WHEREVER those drugs worth P6 billion-plus have landed, we’re seeing bits and pieces of them being seized in daily raids and apprehensions north and south of the islands. In so-called gated communities where security guards do not allow just anyone to go past their scrutiny, the merchants of suicide in small doses have found a haven to conduct their deadly business in town houses, detached housing units, and condos.
In one recent event in an upper-middle class subdivision in Metro Manila, it was the owner of a town house who blew the whistle. She told the police and PDEA she became suspicious when her tenants suddenly vacated the house and left evidence of what could only have been a repacking operation. Containers the size of tea bags and what a neighbor called “giant tea bags” along with other paraphernalia were found at the scene.
What alerted the owner? She was paid P60,000 a month, never mind that the going rate in the area was P35,000. She was paid in advance for 12 months as long as the tenants could move in within three days. Reassured by SWAT cops and PDEA agents, the neighbors began telling their stories in dribs and drabs. The tenants hardly went out, they taped the windows with manila paper. As for the guards, they let the foreigners exit the village because their car carried the proper sticker.
The group – Chinese mainlanders, whose interpreter was their broker – showed two plain IDs of a company that was most likely nonexistent. They were not asked to produce any legal document, their peso bills being legal tender enough.
Before the drug lords’ shabu labs were destroyed, warehouse-size was the way to go, or dark and dingy dens. Now they have shifted their comfort zones to cozy neighborhoods. They’re also using boats to smuggle and float their merchandise, commercial flights and the post office to bring in the contraband. Next, should we wish that children of the lords and their ladies became addicted to their parents’ source of wealth?
