“Look shit-for-brains, you can’t steal the stuff on a regular basis to meet our demands. Those chemicals are on a special restricted list. You can’t buy them legit anywhere, and you can’t steal the stuff forever. We need the Sutic brothers, we need their stuff, and we need their connections too. So, make peace with the guy and don’t be stupid.”
Daniel Tua heaved himself out of the chair and fronted up to Sonny Rewaka nose to nose. “Look you black bastard stop calling me stupid, you don’t rule me. I don’t like your fucking attitude and I don’t need your fucking permission to do anything, so back off.”
“Danny, sit down again. We lead jointly and we’ve always made decisions together. When I want this club to change direction, I consult you. We do things together, that’s what’s made us so successful. We watch each other’s back. It’s you Danny that has made this decision alone and it could fucking sink us. You haven’t consulted me about jack-shit. You need to fix this Danny and you need to fix it quickly.”
Having sat down again Tua dropped his gaze to his feet, he knew that Sonny could take him if he wanted to “OK so I didn’t consult you, I’m sorry, but I thought you’d be behind me on this.”
“Not behind you Danny, beside you, and to be beside you I need to know where you are going. I’m telling you Danny as a friend you need to fix this. We can’t survive without them.”
“Well, you’re wrong, we have Tio onboard that ship of theirs. He can negotiate a deal without the Sutic brothers.”
“Tio Reihana is a brainless little shit. He couldn’t negotiate with his fucking mother. Anyway, who would he negotiate with, we don’t know where the stuff comes from. So even if Tio had got a brain where would he start?”
“Well, that Russian Captain would know wouldn’t he, perhaps we could negotiate with him?”
“Danny, Danny, they’re not Russian they’re Croatian and he works for the Sutic brothers and whoever backs them, they’re not going to negotiate with us, they’ve got the real power, not us.”
“Russian, Croatian, who the fuck cares, I’m not scared of those wankers. Got the power, my arse. They’re going to have to come to me if they want to stay in business with us. They’re going to have to give us a better share of the pie. So, let the fuckers come. What can they do Sonny, really, what the fuck can they do? Let them come, the boys and I’ll be waiting for ‘em when they come cap-in-hand; ‘Please Mr Skorpion sir let us back into the game.’ And I Danny Tua will tell them, what they can have and not the other way round. So, let ‘em come.
***
It was Lisa Davis’ last counselling session. Jeanette Farmer, her counsellor for the last nine months, was giving her lots of encouragement now that her release date was just two days away. Lisa had been sentenced to eighteen months in Arohata Women’s Prison for the possession of 5 grams of crystal methamphetamine. Thirteen kilometres north of Wellington the prison housed the Te Araroa Unit for the rehabilitation of drug users like Lisa. The name of the prison, Arohata, means bridge and Lisa had responded well to the drug reform programme having survived the terrors of withdrawal all those long months ago. Lisa had spent three months on remand and it was during this period that she endured “cold turkey” from the drug that was slowly killing her. She had been one of the lucky ones, she had survived, many had not. Methamphetamine is a killer. Its long-term effects include fatal kidney and liver damage as well as lung disorders and irreversible brain damage. Lisa was a tall lanky blonde with exceptional good looks. Her ocean blue eyes and high cheekbones had made her a very successful model. Yet the pressures of living out of a suitcase in hotels all around Oceania had taken their toll. Suffering with stress had caused clinical depression and this had led to her taking methamphetamine as a release from the rigors of her modelling career. Each hit took her to an instantaneous high that sometimes lasted as long as 18 hours. The euphoria and sense of wellbeing, at first, allowed her to transcend the long and rigorous schedule that she kept up whilst on the modelling circuit. However, the drug induced ecstasy slowly diminished and before long she became a wreck. Then the modelling agencies dropped her like a stone, and she became unemployable.
