The Wet Palette Scrapings

RIO DE JANEIRO HEAT WAVE

2012-02-08T04:21:00.000-02:00

Now, where did I put my towel? Sunbathers pack out Ipanema Beach as Rio De Janeiro swelters in heatwave

Last updated at 6:54 PM on 6th February 2012

Not an inch of sand was wasted in Rio De Janeiro yesterday.

Thousands of sun-worshippers flocked to Ipanema Beach to make the most of a heatwave that saw temperatures reach as high as 34C (93F). The average maximum temperature for February is 29C (84F).

Packed like sardines along the sweeping seafront - made famous by the 1964 song The Girl From Ipanema Beach - you would be forgiven for feeling slightly claustrophobic.

Packed like sardines: Sun-worshippers make the most of a heatwave at Rio De Janeiro's Ipanema Beach yesterday

Sun umbrellas covered the sands while hundreds of people swarmed around the sea, fighting for enough space to swim.

While an amazing spectacle, these amazing images show just the crowded beach during the mid-afternoon peak.

Long known for featuring masses of trim women wearing itsy-bitsy bikinis, Ipanema Beach may soon feature a larger stereotype of sunbather.

More...

Travel chaos hits roads, rail and air as snow turns to ice and creates treacherous conditions for Britain's return to work

A growing number of bikini manufacturers have woken up to Brazil's thickening waistline and are reaching out to the ever-expanding ranks of heavy women with new plus-size lines.

That's nothing short of a revolution in the most body-conscious of nations, where overweight ladies long had little choice but to hit the beach in comely ensembles of oversized T-shirts and biker shorts.

No room for manoeuvre: Sun umbrellas covered the sands while hundreds of people swarmed around the sea, fighting for enough space to swim

Not for the claustrophobic: Temperatures in Rio reached 34C (93F) - way above the average maximum temperature in February of 29C

Brazil police strife threatens biggest Carnivals

2012-02-08T04:16:00.002-02:00

Brazil police strife threatens biggest Carnivals

By JENNY BARCHFIELD and JULIANA BARBASSA | Associated Press – 4 hrs ago

SALVADOR, Brazil (AP) — About 300 striking police officers and their relatives held out Tuesday as soldiers blockaded a state legislature building in northeastern Brazil, and public worker leaders threatened a strike in Rio de Janeiro that could threaten the world's largest Carnival celebration.

About 1,000 soldiers and officers from an elite federal police unit ringed the legislature in the Bahia state capital of Salvador, Brazil's third-largest city with 2.7 million people and a scheduled host for matches during the 2014 World Cup.

Negotiations failed to end the strike in Salvador, officials said, and authorities in Rio de Janeiro also were preparing for police discontent there.

Officials put up protective fences and posted riot police around Rio's state legislature as lawmakers prepared to vote on a 39 percent raise for police, firefighters and prison guards, all of whom were threatening to strike Friday. The raise would increase an officer's starting salary to $964 a month.

Police, firefighters and others planned to meet Thursday to decide whether to start a strike that could cripple Rio's Carnival celebrations, which pump more than $500 million into the city's economy and attracts upward of 800,000 tourists.

Discontent among police is widespread across Brazil. Many officers complain of low pay and dangerous conditions in a country that recorded nearly 50,000 homicides in 2010.

In Salvador, the striking officers, some armed with handguns, were demanding pay raises and amnesty for what a judge ruled an illegal work stoppage.

Authorities said some children and wives of officers were inside the building, but it was not clear how many. Some left during the previous 24 hours.

Alcione Cruz, a 34-year-old maid, stood outside the legislature building, anxiously awaiting news from her husband, a police officer on strike.

"I'm praying to God that this situation will end and he'll come home," she said, declining to give her husband's name, fearing retribution from the government. "My husband is strong and courageous and I know he and others will stay until the very end."

About one-third of the 30,000 police in Bahia state went on strike a week ago, and murders in the capital's metropolitan area immediately spiked to double normal rates. Official say there have been at least 100 murders since Jan. 31, when the strike began.

But violence has lessened since some 2,000 troops and 600 elite federal police were sent in Sunday and began patrolling Salvador in armored personnel carriers.

Soldiers in camouflage and toting assault rifles are standing guard on street corners in the city's historic center and on its beaches, where tourists are concentrated. Schools were mostly shut, many businesses closed and streets were unusually empty.

While officials said some progress was being made in the negotiations in Salvador, no agreement was reached Tuesday. The key sticking point seemed to be the government's refusal to offer amnesty to union leaders behind the strike.

The strikers had narrowed their demands to amnesty for the walkout and payment of bonuses that would add about $350 a month to officers' paychecks. Monthly salaries for officers in Bahia now range between $1,100 and $1,330, depending on rank and experience.

The state government has offered a raise of 6.5 percent and no amnesty for the striking officers. A state judge last week ruled the strike illegal, saying striking officers who did not return to work would face fines of $45,000.

Jaques Wagner, the governor of Bahia state, has accused some of the striking officers of being behind the wave of violence that hit the city in the first days of the strike. He called it a "bloodbath" aimed at creating fear. Some striking officers were detained for allegedly organizing roving gangs and robbing police cars.

The standoff has hurt the economy of a city that hosts Brazil's second-largest Carnival celebration, set to open in 10 days. Several concerts were canceled last weekend because of fears about security.

Tourism officials from Bahia have denied rumors that the entire Carnival celebration will be canceled if the strike continues, but the Brazilian Association of Tourism Agencies said at least 10 percent of tourists planning to visit the city during Carnival already canceled their trips.

Federal Justice Minister Jose Cardozo has said Brazil's government could increase the number of soldiers and federal police in Bahia to 4,000 if necessary.

In Rio, Gov. Sergio Cabral said in a statement that he was confident Rio's police wouldn't strike.

"When they enter into these professions, they know they are doing an essential job," he said. "I have no doubt we will guarantee safety during Carnival and also in the day-to-day."

Since President Dilma Rousseff took office just over a year ago, police in four states have gone on strike. The newspaper Estado de S. Paulo says officers in eight more of Brazil's 26 states and federal district are debating a work stoppage: Roraima, Mato Grosso, Tocantins, Goias, the capital, Brasilia, Espirito Santo, Parana and Rio Grande do Sul.

One of their main demands is that Congress approve a measure that would raise the salaries of police across the country to match the minimum of $2,033 a month earned by officers in Brasilia, the federal district.

Last week, the speaker of the House, Marco Maia, said the measure would not be taken up this year because there are no funds budgeted to cover such an increase in officers' pay.

___

Associated Press reporter Jenny Barchfield reported this story in Salvador and Juliana Barbassa reported from Rio de Janeiro. AP writer Bradley Brooks in Sao Paulo contributed to this report.

Majority rules again for Manny Pacquiao

2011-11-13T19:34:00.003-02:00

BILL DWYRE

Majority rules again for Manny Pacquiao

Champion scores a narrow and controversial (what else?) decision over Juan Manuel Marquez in their third matchup.

Manny Pacquiao, right, landed some sharp punches, but the crowd booed roundly when it was announced he had defeated Juan Manuel Marquez by majority decision Saturday in Las Vegas.(Harry How / Getty Images / November 12, 2011)

By Bill Dwyre

November 12, 2011, 11:23 p.m.

From Las Vegas -- It was a night when boxing hero Manny Pacquiao decided to pick on somebody his own size.

Bad idea.

BILL DWYRE
Bio | E-mail | Recent columns
ALSO
Pacquiao vs. Marquez: Round-by-round recap
Photos: Pacquiao vs. Marquez

In fact, most in the sold-out crowd of 16,368, as well as quite a few on press row, thought he had lost.

PHOTOS: Pacquiao vs. Marquez

Pacquiao took a majority decision, but seldom in boxing history has a fight this big ended with this much doubt and controversy.

The gutsy, effective opponent, Juan Manuel Marquez of Mexico, who was given little chance and was sent off as anywhere from a 7-1 to 9-1 underdog, left the ring to raucous cheers, as he waved a huge sombrero.

It was a good 15 minutes after the fight ended before the crowd stopped booing and hissing.

To many, the pound-for-pound best boxer in the world was outboxed by Marquez, at 38 his senior by six years. Marquez not only stayed with Pacquiao in a heated pace for all 12 rounds, but he seemed to get the best of whatever flurries the two managed in their nonstop jiggling and dancing and feinting.

Seldom before in boxing has there been a scene where a highly popular champion gets booed loudly and raucously during his post-match interview. Nobody could hear a word of what he said, and nobody seemed to care. They had seen what they had seen.

