I was the only person she ever wrote back.

Niggas from the Bay Area, they the best pimps in the United States, hands down. It's like they was gifted with the game. My greatest mentor was my older brother, Poppa Mack, that was my life teacher. He was a pimp many years ago. He taught me, "Never trust a bitch. A hoe is gonna be a hoe.” The things I learned from watching my brother translated in later years in fucking with Griselda—how to talk to women, how to massage their egos whether it was bullshit or not.

Griselda once said she was the baddest bitch to ever draw a breath, which is true—made a billion a year, committed 250 murders [according to] DEA intelligence—but at the end of the day, she's just a woman. She wanted to be loved, kiss on the mouth and told how special she is. She hadn't been with a man in six or seven years [until] this young, suave black nigga swept her off her muthafuckin' feet. My thoughts in the back of my head was, "If I come at the bitch in a real way, maybe one day she'll bless a nigga.” I ain't come out like, "Well bitch, I want the hook-up, that's all.” I finessed the bitch.

I recall there was times when Griselda was sad, being locked up, so I told her, "Times I'm not there with you, just know that we're still connected. Look up at the moon where you are, and I'll look up where I am. That moon connects us to one another.” Little shit like that really won the bitch over. It wasn't, "I wanna see what a black dick feels like” or myself, "I wanna know do Latin bitches fuck better?” We established a friendship that blossomed into love.

We were having sex at the prison. The visiting hall is a recreation room, at the very back is a stage, and if you pull the curtains open, there's a locked door. I would drop $1500 on the guards, we'd sit at the very back, and then slip onto the dark stage and handle our business. It wasn't that difficult. All pussy gonna make a nigga nut, I don't care if it's a 50 year old or 21 year old. She may have been a little on the plump side, but she was beautiful man, I don't regret it.

On the very first visit, we were talking in the recreation room. She had mentioned on the phone some months earlier, "I'mma put you in,” or open up the Colombian pipeline to me. She said her money was my money. Of course, I had to contain my excitement; I told her, "I appreciate that, but I want to make my own money.” She asked me, "How much product would it take to make you and your family more comfortable?” I told her 50 kilograms. The following Saturday, there was a knock at the door and a Colombian chick had two boxes. There was 25 kilos in each box. I scooped up the boxes, the bitch kept her promise.


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