With her savings depleted by her expensive drug habit she soon fell into the clutches of the drug suppliers and her fall into prostitution became inevitable. Methamphetamine eats its victims alive and before long her beauty was gone. Her face became haggard as her cheeks hollowed; her brilliant white teeth became brown and scaly before eventually one of her front teeth fell out completely. Her ranking as a high class ‘Tom’ plummeted as her beauty diminished. Soon she could only ‘turn tricks’ with the perverts and the desperate for no more than $50 for a knee trembler or $25 for a blow job. Eventually she was picked up for solicitation. As her pimp was her drug supplier, he had thrust the methamphetamine stash in her pocket so that he could escape. Consequently, she took the fall for possession with intent to supply. However, the judge took pity on Lisa because officially he did not believe that she was in any condition to be a supplier, and unofficially, he had been a fan of hers in her heyday as a model.
Prison is a hellhole and Lisa suffered terribly from the withdrawal symptoms even though her progress was monitored medically. However, her prison hell saved her life though and her entry to the drug rehabilitation programme at Arohata Women’s Prison was her salvation. She had responded well to the treatment and after a few months her gay light-hearted personality soon started to shine through the mask of her suffering. Slowly she started to look more human, though whether she would ever regain her full beauty was thought to be unlikely. Thankfully she quickly made friends at the prison and had few enemies. Many of the other women prisoners remembered her past good looks and felt sorry for Lisa and the way the drugs had ravaged her body.
Now she was almost free, and determined never to use drugs again. Only the week before her ex-boyfriend Scott Pearson had contacted her again via e-mail. Lisa had sent him a photograph of what she now looked like. She had agonised over sending it, believing that he would not reply and back out of the relationship quickly, but she had been wrong. He sent her a newspaper photograph of what she looked like as she had stood in the dock awaiting sentencing. The improvement, though startling, was light years away from her former beauty. Scott had not promised to resume their relationship he just wanted to be there for her when she was released, but Lisa hoped. Scott lived in Nelson now and had offered her a spare bedroom in the house he shared with two others. Jeanette had encouraged her to take up the offer, as the first few weeks of freedom were the most dangerous period when addicts often slide back into their old ways, before ending up back in prison or dead. The world out there she was warned is a harsh environment in which to recuperate and she had been warned not to expect any of her old friends to stand beside her. She would be alone, perhaps even an outcast, unemployable, unloved and unwanted. The thought of her first steps into freedom had begun to scare her more and more as her release date drew near. She realised that she had not been cured; she was just in remission, just a step away from the pit from which her prison sentence had delivered her.
“Lisa over the next few hours I want you to go through all the self-analysis techniques and positive reinforcement exercises that you have learned over the last few months. Although we will just be a phone call away, at the end of the day you will still be on your own. You now have to make the decisions. Do you want to stay clean or face the devil again? It is going to be your resolve, your determination to be free of drugs that will make the difference. Do you have any doubts?”
“I have plenty of doubts, even fears, but I do believe I have the determination to remain clean. I remember very clearly the cesspool I’d fallen into and I don’t want to go there again.”
“Remember Lisa that emotionally you will be tested, disappointments, relationship difficulties, shortage of money are just some of the pitfalls that will leave you vulnerable. Seek help, phone the help line or phone me anytime, I’ll give you my mobile number. I must admit I wor
ry for all my patients especially those like you. You have a fresh start; you need to make the best of it.”
With that Lisa broke into tears, the unit was a sanctuary, a sanctuary from all her sordid past, from all that she had tried to escape from when using the drugs. Now like a fish she was about to be thrown back into the ocean, a vast impersonal void that could swallow her up again. Prison was hardly a haven but to Lisa it was all she knew that had any goodness, no matter how small. Here she did have friends, she did have support and she could survive. Out there stalked her fear. Her present reality was confined to a small known area, out there, in the real world, there was nothing of her old life left, except perhaps Scott.
“God I can’t do this; I can’t do it. It’s too much, I can’t handle it, Jeanette.”
