I never bothered to see MIAMI VICE. The movie.

Guns, girls, and crime. Tubbs and Crockett.

I had been to that Miami Beach; Wolfie’s Deli, Little Havana, the Ace of Spades Bar, cocaine, cheap hotels, and fast boats. My friend found a kilo of blow on the beach and gave it to the local drug dealer rather than the cops.  Miami PD was stressed on steroids and zoot. Columbian cowboys weren’t as twitchy. The city was fun as long as you could stand adrenalin rushes.

It’s gone now. Trendy. The height of uncool.

My local bootleg DVD dealer came into the bar two nights ago and offered, “MIAMI VICE. 100% ching.”

New movies usually took a month to get a good copy.

“No, I don’t want it.”

“I saw it at the movies.” My friend Nick volunteered.

“I don’t need to see it. In fact I can tell you all about it without seeing it.” Feature remakes of TV shows were formula plotlines tied together by senseless scenes of violence and FX.

“200 baht says you’re wrong.” Nick liked betting. 200 baht would cover the tickets for him and his girl. 200 for me was a phone card for my wife. I was confident and said, “It’s a black/white guy thing. The white guy has long hair. The black guy razored to the skull. Both have face hair.”

“You’ve seen the trailer.”

“No, just the ad.”

“The good guys always hit their target.”

“Bad guys never shot straight in the movies.” Nick was after specifics.

“The good guys have to infiltrate a drug gang led by a acne-scarred gaucho.”

“Half-right. The leader is a girl. Beautiful too.”

“White guy always gets the chick.”

“There’s a car chase that turns into a bat chase where no one gets caught.”

“Not really.”

“They say that they’re losing the war on drugs.” I didn’t have a clue about the plot.

“Not a chance.”

“Or that they should legalize blow.”

“Give me the 200.”

I had lost the bet, but knew also that MIAMI VICE was going to be given a a miss, especially since I had SCARFACE at home and nothing says Miami in the 80s like Tony Montana and yeh-ho.