Crystal Ice

by Warren Miner-Williams

  But that had been a lifetime ago, before this nightmare had begun. Now, even though he still loved Lisa, Scott knew that nothing could heal the scar in his heart. He would support her, he would still walk over burning coals for her, but he could never be her lover again. Something precious, deep within him, had died when Lisa was in Arohata Women’s Prison. And every time Lisa cried out in the night, every time her tortured body convulsed in grief and in pain, he too wept for the loss of his soul-mate, the love of his life. And every night that the ‘horrors’ tormented Lisa, Scott sat on the floor opposite her door in shame and in grief, paralysed by the past, terrified of the future.

  ***

  Deluded by the very substance she craved Sharon Davis believed that her life was enriched by Crystal Ice. She was wrong, because slowly, inexorably, it was killing her. Meth consumes its victims by stimulating and altering the part of the brain that can be called the centre of pleasure. It alters a person’s perspective, increasing their confidence that meth is the answer to all life’s problems, whilst at the same time decreasing belief in the normal rewards of life. As Sharon’s reliance on meth to carry her through the day increased, her interest in other aspects of life decreased. She had no interest in eating now and went for days without food, and even then, just existing on snack food. In animal studies where rats were given the choice between meth and food, they always chose the meth, and died of starvation. Sharon too was starving, and her appearance reflected that. Convinced that she didn’t need others in her life, she had alienated herself and driven everyone away, yet perversely she was glad that no one bothered with her anymore.

  Though she would deny it, she was no longer in control of her life. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw what she wanted to see. Her self-perception was not how others saw her at all. Others saw her anorexic body, her sunken eyes, her heavily stained teeth, they could hear her grinding her teeth together and observed her constantly twitching hands, her dry flaky skin, her acne and the scabs on her arms that were the consequence of her scratching. But Sharon was oblivious to all this, life in the ‘fast lane’ was good, she felt so good no one could convince her otherwise.

  However, before very long Sharon would plummet into the depths of despair where she would need the Meth just to endure another day and pretty soon nothing would make her feel good anymore. Somewhere, out in the future, the pleasurable effects of the meth were going to recede as the neurotoxic compound permanently damaged the nerve endings responsible for the release of dopamine, the chemical root of pleasure. The attenuation of life's highs would leave more of the lows.

  ***

  Paradoxically, the psyche of the two sisters could not be more different, Sharon was pre-fall and could not feel any better about her life, Lisa was post-fall, and though she had survived she now dwelt in the pit of misery. As exhaustion overtook Lisa, she finally fell asleep. Outside her door Scott had listened to the diminution of Lisa's cries and long after cramp had taken possession of his hips, he struggled to reach his own bedroom. Scott was as tormented by Lisa's despair as she was.

  A lifetime ago Lisa had told him that she was expecting their baby. Not ready to abandon her career for motherhood, Lisa had asked him to agree to an abortion. Scott was devastated by the news and forbade an abortion. But Lisa was already heavily addicted to meth, and seven months after her announcement that she was pregnant, she aborted the baby spontaneously. Throughout her pregnancy Lisa had kept her figure, something that Scott never realised was a result of her addiction. For the entire seven months she had been losing weight, not eating but still feeding her habit. The doctors who attended Lisa told him that the meth had killed the child in utero. Lisa had slowly poisoned their child. Scott couldn’t bear such a burden and left her in the hospital. After that Lisa disappeared. She never returned to their apartment, she never retrieved her possessions, she just vanished. Eight months later, he read of her arrest for possession with intent to supply Crystal Ice. The New Zealand Herald had publicly dissected Lisa’s life and printed it for the entire world to judge. Only when he sat at the back of the High Court listening to the evidence against her did Scott realise the hell she had gone through since he had abandoned her that night at Auckland’s National Women’s Hospital. To feed herself and her habit she had debased herself by turning to prostitution. In law five grams of Crystal Ice was a large quantity, but for Lisa in the end-stages of her addiction it was just a few fixes. Taking in a single session enough meth that would kill any non-user this barely satisfied her needs. Then, with death just round the corner, Lisa was arrested.

  Life without meth wasn’t worth living and the torture that she endured in her police cell without a fix was more than she could cope with. Whether to kill the demons or herself, Lisa banged her head against the cell wall until blood spatter covered the walls. Only the diligence of the duty sergeant saved her life. When they X-rayed her head, Lisa had no fewer than five fractures. After the surgeons had trepanned her skull, to relieve the pressure that resulted from her haemorrhaging brain, she was sedated. In a chemical straight jacket, she was forced to endure “cold turkey.”

