Former world heavyweight champions Lennox Lewis and Evander Holyfield have shared their sentiments over a possible showdown between Manny Pacquiao and Floyd Mayweather, Jr.
"Well, until you beat the guy, Pacquiao's the best and that's the thing. Floyd hasn't done that yet," Holyfield told FightHype.com. "When Floyd left, he became the best because Floyd left, but now that Floyd is back, I guess they have to get it on to see who is the best."
Mayweather held the No.1 pound-for-pound ranking of Ring Magazine until he retired in 2007. The title now belongs to the Filipino boxing icon.
Holyfield thinks that fighting Pacquiao immediately after coming out of retirement is not a good move for Mayweather.
"I don't think that would have been smart. I don't think he needs to fight him immediately. That guy is good," Holyfield said of "Pacman."
"I think he'll give Floyd trouble. He's got fast hands too, he's left-handed and he's got a lot more speed than pretty much all the guys Floyd has fought," continued the four-time heavyweight champion.
Talks about a Pacquiao-Mayweather fight gained ground after Floyd Jr. came out of retirement last May.
Mayweather was supposed to have his comeback fight on July 18 against Juan Manuel Marquez but he sustained a rib injury during training. The fight has been postponed.
“Whether or not he believes that or if the fight will even happen, we will have to wait and see, but I would like to see it," Lewis, meanwhile, said of the Pacquiao-Mayweather match up.
“I think Floyd’s got the talent to beat Pacquiao,” said Lewis, who was recently inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame.
Lewis, a three-time heavyweight champion, also has praises for Pacquiao for his accomplishments in boxing.
“He’s putting the Philippines on the map and showing the world that the Philippines is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to boxing,” he said. “I’m glad they don’t have any heavyweights.”
“He’s a hero in his country and he could quit fighting any time now and become President,” he added.
Lewis said the Filipino reminded him of himself in the way he prepares for each fight.
Lewis and Holyfield faced off twice in the ring. The first Lewis-Holyfield fight in March 13, 1999 ended in a draw. Eight months later, Lewis beat Holyfield by unanimous decision to retain his WBC heavyweight title and win the WBA, IBF and vacant IBO heavyweight belts.
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R. Kelly isn’t very good at staying out of trouble. The artist has been dragged into a massive investigation in South Africa after a woman, who is now accused of scamming more than 50 people, claimed to be collecting money for an R. Kelly tour that never existed. The woman says the R&B star was part of the plot, which he is now vehemently denying.
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Oprah Winfrey's private diaries are missing - and THE ENQUIRER has learned the most intimate secrets in them!
The talk-show queen has confided the shocking contents of her secret journals to close pals, including the admission that she and her best pal Gayle King are more than just friends who often share the same bed!
Oprah is terrified those disclosures could be "misinterpreted" if the diaries become public, sources say, and she's worried that longtime love Stedman Graham will leave if he discovers her true thoughts.
The powerful media mogul also says she's recently written in her diaries that her eating binges are getting worse, insiders say, and called her former protege Dr. Phil McGraw a snake who can't be trusted!
Oprah has been writing regular entries in her diaries since she worked at a Baltimore TV station with Gayle during the late 1970s, another insider divulged.
"Oprah is frantic to get these diaries back!" a close source told The ENQUIRER. "She's admitted she's written some things over the years that are very explosive!"
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Farrah Fawcett, who skyrocketed to fame as one of a trio of impossibly glamorous private eyes on TV's Charlie's Angels, has died after a long battle with cancer. She was 62.
Fawcett died at 9:28 a.m. PST at St. John’s Heath Center in Santa Monica, Calif. She had recently returned to St. John's for treatment of complications from anal cancer, first diagnosed three years ago. Her longtime partner Ryan O'Neal was at her side throughout her final days.
Like so much about Fawcett's life – including her bumpy relationship with O'Neal – her heroic struggle to beat the disease was closely followed by her legion of fans.
"I've watched her this past year fight with such courage and so valiantly, but with such humor," Fawcett's Charlie's Angels costar Kate Jackson told PEOPLE in November 2007.
