The System - A Detroit Story - (6 page)

Jerzy moaned slightly. "Not bad," he said. "But you have a lot to learn. Miri will teach you."

He held the back of Elena's head, causing her to gag. He finished.

"Clean up," said Jerzy. "You have a customer in ten minutes." He looked at Miri.

"Help her get ready."

Chapter 8

Vlad and Lincoln Seal a Deal

Vlad turned right on the corner of Woodward and Warren, across from the Wayne State University bookstore. He pulled right, splashing through a puddle where a tall, well dressed man stood. He put the CTS in park and the door locks popped open. Cletus B. Lincoln, the Mayor's Chief of Security opened the door and got in, raincoat and hat wet from the rain.

"Damn rain," he said. "Been rainin' for three days straight now."

Vlad saw the rain from the coat and hat run down on the leather seat, turned his head and watched the road. He pulled out on Woodward and adjusted the windshield wipers.

"Get this," said Lincoln. "Eighth Precinct just executed a bust on the west side. Happened a few hours ago. Got a little over ten pounds of smack."

Vlad ran the numbers in his head, and sometimes they ran together- Deutschmarks, Euros, American dollars…this worked out to around eight hundred thousand U.S. dollars.

"Only one arrest," said Lincoln, looking out the window. "Mayor and the Chief are announcing it tomorrow." Lincoln looked at Vlad. "Funny thing is, our dog ripped those motherfuckers off just last April."

"Our dog?" said Vlad.

"The dude we're going to meet," said Lincoln. "Alanzo."

Vlad eyeballed Lincoln, couldn't help looking at his nose, flat and bent to one side.

"They go in, see," said Lincoln. "They got black tee shirts on. Black pants, too. Dude sent one of his hos to WalMart or some shit like that." Lincoln shifted in his seat. "Wrote DEA on the back with yellow tape." Lincoln laughed. "They bust open the door, ripped them off right there," he said. "Shot 'em in the legs, just to make a point." Lincoln sat back. "No smack on that job, but got about twenty ounces of coke. About two hundred k's worth. Got some guns, too. Couple of forty fives and an AK-47."

"Kalashnikov," said Vlad.

"Whatever, man," said Lincoln.

They drove north on Woodward, turned right on Bethune then pulled into a deserted parking lot by John R and Smith. Alanzo Hendricks watched the black CTS pull up. Vlad pulled next to Alanzo's ivory Land Cruiser and killed the ignition and headlights.

Funky looking pair, one big white dude, as white as clean snow, the other jet black with a bent nose. He and Lincoln went back, but this other dude. This white dude…

White people were an asset though, if you looked at it like a businessman. Especially out a little farther north, around Seven Mile Road, closer to John R. Go back of any party store, any alley, see white kids shooting up, snorting coke, crack, meth, the works. Hit it right there in the alley. Rich kids. Mommy and Daddy working at their big jobs, kids got time and money to burn and come down for a thrill. Alanzo's there to supply. A little outside the normal system, but this was on the fringe of the city.

Not happy about the protocol, Alanzo got out of the Land Cruiser and got in the back of the CTS. They should have come to his vehicle, especially in the rain. Show a little respect. But going to theirs had its advantages. He was in a defensible position, sitting in back. He opened the door behind Vlad and got and said, "what's so fucking important that I have to come out here?"

Lincoln turned toward him. "Sorry about the inconvenience. We just wanted to give you the first opportunity with a major hookup."

"Hookup for what?" said Alanzo.

"Some good shit comin' in, my man," said Lincoln. "Grade A, straight from Afghanistan."

Alanzo stared at Lincoln. "That so? What's it got to do with me?"

Lincoln adjusted himself in his seat. "I'm thinking we could work out a deal. I know the Italians would love to get their hands on this." Lincoln shifted position, facing Vlad. "My man here has the hookup." He turned back to Alanzo. "We get it here, you distribute."

"How do I know your shit is any good?" said Alanzo.

"Oh, it's good alright," said Lincoln, looking at Vlad. Vlad pulled a small, waxy packet from his suit coat pocket and handed it to Alanzo. "Check it," said Lincoln. Alanzo opened the packet, dabbed his little finger into the powder, licked it and rubbed some on his gums. After a moment he looked at Lincoln and Vlad and nodded.

"Mind if I take this with me?" he said.

Vlad and Lincoln looked at each other. Lincoln smiled.

"It's all yours."

"So what's your plan?" asked Alanzo.

Lincoln looked at Vlad. Vlad held up his left hand. "First, to show good faith, I will give you half a kilo to distribute. Get the product in the market. Create demand."

