JFK, Jr. and The End of Griselda and Charles’ Romance

After the confrontation, I stepped my game up. I’m doing my own thing on the side in the Bay Area, we reachin’ from LA to Seattle. She’s laying dope on me as fast as I can sell it. Time progresses. Griselda had a hitman named Rivi, one of the most feared assassins ever to step foot in Miami. Anytime Griselda had a problem, she’d get Rivi on the phone. He was doing life in prison already for a numer of murders. [The State of Florida] came at Rivi with some open homicides: “Either you keep your mouth shut and go to Death Row; or tell us about Griselda Blanco and we’ll cut some of your time off.”

Rivi decided to become a State’s Witness against Griselda. He gave [Miami] Homicide a detailed list of everybody she killed or put contracts on. She was scheduled to get out of jail in two or three years, then Rivi decided to flip. Griselda was a psychological wreck: “They’re not gonna let me out of prison.” I told her, “we can spend $30 million on the defense, get the best lawyers in the world to represent you. Rivi’s a convicted murderer, no jury will believe him. You’ll get acquitted.”

Griselda’s very stubborn, she doesn’t know what ‘no’ means. She had this idea of kidnapping John F. Kennedy, Jr. in Manhattan and holding him for ransom until she was safe in Colombia. I said, “Griselda, I sell drugs. I’m not trying to kidnap him or nobody else.” What she was trying to do? That’s life in jail, period. I got kids I was trying to raise. If I get arrested selling drugs, that’s what I chose to do, but for a bitch to twist my arm—“Nigga, you gon’ be a part of this.”—that’s when I began to back up from Griselda. This is 1996, 1997. I was tired. I had millions of dollars but I had lost a lot of time with my kids. I was unhappy. I just wanted to be normal, put that bullshit behind me and reclaim some semblance of my life. The life of a dope dealer is usually three to five years long and I had shattered that two times over.

Florida subpoenaed me but I didn’t give them any relevant information. I didn’t need or want to sink Griselda’s already-distressed ship. I just wanted peace in my life. During the deposition, the lead prosecutor’s secretary, Sherri Rossbeck slipped me her phone number. We engaged in a sexual encounter. On the eve of Griselda’s trial in Florida, Rivi started having phone sex with Sherri. I wasn’t a bit surprised—I knew what I had done to the bitch in my hotel room. But the prosecution was handcuffed, it fucked their case up, so Griselda walked away after seven years in 2004.

I remained under the radar by design. The thing is, the more power you have, the more you have to control it. It’s not healthy for a dealer to flaunt their wealth. Ask any nigga in the federal penitentiary for drug crimes, “What would you do different?” The very first thing would be, “Cut back on excesses.” Stop allowing yourselves to fall victim to peer pressure. If a bitch don’t wanna fuck with you cause you don’t drive a Benz, fuck that bitch. I know it’s tough but you gotta make wise decisions, cause your decisions affect not only you but your family.

To the young guys who wanna be the next Nino Brown or Tony Montana, the streets are a lie, man. The streets don’t offer second chances. The police can make a thousand mistakes, a nigga on the block make one mistake and he gone for life. Don’t use Charles Cosby as an example. Even I can’t do that again. I was very smart, maybe smarter than most, but a lot of the shit was still luck. We gotta impart to these youngsters that they gotta change their lives. We losin’ too many of ‘em.

Griselda is very much aware of my role in Cocaine Cowboys I and II. In fact, we were supposed to meet in Panama in January 2008, but security concerns make it difficult for her to travel outside of Colombia. There’s so many death warrants out on her. But hopefully, we’ll be able to meet no later than September of this year, sit down and talk like adults. From my understanding, there’s no hard feelings at all. The only thing she was upset about was being portrayed as a lesbian.

Charles Cosby and the Black Widow

Griselda’s moniker, “the Black Widow,” came about because each of her husbands, she murdered. She mated, then she killed. The business arrangements had been fucked off, or they tried to exert dominance over her, so she responded like any muthafucka in the game would. She dealt with it in the street.

Griselda and I were having an exchange one day, about how women throughout history have been the downfall of kings. She said, “Charles, do you know when a man is most vulnerable?” I said, “of course…getting in or out of his car.” I’d been a street nigga for years at that point. She laughed and said, “No Charles, a man is most vulnerable when he gets into bed with a woman.” Women comprise 90% of the world’s top assassins because they know how to get a nigga in bed, his most vulnerable area.

When a man is successful, beautiful women gravitate to that person. I had maybe 200 one-night stands while with Griselda, but I only got caught with one—a white chick named Amber, the one bitch I cultivated a relationship with. Making millions, catching flights here and there, I needed some “me” time, chill time. I found that in Amber’s friendship.

