Crystal Ice

by Warren Miner-Williams

  Every day Alex processed reports that detailed interceptions of pseudoephedrine, usually Contac NT capsules. Purchasing Contac NT in China is both legal and cheap, a single foil of 10 capsules may cost $2 there, yet can be sold for $20 in New Zealand. The possibility of making fast, easy money is too tempting for many. As a result, smuggling Contac NT granules into New Zealand had reached plague proportions and nearly all of it was coming from China. Some of the larger seizures contained as many as 20 000 capsules, costing about $4000 in China yet worth $40000 in New Zealand.

  So, when Alex MacLean opened Auckland Activity report AKA05 24762 he was surprised that it made no reference to pseudoephedrine. At face value it was inconsequential, compared to the other reports he had processed that morning which detailed the seizure of drugs. There was nothing illegal about the contents of this parcel intercepted at the International Mail Centre. It was a box of 8000 small, zip-lok, polythene bags, each bag just 2cm x 2cm. Reading the customs declaration he saw that, they had been bought on the internet from International Polythene in Austin Texas. But why, thought Alex, had the consignee, Sharon Davis, bought polythene bags from the States when she could have bought them just as cheaply from any Plastic Box store in Auckland? The cost of the postage and packing had made them dearer. The only explanation, Alex deduced, was that they were plastic bags destined for the drug market. They were exactly the size needed for small ‘point lots’ (0.1g) of expensive drugs. And these days that would be methamphetamine, Crystal Ice.

  Sharon Davis had committed no crime. The importation of the little plastic bags was completely legal, though it could be a piece of the jigsaw that was the drug scene in New Zealand. Alex checked Davis’ name, and the address the parcel was destined for, on Customs database. There was a hit on her name. She had arrived back in New Zealand from a holiday in Bali, early in 2000, with her sister Lisa. Having been profiled as possible carriers of narcotics, the two sisters had been referred to the Red Lane. When their bags were searched nothing was found. However, an Ion Scan of their bags did reveal traces of cannabis, and when questioned they both admitted having smoked marijuana whilst on holiday. The sisters had not committed any crime against the NZ Misuse of Drugs Act and consequently they were free to go, but an electronic record of their encounter with customs was recorded.

  The next check that Alex undertook was for 43 Tui Glen Road, Papakura, the property to which the parcel was addressed. It was clean. Following a set procedure, Alex next sent a request to the power companies to ascertain who was paying the bills at the address. The electrical account was with Genesis and somebody called Andrew Kuri was the account holder. A ratepayer check also threw up the name, Andrew Kuri.

  Kuri was an associate of the Skorpions, a notorious motorcycle gang known to be involved with the distribution of drugs, in particular cannabis and methamphetamine. The intelligence record described Kuri, aka Kauri, because he was built like the tree. Also mentioned in the record was a purple 1971 Chrysler Valiant VG Coupe, TA767, owned by Kuri, which was associated with the address. A police check on Kuri revealed that he had been convicted of a number of assaults and woundings in the early 1990s. It appeared, though, that he must have retired, as his last offence was in ’95, when he received six months periodic detention for breaking the nose of Colin Page, a New Zealand Herald reporter who had been snooping around 43 Tui Glen Road.

  A similar check on Lisa Davis revealed that she had been imprisoned for 18 months in Arohata Women’s Prison for possession of five grams of crystal methamphetamine. Though Lisa was not connected to the address in Papakura, plastic bags for drugs and ordered by the sister of a convicted user were a little too coincidental. Looking at the dates, Alex saw that Lisa had just been released. When he cross-checked all the entities in CusMod there were no other hits. None had travelled abroad since Lisa and Sharon had returned from Bali. The hardest job that Alex had to do now was to write a set of intelligence summaries for all the entities he had discovered: about Sharon Davis, the consignee of the parcel, the address of 43 Tui Glen Road, Kuri and the Holden Valiant. So, if any future CusMod enquiry regarding them was made, all the details that Alex had found would be revealed to the next analyst as pieces of the same jigsaw.

