Dominion (94 page)

“Got the tests back from the lab,” Ollie said to Clarence Monday morning. “It was your cup, all right. A couple of fingerprints, yours. There were a few drops of fluid inside plus a crystallized residue. It was heroin.
As
in double mocha, double heroin.”

“Heroin?”

“Yeah. The good thing is, heroin isn’t that popular these days. Cocaine’s taken over. So a heroin purchase could be easier to track. Gracie told the cops you gave her heroin, so it was a solid setup if they drug-tested you. My first thought was tar.”

“Tar?”

“It’s heroin that looks like little brown tar droppings. It’s brown because it’s been cut, you know, diluted with chocolate or coffee grounds. Blends right in with a mocha. It would have to dissolve, though, so we’re not talking real tar. But the guys who cut it to tar start with raw heroin, the pure stuff. It’s powder, super strong. Every once in a while some gets out before it’s been cut, and three or four addicts die the same day before somebody figures it out. I’ve got a guy I think might be able to help us. Want to get in on it?”

“Sure. Thanks, Ollie. How about two o’clock?”

Ollie drove Clarence down a southeast Portland residential street. He went up to the door and knocked. The dark brown man who answered the door looked to be fifty.

“Clarence, this is Pepe.” The men shook hands, Clarence noticing the needle tracks on his arms. “Pepe got addicted to heroin when he was injured in Nam, and he’s been on it ever since.” Ollie’s directness didn’t seem to offend him. “Pepe, how much heroin would it take to knock a man Clarence’s size out for four hours?”

“Depends on how pure.”

“The purest stuff you can buy on the street.”

“You can get forty or fifty percent pure, China white, they call it. Regular user?”

“Never,” Clarence said.

“First time, on China white? A thirty-cent bag would kill him. Even a twenty might kill him.”

Clarence looked confused. “Cent means dollar,” Ollie said. “A twenty-cent bag costs twenty dollars.” Now Pepe looked confused, as if he could hardly believe someone could be that ignorant.

“Put him out four hours?” Pepe asked. “Okay, ten or fifteen cents of China white.”

“How much would that be?”

“Maybe a fifth of a gram.”

“Show us how much.”

Pepe reached for the cupboard and grabbed a sack of mashed potato flakes.

“This isn’t the real stuff, is it, Pepe?” Ollie asked.

Pepe laughed. “No.” He took a spoon, turned it upside down, and used the back of the handle to measure a very small amount of the flakes.

“This much would put him out.”

Clarence could hardly believe it. It was less than half a little packet of sugar.

“Even after you woke up, this would bring on the nods,” Pepe said.

“Yeah, I was nodding all right,” Clarence said. “Light-headed, groggy, sleepy”

“Dizzy?” Pepe asked. “Turned green? Diarrhea? Vomiting?”

“Yes.”

I can’t believe I’m talking with an addict as though he’s my doctor.

“At first you can’t hold down food when you’re on the drug. Then you can’t hold down food unless you’re on it. It’s a demon,” Pepe said matter-of-factly.

“Would you be able to taste it in a cup of coffee?” Ollie asked.

“Small cup?”

“Big. Sixteen ounces.”

“Weak or strong?”

“Double coffee, chocolate, caramel flavor, plus milk.”

“Heroin is sour, but in something that big and strong? Probably wouldn’t notice it.”

“Where would you get China white around here?”

“Chinatown. Or on the east side, on Eighty-second, at a Chinese restaurant.”

“You can buy it at a restaurant?”

“Not every restaurant. I know which ones.” He wrote down two restaurant names.

“Take care of yourself, Pepe. You’re not slingin’ on me, are you?”

“No. Not slingin’. Usin’ sometimes, but not slingin’. Been takin’ my grandkids to church.”

“That’s good. Just make sure they don’t lose their grandfather.”

“Okay, Ollie.” The two Vietnam vets shook hands. As Ollie went out the front door, Pepe saluted him. Ollie made a call while he drove Clarence toward Chinatown.

“Officer Wong in Narcotics please. This is Detective Chandler. Yeah, hey Joe. Listen, I’m trying to trace a sale of China white. Can you point me to the highest volume dealer in Chinatown?”

“You armed?” Wong asked.

“Yeah. But I’m not after the dealer. I just want info on a customer.”

“China white? There’s not that much of it in Portland anymore,” Wong said. “More of an East Coast thing. People here have graduated to crack and zip. Lots of tweakers around. But a little China white still gets imported for the long-time addicts. They get it from just one source, and he gets it from the East Coast. His name’s Lee. He’s got a little knickknack shop on Third Street, called Lee’s Curios. You can’t miss it. Tell him I sent you or you won’t get a word out of him.”

Ollie turned right on Second Street, under the colorful archway covered with artwork denoting the entrance to Chinatown. Clarence looked at the guys sitting on the streets. He noticed the tattoos. One had a prominent eagle on his arm, another high on his chest, his shirt unbuttoned. He saw large tattoos of knives and swords and dragons.