Nacho Beristain, Marquez's manager, called it "a robbery of the utmost."

It was a night in which the last thing you wanted to be was a judge. The three who will take tons of heat on this one were Robert Hoyle, Dave Moretti and Glenn Trowbridge. Hoyle had it 114-114, Moretti 115-113 and Trowbridge 116-112, both for Pacquiao.

And so ended the controversial trilogy between the two. In 2004, Pacquiao knocked Marquez down three times in the first round and Marquez came firing back to get a draw. That's the last semi-blemish on Pacquiao's record. In that one, a much-forgotten element was that one of the judges scored the three-knockdown round 10-7 for Pacquiao, rather than the almost automatic 10-6. That one point would have erased much of the talk about this matchup.

In the next fight, in 2008, Pacquiao won a split decision by one point.

That was controversial too, but nothing near what this one may turn out to be.

The usual chat about the integrity of boxing will now begin in full volume. So much was at stake. Had Pacquiao lost, the pot of gold at the end of boxing's rainbow, the Pacquiao-Floyd Mayweather Jr. matchup, would have gone away, at least for the moment. Pacquiao would have, most likely, invoked a rematch clause with Marquez that was in the contract.

Now, even after winning, Pacquiao's side is talking about it. They can call it Trilogy Plus One, or something like that.

"I'm bound and determined to find a definitive winner from these two," said Top Rank Promoter Bob Arum. "If we can get both fighters to agree, we'll put it on May 5."

Arum said he asked Pacquiao if he won, and Pacquiao said, "Yes, it was clear. I blocked a lot of his punches.. If he wants a rematch, he'll get it."

So, once again, it appears that Pacquiao-Mayweather will be put on hold. And, because since Mayweather dominated Marquez in their 2009 fight, the attraction for that mega-fight may have modified a bit.

A subdued Marquez, who went all the way to the Philippines to entice Pacquiao into giving him this third fight and wore a T-shirt that claimed he had won the first two fights, was beyond disappointed all the way to dumbfounded this time.

"I was robbed," he said. "It happened again. I don't think there is much more I can do in the ring."

This was stunning to all who had become used to Pacquiao dominating and destroying bigger opponents, the likes of Oscar De La Hoya, Miguel Cotto, Antonio Margarito and Shane Mosley.

In each case, Pacquiao's speed and footwork wore the other down. This time, Pacquiao's speed and footwork were in place, but Marquez stayed right with him. The expectation was that Marquez would tire by the middle rounds. Instead, he kept connecting and, in the minds of most, winning more rounds than losing.

Lost in the fire and brimstone of this controversial classic was the victory in the semi-main event by Palm Springs' Tim Bradley. He remained undefeated by beating a 40-year-old, grabbing and holding Joel Casamayor. It was to be Bradley's audition for a shot at Pacquiao, were the Mayweather match to fall apart again.

But now, obviously, there will be more pressing matters in the Manny Pacquiao camp.

PHOTOS: Pacquiao vs. Marquez

bill.dwyre@latimes.com.

Majority rules again for Manny Pacquiao

2011-11-13T19:34:00.001-02:00

BILL DWYRE

Majority rules again for Manny Pacquiao

Champion scores a narrow and controversial (what else?) decision over Juan Manuel Marquez in their third matchup.

By Bill Dwyre

November 12, 2011, 11:23 p.m.

From Las Vegas -- It was a night when boxing hero Manny Pacquiao decided to pick on somebody his own size.

Bad idea.

BILL DWYRE
Bio | E-mail | Recent columns
ALSO
Pacquiao vs. Marquez: Round-by-round recap
Photos: Pacquiao vs. Marquez

Majority rules again for Manny Pacquiao

2011-11-13T19:32:00.001-02:00

BILL DWYRE

Majority rules again for Manny Pacquiao

Champion scores a narrow and controversial (what else?) decision over Juan Manuel Marquez in their third matchup.

By Bill Dwyre

November 12, 2011, 11:23 p.m.

From Las Vegas -- It was a night when boxing hero Manny Pacquiao decided to pick on somebody his own size.

Bad idea.

BILL DWYRE
Bio | E-mail | Recent columns
ALSO
Pacquiao vs. Marquez: Round-by-round recap
Photos: Pacquiao vs. Marquez

SMOKIN JOE FRAZIER-RIP

2011-11-09T06:27:00.001-02:00

In death, Joe Frazier finally gets some separation

A heavyweight champion with a no-nonsense style in the ring, Frazier was forever linked with the charismatic Muhammad Ali and a fateful call by Howard Cosell.

Joe Frazier walks away after knocking down Muhammad Ali during their heavyweight championship fight at Madison Square Garden in 1971. Fraizer will be forever linked to Ali. (Elwood P. Smith / MCT / March 8, 1971)

By Bill Dwyre

November 8, 2011, 10:36 p.m.

You wonder if, in those last moments before he died, Joe Frazier felt one last sting of defeat, knowingMuhammad Ali would outlive him.

Their trilogy of heavyweight boxing matches ended 36 years ago, but they never left Frazier's frontal lobe. As writer Erik Brady of USA Today put it so nicely in a 2009 story, Frazier and Ali are forever "joined at the arthritic hip."

In death, Smokin' Joe may finally receive a measure of the positive attention he always felt was stolen from him by Ali, a man he lost to twice in three matches and always claimed, "I whupped him three times."

If time heals all, it missed on Frazier.

For years, sportswriters have been tromping to Frazier's gym in Philadelphia. Sometimes, it was for stories on anniversary dates of that first fight in 1971, and Ali's first loss. Or theirMadison Square Garden rematch and Ali's 12-round decision in 1974. Or, the ultimate boxing moment, the 1975 "Thrilla in Manila," when a brutally battered Frazier, both eyes virtually shut, wanted to come out for the last round and wasn't allowed to by his trainer, Eddie Futch.

The stories the writers sought were about Frazier, but no story about Frazier could be without Ali. It wasn't just the two losses that never worked their way out of Frazier's psyche. It was the treatment and image-building that Ali imposed on him. It is one thing to create your own legacy, fully another to have somebody else do it for you.

Ali labeled Frazier an "Uncle Tom." His frequent pre-fight remarks, likely meant more as hype than harm, created and perpetuated the image of a dull, plodding Frazier. Ali's image-building made him the smart one, the clever tactician, the quick-with-a-quip and quick-on-his-feet boxer to whom the press gravitated. Ali was always the story. Frazier was always the other guy.

Frazier's anger over this never really went away. Reporters didn't have to prompt him to talk about Ali. He quickly went there himself. The bitterness even took on, for Frazier, the sad dimension of him publicly theorizing that Ali's current health problems with Parkinson's and dementia are some sort of higher-being payback for what Ali did to him.

Frazier finished a heavyweight boxing career with a record of 32-4-1. He lost twice to Ali and twice to George Foreman. Even against Foreman, his luck in the area of image-building was lacking. Defending his title in 1973 in Kingston, Jamaica, Frazier got caught by a Foreman right hand early in the fight and the celebrity broadcaster ringside gave the classic call that has echoed through boxing ever since.

"Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!"

It was Howard Cosell at his best, or worst, depending on your broadcasting tastes. But it stuck. A broadcasting legend, by his stylishly excessive verbosity, had furthered the image and memory of Joe Frazier as a losing fighter.

When Ali was seeking a license to box after being banned for his religious stance on Vietnam, Frazier supported him. When they were to fight, Frazier said they got together and talked about how they'd promote the fight.

"Then he go out and start calling me an Uncle Tom," Frazier said.

Witness to all this was Bob Arum, chief executive of Top Rank Boxing and Ali's lawyer and promoter during the Ali-Frazier trilogy.

"Frazier was always afflicted with Ali," Arum said Tuesday. "He offended him tremendously. But when Ali wasn't allowed to fight, Frazier kept after me to help Ali get his license back. He supported him. He never even treated me badly, even though I was with Ali.

"He was just a man. There was nothing artificial about him."

And so, in death, perhaps a better reading of the real Joe Frazier finds life.

Don King, the legendary promoter, said, "He was a great gladiator."

Angelo Dundee, Ali's trainer during the trilogy, said, "When Frazier fought, it was always exciting."

Champion light-heavyweight Bernard Hopkins said, "There will only be one Smokin' Joe Frazier."

But it is left to Foreman, fast becoming the poet laureate of boxing — maybe of all sports — to summarize best who and what Joe Frazier was.