Amber and I had been dating, traveling, having sex together for months. She confided in her cousin, who happened to be incarcerated with Griselda. Her cousin confided in her roommate because she was afraid she’d bear the brunt of the affair. The roommate told her lesbian lover from Cuba, and all the lesbians was Griselda’s bitches. So she in turn told Griselda, “Your guy is fucking so-and-so’s cousin, the white bitch that comes to visit.” The cousin subsequently got stomped out by Griselda in some high-heel pumps and lost her eye.

That’s when Griselda put an investigator on my ass, which I didn’t know until I got shot up one day, driving in Brookfield Village in my Corvette ZR-1. I got ambushed by some Colombians in a Mustang. I took a hit, luckily they was half-assed about it. Later on, Griselda denied that she tried to kill me. She said she just wanted to scare me, it was a warning shot. I got twelve muthafuckin’ bullets in my car, ain’t no warning shot! They just wasn’t good at what they did.

The day I got shot, I didn’t hear from Griselda—mind you, we talked every day, five or six times on the telephone, even when I was out of town. All the next day, she didn’t call. That night, the phone rang. It was Griselda. She asked me, do I know the definition of loyalty? I said, “Yeah.” She said, “no you don’t, you got a white bitch laying in your bed right now. If you’re not at the prison tomorrow to straighten this out, you can expect another visit from my friends.”

Early next morning, I went to the prison—mind you, I could only use my right arm cause I got shot in my muthafuckin’ bicep. We sat down and had what I thought would be a sensible conversation, but she took it to another level and grabbed me by the throat. I grabbed the bitch back, let her know, “Bitch, don’t put your hands on me, I’ll break your muthafuckin’ jaw.”

She told me, “You put your hands on me, I’ll send so many motherfuckers to Brookfield, we’ll slaughter all you rookies! I’m the Godmother!” She had a point, so I told her, “The times I do want you, I can’t reach out. I can’t tell you, “Baby, be naked by the time I get there.” You’re locked up. Me being a man, I’m weak for the flesh at times.” We got past that shit, it worked.

via King-Mag.com

Charles Cosby Enters the Top of the Food Chain

Three weeks after I met Griselda, I took my first flight to New York, to meet this black dude in Harlem and broker a two million dollar deal. It was a guy who’s currently a criminal celebrity but I ain’t gonna put his name out there. Griselda had a system in place—LA, Miami, Charlotte, Milwaukee, Seattle, Houston, dozens of cities over a five year span. There was no schedule. My phone rang and someone would tell me, “So and so needs you to meet with this guy.” 95% of the time, I didn’t even take any luggage. I just left with what I was wearing.

All I had to do was take a flight, shake a hand, make a phone call and make a million dollars. The drugs were delivered, money was shuttled to me, I in turn shuttled it to another location. At no point was I transporting drugs; I’ve never been arrested for drugs. You would find money and guns in my house, but not drugs. If that ain’t the top of the food chain, I don’t know what is.

Griselda had four sons: Dixon, or “El Negro”, Ubert, Osvaldo (who was my guy), and Michael Corleone, the youngest son. I met Osvaldo when he got out of Lewisburg [Federal Prison]. He had established a rapport with some of the black guys, and he immediately took a liking to me. Even before I met Griselda [in person], we’d go down to LA, he’d spend money on me, we’d shop. He was a cool dude. When he was killed, it was like I lost my brother.

Michael Corleone was the apple of her eye. He was 11, 12 years old. She trusted me with the most important thing in her life. She allowed me to bring him to Oakland and hang out with me, I’d take him to the movies. Dixon and Ubert didn’t care too much for me. They didn’t wanna accept the fact that their mother was fucking a nigger. I didn’t give a fuck, I didn’t answer to them. I answered to Griselda.

A lot of Griselda’s organization had been with her since her early days in Queens, New York, in 1971 and 1972. They got wind of the fact that “this young slick black cat from the hood is sharing a bed with the Godmother.” They began talking a lot of bullshit behind our backs: “She’s not thinking straight. This young nigger is just playing her out of her money.” We made a conference call to New York, Colombia, everybody talking bullshit. She let the muthafuckas know, “This is my life to live it as I choose. Whoever I give my love to, that’s my muthafuckin’ business. Whoever don’t like it, y’all don’t gotta be around.” She was the person of last resort. She put them in check.

Lighter Colombians frown upon darker-skinned Colombians. Black Colombians are catching hell in 2008 from racism, the way it was in the American south in the 30s or 40s. Griselda told me that, universally, black people are looked down upon as second-class citizens, people who don’t know how to function, who need a hand-out to live, who don’t have a country. Russians, Italians, Mexicans, Dominicans, Brazilians, they have their own countries. If we can’t take care of ourselves, how can we take care of their business? These feelings were deep-rooted.

I made a good impression upon Griselda, but they didn’t want to open their minds and accept just anybody. Griselda’s sons did business with [DC kingpin] Rayful Edmond in Lewisburg, they were fuckin’ with Rick Ross in LA, laying 200-300 kilos at a time on him. Blacks could do business with money in hand, if they could afford it. But as far as fronting product or socializing with them? It never happened. A black man as Griselda’s lover and business parter? I was the only one.

via KING-Mag.com

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.

