"I'll keep my money wherever I please," sneered Artemio López Tardón. With his one good eye, Los Miami's second in command glared at the cops swarming his stately narco-fortress on Azalea Avenue in Madrid. Seven years earlier he had been blinded, shot through both knees, and left in the street to die by a rival drug lord, but today he stood firmly as police wrenched his hands behind his back... More >>>