"His fighting style was his way of life," Foreman said Tuesday. "He would not back down from King Kong. I once knocked Joe down six times, and when the fight was over [and the referee was signaling its end] he was on his feet, looking for me.

"You can talk about Joe Louis, or Ali, or even me. But the fact is, there is only one, common, ordinary Joe, and he is the one-and-only Joe Frazier."

Foreman talked about the usual celebrity, and how Frazier wasn't it.

"They have one hello for the rich and a goodbye for the poor," Foreman said. "That was not the case with Smokin' Joe Frazier."

Frazier was inducted into Boxing's International Hall of Fame in Canastota, N.Y., in 1990. As the tributes poured in Tuesday, flags there flew at half staff.

Oh, yes. There was also a statement issued from Ali. It won't run here.

This time, the last word goes to Joe Frazier.

bill.dwyre@latimes.com

FBI HOOVER OUT OF CONTROL

2011-11-07T12:49:00.000-02:00

An FBI director with a grudge

J. Edgar Hoover had it in for Jack Nelson from the moment the L.A. Times journalist arrived in Washington. The longtime FBI director was convinced that Nelson planned to write that he was homosexual.

J. Edgar Hoover, right, led the FBI for nearly 48 years, outlasting seven presidents. Toward the end of his career, he developed an obsession with Los Angeles Times reporter Jack Nelson, left. (Associated Press / December 31, 1969)

By Richard A. Serrano, Los Angeles Times

November 6, 2011, 8:03 p.m.

Reporting from Washington—

In February 1970, a top aide to President Nixon warned J. Edgar Hoover that a new reporter in town, Jack Nelson, was said to be gunning for theFBI.

Hoover took the advice to heart.

"Keep an eye on these characters," the FBI director wrote his subordinates, referring to Nelson and two of his editors at the Los Angeles Times. "They are up to no good."

As reports on Nelson's activities poured in from FBI field offices, Hoover would scribble comments across the bottom. The more he read, the more vitriolic he became.

"Nelson is a mental case," Hoover wrote on one memo.

"He is a rat," he scrawled on another.

"A jackal."

"A lice-covered ferret."

For two years in the early 1970s, Hoover nursed an obsession with the new reporter in the nation's capital. His agents pumped journalists for dirt on Nelson. He put Nelson on the bureau's list of "untouchables," reporters who were to receive no cooperation.

He even called Nelson a drunk and demanded that he be fired.

Hoover's animosity toward Nelson was no secret. But FBI records released recently under the Freedom of Information Act reveal, for the first time, what fueled his fixation:

Hoover was convinced — mistakenly — that Nelson planned to write that the FBI director was homosexual.

By 1970, Hoover had enjoyed nearly half a century of invincibility at the helm of the FBI, outlasting seven presidents.

Nelson, who arrived in Washington that year at age 42, owned a Pulitzer Prize and a reputation for fearless reporting on the civil rights movement, including FBI abuses in his native South.

Now, he trained his attention on the 75-year-old Hoover, whose health had begun to fail and whose hold on his job was being questioned.

Nelson wanted to know how much money the director had earned for his anti-communist bestseller "Masters of Deceit." He asked about Hoover's armored cars and his office carpeting.

He also inquired about Hoover's confidant, Associate FBI Director Clyde Tolson, including whether Tolson had worked on the book on bureau time. Hoover and Tolson, both bachelors, were inseparable, lunching every noon at the Mayflower Hotel. They were rumored to be lovers.

Biographers and historians have yet to resolve conflicting accounts of Hoover's sexual orientation. There is no indication Nelson had any interest in the subject, and he never wrote about it. Nevertheless, he became the focus of Hoover's anxieties.

As he had done with other perceived enemies, Hoover began compiling a dossier on the reporter.

KADAFI'S TWO BILLION DOLLAR STASH

2011-10-24T02:06:00.000-02:00

As Libya takes stock, Moammar Kadafi's hidden riches astound

New estimates of the former leader's assets — more than $200 billion — are called 'staggering.' If they prove true, he would rank among the world's most rapacious leaders.

A revolutionary fighter exits the drainage pipe in Surt where Moammar Kadafi the day before was found and later killed. Revelations of Kadafi’s hidden wealth may further enrage the Libyan people, about one-third of whom live in poverty. (Esam Omran Al-Fetori, Reuters / October 21, 2011)

By Paul Richter, Los Angeles Times

October 21, 2011, 6:53 p.m.

Reporting from Washington—

Moammar Kadafi secretly salted away more than $200 billion in bank accounts, real estate and corporate investments around the world before he was killed, about $30,000 for every Libyan citizen and double the amount that Western governments previously had suspected, according to senior Libyan officials.

The new estimates of the deposed dictator's hidden cash, gold reserves and investments are "staggering," one person who has studied detailed records of the asset search said Friday. "No one truly appreciated the scope of it."

If the values prove accurate, Kadafi will go down in history as one of the most rapacious as well as one of the most bizarre world leaders, on a scale with the late Mobutu Sese Seko in Zaire or the late Ferdinand Marcos in the Philippines.

PHOTOS: Moammar Kadafi | 1942-2011

Kadafi's death after he was captured Thursday outside his birthplace, the coastal town of Surt, not only all but ended the armed uprising that erupted in February. Revelation of the stunning size of the portfolio may stir anger among Libya's 6.5 million people — about one-third of whom live in poverty.

Though Kadafi's foreign investments would seem to offer a bonanza for the transitional government, it is struggling to reclaim the money because of legal barriers created by a U.N. freeze on Libyan assets and national laws designed to ensure seized assets are only released to the legal owner.

U.S. and European authorities said Friday that they intended to quickly hand over frozen assets to the transitional Libyan government. But so far, the U.N. has authorized release of only $1.5 billion from accounts in the U.S., and the Obama administration has turned over $700 million of that amount, said Marti Adams, a Treasury Department spokeswoman.

Some African nations were reluctant to freeze Libyan accounts at all because of their loyalty to Kadafi. Others feared that freezing Libyan assets could hurt their domestic economies as bills and workers went unpaid.

During his 42 years in power, Kadafi steered aid and investment to benefit his own family and tribe, but denied support for much of the country, especially the eastern region that historically resisted his family's despotic grip on power.

Obama administration officials were stunned last spring when they found $37 billion in Libyan regime accounts and investments in the United States, and they quickly froze the assets before Kadafi or his aides could move them.

Governments in France, Italy, England and Germany seized control of another $30 billion or so. Investigators estimated that Kadafi had stashed perhaps another $30 billion elsewhere in the world, for a total of about $100 billion.

But subsequent investigations by American, European and Libyan authorities determined that Kadafi secretly sent tens of billions more abroad over the years and made sometimes lucrative investments in nearly every major country, including much of the Middle East and Southeast Asia, officials said Friday.

Most of the money was under the name of government institutions such as the Central Bank of Libya, the Libyan Investment Authority, the Libyan Foreign Bank, the Libyan National Oil Corp. and the Libya African Investment Portfolio. But investigators said Kadafi and his family members could access any of the money if they chose to.

The new $200 billion figure is about double the prewar annual economic output of Libya, which has the largest proven oil reserves in Africa.

Officials of the transitional government point to the secret transfer of so much wealth as proof that Kadafi, who once gave himself the title "King of Kings," had imperial ambitions for himself but little concern for most Libyans.

Kadafi was sending vast sums abroad "at a time when Libyans were struggling for the money they needed for schools, hospitals and all sorts of infrastructure," said one person close to the council, who spoke on condition of anonymity because the investigations are ongoing.

Investigators believe Kadafi's foreign investments accelerated in recent years. Almost all the assets and accounts found in the United States were from the last four or five years, after Kadafi surrendered a nascent nuclear weapons program and moved toward restoring full diplomatic relations with Washington.

In addition to the vast foreign investments, Kadafi is believed to have amassed billions of dollars in gold reserves inside Libya, possibly for use in case his rule was threatened. Western authorities believe Kadafi and his aides secretly maneuvered to bring some of the cash back to Tripoli to help pay for their war effort.

Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton told an NBC interviewer Thursday that rebel forces had worried that Kadafi could still "be recruiting mercenaries, paying with the gold they believe he had absconded with."

Western officials have struggled all year not only to identify Kadafi's money but also to convince countries such as India, China and Russia to seize Libyan investments as required by a U.N. Security Council resolution.

Investigations last spring found Libyan regime investments in several high-profile Western ventures, including the Italian soccer club Juventus, the Italian bank UniCredit and the British publisher Pearson, which owns the Financial Times newspaper.

