LIVING THE HIGH LIFE

A Halifax pot dealer who takes home more than $70,000 a year has only one
complaint about his job: no time off.

The demand for marijuana is so great, he hasn't been able to take a
vacation longer than one day in the past three years.

"The money is phenomenal," he says, as he sips a Dr. Pepper in a
comfortable downtown apartment.

But the hours are long and the possibility of police swooping in at any
time keeps him munching antacid tablets.

"I almost forget what it feels like to feel bored," he says. "I think I
would enjoy that for a few minutes."

The Cuban vacation of his dreams isn't in the cards any time soon, though.
The dealer -- who spoke to The Daily News on condition of anonymity --
knows at least 1,000 customers will come to him in the next month looking
to get high.

"I'm a sought-after distributor," he says with a sly grin, estimating he's
one of the top three street-level dealers in Halifax.

It takes about a kilogram of pot a week to keep his customers happy.

He pays between $6,000 and $8,000 for a kilo, divides it up and sells it
for between $10,000 and $15,000. The more you buy from him, the less it costs.

"A single gram goes for $15, you get two for $25, three for $40, four for
$50, five for $60 and 10 for $100."

The profits -- all tax free -- are staggering.

"Seven times this year, I've cracked $1,500 a week," he says.

"My biggest paycheque this year was $2,100."

But the expenses are also high. The dealer rents two apartments -- one to
live in and another one just to store his stash, guarded by a large, quiet dog.

"The amount of expense that I have to go through to keep this out of the
police's hands and the courts is more than I would pay if I paid taxes."

For obvious reasons, the dealer doesn't pay income tax on the money he
earns. But he would like to see marijuana legalized.

"I would love to pay my taxes; I would love join society," he says.

"I don't know a single decent human being in this business who wouldn't
gladly belly up to the Revenue Canada system to pay their taxes in exchange
for having all the luxuries everybody else in this country has."

By "luxuries," he means "police protection."

Selling pot has its occupational hazards. The dealer admits he's been
robbed before at gunpoint, and there's not much he can do about other
criminals taking his money or drugs.

"You are playing on their side of the fence," he says matter-of-factly.

"Generally speaking, I lose about $12,000 a year."

Despite the job's potential for violence, the dealer says he hasn't even
seen a gun for a year.

"Guns aren't part of my day-to-day routine," he says. "I abhor them."

Despite his zest for secrecy, the dealer has no problem allowing this
newspaper to snap photos of his safe filled with cash and weed.

"My mom will get a kick out of it," he says. "It's the safe she gave me for
Christmas."

Besides the money, the dealer gets a certain buzz from his job.

"It's a satisfying business," he says. "I actually enjoy gearing people up
with weed because I know that I'm doing them a favour."

Oddly enough, the dealer doesn't smoke marijuana any more. He stopped two
years ago because of lung problems.

"Smoking weed will cause bronchitis."

No qualms

Despite health concerns associated with the drug, he doesn't seem to have
any qualms about selling it.

"It beats the hell out of getting drunk; it's safer," he says. "You can't
die from smoking weed."

The dealer, who's in his mid-30s, has been selling first hash and then
marijuana for about 20 years. He estimates about $10 million worth of drugs
have passed through his hands during that time.

He doesn't lead a flashy lifestyle.

"I'm sort of known as being a working man's drug dealer. I'm not in it for
the image."

With several children to feed, he has to be careful.

"I can't afford to get caught," he says. "I could lose everything that I own."

The dealer believes police know what he's up to, but he's never been
charged with trafficking.

When he started dealing, he was only selling about 30 grams of Lebanese
hash a week to teenage friends.

"I was good at it for some reason," he says. "I'd probably make between $60
and $100 on a Friday night."

Eventually, he wound up studying business at a local university. But the
classroom lessons in economics were overwhelmed by those on the street.

Instead of graduating with a business degree, the dealer dropped out.

"I made a choice in university. I could see where it was going. It was
becoming very profitable and the demand was massive. I made a conscious
decision when I was in my early 20s to do it full-time."

Since then, the dealer's business has grown slowly. He's seen the supply of
hash dry up in the late 1980s and marijuana grown in British Columbia take
over the market.

About 80 per cent of the pot he sells comes from B.C. The rest is grown in
Quebec. All of it is of the "Kush" variety, named after the central Asian
mountain range where the seeds originated.

Though he's dabbled in what he calls "the production side" of the marijuana
business, this dealer is no pot farmer.

"There's no way on God's green Earth that I could possibly grow what I
sell," he says. "Several people grow what I sell."

While some pot is harvested here outdoors in the fall, he scoffs at the
idea of Nova Scotia ever filling its own marijuana needs.

"The likelihood of that happening is slim to none," he says. "The police
are all over it like flies drawn to a pile of horse manure."

The dealer is coy about how his own pot is delivered.

"The most common way that a bag of weed gets here is by courier."

He has three suppliers, all with links to organized crime.

"It's not the Italian Mafia or the Russian mob or the Hells Angels or the
Rock Machine or the Nomads," he says. "They couldn't negotiate their way
out of a paper bag if they didn't have fear or guns. They're really not
very creative people."

The dealer says his suppliers have agreed to "eat" his losses if he's
busted by the cops. All he has to do is show them an official police court
appearance notice that includes the amount of drugs seized. They'll even
supply him with more pot to start up again if he keeps his mouth shut.

Hush policy

"We be good to you, you be good to us," he says of their hush policy.

The dealer obeys only a few rules.

One of them is he doesn't sell pot to children. Nor will he sell marijuana
to people with bi-polar mood disorders, because it makes them too paranoid.

And if you want to buy pot from this man, don't knock on his door without
an introduction.

"You just bide your time, don't get greedy and wait for a personal reference."

Other people have sold pot for him in the past, but now he's a one-man
show. During one recent transaction, he hands over a brown paper bag of
marijuana to a middle-aged man sporting a ponytail in exchange for a stack
of $20s.

"Look at that -- blood money," he says, examining a red splotch on one of
the bills after the customer leaves.

The dealer knows that, besides the distinct possibility he could wind up in
jail, his job could get him killed. But he has no plans to quit any time soon.

"I'd be happy to do this until the day I die," he says. "I stay in it
because I think it would be stupid to throw $70,000 a year away."