A guy I know who shall remain nameless is one of the few expats I have met over the years in Costa Rica who makes no bones about his lawbreaking ways. Fraud, Bookmaking, Money Laundering, Drug Smuggling– name the illegal money-making activity and he has likely engaged in it.
He financed his original move from the USA to Costa Rica by maxing out 50 grand or so worth of credit cards and then skipping the country.
When that money began to dry up he won a lawsuit for ‘damages’ incurred while exiting an airplane. He managed to somehow wedge the toe of his shoe in that little space on the floor between the airplane and the covered ramp. His pratfall was more violent than intended; he tore some ligaments in the process and needed surgery on his knee. He sued the airline, the airport, and the company subcontracted to provide and maintain the covered ramps.
It was the perfect storm of potential lawsuits and the ‘accident’ netted him well into six figures and left him with a slight limp that magically becomes more severe anytime the airplane fall is mentioned. Although I have never considered the guy a friend, I run into him occasionally and usually have a beer or two with him and listen to his latest shameless tale of corruption.
On one of his last visits he spoke to me in hushed tones about a secret symposium he was putting together entitled: “Costa Rica: A Preferred Destination for the Discreet Professional Career Criminal”.
He confided to me that he expected the attendees to include Mexican narcos and Californian money launderers, Japanese gangsters and Sicilian protection racketeers, as well as a contingent of West African internet swindlers.
They were coming from around the globe, he boasted; they would be paying 500 dollars each plus expenses to come and listen to presentations designed to sell Costa Rica as the perfect part or full time residence for those with lots of ill-gained cash on hand. I had run into him a week or so prior to the scheduled symposium. He was giddy with excitement.
His bank account was filling up nicely and he had filled the two day program with presentations carrying such titles as “Every Judge and Politician Has His Price”, “Following the Example of Many of Costa Rica’s Ex-Presidents”, and “The Lessons Taught by Robert Vesco”.
As disgusted as I was by the entire idea, I had to admit he had hit upon a novel idea. Who could blame the discreet criminal element for setting up shop in Costa Rica?
He expounded upon this: “We offer many benefits to those who work the other side of the fence: Lame laws, lamer judges and a barely noticeable police presence.” His summation of life here was a line I imagined him repeating for his gathering of rogues: “There are two types of people out there–bunny rabbits and wolves.
Costa Rica is like this beautiful, plentiful playpen being guarded by bunny rabbits. And me and my associates–We are the wolves.” Sometime after the wolves had returned to their various destinations, I ran into my acquaintance. He was having a last night on the town before leaving for good. He was quite drunk when I saw him, mumbling some long disjointed tale about Paraguayan hitmen, Chechen counterfeiters, and the ubiquitous Nigerian cyberspace scammers.
I listened to him ramble for quite some time and what I learned was that his symposium had not only flopped, but someone, somewhere in the shady underworld he inhabits had drained his every account and left him with multiple debts he had no intention of paying. There was no honor among thieves.
Alas, the scammer had been scammed by his own kind. The irony was lost on him. He chose to blame his misfortune on Costa Rica. “What kind of place allows this kind of stuff to go on?” he whined. “My bank accounts were drained, my signature forged, my name misused, and nobody gets caught. Nobody gets held responsible. What a joke!
This story is purely fictional and satirical