Officials now believe other assets include accounts held by Kadafi family members with money drawn from national oil sales.

Steven Cook, a Mideast specialist at the nonpartisan Council on Foreign Relations, said it was known that Kadafi had invested heavily in nearby African nations, since he sought to build and lead a pan-African alliance.

"But all this, of course, goes way beyond that," Cook said.

FULL COVERAGE: The death of Moammar Kadafi

GADDAFI: A BULLET TO THE HEAD

2011-10-23T05:22:00.001-02:00

Gaddafi Death: A Bullet to the Head is the Culmination of NATO’s Criminal War

by Finian Cunningham

Global Research, October 22, 2011

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The shocking images of Muammar Gaddafi being hauled while dazed, confused and blood-soaked on to the back of a pick-up truck by gun-toting opposition fighters cannot disguise the awful reality – the Libyan leader was lynched on the street, executed in a squalid form of summary “justice”.

His murder by NATO-backed militants is in many ways a fitting end to a seven-month campaign of criminal war and atrocities by the US, Britain, France, Canada and other western powers.

After several weeks of military siege of Gaddafi’s hometown of Sirte, during which civilians were bombarded by NATO warplanes, the Libyan leader was dragged from a drainage pipe before being fatally shot. The involvement of NATO in this climactic act of savagery cannot be denied.

Apparently, a convoy carrying Gaddafi attempting to flee from Sirte was attacked by NATO jets – various reports say British and French jets – rendering him to the hands of the NATO-backed fighters on the ground.

Mobile phone images showed 69-year-old Gaddafi being manhandled, barely able to stay on his feet. His vest was a bloody mess. It is not clear whether his injuries were incurred during the earlier NATO air attack on his convoy or at the hands of his captors. But moments later, similar images show his lifeless body with a gunshot to the left side of the head. His captors also claimed that he had been shot in the upper body with a 9mm handgun. Just before his killing, one of Gaddafi’s captors was seen brandishing a handgun at his head.

The NATO-backed Transitional National Council is now contradicting the version of events told by its fighters, claiming – somewhat incredibly – that the former Libyan leader was shot in crossfire between soldiers loyal to Gaddafi and the TNC’s fighters.

Washington has subsequently called for an “open and transparent” inquiry into how Gaddafi was killed. Such a call can be seen as a cynical attempt to obfuscate the appalling fact that NATO is an accessory to a war crime – the cold-blooded murder of a defenceless prisoner.

Certainly, the initial reaction of Western leaders and media could not contain their glee at the news of Gaddafi’s brutal slaying.

The Financial Times declared that his “timely death” opened up a new beginning for the North African country; the Daily Telegraph crowed how Gaddafi was hauled from “a sewer” and given “a bullet to the head”. The New York Times intoned that Gaddafi’s killing “vindicated” Obama’s war strategy in Libya, while the Christian Science Monitor asserted that “Gaddafi death gives NATO its 'mission accomplished' moment in Libya” and went on to ponder if it provided “a model for future US interventions”.
Obama, Cameron, Sarkosy and Merkel were quick to glorify the execution.

German Chancellor Angela Merkel said: “The path is now finally clear for a fresh political start, in peace. Germany is relieved and very happy about this,” she added.

US President Barack Obama called the death a “momentous day in the history of Libya”.

Britain’s David Cameron also could not restrain his satisfaction, declaring that he was “proud of the role played by Britain in Libya’s liberation”. Cameron appeared to excuse the roadside execution: “I think today is a day to remember all of Colonel Gaddafi's victims... We should also remember the many, many Libyans who died at the hands of this brutal dictator and his regime.”

Few people would deny that Muammar Gaddafi’s 42-year rule was without allegations of human rights violations. Indeed, that did not stop Western leaders cosying up to Gaddafi at times when it suited them. Former British Prime Minister Tony Blair flew to Tripoli to have several secret meetings with Gaddafi and on one occasion lobbied on behalf of investment bank JP Morgan.

Whatever crimes Gaddafi is alleged to have committed does not mitigate the fact that he was summarily executed by NATO-backed forces and that this appalling extrajudicial killing was greeted by Western leaders with approval and applause.

His murder marks the lawlessness and barbarity with which Western governments are now overtly operating in pursuit of their foreign policy objectives.

The squalid demise of Gaddafi is reminiscent of Iraq’s Saddam Hussein. He too was at one time feted by Western leaders when, like Gaddafi, it suited their self-serving interests. But when their mercurial interests dictated, he too was crushed and discarded. Like Gaddafi, Saddam Hussein was captured and dragged from a hole in the ground. But at least in the case of Saddam, the Western powers felt obliged to go through a sham court prosecution before he was lynched. No longer, it seems, are Western governments restrained by sham niceties in their method of discarding opponents. A bullet to the head on the side of the road will do.

Finian Cunnningham is Global Research’s Middle East and East Africa correspondent
cunninghamfin@yahoo.com

Global Research Articles by Finian Cunningham

2010-12-12T09:29:00.001-02:00

LOOKING FOR A WHITE HOE IN BRAZIL

2010-09-19T09:10:00.000-03:00

Last Tuesday I went to 4X4.

It was the first time I been there this trip because I wanted a pure white girl.

I love variety and black/haired white skin is my favorite.

4X4 is a high-end/lowered price Terma in Centro, Rio de Janeiro.

It is the favorite of many local Brazilians with funds to spare and American tourists.

The prices before 5PM are R$180 or R$210 and after 5PM is R$210 or R$240.

It is the only terma in that price range that guarantees you white Brazilian hoes.

Centerian is another high end hoe spot and it has R$110 entrance fee and than the girl costs R$250 for an hour.

They have a new nice Terma that opened up right by 4X4 that the hoes cost R$50 for an hour and R$15 entrance fee.

But all of the girls are black/Indian mix or white/Indian mix or any combination of the above, no white girls.

I am telling you they are fine, but I can get that at the Balcony.

They are hell of fine the mix girls, but if you want the blond or moreno claro, you got to go to the high end terma.

I will be going to that R$50 Terma next Wednesday or Thursday. My friend said they remodeled the place and it looks nice.

Anyways, I pick a fine girl at 4X4. She told me her name was Raphaela and than she told me her real name was Floriaza.

She is hot.

She was a Brazilian Magazine Playboy centerfold 10 years ago and she showed me about 10 different magazines she has graced nude.

She is hot and she is on her way to my apartment as I write this Blog.

She lifts weights and she has no body fat. She stands about 5 foot 5, 125 pounds of muscle, big feet (I love big footed women, big feet are HOT), thick but not over-sized calves, clear white slightly bronzed skin, silicone boobs that are proportioned and soft, not that hard gel of yesterday.

She has a big, rounder than round behind and I almost lost my load when she turned around and went to all 4's on me. it was like the perfect scenery from fantasy land for men! Her waist is tinier than tiny and she has curves that would make a Corvette miss the turns.

Well, when I walked into 4X4 she came in with the 5PM shift and I could not take my eyes off of her. She smiled and sat next to me and my choice for the next 2 hours was made. She was shocked that I spoke Portuguese fluently with a strong Mexican accent (I wonder why I have a Spanish accent instead of an American, that is weird to me).

Well after almost spending 3 hours with me she asked if I take her this weekend.

She can see the writing on the wall and is trying to make the ultimate Prostate kill, marry a gringo from USA or Europe, remember our war cry:

You Cannot Make House-Wife Out of A Hoe!

Pay attention to that last statement; Hoes are liars, and their only objective in life is to separate as much money from you as possible.

By The Mexican Stallion

DIRECTION OF THE REAL TO THE DOLLAR

2010-09-14T12:08:00.000-03:00

That is interesting but the Brazilian Goverment and the national economist say the true value of the dollar sould be 1 dollar to 2.6 Reais. However, the banks are fighting this move do to the new found wealth. I just left Rio as well as Recife. There is growth but there is an underurrent of impending inflation due to goods and services rising cost for the typical Brazilian. There has not been a sizable increase in the basic salary structure there in years. The emergence of a new middle class is fueling high prices across the board. In addition, a weak dollars kills the Brazilians export market. It stunts growth and production because the cost of all items increase, it infringes on the ability of overseas market to purchase the goods at a fair value, thus limiting the export, production and hindering new growth. So, my friend. I will tell you, after the elections in October, that will give rise to the direction the country is headed. If Dilma wins, Lula, chief of staff and contuine on the path Lula has set, the dollar will be strong again. I am not sure if you received the email about the emerging middle class. Brazil goverment has created 1.8 million jobs this year. The poverty rate in the last 10 years dropped fro 94.7 million to 27 million people over lula tenure, in addition, the middle class now makes up 50.5 percent of the population. However, you still have a country with the poverty rate close to 48 percent. Thus, there has been a thrust to improve acces to eduction as well as home ownership. The dollar will rebound. These are the facts on the ground.

