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sixty-one f

Ava Novak?

M ost days I was able to leave Florida, Mike, and Kenya in the past. I was now fully immersed in the 1980s world of dancing and strip clubs. The money was fantastic, and I was my own boss. After paying my bills, I sent money to Tommy and Lee—hoping to win back their love.

I hadn’t forgotten the promise I made to myself to get sober, but the longer I stayed in the industry, the longer I delayed my vow.

One afternoon in late August 1981, a straight-laced customer sat at the bar and watched me closely through my last set. He approached me as I left the stage.

“Ava Novak?”

Everyone in the business knew me as Ava Martin. Who was this man?

“Agent Miller, DEA.” He discreetly showed me his badge.

“I have nothing to say to you.” My voice shook.

“If you don’t talk to me, I’ll have to arrest you.”

“On what charges?” I sounded confident, but inside, my heart pounded.

“I know about the Smooth Sailin’ . I know about your connections to Ben Kraus and South Florida.”

“What do you want with me?”

“We need to talk.” His voice was firm.

Agent Miller allowed me to change into street clothes and waited for me in the parking lot.

“The entire crew’s been arrested and awaiting trial,” he said.

“I’ve been in New Jersey for years.”

“We need you to testify. If you don’t cooperate, we’ll hold you in contempt of court. You could spend three years in jail.”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked.

“As I said, testify or go to jail.”

“They’ll kill me.”

“No,” he replied. “You’ll be one of fifty-two corroborating witnesses. We’ll fly you to Florida. I’ll escort you.”

Agent Miller continued with details about dates and times, but my thoughts had taken me to another time and place. Could I trust the DEA to keep me safe? Would I be tried and sent to prison? Had Mike been arrested? If so, would I have to testify against him?

“Ava?” Agent Miller snapped me back to the present.

“Sorry. You need to know how upsetting this is for me.”

“I’m sure,” he said unsympathetically. “The trial’s set to begin in early September. I’ll meet with you once more before we fly you to Florida.”

“What for? Seems like you have all the information you need.”

“Remember, if you don’t cooperate, a warrant will be issued for your arrest.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t cooperate.” I stared him down with false courage.

We arranged to meet a few days later at a local diner.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show.” Agent Miller greeted me.

“Do you understand how I felt when you confronted me?”

He nodded. “I get that a lot.”

The waitress took our order. He ordered a full breakfast. All I could manage was coffee.

“I don’t know how much you know about Benjamin Kraus’s operation,” he began. “His smuggling ring was responsible for bringing in nearly fifteen percent of the marijuana into the United States between 1972 and 1979. What you witnessed was a small part of the operation.”

So far Agent Miller hadn’t told me anything I didn’t know.

“We arrested Kraus in 1978, but he jumped bail. We tracked him to Seattle and got him to plead guilty last month. He’s agreed to testify against four key members of his operation.”

I had to ask. “What about Mike Ambrose?”

“Arrested him back in March. He failed to make a court appearance and wasn’t abiding by the terms of his release. He surrendered last month.”

Mike was finally getting his due.

“Can you tell me more about Mike?”

He smiled for the first time. “I thought you’d be interested in Mike. A magistrate set his bail at $50,000 and required him to post $5,000 in cash. His father had to post his $72,000 home as collateral on the remainder of the bond. He was a no-show in court last month to answer allegations that he wasn’t living up to the conditions of his bail.”

“That sounds like Mike,” I said.

“Mike’s probation officer said he was revoking his bond. His Florida attorney said he’s never met Mike. And now his father could lose his house.”

Mike would turn on his own parents to save his neck, just like he turned on me and his friends.

“I’ll accompany you on a flight to Fort Lauderdale at the end of the month,” he said. “We’ll put you up at the Marriott. We expect this part of the trial to last four days. I can’t say when you’ll be called, but once you’ve testified, you’ll fly home.”

“And that’s it?”

“Most likely.”

w

I told my friends I was taking a short vacation. The only person I confided in was Tina in California. I hadn’t seen her since Kenya, but we stayed in touch with letters and occasional phone calls.

I assured her I was the only one who needed to testify. She wished me luck and convinced me I was doing the right thing.

Agent Miller sent a car to bring me to the Philadelphia Airport. He was kind enough to have booked a seat several rows ahead of me, giving me one less thing to worry about.