  ***

  Late on Tuesday afternoon, at the rear of the empty restaurant Terra Brasil, Dino Sutic and his brother Levorko sat at a large table in an alcove overlooking the harbour. Situated on Auckland’s busy Viaduct Harbour, Terra Brasil was one of the most successful restaurants in Auckland, one so exclusive that anyone wishing to dine there needed to book a table three weeks in advance. Tomaž Kos its top chef, was rated as one of the ten best in the world. Unlike many of the other restaurants on Auckland’s waterfront Terra Brasil closed after lunch and did not open again until 6.30 in the evening. During this time-out the Sutic brothers, forever seeking ways in which they could improve the quality of their service, would first meet with the waiting staff, then the chef, to discuss the ever-changing menu. For both the brother’s business was their whole life and when the two of them discussed business there seemed no distinction between that of the restaurant, manufacturing drugs or terrorism. As one sentence about the restaurant ended, the next, about the bombings in Zagreb, just flowed on as if they were discussing the weather. So, it was just business when Tony Graham-Collins, who had been summoned, sat before them.

  “Tony, this little matter of your daughter and the weed. What’s happening?” asked Dino, in a very disarming manner.

  Tony looked across at both brothers and even though the meeting was informal he felt like a school boy facing the headmaster. “She’s been suspended from school, pending a meeting of the Board of Governors. However, the boys that she was with fronted up to the principal and told her that Carol wasn’t smoking the stuff, she was just ‘hanging out with them’. The principal saw Carol again this morning and told her that on this occasion she was being reprimanded and that no record of the incident would be on file. Apart from two consecutive school detentions she’s been let off the hook. No police, nothing. She was lucky.”

  “Yes, very lucky. I need not remind you that your employment at The Finches is a very sensitive matter, the security of which we can ill afford to jeopardise by having the police investigate your daughter’s misdemeanour.” Dino continued now more menacingly. “I must stress that to ensure that our operations remain secret, we will not hesitate to eliminate any threat to our business. Is that understood Tony?”

  “What do you mean? I hope you aren’t threatening to harm my family.”

  “Look Tony, I’m sure that you are aware of the consequences if our business is exposed by the authorities. A great many people depend on this operation. We have to be very, very careful. If you, or your family, pose a threat to what we are trying to achieve, then that threat will be removed. We can smuggle you, and your family, out of the country – that isn’t a problem – but we have a great deal invested in you and what we are doing at The Finches and we don’t want to lose you or the farm. We need to be above suspicion. You do understand Tony, don’t you?”

  A cold chill ran down Tony’s spine and his mouth became dry. “Yes, I do. It was just a glitch, the simple mistake of a foolish teenager. Nothing like this will happen again, I can assure you of that.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Suddenly Dino’s demeanour changed, confusing Tony rather than reassuring him. “Now, on a lighter note, another batch of chemicals is arriving in the next day or two. Are you ready for the switch?”

  “Yes, we’re ready to go. I have about three kilos of product nearly ready, so if you could notify the courier for Thursday afternoon, that should be good.”

  “Thank you.” Although Dino was smiling his eyes were not, leaving Tony very nervous.

  “Tony. I’m glad that we cleared up our little problem so easily. By the way, we are having a little celebratory meal here on Saturday evening. Just a few friends. I hope you and Nadine can join us. Say, about eight?”

  “Yes, we’d lo
ve to come.” Stammered Tony. “We’ll see you then. Thank you, Dino.” As Tony rose from his chair, Levorko spoke for the first time.

  “And Tony, remember, security is paramount.”

  As Tony turned to face the other brother he caught once more a note of menace behind the discussion of Carol and her scrape with the cannabis. He had no doubt what they really meant. From now on he would take steps to ensure the safety of his family and himself. The old letter with the family solicitor trick. He would also keep a ledger of his work at The Finches.

  Once Tony had left, Levorko turned to Dino.

  “He’s probably going to keep a diary and deposit some evidence with a lawyer. He’s so bloody predictable. We need to know how fucking stupid he’s going to be.”