I am in Miami now, just returning from a 4 week tour of a lot of cities in Brazil.

marcus

CHEAP HOES GAME

2010-09-02T20:04:00.000-03:00

Hoe-Monger-Get-A-Hoe-Cheap-Game

In the silence of the night with the moon's rays penetrating through the clouded sky, I sat in anticipation for my hoe with the long silky blond hair and ivory skin to come to me.

Hoes, or to be more precise, local grown Rio de Janeiro hoes are renowned for not showing up on time, showing up late, when I mean late, I am not talking 15 minutes tardy or not showing up at all, and they do not even give a courtesy call.

Do not fret my fellow hoe-mongers in training, when one hoe does not show, there is a hoe that will blow in with the summer wind offering to rent her body to fulfill a hoe-mongers appetite.

Nevertheless, the hoe does not do this inexcusable act on purpose. They do it because something better has come up, or they just do not feel like going or they have already done a client and do not feel like being with a middle-aged-beer-gut-man.

So do not take it personally, they do it to everyone.　

However, transplant hoes almost always call to cancel or call to say they are going to be late. The best transplant girls are from Menias Gerias and Fortaleza. However, some of them want to have a nice evening and some of them want to bang as many as they can per night and are very professional with their services.

I had a prearranged encounter with terma hoe 2 and she did not show up. She is hot. I had her twice for R$100. She has ivory white skin, 5 foot 3, 110 pounds, long blond hair, small perky boobies, thick legs, big feet to carry her large roundish ass and she is hot in bed.

She called me at 8:13 (we were suppose to go out at 8:00 if she had no other plans, it was not a positive or set date). She sounded drunk or tipsy as hell on the phone and she said she was going to sleep a little while. She never called back.

Today I saw her on the beach and she came to me trying to get an afternoon program. I told her tonight at or around 8PM will be splendid. I doubt she will show up, but she struck out with some Italians after talking to me. When she does not get any money for a few days, she will come looking for the R$100 I will give her for 30 minutes of doing the nasty. My advantage over the 10 day sex-tourist is that I speak Portuguese and I live here half the year. They always come back for guarantee money.

Now back to the story I have to share.

I was waiting for her at the other side of the Othon Hotel on the beach. After she called me at 8:13Pm to cancel, a hoe that I have desired to have run around my apartment naked doing jumping jacks, squat bends and picking up objects that I tossed on the floor show up to have a drink at the K-Bob.

I have wanted this hoe for the longest, but I never approached her at Balcony. I sat down at the table she was at and struck up a conversation. She was drinking a Caipirinha.

She is 5 foot 4, long black hair, big boobs (silicone of course) with purple nipples, dark bronzed brown skin, nice solid ass, solid back, brown beautiful legs, Amazonian Indian and Italian mixed features and she is hot. I mean she is hot. I bought her 2 more Caipirinhas (only $R3 at the beach cafe). I was hungry and she accompanied me to a restaurant (BiBs) and watched me eat. She drank a beer and I ate (I do not drink alcohol). I convinced her to go with me for $R100 and she said is that all, and I said I was broke and that is all I can spare (works every time) She said for how long. I said 30 minutes. She agreed to the price (One other thing, it does not matter if you pay them R$20 at Nitori or 300 at Balcony, they either F good or F bad, money does not influence it).

We stopped at Zona Sul (super-market) and i bought a R$6 of vodka and R$4 of Orange juice (believe that, orange juice costs more than cheap vodka).

We got to my house and she drank 4 heavy drinks (she an alki) and she was awesome in bed, I mean she was awesome in the sack. Apparently she does not like having sex with strangers and has to get drunk to rent her goods. She stayed with me for about 4 hours and left at 11:30PM. Remember, I only gave $R100.

I don't know what got into me after she left, but I wanted more sex (unexplainable, maybe I just wanted more). So I called terma hoe 3, Victoria.

Victoria is the best lubber-cater-human-machine (pecker-sucker) that I have had on this 6-month vacation in Rio this year.

I have been with her 6 times. Victoria is 21 years old, she comes over, we get at it for about an hour and she goes away (she is boring, you know how teenagers are, my God what a body). She is five foot 10, big long thick legs, her feet are about a size 10 in men's shoes, bigger than my feet, that is to balance her big ass. She has mostly Italian features, long black hair, little boobies that are dark black, and she loves having sex. I text her and she does me for R$100 and R$10 for transportation. She is a sweetheart, but I do not like talking to her. She is on her way over and should be here any minute.

Well Victoria just left about 10 minutes ago and she quenched my thirst for sex. Having sex with her is sort of like having a spiritual experience, she made me feel fulfilled with the holy ghost and I pondered the ideal that if all women were like her in the sack that a solution to world hunger would be found and war would cease to exist and we can all join in the Gospel Hymen "We will gather around the River" and that there still is hope for the future of mankind.

These girls are hot. hoe 2, Vera, told me she only made a R$1000 last month and she can't wait for Carnival where she said she makes a thousand a day. Believe that crap.

There are no clients out there and they all are trying to make me their regular guy. I have one girl I like hanging with a lot, and the new hoe that came over today told me stories on how when she was younger she had 5 or 6 guys sending her money and now she does not she is 35 years old now, but she goes to the gym and jogs everyday and she has a body that will not stop.

So you idiots who are sending girls money, remember, they are doing the program with me for $R100 while spending your money and telling you how they are being faithful to only you. Natalia was telling me that she cannot see me for the next two week because her French boyfriend was coming over and he sends her 1,000 dollars a month for food and pays her rent as well. Well buddy, she just left my apartment a few days ago.

So after Vera left and Victoria caught her hour long bus ride home (not bad money, 2 hour bus ride, 30 minutes of sex and she is $R100 richer) I called my non-hoe girlfriend and now I am stuck with her for the whole weekend. She is coming over on Friday and leaving Sunday. I am telling you guys, the hoes are cheap once you had them a few times.

Remember, the rules with hoes are different. They lie all of the time about meaningless stuff and hard stuff. And they make up excuses for everything or justify everything or throw the blame on you or me and say they did not do anything wrong.

Remember one thing, true hoe mongers will never marry a hoe. Hoes are for hoeing and if you want to happy for the rest of your life, marry yourself an ugly wife.

YOU CANNOT MAKE A HOUSEWIFE OUT OF A HOE

If they think that you live here, the prices drop like mad. So lie to them and tell them you live here, I tell them I stay here for 6 months and got 5 to go. I always got 5 to go.

They lie and I play the hoe-monger-get-a-hoe-cheaply-game.

Blogged by "Born-In-The-USA-Latino-Sensation"

THERE IS A GOD

2010-08-13T11:28:00.000-03:00

8-12-2010

On Thursday, the sun finally came out after 4 days of hiding behind clouds and rain.

I went to the beach and sunned myself for spell.

However, the beach was empty, since the typical "Praia Vagabunda" (Beach Bum) works six days a week.

I bet you did not know that in Brazil minimum wage is R$456,00 ($257.00 American).

So when you pay a hoe $R150,00 for 15 minutes of passion (some of you folks 5 minutes) you are paying her more then she would earn in a regular job working almost 10 days.

So the next time you see a person bagging your groceries inside a Rio de Janeiro Super-Market, keeping her moral-Christian-values by not renting her beseta, be kind to her, I make more money doing what I do for a living in one hour than she will earn all month.

I did not go to the Balcony on Thursday, however, I did go last night.

With the closing of HELP, Balcony cannot handle the overload of hoes.

Last night there were so many hoes there that I could not see the same hoe twice in 30 minutes. I mean, it was hoe-a-fied. Let me put this way, in the front, in hoe row, they were packed 5 deep and it took 5 minutes to walk through them to get to the rest-room inside.

If you had your eye on a hoe, and than took your eye of the hoe last night, you could not find that hoe for awhile because there were so many hoes there last night.

What shocked me, is that the last 3 times I went this week, I saw about 40 to 50 new hoes per night, even white hoes.

