USERS KNOW NO BOUNDS

Editor's note: The Edson Leader in conjunction with the Edson and
District Drug Action Coalition is publishing a six-part series on a
local meth addict. This is the fifth and sixth article in the series.
These articles are based on the actual interview of an Edson resident
involved in the use and dealing of methamphetamines. The purpose of
the articles is to educate and create a public awareness of the
extent of methamphetamine use in our community.

"So, back in the 80s it was exclusive -- few dealers, few
users?"

He nodded.

"How about the mid-90s? More dealers? More users?"

"Oh, yeah. Way more. Double, at least. Maybe triple."

"Which would be -- ?"

"About a thousand people."

One thousand people out of an area that likely encompassed 12,000? It
wasn't a great ratio, but certainly not as bad as I expected.

"How about now - 2005?"

He opened his mouth but hesitated and several seconds passed before
he finally said, "You won't believe me."

I blinked. Thus far he'd told me some wildly unbelievable things and
yet here I still sat, taking notes.

"Try me."

He shook his head.

"C'mon! This area has about 12,000 people -- how many do
you estimate use methamphetamine?"

He hiked an eyebrow. "I don't have to 'estimate' -- I'm a dealer. I
know how many people are using."

Chastened, I stayed quiet.

"Okay," he said. "If I was to walk my old path -- the one that I
walked before?"

Meaning the stroll he took when delivering dope. I
nodded.

"Every person I ran into would be a user," he paused to let that sink
in. "It was a long path," he explained. "A real long path and so ... if you
asked me to estimate .... I'd say every second person was probably a user."
He looked me square in the eye.

Doing the math was not hard. "But that would mean ..."

"Around five or 6,000 people?" He asked and nodded, bleak. "Yeah. It's an
epidemic."

After that my questions were rapid-fire:

"If I want meth, how easy is it to get it?"

"Here in Edson? Pathetically easy. It's everywhere."

"Where do I not want my kids to go?"

He gave a sad little snort. "Lock 'em in a bubble," he said. "I told
you: it's everywhere."

But where was everywhere?

"Bars?" I prompted.

"I've never dealt in the bars. But it's there. Bars, alleys, party
places, schools ... what do you want me to say?" He flipped his palms
up. "It's everywhere. It's a bloody epidemic and in all my years of
using and dealing I've never seen it slow down. Not one bit."

A long term Edsonite once said he'd never seen the price of real
estate slow down in Edson. 'Not one bit'.

It seems like the commodity of methamphetamine is equally lucrative.

"Why doesn't it slow down?"

He ticked off answers with the expertise of an addictions counselor.
"'Cause it's cheap, it's addictive and dealers make big money by
getting you hooked."

"And do they? Intentionally get you hooked?"

"Sure," He grinned. "Know why?"

I shrugged.

"'Cause it's about power as much as money. You're dealing
with people's emotions. You're dangling their lives on a string. You get
'em addicted and there's nothing they won't do."

"Nothing?"

"No. And sometimes you'll make a joke of it. You'll say to dealer
buddies, 'Watch this, I'm going to make this guy do something' and
you'll have a little wager going on. And ... they'll do it."

"Like what?"

He laughed. "Well I've never asked anyone to cut their little finger
off but ... I wouldn't put it past them."

I shivered. "What have you had them do?'

"Mostly steal -- the meth trade is equal parts cash and barter.
There's people who work in stores here who collect Visa numbers --
hundreds of 'em -- and trade 'em for dope."

I was stunned -- and he read me well.

"People have no idea how easy it is to be violated. That credit card
receipt they threw in the gas station garbage? Someone's going to dig
through there and steal it. Hell, I could walk into a restaurant
right now and steal a receipt. Identity theft -- it's easy."

"What do you do with all that stuff?

He shrugged. "Collect it. Sell it. Give some away and boom! You're
the popular guy."

"A real Elvis thing."

He completely ignored the sarcasm. "Yeah."

"So as a dealer, what do you want? What're hot commodities?"

"Cell phones," he answered instantly.

"Worth a fortune to a dealer and people leave them laying around
everywhere. Then there's digital cameras, laptops, stereos, fuel cards ..."

He spoke with such gusto. "Sounds like dealing's as much an addiction
as meth itself."

"Oh, yeah!" There was that cunning smile.

"An addiction within an addiction."

A never ending cycle. My heart sank.

"So for a user what's the first thing to go?"

"Relationships. Family."

"Then?"

"Job. Your stuff. You sell or trade it to get high. Then you start
stealing. And you're always lying. That never stops. And, if you get
into dealing ... violence becomes your new best friend. After all, addicts
are intense people. Angry people. So you pack bear mace. Clubs. Knives." He
looked away. "Guns."

Weapons. Addicts, suffering from drug induced paranoia, carrying
weapons. I asked the obvious:

"Joe? Why should people care?"

He looked at me and there was no bravado. No cunning
grin. "Because they'll steal your whole car for the cell phone on the
seat."

Irrationality.

"'Cause they case your place and know just where to find all the good
stuff."

Stealing.

"'Cause they'll flip on a dime and carry guns to protect their
meth."

Violence.

"'Cause the new users? They're kids who don't even have peach fuzz on
their faces and there's no where in Edson where meth isn't."

Easy access.

"'Cause it takes 50 bucks to make it. Four ingredients from the local
drug and hardware stores. Three hours to cook -- and you've got it:

crystal meth."

A cheap high.

"People should care because their kids and friends and family
are getting addicted and when you're addicted there's nothing you won't do
for meth."

Lying, stealing, ... dying.

We sat in silence for many seconds and when we stood I remembered --
he was in shackles.

"Thank you, Joe," I nodded. Then I gathered my notebooks and walked
away.