O'Neal, in particular, remained a steadfast supporter of Fawcett, who, despite her frailty, spent the last months of her life filming a TV documentary chronicling her illness, including several trips to Germany to undergo experimental treatment. Fawcett is survived by her son with O'Neal, Redmond, 24, who is currently serving a prison term in California after repeated drug offenses.
Texas Charmer
Blonde, blue-eyed and petite – and with a trademark mane as flowing and famous as the M.G.M. lion's – the Corpus Christi, Texas, native was born Feb. 2, 1947, the younger daughter of an oil-field contractor and his homemaker wife.
A magnet for male students at the University of Texas at Austin, Fawcett eventually set off for Hollywood. Quickly noticed by casting agents, she began landing small parts in forgettable movies, such as 1970's Myra Breckinridge, based on a gender-bending novel by Gore Vidal. Her role: an ingenuous blonde.
In 1973, Fawcett married actor Lee Majors, forever known as Col. Steve Austin on TV's The Six Million Dollar Man. Three years later, she appeared in the cult sci-fi film Logan's Run and began her stint with costars Jackson and Jaclyn Smith on Charlie's Angels. Well-coiffed and scantily-clad, the threesome created an instant sensation, with a weekly following of 23 million fans.
Farrah Fawcett's 1976 poster
Photo by: Everett Collection
Fawcett moved on after just one season. By then, she was already a phenomenon, having donned a one-piece red bathing suit and a perfect smile for her legendary pin-up poster, which sold a still-record 12 million copies.
"I became famous almost before I had a craft," Fawcett told The New York Times in 1986, four years after her divorce from Majors. (By then, she was already involved with Ryan O'Neal.) "I didn't study drama at school. I was an art major. Suddenly, when I was doing Charlie's Angels, I was getting all this fan mail, and I didn't really know why. I don't think anybody else did, either."
Bumpy Film Career
Though she left TV for what was assumed to be greener pastures – feature films – Fawcett's initial three big-screen vehicles all crash-landed. Her first, 1978's Somebody Killed Her Husband, was lampooned in MAD magazine under the title, Somebody Killed Her Career.
It took some serious dramatic TV roles, including that of a battered wife in 1984's The Burning Bed (which earned her an Emmy nomination), as well as starring in small-screen biopics about pioneering photojournalist Margaret Bourke-White and ill-fated Woolworth heiress Barbara Hutton, for Fawcett to bounce back.
"What would you do if someone said to you, 'You're so popular right now that you can be on the cover of every magazine, but if you do that, you might get overexposed and a backlash will develop'?" Fawcett told The Times after she had emerged from one of the valleys of her career.
Still, she said of fighting for survival in Hollywood, "That's life. Everything has positive and negative consequences."
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In their latest effort to keep LeBron James in the fold, the Cavaliers have landed Shaquille O'Neal from the Suns in the revival of a deal they tried to make back in February.
According to various reports, O'Neal is going to Cleveland in exchange for the same package proposed at last season's trading deadline. The Cavs are sending Ben Wallace, Sasha Pavlovic and a second-round pick in tonight's draft to the Suns. The deal was reached in principle late last night and is expected to be finalized today.
By acquiring Shaq, the Cavs hope the 37-year-old O'Neal, who is entering the final season of his contract, has something left and can get James a title. But Shaq alone would not necessarily be enough to help the Cavs to even overtake the Magic in the East. While Shaq enjoyed a bit of a revival last season, the Suns missed the playoffs, and O'Neal is not the same player he was when he was winning three titles with the Lakers from 2000-02.
"They didn't give up anything for him in terms of main rotation players," said one Eastern Conference president. "So that's good. But Shaq doesn't give them size in their backcourt to match up with the Magic. And as for being someone who can guard Dwight Howard, Shaq can't do that. The Magic are still better, depending on what happens in free agency."
Still, it's a gamble the Cavs felt they had to take. The clock is running as James could be entering free agency in 2010. The Knicks, of course, would like nothing more than to see the Cavs again falter in their quest for a title, since it could give James a reason to leave Cleveland.
James can extend his contract this summer. But he is expected to wait to see what the Cavs do to increase his chances of winning a title. Since joining Cleveland in 2003, he has made it to one Finals, in 2007, losing to the Spurs in four games. The Suns, meanwhile, are in a cost-cutting mode and decided that O'Neal's $21million salary was worth dumping. At last season's trading deadline, they decided to pull out of the deal and tried to make a run at the playoffs.