I saw at least 40 white hoes. I saw this one white hoe who was about 19 that I never seen before. She looked like a favela girl coming o make a little money and she was hot. I turned my back and she was gone. I searched wide and far for her and I did not find her for 20 minutes. You guys who have been to the Balcony know how small it is, but when it is packed, and the girl is not tall, they disappear into the masses.

I took this unbelievable looking white girl home last night and she was awesome.

She talked well, seemed intelligent, young (19 years old), a big round bubble butt free of wrinkles, pink 1/2 inch nipples nipples that shot out like mountain peaks, long blond true hair with no extensions, (looked like the descendant of German immigrants) 5 foot 3, about 125 pounds, thick legs, small waist, nice coffee size natural real perky boobies that were solid, blonder eye-brows, pearly white teeth and she was hot!!!

She really put out and than she would not leave. I paid her R$150 and she would not go. I mean, she lubed me for about 10 minutes, had sex for about another 15 and than when my mission was completed, she went and took a shower and than climbed back into the bed and was rubbing my back for about another hour and I could not fall asleep. I was done with her and she would not go. She probably liked how nice apartment is and wanted to and did stay the night. After scratching my back and rubbing it for an hour she started kissing me again (yes, I kiss hookers in the mouth, I like it, some of us do not like it) in the mouth, my ears and neck and the little guy awoke from his slumber and said damn, here we go again. She than lubed me again and we had sex and than we both fell asleep.

4 out of my last 4 girls I had have made me, against my will (yes, I am a victim, sacrificing myself in my research for you people) do the nasty twice.

I figured out, i speak Portuguese and they see me all of the time, business is slow and poor and they are trying to make me a regular client.

Oh well, that blond is hot and i am thinking of her right now.

I am having a lot of fun and will be staying an extra 45 days.
Mark Alan Taylor

I MISS HELP

2010-08-06T09:02:00.000-03:00

I miss HELP

The Balcony is getting boring.

Rio is not the same with HELP closed down.

The girls are not the same, but some of my old favorites from the countryside are coming out of the wood-work.

The problem is that the country girls and girls from the Favelas 2 hours away are not coming to Rio (Copacabana).

You think about it. In the country-side and in nearby towns Like Nova Iguaco, Nitori or neighborhoods far away from the glitz, glamour and lights of Zona Sul (Ipanema, Leblon, Gavea, Leme, Copacabana, and Botafogo) there is a world that you cannot imagine if you have never been there in person. And sex is rock cheap there or in those areas, like R$1 per minute, R$20 for 30 minutes. The typical person makes 400 dollars a month. They can go to Rio, get 3 dates in one day and make more money renting their 'beseta' than they can make all month.

Did you know those clerks and cashiers at the super-market only make $550 a month. A nurse, a certified nurse in Rio makes only 200 dollars a week. You try to live on 550-800 dollars a month in the Zona Sul neighborhoods of Rio.

The further one gets away from the Zona Sul, the blacker the people get.

This country was built on slave labor and the mass of humanity, with its indignity and shame behind its black curtain of history can be felt by the descendants of the former warriors, kings and queens of Africa who were ripped from its bosom and transported across the Ocean to die on the sugar plantations of Brazil.

The typical average life-span on a sugar plantation was 7 years and a coffee plantation was 30.

80% of slaves brought to Brazil went to the sugar cane fields.

The favelas', composed of people with strong beautiful African features who live in un-comprehensible squaller in the favelas with their open sewers spewing foul odors, cesspool of composed of diseases and power outages that last for days in the sweltering heat.. Those woman, whom are some of the most beautiful woman in the world cannot afford to get to Zona Sul because they have no bus fare.

I miss those woman. They were kinder and they wanted to date and make you a boyfriend client. It smoothed their shame at being a labeled a prostitute.

You think about it, you got R$20. A typical woman from a distant area needs to transfer 2 or 3 times to get to Zona Sul, a 2 hour trip. That will come up to R$16. If they do not get a client their family does not eat. A pound of beans and a pound of rice costs about R$8. It is a tough choice to make.

They do not have the money to catch the bus. That type of hoe have not been coming to the Balcony and I miss that type of hoe.

That means only the local hard-core girls are coming.

Some of them are sweet and some of them are not but we are not getting the type of girl who tries to make it a date, but local hard core hoes who transmit all information to each other and lie their ass off to save face. They will gladly go for R$100, but they tell all their friends they got R$300. This lie gets circulated and all the hoes try to get that from the new person.

Never pay a hoe more than R$150. That is a good price and a high price.

remember this principle, you cannot make a husband out of a hoe-monger and you cannot make a wife out of a prostitute.

They all lie, but they are fine and the sex at times is awesome.

be good,
Mark Alan Taylor

IPANEMA, SHOUT IT OUT!!!

2010-08-04T12:56:00.001-03:00

Click to Play

A day at the beach is much more than a day at the beach when one is talking about Ipanema Beach in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Tens of thousands of beautiful people in the sun and water just having fun. It´s a sight to be seeen. Girls in bikinis and boys in speedos, and everything in between

PAINTINGS BY OSVALDO MARCI

2010-07-21T20:22:00.001-03:00

Click to Play

The Wet Palette Videos proudly presents 23 new art works by world famous Brazilian artist Osvaldo Marci. His new collection re-establishes his position at the top of the Abstract Art school in the vain of Pollack and DeBeers. ;

CHAPTER 3 -THE SHOOTER

2010-07-20T06:25:00.001-03:00

TETHER DREAMS IN THE SHADOW GAME

CHAPTER 3

THE SHOOTER

XXX

The Shooter was an enigma hiding in plain sight. He said what he meant, and he meant what he said. This was a prudent attribute to have for a man of few words. He believed that actions spoke louder, especially from the working end of a gun.

He believed that if you let someone get too close it could only end badly. To him loyalty was a precious commodity that had to be earned, and not to be squandered on frivolous relationships with God or man. However, there was a time when he thought quite differently. He naively embraced beliefs untested by Time. Ultimately, he was forced to abandon such thinking when push came to shove, and he found himself to be the last one standing after the shit hit the fan.

The Shooter was a natural athlete, excelling at whatever sport he chose to play. He got his nickname for shooting the basketball, but as a team player he left much to be desired. He was reluctant to pass the ball, and the high school coach thought that he needed a lesson in humility, so he benched him during an important game. At halftime the Shooter stood up and walked out of the gym, relying on his absence to make his final statement regarding his high school athletic activities. That is, except for the fighting.

He loved to fight, and refused to suffer fools for long. Big or small, he took on all challengers. If a slight was real or imaginary it was still enough for him to get busy. “You got a problem” became his opening line once the adrenalin got flowing. It was hard for him to stop. Quite often he had to be pulled off of some unfortunate fool who didn’t understand that, indeed. He did have a problem.

The problem was that the Shooter was just a kid all alone, his parents had been killed in an auto accident when he was fourteen years old, and it didn’t take him long to run away from an over bearing uncle, who had taken him in but didn’t like the kid. He lived on the streets for the next year and continued to build his reputation as a banger, but through it all he still managed to attend high school and never missed a day; he thought that his parents would have liked that.

He went off to war with a kid named Jones, who had befriended him back in high school, after the Shooter intervened in a beating that Jones was taking at the hands of the high school bully, a big Irish kid by the name of McDuffie, who had an inordinate and intense dislike for Blacks.

Maybe it was because he too was black or maybe he just didn’t like Bullies, none the less he put a stop to the ass kicking taking place at the bus stop. It wasn’t much of a fight; the Irish thug outweighed the skinny black kid by fifty pounds and he stood a foot taller. He was pounding the kid about the head, when The Shooter stepped in and said, “That’s enough, it’s over”. McDuffie also towered well above the Shooter, but even he knew that you didn’t fuck with The Shooter, he was too dangerous. He had already sent two guys to the hospital within the pass two weeks to get fitted for a liquid diet, for calling him some disparaging words, and by the look in the Shooter’s eyes McDuffie knew that he was in imminent danger and that perhaps he should listen to the Shooter and let this one go. The Shooter took a step towards him and asked him if he had a problem.

Jones took the Shooter home with him that day, and his mother insisted that the Shooter stay for dinner, and he never left. He had found a home with the Jones family when they found out that he was living on the streets. They were from Alabama and good Christians, all twelve of them, and the Shooter fit right in. Mr. Jones worked at the Post Office and he didn’t say too much, he had kind eyes and a warm smile that put everyone he met at ease, even the Shooter. They lived in a big house on the north side of town that had six bedrooms and three baths, more than big enough for the Jones. Mrs. Jones ran the household with just a look or a nod, and she was always in the kitchen cooking something up, and the smell of her cooking filled the house with collard greens and ham hocks on Wednesday, fried chicken on Friday, and a big ham on Sunday, along with sweet potato pie and chocolate cake.

