Barroom Brawl

Under the best of circumstances, it's a delicate tightrope to walk. And an increasingly vocal constituency of business owners, lawyers, and lobbyists -- especially in South Florida, which boasts the highest concentration of bars and nightclubs in the state -- says that in the past year the ABT has lost its balance. "There's no cooperative relationship for the most minor issues," declares James Greer, a Melbourne-based beverage law consultant. "Clearly the message has been sent down to the district offices: Get tough. From an industry standpoint, no one has ever said the division should not enforce the beverage law and file cases. But no one says there shouldn't be a working relationship."

For its part, the division is defiant. "It's a much tighter ship now in terms of enforcement," confirms Edward J. Towey, a spokesman for ABT's parent agency, the Department of Business and Professional Regulation. "There's less of a willingness to cut a deal, a lot less of an inclination to let things slide." For years, Towey asserts, the alcoholic beverage industry has had the ABT "in its lap." But not any more.

Only now, so many months later, can Dan Miller laugh about the events of June 12, the night ABT agents and Metro-Dade police officers made their unannounced visit to the Town & Country Center just off Kendall Drive west of the Turnpike. "It was like a bad episode of Cops," he chuckles. But at the time there was nothing funny about it. Miller, the club's general manager, was preparing to bite into a barbecue chicken pizza when he glanced up at the surveillance monitor in the management office and saw what he describes as "bodies rushing around" outside the club. The time was 9:50 p.m. About 75 people were inside, the lingering happy-hour crowd bleeding into the regular nocturnal scene.

"Just then I hear my front-door security guard on the radio -- 'Dan, I think [ABT] is here' -- and then I see one of the agents reach out and grab the radio and pull it away from him," Miller remembers. A phalanx of about 30 law enforcement officers, dressed for war, stormed through the front door at a quick trot. Another contingent flooded through an upstairs entranceway into Fat Kats. Some were cloaked in black from head to toe, ski masks to jackboots. "Along with that you got Metro-Dade in their windbreaker-type jackets. And, of course, the ABT with 'ABT' splattered across their backs and chests," says the manager.

The officers, all of whom appeared to have side arms, ordered Miller to turn on the lights and commanded the DJ to cut the music. Patrons were herded into a cluster on the dance floor. "The cops were saying, 'Step away from the bar, put down your drinks.' People didn't know if we were being robbed, whether it was a terrorist organization," Miller shudders. "It was a very tense situation." As several bathroom attendants and patrons were handcuffed and taken away on charges of drug dealing or possession, agents set to work taping up notices: "Alcoholic beverage license SUSPENDED by order of the director, Division of Alcoholic Beverages & Tobacco, State of Florida, Department of Business Regulation." Then an ABT investigator presented Miller with the suspension order, strode into the office, and tore the club's liquor license from the wall. Miller later learned that a similar spectacle was unfolding across the mall at Marsbar. The busts made the nightly television news: A camera crew from WTVJ-TV (Channel 6) had tagged along during the raid, though Maj. Jorge Raul Herrera, commander of the ABT's Miami office, says he has "no idea" who tipped off the station.

This was the culmination of Operation Bar Bust, a three-month undercover investigation that began with a tip to Metro-Dade police that bathroom attendants at Cafe Iguana and Marsbar were operating a small-scale cocaine-peddling ring. In the ensuing weeks, Metro-Dade and ABT undercover officers were able to make eight drug buys (for a total of $235 worth of cocaine) at Cafe Iguana and Fat Kats, and another eight ($220 worth) at Marsbar, for a haul of just under ten grams.

In order to revoke a club's liquor license for on-premises drug sales, ABT needs to show that the dealing is "open and notorious," and that it is taking place with the knowledge of employees, managers, or owners. (According to Major Herrera, the amount and dollar value of the coke are irrelevant. "That's only the cocaine we were able to purchase [during the investigation]," he notes. "Can you imagine the amount sold to patrons?") The agency thought it had enough proof: Not only were bathroom attendants themselves doing the dealing, but other employees were walking in and out of the bathrooms during most of the transactions. Furthermore, the agents had seen women standing in line at the door of the men's restroom to score at Fat Kats.