  Unlike heroin or cocaine, there is no chemical substitute for meth, and locked within her medically induced coma, Lisa suffered the torture of withdrawal. For two months she lay paralysed, on a ventilator, subconsciously in turmoil. Unable to describe to the outside world what she was suffering. No wonder that when she was allowed to regain consciousness, she tried to commit suicide again. Then, with physical restraints, the torment was repeated. When the ‘night horrors’ visited, she endured them prostrate, bound and gagged. It was only by Scott’s intervention that Lisa remained sane. He had then spent every possible minute with her, talking with her during the day and sometimes holding her frail hand at night. After she eventually appeared in court and the judge passed sentence on her, the force of law physically separated them. How she survived in prison Lisa would not say, either because she was too ashamed or the memory was too traumatic to relive. Scott, a qualified architect, took a job as a bus driver to be near Lisa in prison, and visited her as often as he could. Holding his hand was Lisa’s lifeline, a lifeline that gave her the strength to carry on. Never once did Scott promise more than he was willing to deliver. From the outset Lisa knew that their past life was gone, it had died with their unborn child’s final heartbeat. She was under no illusion that Scott would change his mind and forgive her; after all, she couldn’t forgive herself.

  6.

  Rewa

  Petera Mokaraka swung the 'Ping' 4-iron and hit his intended target with controlled aggression, catapulting the ball 200 metres across the golf range. When he had time away from The Finches, he liked to play golf with his buddies at the Graham Tagg Park, Papakura. However, on this particular Tuesday though he was alone. That didn't matter to Petera because he needed the practice. Hohepa Morgan, one of his usual golfing partners, had complained that Petera was letting him down, telling him that he was playing like a girl. Petera and Hohepa hadn't won a game in over a month and each time it had cost the pair two rounds of beer. Hohepa never liked parting with his money and Petera often accused him of having Scottish descent.

  As Petera hit his last ball, he was not completely satisfied with his practice and left his bay to obtain another bucket of balls. Two bays down from where Petera had been practising, a young woman caught his eye. She had shanked her shot and the ball bounced dangerously against the wooden partition between the bays, nearly hitting Petera in the face.

  "Oh my God I'm so sorry. If you stay there though I'll see if I can hit you with the next one,” the woman joked.

  "You're standing too close to the ball," Petera replied.

  "Are you a professional or an interfering amateur?"

  "An interfering amateur, offering a little free advice. You need at least a couple of hand widths between you and the end of the club. If you stand that close you scrunch up the downswing because your body’s in the way."

  The woman offer
ed him her club; it was a very large 'Callaway' driver called a 'Big Bertha.'

  "Here, show me," she commanded.

  "Not with that club, you need a 5 or a 6-iron." And as he stepped onto the driving mat, he took a 5-iron from her bag. Petera looked down at the woman who barely reached his shoulder. She had raven black hair and smiling dark brown eyes. Small dark freckles were dotted across her nose. Part Māori and part Pacific Island descent she was stunningly good-looking. Petera looked for the tell-tale ring on the third finger of her left hand. There wasn’t one.

  “No, I’m not married, you big hulk, if that’s what you’re trying find out. I’m Rewa Isaacs, so who are you?” Her smile made her eyes light up.

  “Petera Mokaraka.” He stammered. “I’ve got a pig farm near Runciman. And if you’re asking, I’m not married either.”

  “Nice to meet you. You don’t smell like a pig farmer. You’re not making that up, are you?”

  “No, I’m not, I’m just careful to wash properly.” Petera said mesmerised by her. “I’ve even been known to buy some soap from time to time. What do you do?

  “I’m a nurse at Auckland Hospital, nights mostly. My son Robbie plays golf here so I thought I’d smack a few balls after I dropped him and his mate off.”

  “Whose are these clubs? They’re not really meant for women?”

  “They were my late husband’s, he died last year.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” He paused a little embarrassed. “He must have been very young.”

  “Yes, he was. It was a hit and run. Close to our place in Tatariki Street. Not far from here.”

  “I know Tatariki Street. A friend of mine, Hohepa Morgan, lives there.”

  Rewa smiled, and once again Petera felt his heart skip a beat. “Hohepa and my husband Carl were good mates. How come I never met you? You’re so big you could be classed as a local landmark.”

  “Never been called a landmark before.” Petera smiled, she was good value he thought. “Anyway, watch me hit the next one. The process of hitting a golf ball starts as soon as you address the ball. You should have a set routine so that you can eliminate every error.”

  Petera showed Rewa how to stand behind the ball to align yourself with the target. Then how to address the ball, emphasising how far away you should stand and how to properly align the club face. Then taking a slow backswing, to demonstrate the geometry of the club relative to the target, he executed a perfect downswing, releasing the club and finishing in the classic follow through position. The ball soared over a hundred and eighty metres down the range.

  Rewa’s eyes opened wider. Then she laughed.

  “You cruel bugger, what’s that poor ball done to you? My shots might lack a little distance but I’m much kinder to the ball.”

  “Yep, that last one went backwards.”

  Laughing in chorus, Petera warmed to her. She was quick witted, funny and very good- looking. He wondered why they hadn’t met before.

  ***

  Dino Sutic passed the electronic proximity key across the top of the floor safe in his study and the LED indicator turned green. After he entered the password into the keypad, the top of the safe sprang open. He had one minute to remove what he wanted from the safe before the automatic alarm would be activated. Needing only his address book he quickly closed the lid of the safe and pressed the reset button to re-lock the safe. Having extracted the phone number he required, he repeated the process to replace the book in the M75, ‘Sentry Safe.’ Although such security measures were sometimes a pain in the rump, the M75 was the most secure floor safe money could buy.