Besides Cleveland, Dallas and New Orleans had limited interest in obtaining O'Neal, who has helped Kobe Bryant and Dwyane Wade win titles. The Knicks had limited interest in Shaq, only because of the money that could come off their books, but never made a serious offer.
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Former Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam artist Tru Life turned himself in to authorities last night (June 23) to face a charge of 1st degree murder, according to reports.
The charge is possibly tied to a brutal stabbing incident last week that left one man seriously injured, and an 18-year old teen dead.
As reported by AllHipHop.com, police were initially investigating Tru Life’s brother for a retaliation attack in the non-fatal shooting of Michael Slater.
The individual, whom police suspect is a drug dealer, was shot in the stomach outside of club Pacha.
Several hours after the crime, police claim five gang members ambushed 30 year old Jason Black and the teen at a Manhattan apartment complex.
Both men were stabbed repeatedly in the chest and face. Black survived the assault, while the unidentified teen succumbed to his wounds.
At the time, police theorized that the back and forth violence was the result of a feud between Jason Black and Tru Life’s brother.
1st degree murder carries a maximum sentence of life in prison under New York law.
If an official or witness is not the victim, the distinction can also be decreed for murders involving multiple parties or tortuous killings.
Tru Life’s last music effort, “Wet ‘em Up,” was heard as a selection on the soundtrack to Grand Theft Auto IV.
At press time, Tru Life could not be reached for comment.
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Ludacris has added another jewel to his business portfolio, courtesy of the founding of his very own Cognac line.
The announcement came at the wine and spirits trade show Vinexpo, being held this week in Bordeaux, France.
The custom line, entitled Conjure, will be a joint venture with Kim Hartmann, owner of the Birkedal Hartmann Cognac brand.
Conjure will be aimed at securing the urban market, something Ludacris plans to expand through behind the scenes planning, and not just surface celebrity endorsement.
“It’s not just me attaching my name to it,” the Atlanta star told the Agence France-Presse. “Whenever I involve myself in a business, I submerge myself in it.”
In January, Ludacris spent a week strategizing with Birkedal Hartmann master blender Philippe Braastad Tiffon.
They tested over 40 different potential brandies for the line.
In the end, a taste was selected that the company deemed favorable to Hip-Hop audiences.
“I wanted to learn as much as possible. It was great. It gave me a new appreciation for Cognac,” Luda stated.
According to the company’s website, African-Americans make up an estimated 60-80% of the 51.7 million bottles sold since 2007 in the American Cognac market.
Cognac’s popularity in Hip-Hop circles extends back to the 90s, and the drink has been referenced in numerous Hip-Hop songs from icons such as Jay-Z, Tupac Shakur, Diddy, Dr. Dre, Nas, and Busta Rhymes.
The first orders will ship to Norway by July 1.
American consumers are expected to receive the product in the Fall.
At press time, Conjure is hopeful to ship 1 million bottles to America by their September target month.
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ONE of "The Real Housewives of New Jersey" might have a real sex tape problem on her hands.
After being dated and dumped on-air by 46-year-old Danielle Staub -- the "prostitution whore," as cast member Theresa Giudice called her in Tuesday night's finale -- Steve Zalewski, 27, is coming out of the woodworks to say that he's got videos of the two of them engaging in various sex acts.
"Not only does she want to have sex all the time, but she loves the thrill of doing it in public places, where she might get caught," he told Star magazine.
"She wanted to make love in restaurant bathrooms basically every time we went out -- she'd get all excited and say, 'The people can hear you doing it outside!'"
According to Zalewski, other amorous hot spots included the patio of Staub's house in Wayne, NJ, and in cars at a police firing range and a crowded park.
It should come as no surprise that Zalewski is thinking of selling the tapes to the highest bidder.
"I'm definitely weighing my options as far as selling them and getting them out there," Zalewski told Star magazine. "She cost me so much money, why shouldn't I make a few dollars?"
He says that Staub borrowed a lot of money from him to keep up appearances with the other "Housewives."
"She tries to look affluent," he said. "But sometimes she couldn't pay the household bills or buy food. Even then, she'd want to borrow 20 grand from me to buy jewelry!"
