What do you think?
Rate this book
Killing the Lieutenant : Fighting Miami’s Cocaine Wars, Hunting Griselda Blanco, And My Fight To Stay Alive
The infamy of Miami’s cocaine wars of the 1970s and 80s is forever etched into the darkest chapters of US history, and Lt. Raul Diaz was on the frontlines for all of it. The decorated and controversial law enforcement figure identified the shifting tide in the Magic City when law enforcement lost their grip on crime as a new breed of criminal flooded South Florida to ply their billion-dollar trade.
In a deadly exclamation mark, Colombian cocaine godmother Griselda Blanco and her assassins swept through the city with a bloody and ruthless ambition that left countless dead bodies along the way. Lt. Diaz organized and spearheaded the multi-agency task force CENTAC-26 to combat Blanco and the cartels.
Raul came to the US at age thirteen accompanied by only his younger brother and overcame insurmountable odds after finally finding law enforcement as his calling. He never did things the traditional way, and that wasn’t a popular position in the regulated world of police work.
His successes came at a costly price, both professionally and personally, putting him in the crosshairs of those with an axe to grind, shockingly on both sides of law enforcement. The man profiled in books, documentaries, and the Netflix series Griselda is here to share the story previously told by others—now, finally told by the one man who knows the truth behind every kilo, kidnapping, and corpse.
In a deadly exclamation mark, Colombian cocaine godmother Griselda Blanco and her assassins swept through the city with a bloody and ruthless ambition that left countless dead bodies along the way. Lt. Diaz organized and spearheaded the multi-agency task force CENTAC-26 to combat Blanco and the cartels.
Raul came to the US at age thirteen accompanied by only his younger brother and overcame insurmountable odds after finally finding law enforcement as his calling. He never did things the traditional way, and that wasn’t a popular position in the regulated world of police work.
His successes came at a costly price, both professionally and personally, putting him in the crosshairs of those with an axe to grind, shockingly on both sides of law enforcement. The man profiled in books, documentaries, and the Netflix series Griselda is here to share the story previously told by others—now, finally told by the one man who knows the truth behind every kilo, kidnapping, and corpse.
296 pages, Kindle Edition
Published April 28, 2026
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
May 12, 2026
Oh boy. There’s a lot to say here, but where to begin? I’m not here to knock the efforts of someone who did some good work and contributed to Miami’s safety during a dangerous time in our history, but I am here to ask, did we really need this book, and my answer is a resounding no.
It was an absolute slog to get through this book. Typographical errors aside, Oliver’s writing style is frankly exhausting. I’m not sure if this is an effort to capture Diaz’s own voice and mannerisms, but the book is a rambling mess of disjointed anecdotes. Oliver might have been going for the spirit of war stories and reminiscences told over beers, but we land in heavy-handed, try-hard territory instead with such lines as:
“It certainly would be explosive, and the poor guy couldn’t see the fuse.”
“That night, I slept like a baby with a good right hook.”
“He was as subtle as a grenade, but I rolled with it.”
Writing aside, the substance of the story is more troubling to me. Everyone wants to imagine themselves as the hero of their own story, and it takes a good deal of self-reflection and awareness to recognize that we are not always the heroes we envision ourselves to be. We are certainly not always the heroes to those who know or interact with us. And yet, here we have Diaz, always the hero, always the main character. People always seem to be swayed to his side by his gift of gab, from the Jewish boys he assaulted (one of whom makes a later appearance and is still Diaz’s ally, of course); to the black community activist; to criminals and informants; and every crusty old-timer cop besides. His contributions are always insightful, unique, the game-changing linchpins of major investigations. People even name their babies after him!
So from the earliest pages of the book, my belief in the substance of Diaz’s story was stretched to the absolute breaking point by the nonstop hero narrative. We are catapulted firmly into the territory of ‘and then everyone clapped.’ And it begs the question of whether Diaz really is a reliable, self-reflective narrator or just a man thoroughly convinced of his own importance. My sense is the latter, since he tells us several times about being “the star, standing center stage”, his “insatiable ego”, and his sense of invincibility.