“All my patients that have reached the stage of being released, the ones who are in touch with themselves go through this terror of self-doubt. It’s to be expected. Remember all the sessions we’ve had; remember the skills you have learned. You can do this; you are just like a student who is about to sit her final exam and of course you are feeling nervous. But you are ready for this exam, you have the self-knowledge, you have the skills. Lisa you can do this, really you can, believe me.”
“I want to Jeanette; I honestly do but it all looks so hard.”
“Nothing that is worth fighting for comes easy. You have had nine months training for this, you can do it.”
As Lisa dried her tears, she looked at Jeanette and tried to smile and at that moment her resolve hardened. Yes, she would win this battle, because she certainly knew what would happen if she didn’t that’s for sure. The terror of failure was the key to success. Her strength to beat this would be drawn from the sure knowledge that in failure lay death.
Every prison film ends with the principal character saying goodbye to the guards and then stepping through the last gate to freedom. Not on Lisa’s last morning. After breakfast she was shown into the chief warden’s office and congratulated on her success on the drug rehabilitation programme. Following that she was given back her property and shown to the family visiting area. As the door opened there was Scott. Just as he said he would be. Clutching the brown manila envelope with her discharge papers she shuffled towards him not knowing what to expect. As they embraced, she felt as if she was going to faint. The relief that he was there to support her was almost overwhelming. They didn’t kiss, he had said that he was going to be there for her, but not as a lover. He had confessed months ago that to see her slide down the path to self-destruction was more than he could bear. He couldn’t face that again; he had told her that if she succumbed to taking drugs again, he would abandon her in the interests of self-preservation. With the formalities sorted they walked together through to the car park. He still had the same old car, the white 1995 Mitsubishi Mirage he had bought with his student loan and they had affectionately called the Mitzuratti. It went like a bomb; it was a bomb.
One hour later they drove onto the Arahura interisland ferry that would take them to the South Island. Throughout their journey across the Cook Straight, Scott and Lisa stayed on the top deck. With a warm wind blowing through their hair and the ever-present seagulls soaring above the wake of the ferry it was a glorious day. They watched Wellington and Lisa’s old life disappear, then later as Picton approached so too did the beginning of her new life.
2.
Tony Graham-Collins
After Air New Zealand flight NZ104 touched down at Auckland International Airport, late on a rainy Sunday night, Tony Graham-Collins had no idea that life changing events would be initiated having been stopped by Customs. He and his wife Nadine, together with their two children Naomi 11 and Carol 15 were returning from their holiday in Australia. It was the first time they had ever been halted by the Customs Service. When one of the Customs drug dogs had reacted to Graham-Collins’ trousers they were all quickly ushered into the 'Red' zone. Although Tony was very concerned, his daughters thought it was cute that the dog had taken such a liking to their dad. Their entire collection of baggage was Category C searched and special Ion Scan swabs were taken from the inside of their cases as well as Tony's trousers. The Ion Swab from his trousers came back positive for Methamphetamine and so Tony was then subjected to a Category B strip search. Standing naked in the examination room Tony had the indignity of bending over and lifting his scrotum so the Customs officer could make sure that he was not concealing anything illicit. At the conclusion of the search a senior customs officer told them that although the one Ion Scan was slightly positive the other tests were negative; so, they could re-pack their bags and leave. The family had been delayed by two hours and as they left the international terminal to retrieve their car, they were all exhausted. By the time they arrived at Weldene Crescent, Howick, both of the girls were already fast asleep. One at a time Nadine carried the girls up to bed whilst Tony got their luggage out of the car.
"What caused all that fuss at the Airport Tony?" asked Nadine. "That drug dog was very interested in your chino's." Tony Graham-Collins heaved the bags out of the car and faced his wife. He was a tall, blonde and rather skinny thirty-five-year-old. Although he had acne scars on his cheeks, he had inherited good looks from his father. He also had his mother’s disarming smile that made him popular with the ladies.