The Shooter shared a room with Robert and his older brother Ted, but ever since he saved Roberts butt that day at the bus stop, he always called him Jonesey.

So from that day forward, from high school to the battlefield, Jonesey followed The Shooter wherever he lead, and it came as no surprise that Jonesey joined the army with the Shooter, and became his spotter in their two man sniper team in Vietnam, and on the field of battle there is no bond stronger than one formed under fire, and such a bond was formed between them, in the Asha Valley, in Vietnam in 1968.

The dynamics of a kill are quite simple, when devoid of all emotional contexts. At twenty yards distance, simply line them up and pull the trigger, the quicker the better, and before long you will have bodies piled up like victims of some freakish accident that had gone incredibly wrong.

But this was no accident, this was war, and by all accounts everything had gone incredibly right, for there at the bottom of a crater, blasted from the jungle floor by a 500 Pounder dropped from a B52, flying thirty thousand feet above, laid eighteen enemy bodies piled up as they fell, with a single round shot through the head, clean and simple, but to think that the taking of human life can be that simple, even if they be the enemy, would be to ignore the human factor, and the aftermath there of, for ultimately there would be an accounting, even if it was to be a long time coming.

On the night of January 3^rd, 1969, the Viet Cong penetrated Able Sector, and Jones and the Shooter were waiting for them. Jones hid ten yards to the right of the Shooter in the thick jungle bush, and from there he relayed the movement of the Viet Cong infiltrators with hand signals, as they crawled on their bellies, one by one, through the perimeter wire, pass the mine field, and on up to the edge of the crater, and there in the tall Elephant grass waiting patiently was the Shooter. He took his time and adjusted his sight. Then he checked the silencer at the end of his rifle. As each VC attempted to climb over the downed Palm tree, strategically placed at the rim of the crater, he squeezed the trigger, sending each VC tumbling down into the abyss, well out of the line of sight of the following infiltrator, following five yards behind on his belly, relentlessly inching his way forward, towards oblivion.

At dawn it took only a glimpse at his own handy work, lying at the bottom of that crater, for him to understand the finality of life entangled in death’s relentless grip. Eighteen enemy bodies piled atop one another in a haphazard pyramid of death, a ghoulish testament to the gods of war, but alas, his rising euphoria for single handedly causing so much retribution came to a screeching halt. When upon closer scrutiny two women, and what could only be described as a child, were spotted among the dead. All of them dressed in the familiar but ominous black clothing of the Viet Cong.

As the sun’s rays filtered in the dawn an eerily sound could be heard rising above the precipitous howling of the morning wind. A wailing cry could be discerned emanating from the bottom of the pit. After a brief moment of confusion and utter disbelief there remained no doubt. The unmistakable sound of an infant’s cry could be heard rising from the bottom of the pit. At that moment Fate played its hand, for a line would be crossed from which there was no return. The Shooter raised his weapon and fired. Then the deafening sound of silence was all that could be heard.

Now he was faced with a reality that would have shattered a weaker man’s sense of propriety for perpetrating such a heinous crime under the pretext of combat. Still it served as a rare moment of clarity, an opportunity for self examination, a chance to peal back a layer of one’s own humanity, and in the process witness the true nature of the beast that lie within, and accepts the price that he so willingly paid to sustain its salacious apatite. He felt no remorse, much less sorrow, but more akin to relishing forbidden fruit, knowing that it was he who did the dirty deed that mock life in such a gruesome manner, while his rational mind performed mental contortions attempting to lay the blame at the feet of necessity.

But the act was carried out with such malicious intent and callous indifference that it could only be construed as having been carried out by a mind totally out of touch with reality, oblivious to the constraints that would have been imposed by a normal mind in the same situation.

He could not convince even himself that the killing was an absolute necessity. But the deed once done replay in his mind as if it had been a courageous decision. Was not the child also the enemy, a question presented with the aid of a calculating morality in a feeble attempt to justify a perverse act that only a demented mind would attempt to embrace? But an act such as this would be manipulated and banished to a place hidden in the labyrinths of a killer’s mind, hidden between things forgotten and things even a killer dare not remember.

Fate rarely unfolds on an even keel, but works steadfast beyond the pale. So it would be the brutal execution of an innocent child that would strip away the last vestige of self denial. Thus, the truth was exposed before the harsh light of cognizant recognition, and ultimately revealed himself to be, just who he was, which was of course, a cold blooded killer.

The Shooter sensed danger before it struck, and quickly rolled to his right, blocking the thrust of the VC’s dagger with the butt of his rifle, while grabbing his own knife from the leather sheathe strapped to his leg.

They struggled in silence, in the tall elephant grass, for what seemed like an eternity, with an occasional grunt or a muffled cry emitted by one or the other. During their mortal embrace he caught a whiff of garlic on the man’s breath, diverting his attention if only fleetingly, to a breakfast missed, but then he quickly refocused on the killing to be had, as they snarled at each other through clenched teeth, face to face. He then began to overpower his weakening foe, forcing the tip of his blade into the VC’s neck, while looking him straight in the eyes, waiting patiently for life to surrender. Then while covering his victim’s mouth with his free hand, he slowly began to talk to him, soothing him like one would a child as the young man began to slowly loose his fight for life, slowly sinking to the jungle floor, still not understanding what was going on, all the while his life began slipping out of him until he laid quiet and still in the Shooter’s arms, in the tall green grass next to the crater filled with death. Now, the Shooter was a killer of men, up close and personal, and from that moment on he became a gate keeper to the portals of Hell.

He found Jones not far from the mouth of the crater, gasping for air in a clearing covered with his blood; the VC had found him and had slit his throat, and the gurgling sound spilling from the wound along with his blood, told the Shooter that his friend was quickly running out of time. Jones looked up at the Shooter, but was unable to speak, his larynx had been severed, but the panic in his eyes let it be known that he knew that he was dying, and for the second time that day the Shooter tried to calm the fears of a dying man, but this time it was Jonesey, his one and only friend, but there was nothing he could do, there were no bullies to stair down or bad guys to pounce upon, death was waiting and it would be paid, and for the first and last time in his life, he bent his head and prayed.

The Shooter lost what little faith he had that day, when God simply ignored his plea, “Oh God, please save Jonesey.” a simple plea that came from somewhere deep within, but went unanswered. “No, this time you will suffer and this time you will remember.” seemed to be God’s sentence for this killer, as his only friend mercifully closed his eyes and died, leaving behind a gross violator of the laws of God and man, an unrepentant sinner bent on mayhem, and now he was as unforgiving as the Lord.

Two years later he was mustard out of the Army with a confirmed kill count of 112, not including the work he had done for the CIA, during his last tour of duty in

Viet Nam

, as an asset of Army Special Operations, on loan to the CIA. After his discharge he used his contacts within the CIA to get back into the game, and after six months at the CIA’s Langley School of Linguistics, he was deemed ready to serve.

His first assignment took him to

Japan

, and his cover as an Arabic interpreter with the Yemen Consulate, served him well, he being a man of color. His target was a man by the name of Nakamora, a Yakuza gang leader with a penchant for warm sake and hot women, who somehow had manage to get his name on the CIA hit list, and more importantly, the hit had been sanction by the Yakuza High Council, apparently Mr. Nakamora had been dealing drugs to his own people, which was taboo and forbidden in Japan.

He followed his target for a week, but the man was never alone, but every night his entourage would retire to a public bath house for warm Sake and entertainment.

On the eighth night the Shooter sat in the tea room, next to the bathing pool, wearing a white robe, and eating steamed rice and fish heads with chop sticks. The Gang Lord’s four body guards posted themselves at the four corners of the room, while their Boss bathes alone in the center of the common pool.

The bodyguard closest to the tea room was the first to die, with a chop stick jammed through his left eardrum, straight into his brain. The second bodyguard reacted a second too late, and he went down with a chop stick through the left eye. The third bodyguard was caught off balance, running round the pool, a punch to the solar plexus with a rolled up menu and a blow to his throat with the ridge of the Shooter’s hand, dropped the bodyguard to his knees, and then a twist of the head broke his spinal cord at the second Cervical vertebrae. The fourth bodyguard faired no better when the Shooter slid under his karate kick, and grabbed him by the waist, slamming him to the floor, and then three rapid blows with the palm of his hand, drove the bodyguard’s nose cartilage and bone into his brain.

