Part 3 Of 6

DRUG WARS

Danger Is Real On The Front Line; The Shocking Experience Of Looking At The
South Shore Through A Drug Detective's Eyes

Neon headlights slice through the dark night. A sleek blue Lexus glides
along dimly lit suburban streets, traveling faster than a car whose driver
is simply heading home for the night. This one pushes through Randolph's
sleepy landscape with purpose.

It darts past rows of quiet split-level ranches with curtains drawn,
revealing only flickering television light.

It hugs curves and speeds by dogs being silently walked in and out of
shadows at street's edge.

Turning into the parking lot behind an apartment complex on Bridle Path
Circle, the Lexus stops just beyond the yellow swath of light spilling from
the building's east entrance.

While the car is still running, the driver's door opens. Todd Hicks, a
nearly 6-foot-tall, stocky, 29-year-old Boston resident emerges, talking on
a cell phone.

So far, so good for Hicks. The weekly crack delivery is going as usual.

But before Hicks takes another step, his Lexus is boxed in by five unmarked
police cars that seem to spring from nowhere.

A brief shout of frustration from Hicks rises above sounds of feet running
across pavement and car doors slamming.

He looks left and right frantically, searching for an escape as police
close in, but finds himself already trapped, surrounded by a half-dozen
undercover officers, parked cars and a set of Dumpsters. There's nowhere to
go but face down on the pavement. A half-dozen sets of eyes are staring at
Hicks' back while handcuffs are tightened around his wrists and flashlight
beams dance around his head.

It all takes place quickly, within a matter of minutes, almost like a
kidnapping. Before anyone in the nearby apartment building stirs, or peers
from behind a curtain, the undercover cars have disappeared into the
darkness again.

And Hicks, who arrived a free man with nearly $2,500 tucked in his pocket
and a $75,000 car, is now on his way to a cell in the Randolph police
station, facing the possibility of a minimum five-year sentence.

He's a big catch. In Hicks' left front pants pocket, police found a plastic
bagcontaining a yellowish, rock-like substance - one ounce of crack
cocaine. Back at the station, police discover the 29-year-old man's rap
sheet includes a long list of convictions, including breaking and entering,
rape, indecent assault and battery on a child, and several drug possession
offenses.

The arrest is the result of about one month of police investigation and
planning, and went down smoother than most do.

But elsewhere on the South Shore on that crisp night, perhaps in dozens of
other places, deliveries of cocaine, heroin and marijuana took place as
scheduled.

There were 296 cocaine seizures on the South Shore last year, according to
state figures, along with 123 heroin seizures, 27 seizures of ecstacy and
1,241 marijuana seizures. That's just a fraction of the drugs bought and
sold here; some police officers say 95 percent of drug trafficking goes
through.

So, while the detectives who took part in the Randolph arrest return to the
station, laughing and happy, they know that before long, someone else will
fill Hicks' shoes. They know that arresting a dealer in Randolph most
likely means business will shift for the time being to another neighborhood
or another town.

There are definitely victories. Neighborhoods can be cleaned up, dealers
forced to move on, children plucked from a destructive path and junkies
pointed toward treatment.

But there is also reality. As long as there's a demand, the drugs will keep
coming. This is not a war that will be won, officers say.

Each day the battle simply begins again.

Braintree police Detective Jeff Jernegan looks more like a fresh-faced
college football player than a drug detective.

He walks with a subtle bounce, has a broad, easy smile, and sprinkles his
conversation with the kind of hip hop phrases you hear on radio stations
that plays the rap songs of Emimen and Jay Z.

Jernegan is 34, but his attire is more hip kid than cop. Dressed in jeans,
Doc Martens and a plaid shirt, he appears ready to head off to an
Abercrombie & Fitch photo shoot, not to mingle with informants and drug
dealers.

Jernegan grew up in Braintree, married his high school sweetheart and has
dog-eared pictures of his children standing up in a crack on the dashboard
of his unmarked police car.

