On February 25, 2009,
a then 34-year-old career con man named David Anthony Whitaker left the
Wyatt Detention Facility in Central Falls, Rhode Island, and slid into
the backseat of an unmarked government car. He was dressed in
traditional prison garb—khaki pants, brown shirt, handcuffs, leg irons. A
federal agent sat beside him. A second car followed to make sure nobody
trailed them or attempted an ambush. Not that anyone expected trouble.
This was merely standard procedure when transporting a government
cooperator.
That’s what Whitaker was now: a cooperator. It felt surreal. One year
ago he was in Mexico, living the most fulfilling life he’d ever known
in his chaotic, troubled years on the planet. He had been bringing in
obscene amounts of money by selling black-market steroids and human
growth hormone online. He had a multimillion-dollar apartment in a
country club in Guadalajara. He had a cabin in the mountain town of
Mazamitla. He had lots of cars—an orange 4Runner, a BMW, a Jeep. He’d
even funded the construction of a local hospital. Sure, he had to live
under an alias and was on the run from US Secret Service agents who were
trying to nail him for a long-standing multicount fraud complaint. But
he had a lawyer on retainer, and at least the local cops were easy to
pay off.
That life ended on March 19, 2008, when a Mexican immigration agent
nabbed Whitaker and brought him back to LAX, where the Secret Service
promptly arrested him. He was facing a potential sentence of 65 years in
prison. Sixty-five years. That meant spending the rest of his life
behind bars. The thought was unbearable.
Whitaker filled vials with water and sold them as steroids for $1,000 a pop.
Whitaker began thinking of ways to knock years off his sentence. He
considered providing the names of the drug users, pushers, and doctors
who had patronized his online steroid business. They were mostly easy
marks, and Whitaker was quick to take advantage of them. For a while he
bottled sterile water in 1-milliliter vials, marketed it as a steroid
called Dutchminnie, and sold it for $1,000 a pop. Not only did clients
fall for the scam, they sent back photos showing how they’d bulked up
after using the “drug.”
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