  The telephone number he needed from his address book belonged to Luka Vidic, the cut out for the SDA (Muslim Party of Democratic Action), the organisation to which most of the drug profits were channelled. Alija Izetbegovic, a Muslim brother, had formed the SDA after being released from prison in 1988. Key to his ‘Islamic Declaration’ was intolerance towards Western religion, culture and economic systems. In his book Islam between East and West he stated that Islam cannot co-exist with other religions. When Muslims become strong enough in any country, they must seize power and form a truly Islamic state. Alija had many followers, including the Sutic family. Dino had been born in Yugoslavia, as it was called under Marshall Josip Tito, the President of the Socialist Federative Republic of Yugoslavia. When Tito died in May 1980 Dino and Levorko Sutic travelled to Beirut, and it was there that the two brothers were recruited into the SDA. Late in 1988 the two brothers met Alija Izetbegovic when he was touring Islamic fundamentalist states in the Middle East, and soon after that meeting, they reaffirmed their allegiance to the SDA and its aim of freeing the Muslim peoples of Croatia.

  Dino slipped a fresh SIM card into his pre-paid mobile phone and rang Luka Vidic’s number. Everything that Dino said to Luka had to be later relayed to the Action Committee that co-ordinated the activities of the group. It was inconvenient, but it was secure. Dino had already uploaded his text message from his PDA into his phone and at the push of a button the message was sent. He waited a few minutes, then his phone rang.

  “Good morning Dino, I hope the weather is good with you. I have your message, I relayed it to the committee, they will reply within the hour. They told me that you are expecting visitors soon. They are good people and work very hard. There is some bad news though, our relative died soon after he got back to work.” Luka was referring to Reihana’s untimely end. “It was very sad; I am sure you will miss him deeply.”

  “Thank you for your news. Yes, we will all miss him. We are looking forward to meeting our visitors, their arrival is eagerly anticipated. They will help us re-organise management and productivity. Nice to talk to you again, perhaps we can talk for longer next time. Goodbye Luka, goodbye.”

  After the line went dead Dino put the phone on his desk and waited for the text message that would arrive within an hour. Then, using a scrap of paper, he worked out which code they would be using. He recalled Luka Vidic’s opening remarks: “Good morning Dino.” The D of his name was the third word from the beginning of that opening sentence and the first letter of that sentence was a G. So, the code sequence for the text message he would receive was G3.

  Dino then switched on his laptop, typed in his 12-digit password and called up the encryption program. After the welcome screen he clicked on the icon for decryption, then entered the Code Key, G3. The code that they used was very simple, so simple a child could use it, but even for a super computer it would be impossible to break. When the encoding and decoding was done by hand, it took a long time. But using a computer not only was this task faster, but the number of code columns was vast and other variances could also be utilised. For example, if Luka had used Dino’s name twice in his first sentence, then all the letter columns would be inverted.

  Suddenly Dino’s phone, on vibrate mode, jumped across the desktop as if it were alive. It was the text message reply. He quickly uploaded the number sequence into his computer, pressed the decode icon, and in less than a second it was decoded.

  The note started with “Allah u Akbar” – “Allah is the greatest.” There was no personal greeting, the committee’s message followed directly:

  “Your visitors will be off Mahinepua at 0200hrs local time Tuesday 4th November, please arrange the reception. They have all the details and are answerable only to us. Please give the squad leader your full co-operation. Everything is in place regarding their deployment, they only require a time and an address. The profits that we have received recently are very pleasing, you have done well. Our relatives around the world will all benefit from your hard work.”

  The note finished with "Subhana rabbiya al Azeem” “Glorified is my Lord, the Great.”

  Dino smiled at the closing comment. The recent profits mentioned were in excess of three million New Zealand dollars, and the projected trade figures that Dino had calculated indicated that they might be able to better that sum by a further million early in the New Year. The drug trade was very profitable and their p
roduct, thanks to the skill of their meth cook Tony Graham-Collins, had a reputation of being top quality, – 98% pure. The sales of Crystal Ice in New Zealand were rising exponentially, and what they couldn’t sell to the Kiwis they were exporting to Australia, thanks to the MV Olga and Captain Goran Sumovich. Organising the reception party for the ‘Sanitation Squad’ had already been done. Now they knew the time and place of their arrival, Dino’s little problem with the Skorpions co-leader, Daniel Tua, was all but solved.

  ***

  For as long as Petera Mokaraka could remember, walking into the bar at the Papkura Tavern, on Great South Road, was like walking into a blue fog of cigarette smoke. Now, since the New Zealand government had outlawed smoking in the pubs, he could actually see Rewa Isaacs entering the bar to meet him. She was wearing a blue denim shirt and jeans, the jeans matching exactly the contours of her shapely hips. Petera also noticed that a number of the patrons turned to view her butt as she walked past them.