I’d trained a few new recruits and took the job seriously. I preferred to work alone, at the sharp end, but a strong support team was essential. The new girl, Denise, was trying my patience. She was keen, no question, but had yet to convince me she had the right attitude.
Today’s lesson, drugs – supply and demand. A massive part of the job, big profits, big risks and always dangerous, especially when undercover. I’d been shocked to find Denise knew more about burgers than she did about drugs.
‘Heroin isn’t cheap, but when it comes to upward mobility it has to be cocaine,’ I said, feeling like a presenter on kids’ TV, ‘Most cocaine users expect to pay a premium for their drug of choice. The price of fashion.’
‘Paying through the nose,’ Denise said. Deadpan, her face expressionless.
‘The cheap option,’ I continued, ignoring Denise’s remark ‘has to be crack cocaine. Easy to make, cheap to buy, readily available and does exactly what it says on the tin. Makes you feel good for a pitifully short time while it’s fucking up your life.’
Denise stopped in her tracks, frowning. ‘Look at the state of that lot,’ she said. The sorry little bands of nicotine addicts huddling together in a smoke-wreathed group outside the glass and marble entrances of their political correct office block were the object of her attention.
Denise chuckled. ‘Sad bastards. These days smokers are about as welcome as genital herpes. Not to mention the poor bastards left inside getting on with their work while this lot are skiving off.’
‘Cocaine,’ I said, pointedly.
‘Oh yeah, sorry. Look I know I’m coming across as a right thickie, but what’s crack all about?’
We walked on. It was a good question and I took a moment to work out the best way to answer it.
‘Well, cocaine has always been an up market drug. Think media types, think the middle class dinner party set, think high disposable incomes and you’ve got the ideal end-user for Charlie.
Never likely to be a big seller in an inner city area with low incomes, high percentage on state benefits. Heroin has a foothold, but it also attracts a lot of attention. Not least from blokes like me, not to mention the drug squad. Crack is easy and cheap to make, cheap to sell and highly addictive so your customers automatically become repeat customers. Huge profit margins and yet nobody until now has had the balls to take over the distribution for the whole city and corner the market.’
Denise obviously wanted to ask another question, but said nothing. ‘With me so far, Denise?’
Denise nodded. ‘Could you just explain a bit more about the difference between…?’
‘Crack and cocaine?’
Denise nodded.
‘Main difference is that cocaine is a white powder, usually snorted up the nostrils. Crack cocaine comes as a soft crumbly rock. Best effects come from smoking it like pot. Manufacture couldn’t be easier. You need a small quantity of good quality pure cocaine. That’s expensive, but you don’t need a lot. Add water and baking soda, mix together and then boil off the liquid. What’s left resembles soft crumbly pumice stone. That’s crack cocaine.’
‘What’s it do? For the user, I mean. They smoke it, right?’
‘Yeah. Smoke it for an instant high. Forget your troubles for a short time at least and become invincible. It is incredibly addictive and a good dealer can build up a huge client list very quickly. That means the man at the top is making mega-bucks.’
‘That’s who we’re after? The squad I mean. When you go under, that’s who you’re after? The man at the top?’
I nodded. ‘That’s the plan.’
Denise looked thoughtful as we crossed the road towards the pub.
‘Are we losing the battle?’
I nodded. ‘Maybe. Old style drug dealers, we knew them all. Mostly they lived locally, almost all of them still lived with their mothers. Drugs, at street level, that’s a young man’s game. Always has been. The new boss changed some of the rules when he moved in. His dealers are all young lads; he looks after them and gives them hope. That’s a big change.’
‘You make him sound like a bloody social worker,’
I shook my head. ‘He’s no social worker. He’s a ruthless bastard. He can afford to look after his troops, it’s good business practise. I honestly believe that this guy would have made a success in just about every business.’
‘Tycoon is he?’
‘Supplying drugs is a business like every other. A very profitable business. For the first time, a humble foot soldier can advance in a proper career structure. I find that bloody scary.’
We entered the pub, walked straight through to the back room where we were due to meet the others.
Nobody there.
I bought drinks and we sat down to wait.
‘You were saying, this new face, he does things differently?’
I drank the top inch of my pint. Not bad. ‘The new face as you call him has taken the drug scene to a whole new level in less than a year. He’s put most of the old guard out to pasture and we still know fuck all about him. It hasn’t been for lack of trying either. Us and the police, we’ve got nowhere.’
‘Isn’t this Drug Squad territory? You know, police work?’
I took another drink. ‘Yes and no. We do what they can’t do. Police undercover lads, they still look like police, still think the same way. Blokes like me, you’d never take me for a copper.
Denise smirked. ‘You’re right there,’ she said.
‘Drug squad, police. Are good at what they do. Bloody good. They get good feedback from the streets and every time they lift some low-level dealer the first thing he’ll want is to make a deal. Swap information for a lesser charge. Mostly, they’re users themselves and a night in the cells is a night without a hit. They need it, can’t do without it, so they’ll shop their own mothers if it means they get back on the streets.’
‘What changed?’
‘Everything changed when this new guy took over. Young disadvantaged kids make up his distribution network. Fearless, eager to please and greedy. Now they’re much younger. Low teens, sometimes even younger. Fiercely loyal, unlikely to be users, far less leverage.’
‘Why?’
I shrugged ‘Not sure. Think about all those kids kicking a ball against a wall who want to run out at Anfield and be instant millionaires. Only a tiny fraction ever make it, but it doesn’t stop them trying. What are the odds against winning X-Factor? There’s no shortage of entrants, is there? They all want fame, money, success. The drugs trade is easier. No talent required.’
Denise sat quietly, said nothing. A man stuck his head around the door, looked at us and went out. The tightly stretched skin on his scrawny face was tinged with a sickly yellow hue. A blank face without expression.
‘See him?’ I said.
‘Yeah. What about him?’
‘We weren’t who he expected to see. We weren’t holding. The man he’s looking for would have slim plastic bags of white powder in his pockets.’
‘A dealer.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s a dealer look like?’
I smiled. ‘A week from now, exactly like me. Our friend out there, he’ll be a customer. Him or someone just like him. That’s my next job. Getting known, moving up the ladder. Getting noticed.’
A clatter of feet announced the arrival of the others. We had a chat, talked about the job for a while. The team leader took me to one side. He wasn’t my boss, but he ran the team who looked after me. I liked him, respected him, but tried to keep it as a business relationship. We weren’t mates, not as such.
‘What do you reckon?’ he asked.
I knew what he meant. ‘Denise? Not ready, nowhere near,’ I said.
He looked relieved. ‘Thank fuck for that. Now I can give her one and send her back to where she came from with a clear conscience.’