Setting aside the hero persona and the unchecked ego, the less-than-shining moments in Diaz’s history and the treatment they receive are more illustrative. Some are painted over with the underdog brush in an effort to get the readers on his side. Beat up a cop as a teenager? It’s all fine, because the cop was shaking Diaz and his friends down. In other moments, Diaz is a passive bystander, and maybe we as readers are meant to be sympathetic to him because he wasn’t an active participant. His childhood friend threatens to blow up a teacher’s car unless the teacher passes the friend and Diaz. Diaz stands by, “concerned”, but does nothing. Even in this memoir, we aren’t offered any kind of apologia, any reflection that maybe there was room to act differently, to call out a friend for threatening unspeakable violence. But hey, he passed French class!
And that odd passivity, the narrative that positive outcomes are a direct result of Diaz’s actions, and negative outcomes are the result of forces outside Diaz’s control, is a thru-line for the rest of the book. Bad things happen to Diaz because of others, people looking to take down our ‘hero’. Colleagues like Tommy Lyons allegedly steal his credit repeatedly and trash his career. The FBI poaches his cases, screws him over, and Diaz “suffers the indignities” time and time again. An entire chapter is dedicated to how Diaz had to “defend himself” from inquiries into his actions brought by various government agencies. It’s hard to make sense of why Diaz would willingly give up his career when faced with all these alleged adversaries when for the better part of the book, he’s so utterly convinced he’s Miami’s golden boy and crime fighter extraordinaire, but perhaps it’s easier to be a victim of circumstances outside your control than to confront the idea you might not be the hero you think you are.
I think part of the issue lies with Diaz’s co-author. Per Oliver’s website, he claims that Diaz is “here to share the story previously told by others [and] now, finally told by the one man who knows the truth behind every kilo, kidnapping, and corpse.” I guess if we’re looking at Diaz’s narrative with a fully trusting eye, then sure, Diaz “knows the truth.” To me, even for a memoir such as this, a decent author serves as an intermediary between the storyteller and the readers, and that involves looking critically at the storyteller—pressure-testing the storyteller’s version of ‘the truth’ and in some cases even nudging the storyteller towards more accountability. But Oliver abdicates that role as intermediary (his starry-eyed adulation in the acknowledgments section is a hint), and in doing so he exacerbates the problem of whether we readers can consider Diaz a reliable storyteller.
Is Oliver simply unwilling to cast a critical eye or question Diaz’s veracity? Apparently so, as it seems Oliver didn’t solicit any comments from anyone other than Diaz’s ex-wife, current wife, and daughters, all of whom seem pretty forgiving in their assessments. I wonder if the many other people referenced in Diaz’s book would paint him in the same glowing light or agree with Diaz’s version of ‘the truth’. That said, it’s not in Oliver’s interest to question the narrative by elevating others from their status as mere props for Diaz to actual people whose experiences might challenge or contradict Diaz’s story. We certainly couldn’t let a nuanced effort at authorship get in the way of one man’s pathological compulsion to cast himself as the golden boy above all others now, could we?
Final verdict: save yourself the time reading this tired attempt by a man trying to burnish whatever dried-out laurels he can lay claim to decades after his glory days. There are better stories told by quality authors like Edna Buchanan and Nicolas Griffin more worth your time and attention if you’re interested in 1980s Miami and the Cocaine Wars.
It was an absolute slog to get through this book. Typographical errors aside, Oliver’s writing style is frankly exhausting. I’m not sure if this is an effort to capture Diaz’s own voice and mannerisms, but the book is a rambling mess of disjointed anecdotes. Oliver might have been going for the spirit of war stories and reminiscences told over beers, but we land in heavy-handed, try-hard territory instead with such lines as:
“It certainly would be explosive, and the poor guy couldn’t see the fuse.”
“That night, I slept like a baby with a good right hook.”
“He was as subtle as a grenade, but I rolled with it.”