“I think the dragon is for martial arts,” Ollie said. “Not sure about the other stuff. A lot of these guys are professional criminals. Auto theft, burglary, shoplifting. The more serious ones are into armed home-invasion robberies, loan shark collections, prostitution. Even murder for hire.”

“No kidding?”

“Look at that young guy.” Ollie pointed to a short muscular Asian with a New Wave hairstyle and clothing. “If he was dressed differently, he’d look like a college student. He could be. Some of these guys go back and forth. They come here, sell drugs and steal to finance their education. It’s weird.”

“What’s with the round marks on his hands?”

“Cigarette burns. You find them on lots of the Asian gang members. Self-inflicted. They show bravery. Filipinos have quarter burns.”

“Quarter burns?”

“They get a quarter hot in a fire, then press it on their skin. The hotter the quarter and the longer it’s on the skin, the better you can see President Washington’s head. The clearer the image, the braver the image bearer. See that guy? Going on the nods? Scratchin’ himself? Heroin. The amount he’s on right now would probably kill both of us.” They swung up to Third Street and found Lee’s Curio Shop.

Clarence and Ollie walked in together, feeling as if they’d entered another world. The smell of incense, the products being sold, everything was alien. Either man by himself would have stuck out. Together they were as noticeable as men from Mars.

Ollie showed Lee his badge and ID. “Officer Joe Wong sent me. I’m not after you, Lee. I just have a few questions. What can you tell me about a customer, maybe a new customer, recently buying your product? And I don’t mean incense or chimes.”

“Most my customers regulars,” Lee said. “Know them well.”

“We’re looking for someone intending to use China white to knock somebody out. Don’t suppose they would have told you that, though.”

Clarence thought he saw a light turn on in Lee’s eyes. “Few weeks ago man never seen before ask me about pure China white. Ask if I sure it would dissolve.”

“Dissolve?”

“Yes. In coffee. Could not understand why mix heroin in coffee, but he was white man. Sometimes have strange ways.”

“Anything else you can tell me about this man?”

“Only that he was with another man. Very unusual.”

“Unusual in what way?”

“Other man was black. Very big. Look like this man.” He pointed to Clarence.

“For moment, I think was him. Very strange to see black and white man together. People stay with own kind.” He looked uncomfortably at Ollie and Clarence, who stared for a moment at each other. Ollie jotted down as much descriptive detail as Lee could give.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Clarence said as they walked toward the car. “You’ve got white, black, Hispanic, and Asian addicts. You’ve got white, black, Hispanic, and Asian pushers. You’ve got white, black, Hispanic, and Asian officers and detectives and pastors and businessmen and you name it.”

“Yeah,” Ollie said. “It’s almost like we’re all part of the same human race, good and bad.”

Clarence caught a sudden sidelong glimpse of piercing color. “Look at that, would you?” He pointed to the sky.

It was a spellbinding rainbow, not the ethereal shimmering type, but the carved out solid sort that look as if you could get on top and slide right down, skidding back and forth from one color to the next. The flaming red ribbon moved into a glistening orange, a brilliant yellow, then green and blue. The blue receded into the blueness of the sky, reappearing when set off by the browns and greens of Portland’s west hills. Clarence had never seen glistening violet like this. Dani would have loved it.

What did Dani used to call rainbows? God’s promise of hope? This rainbow, though, ended not in a pot of gold, but in the dull gray grime of littered streets. Clarence looked around and saw some kids walking. Several of them saw him and Ollie looking up and followed their gaze. They looked quickly back down at the street, the sky holding no promise for them. But Clarence watched two teenage boys on the corner stop dead in their tracks and gaze at the rainbow, captivated by it. Seeing those two boys somehow gave him hope.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Clabern,” Jake said to Clarence after they watched the Packers play the Bears on Monday Night Football.

“That can be dangerous if you’re not used to it,” Clarence said.

“I … want to ask your forgiveness,” Jake said.

Clarence sat up. “For what?”

“For my part in the hurt you and your family and your forefathers experienced.”

“And your part was … what?”

“Okay.” Jake took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking this through, so here goes. I know if my grandfather stole from your grandfather it isn’t my fault. But if my grandfather used that money to buy a house and send my father to college while yours couldn’t go because he didn’t have money that was rightfully his, then not only did your family suffer from the stealing, I benefited from it. Without realizing it, I’ve been the beneficiary of the exploitation of slaves and sharecroppers. Their loss has been my gain.”

“Then it’s their forgiveness you need, not mine,” Clarence said.

“If I could apologize to them I would. But they’re not here. You are. And you’ve lost an economic and educational heritage you could have had if they hadn’t been enslaved. You’re an extension of them, just like I’m an extension of my forebears. So it comes down to me and you, because we’re the ones here. I really feel like I should ask your forgiveness.”

“Jake, I’d forgive you for any wrong you did to me, you know that. But I still don’t see how you can repent for sins you didn’t commit.”