Talk about irony, or is it sarcasm, or a paradox, or is it all that and so much more? How does someone who has millions of dollars seem to care more about his desire for drugs and prostitutes than anything else? Worse yet, he is a medical doctor and should have known better. “Should Have.” The outcome will be in the last few lines of this story. For me, it was just another train wreck happening right before my eyes.
** my clients’ husband stuffed cocaine into her nose while she was semi-comatose so that a younger guy could fuck her. (All true)
This doctor was, in fact, a client who I would, over time, become very fond of, including his tantrums. When it came to throwing tantrums, he was tough to beat. He had money and did not mind letting you know that he was wealthy and all his thoughts. His rants and name-calling were so entertaining that I could listen and watch for as long as he kept the “switch” on. My “friend” was a very fine surgeon in his day, and as time went on, that would go away, primarily due to the amount of drug usage. Loss of his medical license, no more “Doctor.”
His love of Ferraris was legendary in his circle of friends and admirers. He taught me that they are fun cars, and you can, if you play the ownership game right, you could drive one for almost free. My “Friend” told me that if you buy one, keep it for a few years or less, and you can often get as much, or more, for the car than when you bought it! However, the long-term maintenance is terrifying. Again, short term, it is always under warranty. The good doctor’s accidents in them were also legendary. Such as losing an entire wheel and tire as he was leaving the Biltmore Hotel in Santa Barbara at a high rate of speed or an amazing crash in a major California city in broad daylight and managed to hit no one on the sidewalk. Incredible. Of course, he walked away and left a wrecked Ferrari on the sidewalk. Why? The good doctor was very likely very high, and did I say he walked away and left the car sitting on the sidewalk! It was lawyer time, and all was good. He left the scene of an accident with no damage other than a wrecked Ferrari. (So much for getting more than it was initially worth)
I would get phone calls at all times, day and night, as to “events.” He would divorce his wife (who was a very nice person, I think, and the mother of his five kids) and would marry a very young girl, Victoria, who worked at the “service” answering phones. Absolutely gorgeous, and again, he was obviously not happy, and he was an absolute believer in the “Golden Rule.” You amateurs think it is the “do unto others” bullshit. Nope. “He who has the gold will make the rules.” The good doctor had the golden rule down to a science.
** The time I responded to stop the shooting of an individual he was upset with for being in contact with his future bride. I had to talk him down and remove the firearm and bullets.
His divorce would go through, along with all the nonsense, and if the fact to be told, I think he still loved her. My “Friend” would throw a huge wedding bash at one of the swankiest hotels in Santa Barbara, California. It was the wedding to the young lady he met at the “service.” I was present, of course, and it was fabulous. Unfortunately, the good doctor was messed up on cocaine on this very special day. His new bride could not have been prettier, and she was a real believer in thinking this was all going to be a good thing; it was not going to be.
If you got the money, honey, we got your disease
We also have a “Facilitator.” Sure, most of these rich people have someone around to get things done or encourage bad behavior. Bad behavior, drugs, alcohol, sex, whatever they want, these people can arrange it and get paid while skimming off the costs of providing it. They give vultures a bad name. This is a fact; everyone who has major issues with anything always has a “facilitator.” This asshole actually spoke at the wedding and knew that all the bad behavior was not going to stopscum like this troll bars and nightclubs looking for the vulnerable. Vulnerable in so much, they tend to have access to money but are weaka weakness that a facilitator can zero in on and run with it; powerful people with severe handicaps.
A few months later, my “friend” is with one of his favorite whores just weeks after marrying his new, young, gorgeous bride. This was often happening, like immediately after the wedding and again weeks after marrying his new bride. The addiction the good doctor had was for sex with freaks and lots of cocaine on board. Have you ever heard of the expression “whatever is thrilling you is killing you?” Well, it did, in fact, kill my “friend,” the good doctor. Oddly enough, he was with one of his favorite whores when he had what appeared to be an overdose event and or cardiac event. Worse yet, the good doctor was literally three blocks away from a major medical center. Imagine he was so close to help, and no one called 911!
Oh, she said any way you want it
That’s the way you need it
Any way you want it
The “whore,” realizing that the good doctor was in big trouble and likely dying, decided to clean up the crime scene first, getting rid of the coke and God knows what else they were doing instead of calling 911. Then the whore called the “Facilitator,” basically telling him what was going on, still delaying in calling 911, while the good doctor lay dying in an apartment within walking distance from a medical center. Time is critical, and my “friend” is likely now in a state of irreversible coma and dying. Almost an hour later, an ambulance is called, and I am also called shortly after by one of the lawyers.
Upon our arrival, I met with Victoria (The Bride) at the hospital, and none of us could believe what had happened in the delay of getting help upon the initial overdose. Looking at my friend, I can see the inevitable; he is dead and being kept alive by a machine. The urine in the piss collector at the foot of the bed is thick and black. Gone is that nice healthy pale-yellow urine; this stuff is black and lacking any life at all. His eyes are fixed, and his body is becoming bloated. IVs are going in, and little is coming out; the doctor is dead. My nephew Nick always liked the good doctor and was with me on the initial call. And we had another problem; no one could find the Ferrari.
Well, later that night, we did, in fact, locate the Ferrari in the garage of the whore, to which no one had the address, except the “Facilitator,” till I confronted him with the facts. Facts that he did all of this and knew exactly where the car was and that if he did not cooperate, I was going to speak with the Los Angeles Police Homicide Dept. More frustrating was the fact that, as this was all illegal activity, the whore should have been arrested and charged, along with the “Facilitator,” for supplying the cocaine and all the rest. It was hard for me to understand if the “Facilitator” was worried about what I was going to do, the fact that the good doctor was dead, or that he was going to be out a great deal of money. His cash cow was dead and being kept alive by a machine, and it was not a milking machine.
A few days passed, and it became obvious the end was near. Victoria decides that she wants the wedding ring of the good doctor. His hands are swelled, as was much of his body, and now we are trying to remove the wedding ring! Well, a little power saw was used, and we cut the ring from his finger. Nick was doing much of the work, and the nurse with the cutting device was careful that we did not cut any flesh. The ring was removed and seemed so special, even though the most critical wedding vows of a few months ago were thoroughly flushed down the toilet of life.
** The family wanted to not involve the police in any death investigation as it was such an embarrassing event. It also did not help that there was litigation still pending as to malpractice issues.
The fall from grace was steep and catastrophic for a once well-respected medical doctor. May he rest in peace.
By John Nazarian
Straight Talk with John J. Nazarian, Private Investigator
April 13, 2022
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