Staub became the center of controversy when her fellow housewives got their hands on a book - "Cop Without a Badge" - that detailed her 1986 arrest on charges of extortion, kidnapping and drug possession.
Jersey wrapped its six-episode season Tuesday with an explosive finale, but Bravo still has four more episodes on the way. In addition to tonight's episode, "The Last Supper," and next Tuesday's reunion episode, Bravo has added a second reunion special (airing next Thursday) and a "Lost Footage" episode airing July 9, which is the best of the rest -- unseen moments from the series and the reunion shows.
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Five French tourists were taken on a hair-raising, seven-mile "ride from hell" yesterday when an illegal van picked up the unsuspecting passengers at JFK Airport and raced through two boroughs to try to shake cops, authorities said.
"We screamed and prayed the whole time we were in the van. God heard us. It was a miracle that we survived," Esther-Ethy Mamane, 26, of Paris, said in French.
"I am shocked. The whole thing was quite bizarre. We were very frightened," the still-shaken woman added. "It was like something from a film."
Gwen Dulugat, 27, also from Paris, said the van -- unauthorized to pick up passengers at the airport -- took off with a "vroom" when Port Authority cops tried to prevent it from leaving.
"It went very, very fast. We're going zoom, zoom, zoom," she said, zigzagging her hand through the air.
One officer described the horrifying tour of Queens and Brooklyn as "the ride from hell."
"The police were fantastic," she added. "They were behind us all the time. And we were very lucky not to crash into any cars."
The nightmare began about 11 a.m. when Esther and her mother, Claudie, 60, also a Parisian, and Gwen and her parents, Michele, 60 and Jean-Jacques, 62, who live near Bordeaux, got off an Air France flight.
A Port Authority source said Ian McFarland, 57 -- who was at JFK steering tourists to illegal vans -- sent the two families to a vehicle driven by Khaalis Preacher, 27, at the Air France terminal.
PA cops recognized McFarland as a longtime "steerer" and Officer Michael Bestany reached inside the van to try to grab the keys, the source said.
The driver floored it, knocking Bestany to the ground.
With cops right behind, the driver roared west along the Belt Parkway and onto Linden Boulevard, forcing other cars to get out of the way.
It then snaked through residential streets, went in circles and crashed through the mechanical gate arm of a US Postal Service facility on Forbell Street in East New York.
Preacher and McFarland jumped out with the van still moving. It slammed into a postal truck.
Cops with guns drawn quickly arrested the two men.
Claudie Mamane injured her arm while trying to jump out while the van was still moving. She was treated at Jamaica Hospital. The four other tourists weren't hurt.
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The guards at the city club mall in downtown Culiacán refused to talk about the bullet holes in the parking lot. Or about the cross stuck into the pavement, inscribed with three pairs of initials and a melancholy tribute in Spanish: WE WILL LOVE YOU ALWAYS. But almost anyone in this city of 1 million could tell you what happened here a little before 9 p.m. on May 8, 2008: how three men climbed unawares into their white SUV after shopping at the mall; how three other cars zoomed up then unleashed a fusillade of AK-47 gunfire and a single blast from a bazooka. All three men were killed, two of them body-guards for the third, a hulking 22-year-old named Edgar Beltrán Guzman—the son of Joaquín Guzman Loera, better known as El Chapo ("Shorty"), the most wanted man in Mexico.
Culiacán is the bare-knuckle state capital of Sinaloa, laid out between the Pacific Ocean and the Sierra Madre mountains, about 350 miles northwest of Mexico City. I'd come here, as journalists do, in search of El Chapo. If I hung around long enough, I'd been told, I might catch him at one of his famous restaurant drop-bys. (His bodyguards sweep the room, confiscating all mobile phones before his dramatic entrance; he picks up everyone's tab afterward.) But when I arrived in town in early April, El Chapo hadn't been seen in public since his son's murder. He'd gone underground, thanks in part to President Felipe Calderón's all-out war on the drug cartels—2,500 troops were now based in Culiacán and carrying out daily raids—but also because of a bloody feud with a former close ally and boyhood friend, Alfredo Beltrán Leyva, nicknamed Mochomo ("Redhead").