The Shooter slowly entered the water, while the gang boss calmly sat still in the center of the pool, awaiting his destiny. He realized that none of this could have taken place without the High Council’s consent, and the only honorable way out now, was the Samurai way. Hari Kari was out of the question, so he didn’t resist when the gaijin reached out to him and pulled him under, and then held him there until his lungs filled with water and his body went limp. This all took place in less time then it took the Shooter to dry himself off, put on his cloths, and slip out the door, unseen.

The Shooter became a master of disguise and languages, and as his repertoire expanded so did his assignments, and he was no longer considered a one trick pony. He was able to penetrate the most secretive organizations, be they fiefdoms of War Lords in

Somalia

or the Ivory Cost, or the Ivory towers of Western Democracies. He was able to gain access to a Luxemburg based Multi National Hedge Fund, whose manager double as one of the most prolific illegal Arms Dealers in the world, who no longer enjoyed the protection of the CIA. The man was protected better than the President of the

United States

, who’s Secret Service had been found to be lacking on several occasions. Wilfred Wolf Hoffman was not a man to be toyed with, he hired only the best, and the new head of his security was ex-Mossad trained operative, Yusef Ben Israeli, reportedly, a black Jew from Ethiopia, fluent in Yiddish , Hebrew, and several other languages, but better known to the CIA as the Shooter. One brisk clear morning in Geneva, Mr. Hoffman took a ride with his Head of Security and was never seen again, nor was Mr. Israeli.

The Shooter relied on meticulous planning and faultless execution, which accounted for his success over the years, his mission would be completed before anyone knew that it had begun, which was particularly distressing for the target, but not for long. His real talent laid in reading situations, not destroying people, anyone could pull a trigger. His talent for undercover work arguably outstripped his killing ability, but his forte came in knowing when to kill, often it was a matter of reading the situation and letting the play come into focus. Success or failure often was measured in minute measurements of time and distance, and an immeasurable amount of patients, and sometimes the deciding factor was determent by fate, delivered by a hunch.

The Shooter never asked questions about the intent of an operation, but even without doing so, a pattern emerged, and his mind inevitably connected the dots.

A great deal of the CIA’s efforts were centered around drugs, the cultivation of heroin in Afghanistan and The Golden Triangle in South East Asia, the growing and processing of cocaine in South America, and the transportation of drugs through Central America and ultimately through Mexico. Whoever controlled the smuggling routs through

Mexico

controlled the drug market in North America, and if you could send drugs then you could send anything. The more he thought about it the more important The Shot Caller became in the Big Picture.

There was no way that the Shot Caller’s organization could have gained the position that it had in the drug world without the explicit consent of the CIA. Although the evidence supporting such a theory would never reach the light of day, the Shooter always suspected that the CIA had more say in who did what to whom and for how long, than anyone would believe, and that included calling shots in the Taliban. It was no fluke that Bin Laden and the leadership of the Taliban escaped from the White Mountains of, Tora Bora in

Afghanistan

in 2002. Today the Taliban produces more Heroin in

Afghanistan

, than ever before.

The Shooter had infiltrated the Mob back in 2005, and he wasn’t exactly a Sleeper agent. He had nine hits to his credit for the Mob, when the agency told him not to be too pro-active. After all, establishing your cover was one thing, but unleashing a goddamn crime wave was another thing altogether, but as long as his victims were gangsters and known criminals he was given the green light from the agency to do his thing, but when he got a contract from Eduardo to kill the Dishwasher, he was told to tread water. Finally after three days of waiting for an answer he was told to fulfill his contract.

He had a premonition after he was given the go ahead to terminate the Dishwasher, by the CIA. It was a matter of record that the Dishwasher was laundering money for the Mob, that’s how he got his nickname, but those in the know at the CIA knew that the Dishwasher was also an undercover agent for the DEA.

The Shooter had learned to trust no one, especially the people for whom he worked, and definitely not the CIA. Before boarding his flight to

Brazil

, he hacked into the airline’s web site for Bookings and Reservations, and generated a list of all those who had paid in cash for their tickets. Five names were listed, including his alias, Bruno da Silva. The other four names, he assumed were aliases for what reason he didn’t know, but he knew that that was how hit squads traveled, and during the flight he memorize the faces of those seated in the numbered seats according to his printout.

He would never take a direct flight to his final destination, when it could be avoided, and when his plane landed at Sao Paulo for refueling, he ditched his flight, and took a bus to Niteroi, and from there he boarded a private yacht, dressed as a Macomba medicine man, and came ashore in a small fishing boat, directly onto the shores of Copacabana. This way he could be certain that he was not being followed, and to make sure that his cover was complete he went through a full regalia and ritual, performing a black mass on the beach as soon as he reached shore.

Eduardo had told him that he could find the Dishwasher in Copacabana, and because he always did his own due diligence he contacted his connection in Rio, and he soon found out this to be true. It wasn’t hard to locate the girl that the Dishwasher was banging, her name was Paula. She was a hooker who worked out of a Disco Club in Copacabana called HELP, and for a hundred reals she told his connection everything that she knew, about the Dishwasher. The Dishwasher was tight lip around his peers, but as is so often the case, pillow talk reveals the best kept secret between mice and men. She told him about the key he always wore around his neck and how the Dishwasher always told her that it would unlock all of the money that they would ever need. His connection asked her if she knew what the key was for, but not even to her would the Dishwasher reveal the secret behind the key.

The Dishwasher’s real name was Calvin Hanks, a white 63 years old ex-government employee, retired and recently divorced from his fourth wife, Ida. According to his personnel file, he had been a pencil pusher with the Department of Justice, tracking the paper trail in drug operations. When he left the government he tried other kinds of work, but this he was good at, and life kept getting in the way. Unfaithful wives, ungrateful children, and bosses who, by the grace of God, never found out just how far they had pushed him. He never did get rich plying his trade, but he did put in some work every now and then for the other side, and this did allowed him to pursue his vices if not his passions, and quite often not even he knew the difference, and that was enough for him, but no one knew that it was all a part of his cover story.

His mission involve national security, which included tracing laundered money from a street gang out of L.A., that had morphed itself into an international drug cartel, that called themselves “The MOB”. He was close to learning the identity of those who really controlled the MOB, and what their primary purpose was.

On the surface The MOB were a group of Mexican nationals, with ties to the infamous 18th Street, street gang, out of Los Angeles. Normally the two groups would maintain their distance, the 18^th Street gang members, comprised of Chicanos, born in America, looked down on their Mexican brothers from south of the border, calling them Pisas. In prison there existed a well defined delineation or separation of the two groups, although they were allies when confronted by blacks, whites, Asians and any other ethnic group that threaten “their” supremacy.

The Mexican Nationals gained status and importance when 18^th Street took over the drug business in Los Angeles. They needed connections to secure routes, in order to bring in their drug shipments from Mexico, which was the last stop in the pip line, from the cocaine labs in the jungles of Columbia, that turned the coca plant drippings into cocaine bricks, and who better to use than the Pisans, who used the routes to smuggle their own people into the U.S. all of the time; they knew the what, when, where, and how of the smuggling operations along the entire southern U.S. border with Mexico. The Mob benefited from the protection of 18^th Street as Felix’s business grew from one broken down El Camino, to a fleet of 32 cars and drivers that brought in a million and a half dollars a day in drug money, and that was just the beginning.

The Shooter went undercover in the MOB, and started working for them after he was introduced to them down in Cali, Columbia, by The Black Eagles, Aguilas Negras, a former Columbian paramilitary group, now disbanded, with ties to the CIA, while on a job for the Medellin Cartel. He dispatched a local Cali Cartel Shot Caller who had violated the truce between the two Cartels, and had to be handled by an outside talent, namely the Shooter, in order to keep the peace between them, and part of his payment was in the form of one kilogram of cocaine. He got twenty grand in cash and the dope, which he could turn over back in the states for $60,000, but instead of keeping it he sold it to The MOB for five thousand dollars, which was the going rate. He was in good with them after that transaction, because nothing makes friends quicker than making money together.

Before long, the Shooter became the Mob’s number one Hit Man, but before he could complete a job he had to get the OK from the agency to proceed. Which wasn’t a problem, as long as the target wasn’t on their payroll? The CIA had a lot of people on their books and they didn’t want any of their operatives to be retired prematurely. The Dishwasher Hit was another matter altogether, although he wasn’t one of their boys, he was a federal undercover agent, but that was a matter for the DEA to handle, as far as the company was concern he was expendable.