THE INFORMANT: COCAINE BOOM BEGINS

This is the second in a series of exclusive articles by Examiner
reporter Galen Eagle who interviews a local drug dealer who became an
agent for the local police and brought down a circle of people in the
Peterborough drug trade

In most industries, beating up somebody would rarely open doors for
career advancement.

Yet it was Merv Monteith's fists that got him his first big contact in
the drug world.

Up into his late 20s, Monteith said he had little exposure to hard
drugs.

He had seen small amounts of cocaine before and once served a short
sentence on behalf of a Satan's Choice member for a small amount
seized during a traffic stop.

But if cocaine was in the city before, it wasn't out in the open, he
said.

That was all about to change.

At 27, Monteith was a bouncer at the west-end strip club Porky's.
After trying to go straight for several years, his bar job inevitably
put him back with past seedy characters from his past.

A former biker gave him his first opening into a new line of
work.

"He said, 'hey, do you want to give me a hand, moving this stuff?'"
Monteith recalled. "I didn't really know much about cocaine. I
actually had to ask, 'how much do you sell this stuff for?'"

Monteith had one major advantage. He was popular.

"I knew a lot of people and because of my lifestyle, a lot of them
were shady," he said. "That's how I started and I never looked back."

For about six months, Monteith sold grams of cocaine, making little
profit while doing most of the work in his new partnership.

For every five grams of cocaine he sold, he would profit
$100.

He wore two hats. First, he was a drug dealer. Second, he was a debt
collector.

Years of experience in foster homes and jail coupled with his large
size, he's well over 200 pounds, made him a formidable enforcer.

In years to come, he would often be sent in to collect major debts on
behalf of other dealers.

"In later years, I was the last resort. People didn't want to see me.
If people saw me, then that's because every other avenue was
exhausted," he said. "Nine times out of 10, I never had to use force.
Once I showed up, they wanted to pay."

There was "only one time" Monteith said he had to break some-one's
legs with a baseball bat.

After selling nickel-and-dime stuff for six months, Monteith says he
ran into a man named Brian Burrett after confronting someone who owed
him money.

If you were to write the history of cocaine in Peterborough, Burrett
would be one of your main characters, Monteith said.

(In 2006, Burrett, then a 39-year-old, pleaded guilty to two counts of
conspiring to traffic cocaine and got two years and three months in
prison. In 2008, Burrett pleaded guilty to trafficking more than two
kilos of cocaine and got seven years in prison).

Burrett's Toronto connections began to flood Peterborough with cocaine
in the late '80s and early '90s, Monteith said.

"The thing that actually brought us together was I beat up one of his
workers because he owed me money," Monteith said. "He called me in for
a meeting and we became friends."

With Burrett's help, Monteith began his ascent up the food chain, he
said.

"He was a supplier. Instead of grams and stuff, he could give you
ounces."

Cocaine hit Peterborough like a tidal wave and Monteith said he was an
earlier opportunist.

"That's how it hit Peterborough. This drug was known as a rich man's
drug. All of a sudden people could afford it and felt like they were
big shots," he said.

"It was new to me. It was new to a lot of people. It was new to the
police."

With the hottest party commodity in his possession, Monteith said he
would be the centre of attention wherever he went.

"I was doing a lot of cocaine because of the novelty. I would bring it
to parties, I would share it with friends. I was the man with the plan
kind of thing. Everybody wanted to party with me."

He could purchase an ounce for $1,500 and make as much as $2,000 in
profit, he said, moving several ounces per week.

The novelty began to wear thin, Monteith said, as the drug's downside
became more and more apparent.

"A lot of people who were good people, all of a sudden became drug
addicts," he said. "I wish I could turn back time and actually stop
it. The amount of drug addicts and drugs in this town today, it would
almost make you want to cry."

Fellow dealers would hand out free samples to get customers hooked,
Monteith said.

"(They) would give people free stuff just to turn them onto it, just
to get them hooked. That was the big thing," he said.

After several years of selling cocaine, Monteith said he burned out.
He packed up his life and moved to Barrie and once again attempted to
become a functioning member of society.

He started a career as a truck driver and maintained the lifestyle for
some time, but the lure of easy money and the party scene eventually
dragged him back to Peterborough in 1996. While Monteith had taken a
break, cocaine hadn't. The drug was more available and being used more
than ever, he said.

"I began where I left off, but it was a lot more volume now," he said.
"There was a lot more drugs and a lot more people wanting drugs."

Monteith's pager was ringing night and day.

"It actually was a full-time job because you are going night and day,"
he explained. "I remember walking out of Thursday's (another strip
club that is now closed) with money falling out of my pockets."

Like many businessmen, Monteith would offer consumer incentives to
ensure loyalty from his customers.

"I came up with what I called a red tag sale. I was selling a gram for
$60," he said. "All the other dealers were begging me to raise my prices."

Far from saving his spoils, Monteith threw away money on frivolous
material goods.

"I just blew it frivolously. I bought bikes, cars, jewelry and
partied."

During the 1990s, Monteith said it was local guys like him who
controlled the drug scene. There were no gangs involved in
distribution, he said.

"Peterborough was all ours," he said.

As the cocaine poured in from Toronto, Monteith said the city police
force couldn't keep up.

"It's not that the police couldn't do anything or wouldn't do
anything, they didn't have the resources or the money," he said.

With the ushering in of the new decade, however, the monopoly the
local people had was coming to an end, he said.

New players were coming to town. They wore a big, intimidating patch
on their leather jackets and they didn't like to share.