Earlier this month a shootout between Mexican police and Mochomo's gang left 18 people dead in Acapulco. The same gang allegedly killed El Chapo's son—revenge, it's said, after El Chapo betrayed Mochomo to federal authorities. (Javier Valdez, an investigative reporter who looked into Mochomo's arrest for the respected local newsweekly Rio Doce, believes that the federales talked Guzman into giving up his onetime ally. "The government was saying, 'We need somebody, we want somebody,' so to lower the pressure, El Chapo turned in Mochomo," he says.) In revenge, hundreds of narcotraficantes in Culiacán were killed. Victims were found shot dead in parked cars, decapitated, burned, rolled up in bloody blankets and dumped on the roadside. The satirical monthly La Locha ran a helpful glossary of drug-related terminology, including encobijado (a body wrapped up a blanket), ladrillo (a kilo brick of cocaine) and encajuelado (a corpse stuffed in a trunk).
Matters got so bad that at the end of last year, a state official reportedly trekked up to a ranch in Durango state, deep in the eastern Sierra Madre, and got the jefe and Mochomo's men to agree to a truce. (Government officials acknowledge a peace deal but deny any role in it.) Guzman was said to have gone to ground, holed up at one of his tightly guarded haciendas in the mountains. The Sierra is "wild country, the natural place for El Chapo," says Ismael Bojórquez Perea, the editor of Rio Doce. "He feels good and secure up there."
Culiacán's economy has since gone into a tailspin. Nightclubs, discos and restaurants that had catered to the narcos shut down. The downtown street where chirrines—Mexican horn-and-string bands—once waited to be hired for spontaneous fiestas were dark and deserted. Nobody, I was told, felt much like celebrating. And nobody wanted to talk about El Chapo.
Nobody, that is, except a man I'll call Enrique. My translator and I picked up Enrique on my third morning near Culiacán's central market, in front of a fleabag hotel known to be a haunt for narcos. Enrique had agreed to take me into the foothills to follow El Chapo's trail and perhaps arrange an interview. Middle-aged, with the rangy build, bronzed complexion and callused hands of a man used to hard labor in the hot sun, Enrique had been acquainted with El Chapo for years and, he said, had just spent several weeks with him on the coast near Acapulco. Enrique tells the truth, according to my translator, who has known him for a couple of years. I checked out as much of his story as possible, and it all holds up. He begged me not to reveal too much about his identity, and he didn't have to explain why.
On a torpid April morning, with En-rique in the back seat, we set out on a two-lane highway east through the Culiacán Valley. The road climbed through bush-covered hills speckled with saguaro cactuses. As we switchbacked into the Sierra, with a hot wind blasting through the windows, Enrique fished his cell phone from his jeans pocket and showed us what he claimed were photos from his recent trip with El Chapo. They showed a half-finished ranch house with concrete pillars and a wooden slat roof, standing alone in a jungle clearing near a beach. Poppies, bursting with red flowers, covered the green slopes. El Chapo had gone there with 45 men to oversee the arrival of a major cocaine delivery from Colombia, destined for the United States. "El Chapo likes to receive the shipments himself," said Enrique, who grew up in the same remote mountain region of Sinaloa as the drug lord. While waiting for the goods, El Chapo got some disturbing news. First soldiers and federal police in Mexico City arrested the 33-year-old son of his longtime business partner Ismael (El Mayo) Zambada García. Then Vincente Carrillo Leyva, son of the Juárez cartel's late leader, Amado Carrillo, was captured during his regular morning run in the capital. The arrests made El Chapo nervous, said Enrique: "He said, 'Those kids were too exposed, living in the city. I would never put myself in their position'."
We pulled into Tamazula, a mountain village dominated by a 16th-century Jesuit-built church, an airstrip and an Army camp. El Chapo used to sponsor fiestas in the town plaza, but that was before Calderón flooded the area with troops, Enrique said: "He doesn't feel comfortable here anymore." From this point, steep dirt trails wound through mountains and canyons, navigable only by all-terrain vehicles known here as quatromotos. Guzman's lairs lay about four hours farther east, through a zone that Enrique, after conferring with friends in Tamazula, decided was too dangerous for a gringo to enter. With the federal govern-ment stepping up its hunt for El Chapo, his guards were being extra-vigilant about unfamiliar faces. "It's unsafe to go any further," Enrique declared finally. "Up there is all El Chapo country."
