It's a Mediterranean thing. In Detroit the Sicilians and Lebanese go together like food and family. Allen Ahee was born into the third generation of a bond as thick as blood. Lebanese born and mob raised, he would become one of the country's biggest weed dealers. His family's move to Tucson introduced him to the lucrative 'sideline' that propelled him from pounds to tons, suitcases to semis and small time local sources to El Chapo's fearsome Sinaloa cartel. "I was his biggest distributor in the United States. Nobody else was doing what we were doing, nobody could. They didn't have the cities,…mehr
It's a Mediterranean thing. In Detroit the Sicilians and Lebanese go together like food and family. Allen Ahee was born into the third generation of a bond as thick as blood. Lebanese born and mob raised, he would become one of the country's biggest weed dealers. His family's move to Tucson introduced him to the lucrative 'sideline' that propelled him from pounds to tons, suitcases to semis and small time local sources to El Chapo's fearsome Sinaloa cartel. "I was his biggest distributor in the United States. Nobody else was doing what we were doing, nobody could. They didn't have the cities, the connections and the places to off it. "They say we moved 180,000 tons worth - over $4.9 billion from '84 to 2004. We did more than that even." Who can you trust when there's this much money involved? Nobody. This is the story of his phenomenal rise and disturbing downfall.
I was chosen to write Allen's book because I know a guy who knows a guy. Like Allen, I was born with a connection to Detroit's prohibition past. Grandpa ran booze across the Detroit River and met my grandmother at one of the city's legendary dance halls. In the years following prohibition they built a house, had a family and achieved respectability - until their 15 year old daughter came home pregnant. My mother raised herself while her parents raised me. There were no bunnies at bedtime, no Little Golden Books. Fortified with warm beer and unfiltered Camels, grandpa told me about the times he flipped his boat and swam for his life. Who wanted him dead? The Purple Gang? The River Gang? I'll never know. I do know he inspired my love of boats, history and gangster stories. I don't remember life before my 'father.' An Italian jazz musician married my mother, gave us his name and found a priest who was willing to christen me. I was 7 when they split; I never knew why. He went on to build his reputation in Detroit's jazz scene as my mother became a Watchtower wielding zealot. She had me banging doors before I was tall enough to reach the bells. A shy, fearful kid, the end of times mentality nearly crushed my spirit. I grew to marry an elder's son and accepted that I would dutifully walk three steps behind as he rose in the organization. When we happened upon the truth of my past, I ran - from squeaky clean elder to ultimate badass. My first love was associated with The Outfit. Those years defined me, from the characters we hung with to the secrecy and surveillance. 'The boys' were masterful storytellers. I enjoyed their gestures, word choices and intonations. After he dumped me I rebounded with the big man on track; a successful businessman who owned, trained and raced thoroughbreds from Hazel Park and DRC to Hialeah. He had his horses and I had dreams of becoming a professional writer. Landing my first full-time job was surprisingly easy and aspiration turned to obsession. In time I became an award-winning automotive marketing writer. I've written radio and TV commercials for Harley-Davidson dealers, conducted many interviews and penned several non-fiction books. In 2004 I circled back and googled my first love. We've been dearest friends ever since. When planets align we enjoy hanging with the boys in Naples and Detroit.
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