Under The Radar

In some ways, it’s difficult to remember there was life before lockdown. People could travel to and from their homes, visiting places anywhere in the world within reason. As long as you weren’t obviously breaking the law, no-one objected. It’s only when something is no longer permitted that you begin to appreciate how important freedom of movement is to you.

These were some of the many thoughts currently going through Graham’s mind as he sat in his rented narrow-boat. It was moored away from the nearest town, quite private in its own way, because he preferred it that way. It was late at night. Other thoughts included: -

      ·        Why didn’t I see the lockdown coming?

·        How much stock have I got left?

·        Does anyone realise how much cash I’ve got on board?

·        Am I a target?

·        On a scale of 1:10, how stupid is it for me to be living and working on a fucking narrow-boat during a lockdown?

Let me try to explain. Graham is a drug dealer. Not in a major way, but more than a weekend amateur. Until the lockdown he made a very good living selling mostly Class B drugs to, well, anyone who wanted to buy them really. He’s built the business up over a number of years and developed a reputation for quality, fair pricing, reliability and availability. Think small-time entrepreneur dealing in illegal stuff.

He comes from a family that spent a lot of time on canals when he was younger, so he is familiar with how the boats and the canal system operate. To his mind, using a narrowboat as a base for his activities is so under the radar he’s surprised others haven’t copied him. At least, that’s what he thought until the lockdown happened a few weeks ago. Now it’s as though he’s got a neon sign on the top of it saying ‘Get Your Drugs Here!’

If pushed, Graham will only say he buys his stock from someone he knows in North Wales. This is a white lie; it all comes from a cousin who lives in Stoke-on-Trent. Being family, Graham knows he won’t get ripped off, and his desire to continue on a small-time basis means he doesn’t jack up the prices too much to his customers.

He’s had run-ins with bigger boys who have threatened to take him out of the game by flooding an area with cheap drugs to entice his punters away, but his areas are already small and thinly populated to the extent it’s not really worth the while of the opposition to do this, especially as his prices are already quite low. As for the police, if they know about his activities they aren’t really letting on.

Graham suspects they know more than they admit, but figures it’s so minor league to them it’s not worth their efforts to try to bust him. There are bigger fish for them to fry in this world with greater rewards. And whilst that might be an obvious assumption to make, Graham knows this to be true as he dabbles as a police informer from time to time. He may be a drug dealer, but he isn’t without morals. That’s why he doesn’t sell the Class A stuff.

He does a small calculation in his head. The lockdown started a couple of days after he’d picked up his most recent stock. With everything going so well in his world up to then, Graham had decided to increase his order quantity to the largest he’d ever placed. He never advertised, but word somehow got around. He’d been so busy selling he hadn’t had time to check the news. When he found out, his first thought was that being canal-based would mean his sales wouldn’t be seriously affected as his punters would simply combine daily exercise with drug purchases. This proved to be the case.

Social distancing and limitations to crowd numbers were also potential problem areas for him, but by being specific about collection times and limiting the sales to just one person he’d been able to get around that. Life was good. In fact, another part of the reason Graham was doing so well was because he was organised. He thought of everything. There was always a Plan B. He’d have made a successful businessman in legitimate circles if he wasn’t so unwilling to compromise.

Graham continues to calculate. He’s getting low on stock now and will need to place another order soon. Paying for it won’t be a problem. There’s at least £40,000 stashed on the narrow-boat in a variety of hidden compartments, the profits from sales so far. He’s noticed an increase in newer customers. From what he’s been able to discover, the bigger boys are finding it difficult to restock as their own supply lines have been affected by the coronavirus outbreak. He worries a little about this for two reasons. Firstly, will his own supply be similarly affected? Secondly, is it possible someone will realise how successful he is with his small operation despite the restrictions and try to muscle in or steal his profits?

He starts thinking again. Being isolated in the semi-countryside is good from the viewpoint there are normally very few people around. Those that are tend to make a lot of noise and can be identified quite quickly. The isolation is bad in that there are very few people around to provide assistance and protection should something potentially bad happen. The security he has on the narrowboat is therefore phenomenal. Movement detection lighting, CCTV, the whole nine yards. There’s also an intruder alarm system that contacts his cousin if activated. He’d love an audible alarm, but that would bring too much unnecessary attention to him in the semi-middle of nowhere.