  “I think you’re right. I’ll have a quiet word with Sonny,” replied Dino. “We’ll have to keep him in line.” He paused. “Now, the hired help will be here this weekend. Then our little problem with Mr Tua will I am sure disappear. Is everything ready?”

  “It is. You remember I had a text from Goran? The ‘cuckoo in the nest’ has fallen overboard. So, everything is squared away, with no disruption to the manufacturing side of the business.

  5.

  Ice

  With each deep intake of breath, the volatile crystal methamphetamine vapour penetrated deep into Sharon Davis’ lungs, filling each alveolus with the neurotoxin that gave her an almost orgasmic rush. It was a good job it was better than sex because she hadn’t had any of that for months. Methamphetamine searches out the nerve endings in the brain that are responsible for our sensation of pleasure, and on entering the neurones, forces them to release dopamine. As floods of dopamine bind with special receptors on adjacent cells, a rush of exquisite pleasure is created. The saying that ‘The Brightest Light Lasts Least’ is true for the pleasure seeker chasing the rush from crystal meth, because that first blissful jolt is never repeated. As the sensitivity of each nerve ending diminishes, neural function declines, so too the sensation. The rebound that occurs with this insidious drug can be devastating, with severe depression often turning to paranoia and aggression.

  As the meth saturates every nerve ending, the initial burst of ecstasy that Sharon is drawn to subsides and she accelerates into a state of heightened awareness. She feels ecstatic about herself and moves into a world that flashes past at a thousand kilometres an hour. She has boundless energy; her whole life is brilliant and she sees pleasure in everything she does. It is a buzz similar to the release of adrenaline because as meth releases dopamine it mimics the body’s natural ‘fight or flight’ hormone. The euphoria enables Sharon to think more clearly, she is more focused, her blood pressure rises and her heart beats faster. She is direct, more forceful in her actions and has a sense of power. She tells others that the meth effect is not a destination; it is an exhilarating, mind-blowing acceleration. Sharon cannot not accept that she is an addict like her sister Lisa was, it is a social drug, a feel-good high that improves her life. When she is high, she is good company, she is alive, and she is sexy. Sex and meth are a great combination she has never felt such energy, she can fuck for hours. After all, she has the looks and partners are ‘two a penny’. Well, they were. Sex and meth brought new meaning to the saying ‘fuck your brains out’. None of that tantric, sensual shit, with meth and Viagra, her libido is insatiable.

  But methamphetamine has slowly altered Sharon’s character, she has a distorted perspective of reality, she is aggressive and insulting. When she is high, she doesn’t need anybody, she can do anything, now she hasn’t got many friends left.

  Sharon is often high for four or five days, topping up with the ‘smoke’ whenever she feels herself descending. She doesn’t eat properly, but that is part of being a model, keeping her figure trim. Now her weight is a petite 40 kilos. When she gazes at herself in the mirror, she only sees what she wants to see, she is beautiful and she will punch the daylights out of anyone who disagrees with her. People are always looking down at her as if she is shit on their shoe. She sees them, those cowardly bastards that talk behind her back. Now if she sees them, she knows how to deal with them. Puritanical little shits, the lot of them.

  Life is fucking great with meth; everything is bloody brilliant and she wonders why she hadn’t got with the programme earlier. The only hang-ups she has are the visions, as she calls them. Some are fucking scary because they are so real. Sure, she can tell the psychedelic shit isn’t real, what the scientists call pseudo-hallucinations, you don’t have to be a bloody rocket scientist to know that. It is the frightening shit she can’t stand, the monsters in the dark, and those fuck awful smells she sometimes can never escape from. But worst of all is when she feels her skin crawling, like maggots wriggling beneath her skin. Then she will sit for hours scratching at her arms and legs until they bleed, for only when she has drawn blood does the wriggling sometimes stop.

  Sharon cannot see that she is descending into the same drug induced nightmare that nearly ended the life of her sister, Lisa. In Sharon’s eyes Lisa was weak for allowing meth to rule her life. She was a whore who prostituted her body to feed her addiction. Sharon has money, she doesn’t sell her body for a fifty-milligram fix. Sharon is oblivious to the pathway she has chosen, a pathway paralleled with that of her sister, one that will lead to her own destruction.