When talking about the ins and outs of drug laws, mandatory sentencing or
the latest narcotic on the market, a different Jernegan instantly emerges,
a serious, focused individual whose tone of voice is all business. He has
been a member of Braintree's drug unit for five years, and talks
passionately about why he chose the work.

"People are out there every day trying to make an honest buck and these
guys, they get up a noon and just 'kick it.' They're not playing by the
rules. Everyone else is trying to do the right thing and they're not,"
Jernegan says.

One this day, Jernegan's shift begins at about 2 p.m. with a phone call
from Randolph Sgt. John Hamelburg.

The 10 or so drug detectives spread through police departments in Quincy,
Braintree, Randolph and Weymouth are like one big team, Jernegan explains.
They know each other on a first-name basis, help each other with arrests,
share information and at shift's end, often have a drink together.

Today, Hamelburg is calling for assistance with the arrest of a dealer
scheduled to make a drop on Bridle Path Circle later that evening. He tells
Jernegan that a dealer is expected to make a drop on Bridle Path Circle
later that evening.

Jernegan is eager to help.

Until then, he'll do his typical rounds.

On most days, you can find him driving around Braintree, listening to rap
music on the radio and "trolling for bad guys."

Jernegan's office is his car, a compact, slightly beat-up vehicle good at
making a quick U-turn.

His record-keeping system is a red leather diary he pulls from the back
seat. The book is a precisely kept 12-month history of the movements and
activities of suspected drug users and dealers. Its white, lined pages are
filled with small, neat handwriting in red, blue or black ink. There are
detailed lists of addresses under investigation, license plate numbers of
cars used by suspicious people and dates search warrants were executed.

Jernegan's eye scans the streets in a way that could forever change your
perception of the community and of your own daily activities.

He pauses to watch people talking on pay phones just in case it's a call to
a drug dealer or a face he might recognize. He comes back for a second look
if someone is sitting alone in a car for too long. He becomes curious if
every shade in a house is drawn, wondering what's going on inside.

Activities that appear ordinary may trigger a closer look and possibly the
start of an investigation.

And when Jernegan's cruising around the community, this is what he sees, too:

On Veranda Road, one of Braintree's quiet, tree-lined street, there's a
two-story home with flower boxes and a flag out front. That's where he
busted a 40-year-old woman, twice.

The first time around, she was charged with heroin possession and
possession of hypodermic needles, Jernegan says.

The woman did six months at a Framingham state prison, a stopover in rehab
and moved back to Veranda Road, according to Jernegan.

He then arrested her for the second time. Jernegan says she had 50 bags of
heroin and was charged with possession with intent to distribute.

Not far away, in a neighborhood sandwiched between Union and Washington
streets, is a tiny residential street lined with middle-class homes owned
by firefighters, nurses, mechanics and carpenters. Among them is a plain,
two-story, white house with a black Lexus in the driveway. Every shade in
the home is drawn.

"Going in there, you'd think you entered a palace," Jernegan says as he
rolls slowly by.

Jernegan arrested the home's 39-year-old male occupant for cocaine
possession with intent to distribute. He and fellow detectives found
thousands of dollars worth of electronics equipment inside the house,
including top-of-the-line Bose sound systems in every room and 32-inch flat
screen televisions worth about $4,000 each. But that's not all.

"We also found a (drug) packaging center - scales, the whole bit," Jernegan
says. About $32,000 in cash was scattered around the house.

Jernegan next passes by a 7-Eleven store, glancing at its parking lot. He's
made about two dozen arrests there. A few minutes later, he slowly meanders
through a parking lot adjacent to the South Shore Plaza shared by Pizzaria
Uno and Circuit City, explaining that these are the places suburban drug
sales often take place.

Jernegan cruises by the Barnes & Noble book store off Granite Street near
the Route 128 exit ramp and notices a man sitting alone in his car in the
back row of the parking lot.

He takes a second pass a few minutes later. The man is still there.

That's too long for Jernegan, who turns into the lot, rolling casually by
the car, noting the plate number.

Pulling into a space nearby, Jernegan grabs a two-way radio off the sun
visor and calls the registration into the police station.

This parking lot has been a lucky place for Jernegan.