Travelling from town to town by narrow-boat is not a quick process. It’s much quicker by car, but the route is not normally as pretty. A cousin in Stoke-on-Trent can normally get to him anywhere on the Trent and Mersey navigation favoured by Graham within an hour tops, normally much quicker. If he can’t, it’s likely there are other cousins more local who can step into the breach. It’s not been needed yet, but it’s a nice reassurance to have.

Overall then, Graham feels fairly, if not absolutely, safe. Add to that Graham’s kick-boxing capabilities and you have a man who seems to be covering all the bases in one way or another.

He has a few contacts in the constabulary, some of whom buy from him (it’s that kind of relationship). They keep him informed about planned raids and what areas to avoid due to increased surveillance. He tells them if he hears about anyone trying to peddle Class A drugs in the vicinity.

What he’s hearing at the moment is the lockdown is creating opportunities for Drugs Squads to try to break apart some of the more established criminal gangs in the area. Restrictions on movement are limiting the activities of many of the gangs, meaning the police are able to control them more easily. Graham has been advised to be careful in case he becomes collateral damage.

The orders are continuing to arrive by text to this week’s burner phone number (Graham changes phones weekly – it’s a sensible precaution). He operates a deliberately opaque system and won’t reveal how he gets the contact number information to his customers. He planned it well and it works. That’s all you need to know. He’s organised the collection timings into 15-minute slots over a period of four hours starting from 4pm. It’s 2pm now and he’s sat at the stern of the narrow-boat looking at the Covid-19 misery on his iPad.

His personal phone rings. It’s one of his police contacts, advising him that it’s possible he may receive an unexpected visit from some colleagues as previously theorised. Graham sticks to the plan prepared many, many months ago to cover such an eventuality. Texts to all today’s customers are sent, cancelling collections. The language is sufficiently vague, but direct enough to get the message about the police across and to expect an update the next day. Next, all stock is hidden away in a concealed part of the narrow-boat. Graham doesn’t think the police will have a warrant. They will just want to make sure he knows that they know about him.

Then, Graham starts the engine of the narrow-boat and sets off for the nearest town in the direction he’s facing. It’s a narrow-boat when all’s said and done; he lives on it and needs supplies, so he’s entitled to travel even though there’s a lockdown in existence. OK, it will take him an hour to get there and he could have used a pushbike he keeps on board to speed up the process, but he needs to make sure the police understand he’s in no hurry and is simply living the languid dream. There’s very little traffic on the canals as holidays have been cancelled, but Graham travels as close to the middle as he can to make life as difficult as possible for the police to jump on board.

After half an hour or so, he approaches a bridge over the canal. There are two policemen on the bridge, one using a loudhailer to tell Graham they want him to stop so they can speak to him. Unfortunately for them, there is nowhere suitable for him to stop that will allow the police access. A crazy situation develops where Graham tells them where the best place for a face-to-face discussion will be. It’s another half hour along the canal – do they know the way? Graham wonders if there has ever been such a slow ‘chase’. He thinks not.

When Graham moors up, one of the policemen is waiting for him. The other one has kept him company for the last half hour, walking along the rough beaten-down path on the muddy canal-bank. Graham thinks he was trying to ensure no attempts were being made to dispose of evidence in advance of the discussion.

The policemen are welcomed on board and offered drinks. It is, after all, a hot day. They accept. They ask if it will be OK to have a look around the narrow-boat. Graham asks why, but suggests they can ‘fill their boots as there’s nothing to hide.’ They do and discover nothing to suggest how Graham earns a living. If they are disappointed, they hide it well.

Graham receives the standard lecture on his alleged activities. There are plenty of ‘we are given to understand’ and ‘from what we know about you’ comments, but it’s a fishing exercise designed to worry rather than anything else. Graham takes his medicine. The policemen thank him for the drink and then leave.

It’s not the first time Graham has received a visit like this and it won’t be the last. He has a window in his diary now and wonders how he’ll spend the rest of the day. He’d pointed out to the policemen how crazy it would be for anyone to try to sell drugs from narrow-boats.

“You go nowhere at a maximum speed of 5 mph. Then there’s all the bloody locks to navigate. You’d be an idiot to want to do that.”

So, to answer the final thought running through his mind when we were first introduced to Graham, the answer would seem to be an unreserved 1. Hiding in plain sight works incredibly well….