# RAW STREETS: THE FEDS, THE EMPIRE, AND THE FALL

The feds been had their eyes locked on Cotton, Trena and Odys for a solid decade—watching them run a drug operation that stretched across state lines like a highway network. November 15, 2000, the hammer dropped. A five-count federal indictment out of Louisiana's western district came crashing down on their heads, laying out the whole damn case. The charges read like a street resume: conspiracy to push weight, possession with intent to distribute, money laundering, running a continuing criminal enterprise, and forfeiture of everything tied to that dirty paper. Trena got tagged with conspiracy, laundering that money, and forfeiture. Odys was staring down conspiracy and forfeiture charges. All three of them stood up in court and said not guilty, setting the whole thing up for a real courtroom war.

The trial popped off late July 2004 and stretched out for nearly three weeks straight. The prosecution rolled in deep, bringing 106 witnesses to the stand and dumping over a thousand exhibits on the jury to paint the full picture of Cotton's Houston-based operation. According to the government's story, Cotton was the architect, the man moving major weight out of Houston into Louisiana, Texas, Mississippi, and Kansas. He was posted up at the Pickfare Apartments, living there with Trena and their five kids, cooking powder into crack with his right-hand soldier, Tank Robachio. His method was tight—turning one brick of powder into two bricks of crack, straight doubling his profit margins. Odys played his position in the family setup, renting an apartment right next door where they kept their cash locked in a safe.

But Cotton's empire wasn't just confined to apartment buildings. He was also running two auto-body shops—Houston Auto-Works and Unified Auto-Works—which prosecutors claimed were funded with drug proceeds and used as fronts for the whole operation. And if that wasn't enough proof of his reach, Cotton had up to eight crack houses scattered across Houston, with a full crew of 15 to 20 workers pushing his product on the daily.

Cotton wasn't handling all that weight by himself. He had a tight squad keeping the machine running smooth. One of his earliest and most trusted partners was David Thomas, who lived right next door at the Pickfare Apartments with Leslie Jackson—Trena's sister and Odys's daughter. This wasn't just business moves, this was a whole family operation. Thomas already had heavyweight Dominican connections before he ever linked up with Cotton, including a direct line to Roberto Guzman, a major player in the powder game. Once Thomas and Cotton joined forces, Guzman started supplying Cotton with a consistent flow—12 to 14 keys of powder every single week, and that was just the starting point.

After 93, Cotton's customer base expanded beyond Houston city limits, and so did the volume he was moving. Guzman testified in court that Cotton was such a reliable customer that he was getting product fronted on credit. The drops were handled efficiently—either Cotton's or Thomas's apartment served as the stash location, and if Cotton wasn't present, Guzman had no problem leaving the work with Trena. The money moved just as smoothly. When Guzman came to collect his payment, Cotton would hit the safe in Odys's apartment, sometimes with Odys right there in the room, keeping watch over the whole transaction.

Everything was running tight until Cotton and Thomas had a falling out. That's when Glenn "Slim" Bailey stepped into the picture to keep the operation booming. Slim wasn't just playing middleman—he was hands-on, helping Cotton cook up crack, making direct sales to customers, and even running airport pickups for drug couriers, bringing them straight to Cotton's apartment or Houston Auto Works to handle business transactions.

Cotton was running his operation like a Fortune 500 corporation—organized, strategic, always looking to expand his territory. But in December 93, the streets caught up to him. Houston narcotics officers had been conducting surveillance, and when they spotted him and Glenn Slim Bailey making hand-to-hand transactions, they made their move. The cops pulled them over and hit the jackpot—10K in cash, $7,500 in travelers checks, two firearms, and 26.3 grams of cocaine. Cotton and Trena understood the risk. A serious conviction could take him off the board permanently, but this was a team effort, and Slim played his role. He took responsibility for the weight, hoping to keep Cotton out of the system.

Beyond the drug game, Cotton had another layer of protection—something deeper than money and muscle. He and Trena were connected with the Makara, a Dominican spiritual organization that practiced white magic for protection and power. This wasn't just superstition talk—this was serious business. Guzman, his supplier, put him onto it, connecting him with Maria Peralta and her husband Jose Modos. Cotton and his crew weren't just dabbling in this spiritual game. They paid $8,500 each to get initiated. Part of the ritual involved invoking spirits to shield Cotton's empire from law enforcement, even calling out specific cops by their names. When things got shaky inside his camp and Trena suspected a courier was skimming product off the top, Cotton took it even further. He and Louisiana connect Dexter Harmon flew to the Dominican Republic for a special cleansing ceremony, dropping another 17K to keep the spirits working on their side. Later on, Cotton, Trena, Guzman, Harmon, and Harmon's courier, Oris Solman Boudreau, hit up a Makara festival in the DR, showing just how deep their belief in the spiritual protection game ran.