Worry was hardly the word for what I was feeling. Anxiety, fear, apprehension, and terror were more like it. The bosses had treated me with kindness and generosity. I knew them as peace-loving guys who found a way to make millions from a product they believed harmed no one.

Ben had saved my life, and now I was testifying against him. Would his mercenaries hunt me down? Would they kill me, beat me senseless, make my life more of a living hell than it already was?

Agent Miller and I took a taxi to the Marriott, where we met Angela Falcone, Assistant US Attorney and prosecutor for the case. I learned Ben was one of eighteen named in a twenty-eight-count federal indictment. He’d been in jail since March on a $4,000,000 bond. Gary and Vinnie were fugitives. Others in the case were unknown to me.

“Most questions will require a yes or no answer,” Ms. Falcone said. “As a corroborating witness, we expect you to confirm or deny allegations. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“And remember, you’ll be under oath.”

She and Agent Miller left me to unpack and stew in my misery.

The United States Federal Building and Courthouse was an imposing, unfriendly structure designed to intimidate. Agent Miller led me through security and into an elevator, which opened to a bustling corridor. I walked with my head down, hoping my hair would disguise who I was and why I was there. Periodically, I peeked out through my blond curtain to reassure myself no one was gunning for me.

I expected to be ushered into a full courtroom with Ben, Mike, and others shooting daggers in my direction. Instead, we entered a cubbyhole of a room furnished with a table, a leatherette office chair, a coffee maker, and a stack of outdated magazines.

“You’ll stay here until you’re called to testify,” Agent Miller said. “If you need anything, Officer Martinez will help you.”

He waved to a police officer across the hallway.

“How long before I’m called?”

“Hard to say. An hour, maybe two.”

“I don’t know if I can go through with this. Couldn’t I be placed in witness protection?”

“You’re one of fifty-two witnesses. We can’t place all of you.”

“But—”

“Ava, you’ll be in court by yourself,” Agent Miller said. “You’ll have no contact with the accused or other witnesses as long as you stay put.”

He closed the door, leaving me in yet another prison cell. After pouring myself a cup of what tasted like yesterday’s coffee I flipped through the stack of magazines. Guns & Ammo was the featured publication, along with last year’s holiday edition of Good Housekeeping and several issues of Parents .

I barely made it through Good Housekeeping when Agent Miller came for me. As we made our way down the corridor, I imagined I was in one of those nightmares where the hallway continues into eternity. I wondered if a dream sequence was preferable to my current reality.

Agent Miller handed me to Assistant US Attorney Angela Falcone, who led me to the witness stand. After swearing to tell not only the truth, but the whole truth, my mind turned to Jello.

“Were you part of the crew on the Smooth Sailin’ ?” Ms. Falcone asked.

“Yes.”

She fired off question after question about my work on the boats before switching topics.

“Were you in a relationship with Michael Ambrose?”

“Yes.”

“What is your current relationship with him?”

“I haven’t seen or heard from him in several years.”

Ms. Falcone asked me about Ben, Gary, Vinnie, and other members of The Crew, whom I’d never met.

“Did Mr. Kraus send you and Mr. Ambrose to Kenya?”

“Yes.”

Angela Falcone knew everything about the Kenyan operation. All I needed to do was corroborate her information.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

My testimony went on and on.

“After your stint in a Kenyan prison, you mentioned you were so grateful to be back in the States that you literally kissed the ground. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me, Ms. Novak, why would you return to Kenya only a few months later?”

“I-I don’t know,” I stammered. I felt like a fool.

I sunk into the witness chair. My hands trembled. Yesterday’s coffee rose into my throat.

Her questions continued. Finally, I heard the magic words, “Thank you, Ms. Novak. That’s all.”

I held onto anything to keep from falling as I left the witness stand. My ordeal was over. I’d let down Ben, one of the kindest, most generous men I’d known. He’d lost his empire, tens of millions of dollars. Most of all he’d lost his freedom.

In silence, I rode back to the Marriott with Agent Miller. On behalf of the United States government, he thanked me for my cooperation.

I ordered a bottle of wine with my dinner and drank myself to sleep.

The next morning, I said a final farewell to Fort Lauderdale and to a life I hoped to leave behind. For good this time.