Writing aside, the substance of the story is more troubling to me. Everyone wants to imagine themselves as the hero of their own story, and it takes a good deal of self-reflection and awareness to recognize that we are not always the heroes we envision ourselves to be. We are certainly not always the heroes to those who know or interact with us. And yet, here we have Diaz, always the hero, always the main character. People always seem to be swayed to his side by his gift of gab, from the Jewish boys he assaulted (one of whom makes a later appearance and is still Diaz’s ally, of course); to the black community activist; to criminals and informants; and every crusty old-timer cop besides. His contributions are always insightful, unique, the game-changing linchpins of major investigations. People even name their babies after him!
So from the earliest pages of the book, my belief in the substance of Diaz’s story was stretched to the absolute breaking point by the nonstop hero narrative. We are catapulted firmly into the territory of ‘and then everyone clapped.’ And it begs the question of whether Diaz really is a reliable, self-reflective narrator or just a man thoroughly convinced of his own importance. My sense is the latter, since he tells us several times about being “the star, standing center stage”, his “insatiable ego”, and his sense of invincibility.
Setting aside the hero persona and the unchecked ego, the less-than-shining moments in Diaz’s history and the treatment they receive are more illustrative. Some are painted over with the underdog brush in an effort to get the readers on his side. Beat up a cop as a teenager? It’s all fine, because the cop was shaking Diaz and his friends down. In other moments, Diaz is a passive bystander, and maybe we as readers are meant to be sympathetic to him because he wasn’t an active participant. His childhood friend threatens to blow up a teacher’s car unless the teacher passes the friend and Diaz. Diaz stands by, “concerned”, but does nothing. Even in this memoir, we aren’t offered any kind of apologia, any reflection that maybe there was room to act differently, to call out a friend for threatening unspeakable violence. But hey, he passed French class!
And that odd passivity, the narrative that positive outcomes are a direct result of Diaz’s actions, and negative outcomes are the result of forces outside Diaz’s control, is a thru-line for the rest of the book. Bad things happen to Diaz because of others, people looking to take down our ‘hero’. Colleagues like Tommy Lyons allegedly steal his credit repeatedly and trash his career. The FBI poaches his cases, screws him over, and Diaz “suffers the indignities” time and time again. An entire chapter is dedicated to how Diaz had to “defend himself” from inquiries into his actions brought by various government agencies. It’s hard to make sense of why Diaz would willingly give up his career when faced with all these alleged adversaries when for the better part of the book, he’s so utterly convinced he’s Miami’s golden boy and crime fighter extraordinaire, but perhaps it’s easier to be a victim of circumstances outside your control than to confront the idea you might not be the hero you think you are.
I think part of the issue lies with Diaz’s co-author. Per Oliver’s website, he claims that Diaz is “here to share the story previously told by others [and] now, finally told by the one man who knows the truth behind every kilo, kidnapping, and corpse.” I guess if we’re looking at Diaz’s narrative with a fully trusting eye, then sure, Diaz “knows the truth.” To me, even for a memoir such as this, a decent author serves as an intermediary between the storyteller and the readers, and that involves looking critically at the storyteller—pressure-testing the storyteller’s version of ‘the truth’ and in some cases even nudging the storyteller towards more accountability. But Oliver abdicates that role as intermediary (his starry-eyed adulation in the acknowledgments section is a hint), and in doing so he exacerbates the problem of whether we readers can consider Diaz a reliable storyteller.
Is Oliver simply unwilling to cast a critical eye or question Diaz’s veracity? Apparently so, as it seems Oliver didn’t solicit any comments from anyone other than Diaz’s ex-wife, current wife, and daughters, all of whom seem pretty forgiving in their assessments. I wonder if the many other people referenced in Diaz’s book would paint him in the same glowing light or agree with Diaz’s version of ‘the truth’. That said, it’s not in Oliver’s interest to question the narrative by elevating others from their status as mere props for Diaz to actual people whose experiences might challenge or contradict Diaz’s story. We certainly couldn’t let a nuanced effort at authorship get in the way of one man’s pathological compulsion to cast himself as the golden boy above all others now, could we?
Final verdict: save yourself the time reading this tired attempt by a man trying to burnish whatever dried-out laurels he can lay claim to decades after his glory days. There are better stories told by quality authors like Edna Buchanan and Nicolas Griffin more worth your time and attention if you’re interested in 1980s Miami and the Cocaine Wars.