In the spot he's now parked in, Jernegan recently arrested three
20-year-olds who sold him cocaine.

"People will sit here in cars facing the highway, waiting for their dealer
to show up," Jernegan says. "Typically, if this guy were meeting someone, I
would give the deal time to take place, give them time to separate and then
I would take this guy off."

The man in the car today, however, turns out to have no prior narcotics
arrests and Jernegan moves on.

For Jernegan and the other detectives working the drug beat in Braintree,
the goal is simple: keep neighborhoods clean and maintain the quality of
life in the town. They do that by shutting down local drug operations,
forcing users out and ending the accompanying transient traffic of buyers
and junkies.

"Take people who are using heroin, for example," he says. "They are
physically dependent on it. They have to have it or they'll be violently
sick. So they'll do anything to get that narcotic, breaking into your house
or mine, your car or mine, to steal stuff and get money to support their
habit. When these people are gone, when they aren't in Braintree, the
likelihood of that happening diminishes."

As evening approaches, Jernegan is sitting in a small fluorescent-lit room
inside the Randolph Police Department's drug unit.

Six detectives are there, and Hamelburg, the Randolph sergeant, has just
passed out photocopies of the operations plan for the Bridle Path Circle
bust and is reviewing them at the front of the room.

As Jernegan looks around, he notices he's the only one not wearing a bullet
proof vest.

When the session breaks up, he asks about this precaution and the sergeant
suggests he put one on. Nothing more is said, but as Jernegan heads back to
Braintree to pick up his vest, he wonders why they are being used tonight.
It's a safety measure Jernegan rarely finds necessary.

Still, by the time he arrives back in Randolph, he's wearing a department
issued $900 vest that stops a .45-caliber round at close range.

The wait begins at about 8 p.m. Most of the detectives are hunched in
parked cars around the building. Hamelburg is waiting for the suspect just
inside the building's foyer. Jernegan is in position a few blocks away from
Bridle Path Circle. He will be the first to see the dealer coming and will
tip off the others.

During the long hours of surveillance, there's little to do. You sit, wait
and watch. Always in silence, with the car off. In the winter, you freeze.
In the heat of summer, it's like being trapped in a tin can with wheels.

The ring of a cell phone strapped to the sun visor jars the silence. It's
Jernegan's wife.

Her voice fills the quiet car.

The kids went to bed early, tired from a visit to the Cape, she says.

Jernegan talks about waiting for a "bad guy" and the unusual use of a
bullet proof vest tonight. Although his words betray some level of concern,
Jernegan's voice is calm and even.

But Jernegan's wife is worried and presses him to call after the arrest
takes place, to let her know he's safe. The wait resumes.

More time passes.

Ford Probe, Jernegan says, as he stares through his windshield, watching
the stream of cars glide silently by.

Toyota Camry, he continues.

A Taurus.

Another Camry.

A Rav 4.

Nearly an hour passes this way.

Suddenly, Jernegan snaps his seat forward from its reclining position,
throws the car into drive, punches the accelerator and radios the others
while speeding toward Bridle Path Circle.

The Lexus has arrived.

"Here we go," he says.

Jernegan is the first officer on the scene. Then cars come racing from all
directions, pulling within inches of the Lexus. In seconds, guns are drawn
and Hicks is on the ground.

Later, as Jernegan heads back to Braintree, he unfolds his cell phone and
dials home.

She's mostly asleep when Jernegan calls. She probably won't remember the
call, he says. But he tells his wife he's OK anyway and he'll be home soon.

In this series:

DRUG WARS

Today: Drug Detective

Let Braintree police Detective Jeff Jernegan drive you around his town.
What he sees and how he looks at things will shock you

Wednesday: Stakeouts, Buys And Busts

It is dirty and dangerous for undercover agents making buys. But that's the
way the war on drugs is waged

Thursday: Our Pill-Popping Nation

Far more people abuse prescription drugs than ever touch cocaine or heroin.
It the silent epidemic

Friday: Is There A Better Way?

To anti-drug warriors, it's simple: do everything we've been doing and
more. But drug-policy reformers say that's doing more harm than good