"God knows what the silly mutt was reacting to. I tell you what though I never want to be strip-searched again. It may be routine for them, but it was bloody terrifying for me. Even though I had nothing to hide I just couldn't stop myself feeling guilty."
Nadine didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned. "I wonder what happens now, do you think that they’ll keep us on record?" Nadine needed reassuring that this episode was over and Tony realised she was close to tears. It was important to play the incident down. Nadine was as tall as her husband yet with a more rounded feminine figure. Her long dark hair, high cheek bones and hazel eyes were a perfect contrast to those of her blonde husband. At thirty-two her innate beauty still turned the heads of many men she passed on the street.
“I wouldn’t think so darling.” Said Tony, embracing his wife.
“The team leader said that because methamphetamine was a Class A drug, they have to be sure, once they get a positive Ion Scan result, that we aren’t carriers. He told me that I might have sat next to someone who had the stuff on their trousers and that there might have been, err… What did he call it? Passive transfer, that’s what he said. Just bad luck I suppose.” Tony smiled at his wife his eyes conveying to her there was nothing to worry about.
“Well, “just bad luck” messed with the children’s heads, they thought their dad was going to be arrested for being a drug addict. You were sort of busy at the time but they were both crying. Thankfully the officer with the dog came back at which point the girls forgot all about you and made a fuss of the dog.”
“I don’t know what to say about that. Do they really think more of a dog than me?”
Nadine saw the little boy behind her husband’s eyes. “Don’t be silly, they were stressed and the dog was a convenient distraction. Let’s go to bed and forget the whole thing. You go on, I’ll be a few minutes tidying up down here. Gosh I am tired; it’s been a stressful couple of hours. I feel as if I could sleep for a week.”
“OK love, and don’t worry about tonight, it’s just Customs being cautious that’s all.”
***
Alex MacLean had been in his new job for just seven weeks. He had been on the Customs Core Training and had a fair idea how the New Zealand Customs Service worked. There was so much to learn, it was only now, having worked on Activity Reports for the last fortnight, that much of the practices and procedures were starting to make sense. Now slowly, Alex was beginning to develop the necessary skills to perform as an Intelligence Analyst. His ‘Collective’ Robin Hickman, his immediate boss, had been allocating reports to him that he could ‘Risk Manage’. These were Activity Reports that were sent from all New Zealand’s Airports and described all th
e interventions by customs officers whether positive, when illicit goods were found, or negative after passengers were interviewed or physically checked. Even in the negative reports, information from the frontline officers covered everything they did and any information they collected. Much of the information gathered, came directly from the answers passengers had given following the standard questions posed by the customs officer. When criminal charges are brought against passengers smuggling illicit goods into the country the activity reports become primary evidence in their prosecution. In incident reports where no contraband was found are still used to gather background information such as names, addresses, passport details and passenger movements that are verified by the intelligence analysts before being uploaded into the Customs database. There the information rests for a minimum of seven years. If such information surfaces again from subsequent reports, the original activity report and the intelligence analyst’s summary is retrieved. This allows the customs service to re-evaluate the risk posed by individuals to the security of New Zealand’s border.
When report AKP0672264 appeared on Alex MacLean’s work queue it was just another routine report detailing the actions of the customs officer that stopped Tony Graham-Collins and his family late on that fateful Sunday night. After Alex opened the file, he checked through the narrative that described what had transpired and the details of the Graham-Collins’ family. Alex then wrote an overview of what happened and then checked the details entered by the frontline officer, in this case Phillip Butler. Alex noted that the Ion Scan reading was only 1.3, but because a second swab had also been positive Phillip Butler, the team leader, had deemed the strip search was warranted. 1.3 was nothing really, just a glitch, but two glitches? Alex was new to the job and as keen as mustard to get it right and not let anyone cross the border that might be guilty of smuggling. He had not worked on any positive activity reports so far, but he might just get lucky with one of the near misses and he thought Tony Graham-Collins could be one of those near misses.
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