Some would say all of Mexico is El Chapo country. In many respects, Guzman's rise parallels that of Pablo Escobar, who ran Colombia's notorious Medellín cartel before his 1993 death in a hail of bullets. Both were born into poverty and fought their way to the top of the global drug trade. Both made Forbes's list of the world's richest people—Escobar reached No. 7 in 1989, and El Chapo appeared at No. 701 this year. (The magazine estimated El Chapo's personal fortune at $1.1 billion and his cartel's annual revenues at $7.8 billion.) Both men challenged the legitimacy of the state by putting thousands of policemen, soldiers, judges and politicians on their payrolls. Both built grand legends around themselves, beginning with escapes from maximum-security jails. And they cast themselves as high-living Robin Hoods, sharing the proceeds of their crimes with the poor. "The [kids] admire El Chapo because he has women, money, cars, weapons and power," says Josefina de Jesús García Ruiz, secretary of public security in Sinaloa, echoing what was said of Escobar in his heyday. "The average kid in this state sees him as a role model."?Escobar's spectacular attacks—including the bombings of an Avianca passenger jet and a Bogotá office building—were his undoing: they shamed Colombia's government into calling in U.S. Special Operations forces to help hunt him down. Is El Chapo destined for a similar fate? "He's a slap in the face" to the Mexican state, says Ralph Reyes, chief of the DEA's Mexico and Central America section, based in Washington. "He escaped from jail, he's on the Forbes list, he's getting all this notoriety. This type of publicity is counterproductive [to him]." Calderón has made the arrest of El Chapo and other top drug figures a priority; he has dispatched 45,000 federal troops and police officers to towns and cities controlled by the cartels, started to clean up the police and judiciary and arrested high-ranking members of his own government, including a former assistant attorney general suspected of feeding intelligence to El Chapo's Pacific cartel. In April President Barack Obama announced a $700 million antinarcotics aid package to Mexico that includes new attack helicopters for the Army, advanced telecommunications equipment, night-vision goggles, body armor and other combat gear. The government's net has recently ensnared some of Mexico's biggest traffickers, including Mochomo and Gregorio Sauceda Gamboa, a founder of the Zetas, a group of renegade former soldiers hired as a paramilitary force by the Gulf cartel, El Chapo's principal rival.
Guzman is currently at war with every other major cartel in Mexico. Some observers say it's because he keeps trying to expand his territory; U.S. officials insist it's because of Calderón's war. "The government has routed these cartels out of their areas of protection. They've moved them into areas where they're not secure and forced them to overlap with rival gangs," says one U.S. official in Mexico City who assists in drug-interdiction efforts and who asked for anonymity for security reasons. In Tijuana, 500 people have died in the past year in government-vs.-cartel confrontations and in the battle between the Pacific cartel and the Tijuana cartel, controlled by remnants of the Arellano-Félix family, for control of the lucrative smuggling route. All told, drug violence in Mexico last year killed 6,290 people.
The carnage has been cited as evidence that Mexico is spiraling into chaos. But those waging war on the cartels say the bloodshed means that the wrongdoers are finally being confronted directly, as in Iraq, where more U.S. troops died in the first months of the surge than at any other time in the war. The cartels, says the DEA's Reyes, have been "accustomed to operating with total power and impunity." Now Calderón's push has forced them to delay cocaine shipments from Colombia for weeks. They're "having trouble not only getting drugs from Mexico into the United States but drugs into Mexico," says Reyes.
The kingpins can partly blame their own hubris: they became too big, too violent, too powerful for the government to ignore. "All of these cartels start with a 'no harm' approach, saying, 'I'm just another businessman.' But ultimately, there is a tipping point that makes them a target," says Mauricio Cárdenas, a former Colombian minister and now a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution in Washington. Michael Shifter, an analyst at the Inter-American Dialogue center in Washington, argues, "As long as cartels are just killing each other and not putting into jeopardy the country's security, [it's tolerable]. But this was getting out of control." One Mexi-can intelligence official told me he's "confident" that El Chapo will be captured within the next year. "El Chapo is quite concerned, and he has a need to be concerned," says the U.S. official in Mexico City. Reyes believes that Guzman "is up against a lot. It's the most pressure he has ever faced."