In this five-part KING-Mag.com exclusive, former drug kingpin and Cocaine Cowboys II star Charles Cosby details his rise and fall in snow business.

Charles Cosby’s Origins

Brookfield Village in the early 40s was acres of orange trees. When World War II kicked off, Southern blacks migrated to the Bay Area. They were the war workers, making munitions. Single family homes replaced the orange groves. My mom, Irma Jean Garcia, came to Cali from Texas in 1953. My mother’s father was from Mexico, and her mom was Cherokee Indian. My father happened to be in the Navy and he had some off-time in Fresno. That’s how him and my mom met. My parents moved to Brookfield in 1968 from Fresno, California.

Felix was the top dog during his tenure. Didn’t nothing move in Oakland without his approval—he was the drug dealer’s drug dealer, the first one on the west coast to have a Rolls Royce. When he was removed from the equation in 1983 on tax evasion, a new game was ushered in…crack.

My friend Banana got me into the game in 1983. I watched him from the sidelines, saw what he was able to do selling crack, so I stepped to him like “I wanna be down.” Banana said crack was gonna be the new heroin; we were gonna make as much money as Felix Mitchell did. Brookfield Village, you’re talking about 5,000 homes. That was big enough to feed everybody. The people we were selling to, we grew up knowing them, knowing their kids. We were young, doing what we thought was correct. We didn’t know it was wrong, selling crack to our friend’s mothers.

At the beginning was friendly competition, we was knew to this crack shit, just chasing money. We went from riding Mongoose bikes and skateboards to making $5000-$7000 a week, buying cars and fuckin’ bitches. We was learning as we went along. We didn’t have nobody to teach us the ropes. There wasn’t no blueprint to execute. Niggas 18, 19 years old making $100,000 a day selling crack? Felix Mitchell’s biggest day was $25,000.

When cats realized how much money could be made, people’s attitudes changed. “If I take this nigga’s block, I can double my money.” After Banana was killed, I realized how serious the game was, that taught me to stay in the shadows. Violence and drug dealing go hand in hand, that’s just a fact. Fortunately, I was respected to where I didn’t have to get at anybody on that level. The bully like the nigga Suge Knight got bullets with their name on ‘em. Ain’t no place in society for a bully, no place at all.

I wasn’t like them other guys, ordering shootings and firebombings every other day. That shit was limited in how I did my business. Who am I to take somebody’s child from them? But then and now, I had niggas around me that would do anything for me, period.

I surrounded myself with the group of guys I grew up with. The trust factor was there. We had our infrastructure within Brookfield. We were together but our money interests was separate, there was no collective money pot of profits. As long as we remained in Brookfield, everything was kosher. As guys began to venture out to 69th Ave, 73rd Ave, 85th Ave, they were meeting unfortunate circumstances—shot, stabbed, robbed, killed, being in and out of jail. I learned from their mistakes. If somebody fumbled the ball, I knew not to go down that path.

Charles Cosby and Griselda Blanco grace the pages of the French magazine New Look with a spread titled Scarface Etait Une Femme. Click the cover image above to take a look at the pdf version.

via Panache Report

Former Cocaine godmother Griselda Blanco was not only responsible for hundreds of murders in Miami and trafficking over 300 tons of cocaine but she was also plotting to kidnap the late John F. Kennedy, Jr., during her reign of terror.

Rewind: Griselda Blanco was responsible for creating the drug pipeline in Miami and she netted $8 million dollars per month in drug proceeds. She was also a female serial killer who only used female mules. She also enjoyed bi-sexual orgies.

It took authorities 16 years to find witnesses willing to testify against her because she was so feared.

Blanco became the most powerful female trafficker in history and was often referred to as the “Female Scarface.”

To read more of her story, click here: Female Scarface

CharlesCosby.com has passed 3,000,000 hits (yes, 3 million) and we are just getting started. The Official Charles Cosby site was launched only a couple months ago and the pace of people visiting the site is picking up speed daily.

We will be upgrading the site and releasing a new design. The new design will be available within the next 2 weeks. During the process, we don’t expect any downtime on the site.

If you have any suggestions of what you would like to see on the new site send an email over to ideas@charlescosby.com

Charles Cosby in the newest KING Magazine. Issue hits stands Sept 15,2008.

“Cult-favorite drug documentary Cocaine Cowboys II examines how nickel-and-dime dope dealer Charles Cosby advanced to snow-business heavyweight. In this first-person account, Cosby describes his courtship of a killer coke queen.”

This week CharlesCosby.com will be giving away a signed movie poster to one of it’s visitors.

The movie poster is approximately 3 feet tall and is mounted on a board backing (it does not roll up). It is the same poster as seem in this picture.

This poster will be the ONLY one available signed by Charles Cosby.

To be entered in the contest, send an email to contact@charlescosby.com explaining why you should be the one to win the poster.

The contest ends on August 22,2008.

Good luck!