Louie the Actor Is Back

When I first saw Louie Diaz he was at a mike in a place on the Westside called Matty’s, singing “It’s Not for Me to Say.”

It was a decent rendition of an old tune, but that’s not what got me interested in the guy.

I was with the late con artist Joe Seide, who knew everyone, and who told me that in addition to being a performer, Diaz was also the best drug agent in America.

Seide was not always to be believed due to the nature of his profession and his inclination to, as he always said, “elaborate,” but I was intrigued enough to ask to meet Diaz.

That was four years ago. I liked the guy right away. He called himself an “undercover actor” and was with the Drug Enforcement Administration working out of L.A.

You don’t see singing narcs too often, so I mentioned it in a column, which did not make Diaz happy since much of his work had always been undercover.

I do not think he is the kind of guy to make unhappy. Short and powerful, there is an explosive quality to Diaz that his gentle nature belies.

You get the feeling as he is kissing you on the cheek that he is also capable of biting off your ear, which is a quality that served him well on the street. You didn’t mess with Lou.

But he forgave me for blowing a little of his cover, did not bite off my ear, and said I could write about him in more detail when he retired.

Well, he left the DEA last month and is doing full time what he’s always done under less rewarding circumstances. He’s acting.

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A good undercover agent has to be a good actor, and Diaz, who now calls himself Lou Casal, was the best. His nickname in the DEA was Louie the Actor.

Of Basque origin, he played the part of Sicilians, Cubans and Colombians in the deadly world of drug dealers that took him from a prison in England to the jungles of Bolivia.

He was with the DEA for 25 years, 20 of which were undercover, a job so secretive that he never even talked about it with his wife. Until his son was older, he thought his dad was a truck driver.

Diaz was raised in the rough-and-tumble Red Hook section of Brooklyn and knew most of the mob guys on the street. His father taught him ethics and morality by beating him, which not only drove the lessons in but also made him the toughest kid in Brooklyn.

As a drug agent, Diaz’s talents were immediately recognized. He was honest, fearless and a good actor, and he knew the street. So when the DEA decided to go after the king of East Coast drug dealers, they chose Diaz for the job.

The target was Leroy “Nicky” Barnes Jr., the so-called “black Capone” of Harlem, who had managed to evade prison, despite 13 arrests, through the fortunate disappearance of those who were to testify against him.

Diaz, posing as a renegade mobster and part-time hit man from the West Coast, ingratiated himself with Barnes and after a year operating under the most dangerous conditions possible managed to gather enough evidence to bring him down. Barnes got life in prison and is still there.

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I caught up with Diaz on the set of the television series “L.A. Heat,” where he was playing the part of a Mafioso’s brother.

Watching him in the kind of role he once played for real, one could easily see how he could get by with it. There is a kind of underlying menace to Diaz which, even when he is smiling and hugging you warmly, is never completely subdued. I sensed the street in his nature, the sizzle of a fuse burning.

The quality has served him well as an actor on both television and the big screen, but he cannot quite get over the old days.

“You can be cool on the job, but there’s nothing you can do about the nightmares,” he said the other day as we sat in his tiny mobile dressing room. “You can’t control the haunts.”

One of them has to do with the night a dealer, who suspected Diaz might be a cop, held a .45 to his head. Diaz looked him directly in the eyes and, unflinching, said, “If you have any reservations about who I am, you might as well pull the trigger now.”

The dealer hesitated for what seemed a lifetime then said, “You gotta be real” and uncocked the .45.

He is real. He is as real as the roles he plays, as real as the life he lived and as real as the warmth he exudes off camera. He is the stuff that movies are made of and books written about.

You could never make up a character like Louie the Actor. I always want him on my side.

Al Martinez can be reached through the Internet at al.martinez@latimes.com