May 18, 2026
“Killing the Lieutenant” claims to be a factual story “finally told by the one man who knows the truth” but are we sure that’s the case? This review only comments on the factual historical events regarding Centac 26. Nothing is this review is intended to comment on the personal/family recollections of the Lieutenant. Those are his memories and deserve the respect they are due.
When asked about the research and verification of the events described in the book, the writer stated that “The old Rashaman [sic] theory prevails- multiple sides to every story and, the truth lives somewhere in the ecosystem”. Close, but not quite. I can only assume he was referring to the Rashomon effect, where witnesses to the same event can describe it in different and contradictory ways, reflecting self-interested, subjective interpretation, instead of an objective truth. If so, why style the book as “the” truth.
The writer goes on to state, “With a memoir, unless something is concretely covered and reported, it is the person who’s [sic] telling the story’s recollection.” In another part of the response, the writer states regarding different versions of an event, “there’s no independent validation to be found (unless someone was there to [sic])”. This stuck me as odd, because the events and incidents were investigated and reported by law enforcement, and widely reported in print and television media. However, there are no footnotes or endnotes, and no bibliography, which you would typically see in a book purporting to be a factual account of relatively recent historical events.
More importantly, the book names living individuals who were present for the events described and could serve as primary sources. The writer commented that “items in this book, or any memoir, that can factually be investigated, are. I had to verify dates, names, arrests, sentences, attorney names, etc.” If that’s the case, why not share with the readers what steps you took to complete that verification? Surely any other interviews or verification efforts could only serve to get us closer to “the truth [that] lives somewhere in the ecosystem.” But instead, we are told to accept one man’s memoir as “the” truth, without any reassurance from the writer beyond conclusory statements that he did the verification work necessary to give him and his subject credibility.
Just because the writer seemingly made the authorial choice to disregard primary and secondary sources doesn’t mean we as readers have to engage in that same form of mental gymnastics and accept the version reported to us above all else. The writer’s own warning that the “Rashaman [sic] theory” is in play is perhaps the most important thing to consider. The reader must decide if the writer’s story and justification for the lack of primary and secondary sources is acceptable. For me, the writer’s justification was not acceptable,and the explanations indicate a lack of desire in writing the objective truth in a book that is “…finally told by the one man who knows the truth…”
If your reading interest is in a factual, true account of the Miami Centac 26 era, you shouldn’t waste your time, you’ll probably be disappointed. However, if your reading interest is in a strange species of a Horatio Alger rags-to-riches story, mixed in with Greek/Shakespearian tragedy, a twisted Joseph Campbell’s “The Heroes Journey”, and a TV commercial about “the most interesting man in the world”, this is for you. Like in the commercial (although you don’t always drink beer) grab a beer (better yet, a six-pack, you’ll need it) and read on. A memoir is a memoir, the truth is the truth. Often, they are mutually exclusive. Caveat emptor…
Robert Fiallo
May 17, 2026
The Dos Equis Guy has nothing on this Law Enforcement Legend!
Ordered the book and when it arrived I was immediately surprised to see the cover photo was replete with people I both recognized and Knew!
As I began reading I immediately realized there was nothing fictional in Lieutenant Diaz’s account of Miami in the 70’s and 80’s. The surprise was in the inserted humor throughout making the trip down memory lane with vivid recollections of people, places, and true events. This book covers the spectrum of Miami’s evolution into the Gateway to the Americas.
If you want true insight into what many remember as the Miami Vice years; or, the Cocaine Wars this book is for you.
A must read…
Ordered the book and when it arrived I was immediately surprised to see the cover photo was replete with people I both recognized and Knew!
As I began reading I immediately realized there was nothing fictional in Lieutenant Diaz’s account of Miami in the 70’s and 80’s. The surprise was in the inserted humor throughout making the trip down memory lane with vivid recollections of people, places, and true events. This book covers the spectrum of Miami’s evolution into the Gateway to the Americas.
If you want true insight into what many remember as the Miami Vice years; or, the Cocaine Wars this book is for you.
A must read…
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews