Narc – Part Six – H is for Heroin

Kings field house at Ft. Riley, Kansas was one of those large stone structures that probably dated back to well before the Second World War. Built of the same gray rock that so many of the buildings at Main Post was built of it had served God knows how many soldiers and probably in a variety of roles.

It was a building I practically live at. It had a large gym area for basketball or volleyball, a well equipped weight room, a boxing ring and of course, a rec room complete with the latest video games, pinball machines, and pool tables.

The weight room is what drew me, and I spent at least an hour a day working out there.

Michael was waiting outside as I pulled up in a gray in color Ford Taurus that practically screamed cop. He got into the passenger side.

“How you doing tonight, Michael,” I asked.

It was 8 PM on the dot. The skies were starting to darken and Venus shone like a diamond in the sky.

“Good. You?” he said.

We made small talk as we drove not into Junction City right away, but to Camp Forsyth. Forsyth had been built during WW II and many of the barracks were still standing. Some were used by the Cav guys while others were used as the PLDC (Primary Leadership Development Course) school. Most were deserted. We drove to one that was in an isolated corner.

The rest of the team was waiting for us there near two old barracks. A streetlight provided illumination. I wondered if the MPs would see us and come and check us out.

“Hey guys,” I said as we got out. “This is Michael.”

Bill was our team leader, and he was a warrant officer at CID. Truth be told, he didn’t look at all like a cop. An accountant maybe, but certainly not a cop.

“Hi, Michael,” Bill said, shaking his hand. “Rich briefed you on what’s going to happen here?”

“Yes, you’ll frisk me for drugs and weapons. Then you’ll give me my money. I’ll go with Rich and he’ll drop me off. I go in, make the buy, I come right out.”

That put everyone else on surveillance mode. They’d park and watch. Bill would stay mobile.

“Good,” Bill said. “Let’s get the show on the road.”

“Michael,” I said. “Spread your arms out.”

I did a pat-down search, but paid close attention to his pockets, around his waist and his shoes. All he had on him was his wallet and keys. The idea here was we could testify he had no drugs on him prior to going in.

“Wallet, please,” I said. He took it from his pocket and handed it to me. Opening it, I leafed through it. “You’ve got what?” I asked. “About fifteen dollars in cash?”

“Yes.” I took it out and counted it out in front of him and the rest of the team. “Here,” I said. “Let’s put it in this envelope. I’ll hang onto it until after the buy.”

I sealed the envelope and put the amount on it. I then put it inside my jacket pocket. I then reached into a different pocket and took out a different envelope. I tore it open and took the money out for the buy.

“Twenty five dollars. Right?”

“Right,” he said.

I counted off the money to him; a twenty and five ones. Each bill had been photocopied and the serial numbers recorded. The reason for that was if the individual the buy was made from was arrested and had the money on him at the time, we could tie the money to the buy.

He put the money in his wallet.

“Let’s go,” Bill said.

We wouldn’t arrive all at the same time. Dave would drive into the neighborhood in his pickup and park down the block. Tom used his personal car and he’d do the same. Bill was driving an old blue LTD and would just cruise the area.

Only when they were ready would be go in.

We waited.

“How’s your Granny?” I asked.

He smiled. “I talk to her almost every day. I told her what I was doing and she said she prays for me and you guys every day.”

I couldn’t recall hearing of anyone outside of the family praying for me. “Tell her I appreciate it.” I needed all the prayers I could get. “You talk a lot to her, don’t you.”

He was quiet for a moment then said, “She raised me.”

Oh?

“Mom was always working, and somebody had to take care of me. She made sure I had food, a place to sleep when I needed it, and she took me to church.”

I noticed he said nothing about his dad. I wondered what that was about, but didn’t pursue it. I didn’t know him that well and didn’t want to pry.

Then I realized something that if I were smarter, it would have scared me. I was trusting my very life to someone I didn’t know. Who was to say he wouldn’t put me into a position where I could get hurt or killed.

I changed the subject.

“How far out are you from ETSing (End Tour of Service – ing added)?” I asked.

“About seven months,” he answered.

“Plans?”

“I was going to go to school and become an engineer. But I might change?”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I feel like I’m supposed to go to Bible college and become a minister.”

He’d make a good one.

“We’re ready for you guys,” Bill radioed.

I picked up the pack set radio and answered. “Rolling.”

We crossed the bridge proper and came down the main drag in Junction City.

“Keep going,” Michael said. “But you see that liquor store on your left?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a house right next to it. Don’t look directly at it,” he warned.

I knew what house he was talking about.

“White with green trim, on top of a small retaining wall?”

Small was a relative term. The wall was at least three feet high.

