By Terrence McCoy
By Scott Fishman
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Allie Conti
By New Times Staff
By Ryan Pfeffer
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Kyle Swenson
Juan Garcia had the same experience. Though he wasn't totally comfortable taking Anavar and Winstrol — having checked online and realized they were in fact anabolic steroids — he couldn't deny the results. "It is addictive as shit," he says. "As a man, you go from blah to 'Whoa, look at that.' "
What's more, Garcia quickly saw profit potential. So when he had some money, he approached Bosch about investing.
The boss's eyes lit up, and he signed Garcia on right away, giving him a key to the clinic and setting him loose to find new clients. The Miami native began working up advertising ideas but soon realized something was amiss. "Tony started being really squirrelly about my money," he says. "And I started hearing that employees weren't being paid. That's when I started asking Tony for a payback plan."
Though records show the operation was pulling in more than $25,000 per month, Bosch reacted as he had in the past. "I worked there for two months and never got a single paycheck," says a former secretary, who asked not to be named. "I was mostly there as a hobby, because my husband works and I wanted the workout drugs. But other people were depending on those paychecks."
The boxes were stuffed mostly with file folders full of patient questionnaires about fitness routines and sales records for HGH, testosterone, and steroids.
But Garcia also found four unremarkable-looking composition books filled with legible, all-caps handwriting. They were, he came to believe, the personal files of Tony Bosch. His name was written in block letters on the front of each one with the year it represented. Through hundreds of pages of business plans, self-aggrandizing bios, inspirational phrases, and line after line of patient names and prescriptions, Bosch also noted the information he didn't dare detail elsewhere.
In these notebooks, he spelled out all the athletes — from baseball to tennis to high school players — buying his products. The name that really made Garcia's jaw drop was hometown hero Alex Rodriguez.
Born and raised in Miami and starring on the diamond since he was 18 years old, A-Rod admitted in 2009 that he had used steroids, claiming in an ESPN interview that his doping was limited to a three-year window — 2001 through 2003 — while he played under a record contract for the Texas Rangers. Ever since then, A-Rod claimed, he'd been playing clean. He'd never failed an MLB drug test since penalties were put into place.
Yet there was his name, over and over again, logged as either "Alex Rodriguez," "Alex Rod," or his nickname at the clinic, "Cacique," a pre-Columbian Caribbean chief. Rodriguez's name appears 16 times throughout the records New Times reviewed.
Take, for instance, one patient list from Bosch's 2009 personal notebook. It charts more than 50 clients and notes whether they received their drugs by delivery or in the office, how much they paid, and what they were taking.
There, at number seven on the list, is Alex Rodriguez. He paid $3,500, Bosch notes. Below that, he writes, "1.5/1.5 HGH (sports perf.) creams test., glut., MIC, supplement, sports perf. Diet." HGH, of course, is banned in baseball, as are testosterone creams.
That's not the only damning evidence against A-Rod, though. Another document from the files, a loose sheet with a header from the 19th Annual World Congress on Anti-Aging and Aesthetic Medicine, lays out a full regimen under the name Cacique: "Test. cream... troches prior to workout... and GHRP... IGF-1... pink cream."
IGF-1 is a banned substance in baseball that stimulates insulin production and muscle growth. Elsewhere in his notebook, Bosch spells out that his "troches," a type of drug lozenge, include 15 percent testosterone; pink cream, he writes, is a complex formula that also includes testosterone. GHRP is a substance that releases growth hormones.
There's more evidence. On a 2009 client list, near A-Rod's name, is that of Yuri Sucart, who paid Bosch $500 for a weeklong supply of HGH. Sucart is famous to anyone who has followed baseball's steroid scandal. Soon after A-Rod's admission, the slugger admitted that Sucart — his cousin and close friend — was the mule who provided the superstar his drugs. In 2009, the same year this notebook was written, Sucart (who lives in South Miami and didn't respond to a message left at his home) was banned from all Yankees facilities.
The mentions of Rodriguez begin in 2009 and continue all the way through last season. Take a page in another notebook, which is labeled "2012" and looks to have been written last spring. Under the heading "A-Rod/Cacique," Bosch writes, "He is paid through April 30th. He will owe May 1 $4,000... I need to see him between April 13-19, deliver troches, pink cream, and... May meds. Has three weeks of Sub-Q (as of April)."
Elsewhere in his notebooks, Bosch writes that "Sub-Q" refers to his mixture of HGH, IGF-1, and other drugs.
The notebooks and client lists aren't the only evidence linking Rodriguez to Bosch. Former employees say Bosch would openly brag about selling drugs to Rodriguez.
"He was always talking about A-Rod," says one former employee who asked not to be named. "We never saw any athletes in the office, so we didn't know if he was just talking bullshit or not. But he would brag about how tight they were."