  ***

  Lisa Davis clawed for the bedside light, fumbling to find the switch as a state of panic started to overtake her. Concomitant with the rising level of panic was its transformation into hysteria. Now hardly able to breathe, and in a last effort to find the lamp, she swept her hand across the table until it crashed to the floor. Her outstretched fingers briefly touched the switch and the room flooded with white light from the shade-free bulb. Panting, trying to fill her lungs with oxygen, Lisa collapsed back onto the bed. Once again, the perpetual nightmare catapulted her awake. Her pyjamas were soaked with sweat and her hair was matted in clumps across her face.

  Each night was a battleground of psychological torment. At the edge of consciousness, the meth was the monster that called to her from the shadows, trying to lure her back to a life of self-destructive addiction. The incentive, the bait, were those first transient flashes of pleasure that only her subconscious could now recall. With her heart racing and her blood pressure at debilitating levels, Lisa forced herself to take, long, deep breaths. Slowly, very slowly, she started to recover. As she stared at the light, her tortured mind groped for the safety of her new drug-free reality, and silently she talked herself away from the edge of terror. This often-repeated experience she described as her night horrors. Lisa had been clean now for nearly two years, yet she suffered still. It was as if she were possessed by a demon that battled for her very soul. Life was a misery, during the night experiencing the horrors, and during the day wrestling with the memories of her shattered dreams; dreams of love and friendship, dreams of accomplishment in her career as a model and privately as a mother.

  Unlike the addiction to cocaine or alcohol, methamphetamine is not physically addictive, instead the withdrawal symptoms are completely psychological. Now sitting bolt upright in bed, Lisa caught sight of herself in the mirror opposite, and saw the nightmare that was her image. Only four years ago she had been a catwalk fashion model, her looks had made her rich. While on contract, she had earned more than two thousand dollars a day. She had graced the pages of all the exclusive fashion magazines and her face had adorned the sides of many buildings with those modern-day LED versions of a billboard. Her looks could turn the head of any man.

  But not now, the face that stared back at her was not her own, it was always the face that she remembered from prison, the one that always haunted her dreams. Although she had put on weight while in prison – ten or fifteen kilos – it had not helped her face. Her eyes that had once reflected her beauty were now at the bottom of sockets that seemed two sizes too big, and the skin covering her cheeks was stretched paper thin and translucent over her prominent cheekbones. Although
her missing front tooth had been repaired the rest of her teeth were still discoloured, and alarmingly ground down. Now, during the day with make-up she looked almost normal. At night though, the mirror was her enemy. But never again.

  Picking up one of her Dr Scholl sandals, she hurled it at the mirror with all her strength. With a deafening crash it shattered into a thousand silver shards of reflective glass. Despair flooded through her, her head drooped, cradled in her bony hands. With the realisation that she had scuttled her life, lost her lover and killed her child, she wept uncontrollably. Her tears released the tension in her upper body and she collapsed onto the pillow. Now, once again, her sobbing was audible through the walls of her bedroom.

  Outside her bedroom, in the passageway, Scott Pearson sat with his back against the wall, his knees under his chin. He too cried, he felt helpless, and part of the torment that cut deep into Lisa’s heart, he shared with her. He had loved her dearly since the time they had been at school together at Takapuna Grammar School, on Auckland’s North Shore. They had shared every highlight of school life. The school production of “My Fair Lady,” when she had played Eliza Doolittle and he had played Professor Henry Higgins, a show acclaimed as one of the best local productions of this timeless classic. Lisa had then considered a career on the stage. They had also shared the trials and triumphs of OPC. Set in the picturesque Tongariro National Park, The Sir Edmund Hillary Outdoor Pursuits Centre had taught them much about themselves and the dynamics of teamwork and leadership. It was while climbing a thirty-metre precipice there, facing fear together, that they realised the love they shared was forever.