“That’s the one. Ever noticed there’s at least two or three brothers sitting outside.”

I’d seen them and never thought much about it. We drove past the house, and I looked at it out of the corner of my eye. There were three guys just sitting there on stumps or milk crates, shooting the bull around a small fire pit. Looked like three friends just drinking a beer and talking.

“What’s the deal?” I asked.

“That’s the silver tuna. That’s the place we’ll want to get into. They move a lot of stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“You name it. It’s like K-Mart only for dope.”

If so, it made sense why there were people outside. I seemed to recall that even on cold days they were out there.

“The guys are lookouts?”

“And guards.”

“Are they armed?”

“So, I’ve heard.”

Taking that place down would be the ultimate take down. It would have to be a lightning strike to take a place with armed guards.

“How do you know about this place?”

“I hear things,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do to get us in.”

I realized if he wanted to take the place down, then maybe he was a little of an adrenaline junkie. Drugs aren’t the only thing you can get hooked to. I knew from the buys we’d made downtown that it was a bit of thrill to get it done.

“Turn right up here and it’s about five blocks down.”

He took us into the older part of town. I think I was expecting to show up at some dump of a house with foil over the windows and in bad need of a paint job. That it would be located in a neighborhood that you didn’t dare go into without a platoon of Marines and armor support.

I didn’t this. It was a perfectly respectable neighborhood that looked like it was torn from the pages of the Saturday Evening Post as a slice of the best of America.

Our target was a brick house that had rose bushes, a well-kept yard and trees. There was a good fence around the back yard, and it looked like a swing set in the back. The swing was moving, someone was playing on it. The house was in good repair and lights were on inside and out.

“Surprised?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“They have the stuff even in suburbia,” he said. “Park a few doors down.”

I did and as soon as I parked, he got out.

“Be right back.”

He stepped up onto the sidewalk and walked down towards the house. I watched him go in the car mirror. I’d never really thought about where dope dealers lived. I’d always thought they lived in the worst places in the world. I’d never have thought to look in a middle-class neighborhood.

I shut off the car and cracked the window a little. The smell of grilled steak and chicken drifted through the crack and into the car. I could hear children laughing and playing. Someplace, a dog barked.

Within a few minutes, Michael was back. He got in, closed the door and strapped in.

“Mission accomplished,” he said.

“Any problems?”

“Not a one. They’d like to meet you next time.”

We drove back to base and to the secluded part of Forsyth. We waited till everyone came back and joined us. Last back was Bill who had lingered to make sure no one had followed us.

“How did we do?” he asked.

“Got it,” Michael said. He reached into his pocket and took out a small coin sized baggie of white powder. “Supposed to be China White.”

His tone indicated that he believed that. Not!

China White was, at the time, a street name for almost pure heroin. We didn’t believe for a second it was pure. While it is possible to get heroin in its purest form, it’s worth more if you can stretch it out. We call this cutting. Today, it’s often cut with fentanyl. Back then it might have been cut with almost anything to include sugar, corn starch, even chalk. In theory, the term China White meant it wasn’t cut all that much. If they told him, it was then they meant he needed to cut it to use it. Shooting up almost pure heroin is as dangerous as playing Russian Roulette with a pistol with 6 of 6 chambers loaded.

I received the bag from him and put it in my pocket. “Okay, Michael,” I said. “Let me shake you down one more time.” He was clean, no money and no dope. I gave him back his money.

“Want to get another buy off them next week?” I asked.

“Yeah. Call me when.”

I drove him back to the field house and said good night.

Back at our little office, I took out the bag of heroin and weighed it carefully on the scale. We’d do a quick field test that would give us Probable Cause and then send it to the lab.

But first, I had to photograph it.

One of the things that made me doubt it was really China White was it appeared to be cut with something. Looking at under the streetlamp with the naked eye, I couldn’t tell what it was, but these were small and dark.

But maybe now I could.

I put it on the photo stand, turned on the lights and looked at it through the 35-mm camera. What was that, I wondered seeing the odd stuff through the zoom lens. It almost looked like small grains of burnt rice.

I zoomed in a little closer and when I realized what it was, started laughing. “China white! Sure!”

“What’s that?” Bill asked.

“Look,” I said, having recognized what was in the bag along with the drug.

Bill peered through the camera and frowned. “What is that?”

“You don’t recognize it?”

“No.”

“It’s rat shit,” I said.

“And people are shooting this into their veins!” Bill laughed. It wasn’t a “funny ha-ha” laugh, but a painful “I can’t believe people do this” laugh. “Who’s making the bust on this one. The police or the Department of Health.”

At least the field test and the lab both confirmed there was heroin in there.

But China White!

Not in a million years.