Over the years, Guzman has made his cartel a vital part of Culiacán's economy, buying up condominiums, restaurants, discotheques, a milk factory and other properties while keeping many other enterprises flush with cash. "Ninety percent of the businesses here are tied to the narcos," I was told by one 33-year-old woman who works for an organization that helps drug addicts, as we cruised the city. Young men in standard narco garb—rhinestone-studded black T shirt, ostrich-leather boots, black shoulder bag likely stuffed with weapons and U.S. dollars, two cell phones strapped to the belt—swaggered along downtown streets. We stopped at a roadside shrine to Malverde—a 19th-century bandit who has become a patron saint to the narcos—and examined handwritten messages from traffickers asking his protection before smuggling cocaine across the U.S. border.
El Chapo was born about 60 miles from Culiacán in the mountain village of Las Tunas, in the heart of Mexico's Golden Triangle. (The name refers to the mountainous region that covers parts of three states: Chihuahua, Durango and Sinaloa.) Like nearly every other local campesino, his parents scratched out a living by cultivating marijuana and poppies on hillside plots. It was a world of casual violence. "The [sons] start killing chickens as farm boys, and they finish by killing people," says Bojórquez. The boy was a troublemaker who, like Escobar, fell into petty crime. In his 20s he reached out to the powerful Guadalajara cartel, then run by Miguel (El Padrino) Félix Gallardo, and was made a lieutenant in the organization. Unschooled but a natural administrator, Guzman was soon supervising the movement of tons of cocaine and marijuana each month across a network of rural airstrips inside Mexico. After Gallardo was captured and extradited to the United States in 1989, Guzman started his own organization, known as the Federación, with a tight circle of associates who had grown up together in the hills. These men included the Beltrán Leyva brothers (Arturo, Alfredo and Car-los) and Ismael (El Mayo) Zambada García.
Their timing was perfect. U.S. and Co-lombian authorities had begun to roll back the major Colombian drug traffickers. Pablo Escobar had been driven into hiding and the Medellín and Cali cartels were fragmented, on the defensive. The major cocaine-trafficking routes through the Caribbean had dried up, thanks to better patrolling by the U.S. authorities. In a tectonic shift, the Colombians were relegated to the role of suppliers while the Mexican cartels, including El Chapo's, seized control of transport routes and distribution. Guzman pioneered new ways of smuggling cocaine into the United States, sometimes using tunnels, sometimes secreting it in dolls, fire extinguishers and cans of jalapeños and trucking them across the border.
El Chapo's rising profile had a cost. Rivals trying to assassinate him in May 1993 killed the archbishop of Guadalajara instead; a few days later El Chapo was arrested near the Mexican border in Guatemala—some say because an embarrassed Mexican government had pressured the drug baron's Guatemalan Army protectors to hand him over. For six years, El Chapo lived in comfortable captivity at Puente Grande prison in Guadalajara, reputed to be the nation's most escape-proof penitentiary. He enjoyed a private room, regular deliveries of whisky, the services of a mistress and, reportedly, weekend furloughs. Then, in January 2001, shortly before he was to be extradited to the United States to face a 50-year sentence for murder and drug trafficking, El Chapo managed to walk through a dozen remote-controlled doors and sneak out of the prison in a burlap sack hidden in the back of a laundry truck. The prison got a new nickname: La Puerta Grande—"The Big Door."
Enrique first encountered El Chapo shortly after the jailbreak, at a fiesta the drug lord threw in Tamazula. As Enrique remembers it, guards on El Chapo's payroll set up a security perimeter of 200 quatromotos; then a private plane carrying Los Canelos de Durango, a popular narcocorrido band that often travels with the drug lord, landed at the Tamazula airstrip. Enrique, who had been hired to assist in the fiesta preparations, looked up from his work to see "El Chapo standing there, with a glass of whisky in his hand. He was a short man, with a warm smile. He is very simpatico." Over the next few years Enrique crossed paths with him several times, always addressing the drug lord as Viejon (Old Man) and Tío (Uncle) but never by his nickname. "Everybody loves and respects him," says Enrique. After heavy rains last year destroyed much of the Golden Triangle's crop, he says, El Chapo distributed 1 million pesos' worth of supplies (about $85,000) to the campesinos. And at Christmas, he bought 100 all-terrain vehicles for the locals, at $7,500 apiece. Los Canelos wrote him a theme song, praising him as a "friend of good friends/enemy of enemies?.?.?.?the Lord of the Mountain."
