Methland

A while back, I read an absolutely fascinating and incredibly frightening book titled "Methland."  The book tells the story of how the illegal sale of methamphetamines literally took over a small midwestern town. The book also makes the point that this town is typical of many if not most small towns in America.  The manufacture and distribution of meth has become part of the culture.

I was reminded of this yesterday.  I was working a suspected identity theft case.  Information had come to my attention that my client's identity information had been used to attempt to purchase prescription drugs in a nearby town.  I instructed the client to go along with the pharmacy. I would then show up to pick up the drugs and demand the transaction information concerning the person who actually placed the order.

As is my habit, I made a courtesy call to the local police.  I told them that I would be in their jurisdiction shortly, where I intended to go and what I intended to do. One of the their narcotics detectives agreed to go with me when I attempted to finalize the suspected "buy."

When we walked into the pharmacy, I took a position to the left of the two cash registers where I could see what was going on behind the pharmacy counter.  The detective took a position to the right of the pharmacy window where he was partially hidden by sales displays but could still see the transaction if it took place. While the odds were extremely remote that anything bad was going to happen in this little drill, it was still comforting that the young detective had also taken a position that "covered" me nicely in case somebody did get stupid.

Of course, the pharmacy disavowed any idea of the alleged prescription and could find absolutely no information about it in their records.  They were at a loss to explain how my client's name got into their prescription system at all since he lives in another city, does not and has never used that particular pharmacy. As we were winding up our little exercise in questions and denials, a second cashier showed up and began taking customers.  What I saw next stunned me.

She was a blonde of about twenty.  She wore very brief shorts, a sleeveless top and flip flops.  She was still a beautiful girl but the marks of her future were already visible.  Her skin had the sallow pallor of a meth addict.  Her arms were tightly gripped across her chest as she tried to control her shivering on ninety degree day. Her eyes were already showing the first signs of the living dead zombie stare of a meth addict. She produced an Oklahoma state ID card that clearly indicated that it was not a driver's license.

Imagine this scene.  You walk into your small town pharmacy and two armed men are standing on each side of the counter, an aging PI in a suit and young narcotics detective in his shirtsleeves with a service weapon and cuffs showing. Our appearance screamed "cop" from a mile away.  She had to know that we could see her condition.  And still, she walked right up to the counter between us and ordered the legal maximum of generic pseudoephedrine.  While it was a perfectly legal transaction at that point, the young detective rolled his eyes in amazement as he heard it.

These folks often work in pairs.  As soon as I saw her and "made" her as an addict I looked around and, sure enough, a slightly older woman with a family resemblance, pushing a baby carriage, was about ten feet behind her.  This person was obviously in more control than the girl making the buy because she looked very worried.  But, she was also not about to have anything to do with her partner making the buy.  As we walked out the door, the young detective laughed and said something to the effect that we both knew where those allergy meds were headed.

Welcome to Methland, Oklahoma, USA.