Editorial / Opinion
I’ve lived in this town all my adult life. I’ve done a lot for Deerfield Beach, both out front and behind the scenes, and I am devoted to making this city better for everyone—regardless of race, color, or creed. What I haven’t done is hide behind a monitor or a burner email address. I’m out at the tip of the spear. My identity and contact information are out there, and while they get misused often, it is what it is.
Let’s talk about accountability. Using Cory’s One Good/Remaining Eyeball, I looked at his 10-page arrest record—much of it redacted pending investigation—I noticed something on the intake. Right on the first page, there were some specific jailer codes. We’ll repeat them here:
SP/CO-6972 29/54/CH/54-6972 W/C-21729
Who knows what that means to the average person, right? It’s code. So, I reached out to my BSO contacts, and the bottom line is this: no warrants, but he’s on a hold.
The “SP/CO” stands for “Supervision / Court Order,” and “6972” is usually the specific tracking number or warrant number for that violation.
Oopsie.
Cory is going to be enjoying a lot more ramen noodles, runny eggs, and long romantic showers. Remember to wear your footwear when taking said shower.
To quote the famous natural philosopher Robert Smith of The Cure, “Boys don’t cry.”
He’s not the first derelict from Deerfield Beach I’ve helped send to the county jail. Steve Gonot spent a year behind bars because of my work.
Also, speaking of scumbags, back in the ’90s, there was a mechanic named Leon over at a certain foreign cars shop. He lived next door here in the Cove and would sling drugs Thursday and Friday nights. People would pull up for five minutes and bounce, while his young kid was out front smoking dope. I knew exactly what was happening. I worked behind the scenes with BSO, they set up a sting, and they busted him. They had him dead to rights—and he was reaching for a gun when they breached his home. He’s lucky to be alive. I did my job: bringing the sword of Damocles down where it belongs.
Now, this last part is directed at a very specific person. You know who you are. I know you’re slinging yaya. I’m not naming names yet, but I am talking directly to you.
You, yes you, Tony Montona.
Using my deep contacts at BSO, and I’m gonna make it my job to bust your ass. You want to sling coke in Deerfield? Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time. You act tough behind the scenes, slinging hate and violent putridness, but you shouldn’t be slinging Scarface at the same time. Somebody is going to find out, and somebody is going to hold you accountable.
Here’s how it started: “Dear BSO, upon information and belief, I’d like to report a crime.”
“What, report anonymously? Oh dear lord no, make sure you don’t misspell my name.”
Enjoy your next procurement. It might be your last. When you are arrested, I will blast your name and receipts far and wide. Take the leading MDMA Visionary Cory Coddington as a shining example of what happens when you catch this kind of wrath. You can poke a bear with a stick, sure. But if the bear is much bigger than you, he’s going to take that stick and beat the living snot out of you.