Several times a week now, Mexico's National Security Council meets in a tightly guarded location in Mexico City, to discuss strategies for bringing in Mexico's most wanted man. One possibility being considered is a massive frontal assault on one of El Chapo's ranches. Army helicopters now conduct regular surveillance flights over the rugged terrain, and infantry troops sweep through the hills periodically on poppy- and marijuana-eradication missions. But officials worry that any attempt to take El Chapo by force will be bloody. "The criminals in many cases are far better organized and better armed than the soldiers and police," says one Mexican intelligence official who is not authorized to speak with the press. El Chapo reportedly surrounds himself with two layers of security, an inner circle of weapons experts and an outer "wall" equipped with ATVs and advanced communications equipment.
The dangers of mounting an operation in the heart of El Chapo's territory became clear in April. The archbishop of Durango, Héctor González Martínez, announced at a press conference that Guzman was living in a ranch just outside the village of Guanaceví, in a near-roadless canyon about 120 miles northeast of Culiacán. "Everybody knows it except the authorities," the archbishop said. Days later, two undercover federal agents were found shot to death on the outskirts of Guanaceví. The eyes of one of the two had been gouged out; the other's hands and feet had been cut off. A message was left with their corpses: "Nobody, neither the government nor priests, will ever defeat El Chapo."
The best chance the government has, sources say, is to catch El Chapo unawares during a visit to a city like Culiacán. Indeed, during the past year, every major narco-fugitive who has been captured has been arrested in a major urban area. Over the past few months, the Mexican government has increased its intelligence-gathering operations in the Sinaloan capital, bypassing state officials and state and local police. "You cannot coordinate with the state government. These guys have been protecting Guzman," says Manuel Clouthier Carrillo, leader of the main opposition party in Sinaloa, the Institutional Revolution Party (PRI). Ricardo Roha, chief assistant to Sinaloa's governor, confirms that the state government has been left out of the loop. "They don't tell us what is going on," he says.
As he sits in his redoubt deep in the Sierra Madre, El Chapo cannot feel entirely safe. Despite his lack of schooling, drug experts in Mexico say he's a keen observer of history: he knows that drug barons tend not to retire peacefully. Amado Carrillo Fuentes, the "Lord of the Skies" and leader of the Juárez cartel, who ran a huge fleet of planes that carried cocaine across Mexico, died at 41 in 1997 of a lethal mix of anesthetics following an attempt to alter his facial appearance; some believe he was murdered. Of the seven Arellano-Félix brothers who once controlled the Tijuana cartel, four are in prison and one was shot dead by Mexican police. (A sixth was captured and spent a decade in a Mexican prison before being extradited to the United States, where he was released after a year behind bars.) El Chapo's blood feud with Mochomo, the Zetas and other competitors has left him more isolated than ever, limited his mobility and raised the chances that someone, somewhere, will betray him. "This guy is at war with three enemies—the United States, the Mexican government and the fellow cartels. It's Pablo Escobar all over again," says Reyes.
What might come after El Chapo? In Colombia, the decline of the Cali and Medellín cartels left the business atomized; cocaine production passed into the hands of a handful of mini-cartels, leftist guerrillas and right-wing paramilitaries. Lacking the big syndicates' international reach, they were forced to cede power to the Mexicans. If El Chapo and the other Mexican king-pins are killed or captured, analysts say control could become fragmented again—with some of the business taken over by small Mexican groups and by cartels in weaker Central American states. "The Mexican government has oil revenues, a tax system, a state apparatus [to fight the cartels]. Guatemala doesn't," says Mauricio Cárdenas of Brookings. Michael Shifter agrees: "The Central Americans are not exactly wishing for success in Mexico, because it pushes the problem to them." Soon they may have their own El Chapo to chase.
Source : NewsweekRead more…
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