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.

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