Back in Texas, Cotton's customer base was growing. Tron Washington started off copping small amounts, but soon he was grabbing full kilos. Derek Taylor was hitting Pickfare Apartments and Cotton's body shops for work, with Trena even brokering deals herself. Odys got involved too—one time he tried to sell Taylor a brick, but the deal didn't materialize. Ronald Floyd was another heavy buyer, grabbing 18 ounces of crack from Cotton at Houston Auto Works twice a month for six straight months in 96. Damien Porter, a Pittsburgh, Texas player, met Cotton in Huntsville multiple times, where Cotton personally whipped a key of powder into 1.5 keys of crack. Austin, Texas was locked in too. Cedric MacArthur bought 63 ounces of crack in 95 across four separate deals, and Aubrey Hart was in deep, picking up 10 kilos of powder across 7 deals in 96.

Cotton had the pipeline, the protection, and the players. His empire stretched beyond Houston, pushing weight all through Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Kansas. But no matter how tight the operation was, when you're moving that much weight, the feds are always watching.

Cotton's empire wasn't just a Houston operation—it had long arms stretching deep into Louisiana. His wife, Trena, wasn't just playing the background either. She had her own customer base. One of her steady buyers, Regina Booker, came through at least 10 times in 93 and 94, copping 28 grams of crack per transaction straight out of the Pickfare Apartments.

But Houston was just the foundation. Louisiana was a major extension of Cotton's network. Merrick Young was his guy in Morgan City, running a smooth operation with couriers moving weight from Houston to Louisiana. These weren't reckless street runners either—they used tricked-out rides with hidden compartments to smuggle dope and cash undetected.

The feds took notice though. On June 27, 1994, Young got pulled over near Morgan City. The cops brought out the dogs, sniffed out a hidden compartment, and found $2,800, along with a business card for Houston Auto Works. Later that year, on December 14, Young was stopped again, this time driving a green and white Chevy pickup registered in Cotton's name, also equipped with a secret compartment. Then, on November 16, 1995, Louisiana police pulled over Young's blue Cutlass, which was being driven by Robert Bourgeois. When they cracked open another hidden stash, they found $23,760 in cash.

Cotton's pipeline wasn't just about Louisiana though. He had another major client in Rayne, Louisiana—Dexter Harmon. Harmon originally got his work through Cotton's half-brother Edwin Cotton, but when the two brothers fell out, Harmon went straight to the source. Cotton saw the potential and decided to level things up. In early 1995, Cotton brought the key players together at Harmon's crib to discuss setting up a dedicated drug transport system along Interstate 10—one of the most crucial trafficking routes in the South.

This wasn't just some street-level deal—this was a strategic expansion that showed Cotton's reach extended far beyond Houston's city limits. The I-10 corridor became a lifeline for moving massive quantities through multiple states. Harmon's operation in Rayne became one of Cotton's most profitable satellite markets, with steady shipments flowing down regularly. But with expanded territory came expanded risk. Law enforcement agencies across Texas and Louisiana had been building their cases methodically, piece by piece, arrest by arrest.

By the time the trial wrapped in August 2004, the evidence was overwhelming. The jury heard testimony from over a hundred witnesses who painted a detailed portrait of Cotton's criminal enterprise. They learned about the spiritual ceremonies meant to protect the operation, the family members entrenched in the business, the auto shops used as fronts, and the sophisticated distribution network spanning four states. The prosecution's case was airtight—purchase records, surveillance footage, witness testimony, and physical evidence all pointed to one undeniable conclusion: Cotton had built and maintained one of the most successful drug empires of the 1990s.

On September 2, 2004, the jury returned guilty verdicts on all counts. Cotton was convicted of conspiracy to distribute cocaine, possession with intent to distribute, money laundering, and operating a continuing criminal enterprise. Trena was convicted of conspiracy, money laundering, and forfeiture violations. Odys faced similar convictions. When sentencing came down in November 2004, Cotton received 30 years in federal prison. Trena got 15 years. Odys got 10. The assets were seized—the apartments, the auto shops, the cash reserves. Everything Cotton had built was stripped away.

The fall of Cotton's empire marked the end of an era in Houston's streets. What made his case particularly notable wasn't just the scale of his operation or the family involvement—it was how organized, how calculated, and how strategic he had been in building something that rivaled legitimate businesses in its structure and reach. He had understood supply chains, customer relations, territory management, and risk mitigation long before he ever faced federal charges. But understanding the game and staying ahead of the feds are two entirely different things. Cotton's legacy serves as a cautionary tale for every hustler who thinks they're smarter than the system—that no amount of spiritual protection, family loyalty, or strategic planning can shield you from federal prosecution once the machinery of justice begins to turn. In the end, Cotton's empire proved that in America's war on drugs, the house always wins.