Alanzo started at him. "You mean you'll give me a pound? Just like that?" said Alanzo. He thought for a moment and said, "That's about forty grand."

Vlad shrugged. "To show good faith. I will get the rest here, no problem."

Alanzo sat back. "Man, it ain't so easy bringin' shit in, nowadays, 'specially getting it through the border," he said. "Comin' in from Canada? Less risky than Mexico, but the bridge and tunnel are pretty well covered. Boats and river being monitored by cameras. New shit every day."

"Who said anything about the bridge and tunnel?" said Lincoln.

"How you gonna do it then?" said Alanzo.

"You're asking too many questions," said Lincoln. "Just leave it to us."

Alanzo thought for a moment. "So when you get the first load?" he said.

Lincoln looked at Vlad. "We need a distributor first, with some cash up front," he said. He turned to Alanzo. "You first class all the way, but like I said, there's always the Italians."

"Man, why you keep bring up the motherfucking Italians?" said Alanzo, agitated. "They done. Chump change. They had their day. Now let's get down to business. How much can you give me, bitch?"

Lincoln sat up, then softened. This was just business. "Seventy five pounds," he said calmly, looking to Vlad for acknowledgement. Vlad nodded. "That's pure shit, uncut. We figure street value of about seven point two," said Lincoln.

"Seventy five pounds," said Alanzo. "No shit." He made a few quick mental calculations.

"We want sixty percent," said Vlad. He looked Alanzo directly in the eye.

"That's a lot of money," said Alanzo, poker-faced. "I got to think about it."

"Don't think too long," said Lincoln.

"Forty percent," countered Alanzo.

Vlad looked at Lincoln, then at Alanzo. "Fifty."

"All right, man. We got a deal," said Alanzo.

"With two fifty up front," said Vlad. "By next week. I will put up the same."

"Two fifty," said Alanzo, trailing off. "That's a lot of scratch."

"That's what we need," said Lincoln. "Good faith on both sides. You know me. I ain't going nowhere. You always know where to find me."

Alanzo thought a moment then said, "Done."

Vlad leaned forward and held out his hand. "Where I am from, a handshake is an important thing."

Alanzo shrugged and held out his hand. Vlad shook it.

Lincoln smiled. "We'll be in touch. Let me know where we can pick up the two fifty."

Alanzo stepped out of the CTS into the rain, got in the Land Cruiser and drove away.

"Man, live in Detroit," said Lincoln, "Drive an American car. That's what I say."

He looked at Vlad. "I wanted to mention, I got a little party comin' up. With someone important."

"So?" said Vlad.

"I need some of the bitches you run with," said Lincoln.

"Bitches," said Vlad. "How come all my women are bitches? "Don't you like?" said Vlad.

"Oh I like," said Lincoln.

What do you need?" said Vlad.

"Two," said Lincoln.

"These girls are very expensive," said Vlad.

"I'm sure we can work something out," said Lincoln. "Got to be first class all the way."

Chapter 9

Eddie's In

When he finished, Eddie gripped the metal bar with one hand, lifted himself up, pulled at his gray sweats with his other hand and slid back into the wheelchair. Getting the pants back up was the tough part. Maybe he could come up with something motorized in the short term to move back and forth, like some kind of lift, have Clarence fabricate it. Who would think taking a shit would be such an ordeal.

A slug from an AK-47 in the base of Eddie's spine decided that for him on April 1, 1970. In Vietnam, when he was nineteen years old made it an ordeal…

…Eddie sat with his buddy in front of the black and white television, December 1st, 1969, watching the CBS Special Report on the draft lottery, the announcer saying, "Due to the special report that follows, Mayberry RFD will not be presented tonight"…

Eddie's buddy didn't go to college and was fair game. So was Eddie, dropping his student deferment. His mother was hysterical. "How can you not stay in college? How can you ruin your life like this? Do you know what can happen?" she said, pacing around the living room the night before, pulling at her hair. "Jewish boys go to college, not to war," she kept repeating.

Eddie didn't give a shit about college, but the problem was, if you didn't go to college in 1969 chances are you were headed to Viet Nam via the draft lottery.

Eddie sat on the floor with his back against a sofa, watching the big RCA television, drinking a bottle of 7-Up. A bunch of old men in suits stood around with some sitting schoolmarm looking woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses. One old guy was introduced and pulled out the first blue plastic pill-like container from a large glass bowl. The container looked like a giant Viagra pill. He opened the container, pulled out a tag with a birthdate printed on it and called out, "September fourteenth, number zero zero one." He handed off the tag, smiled and shook hands with another smiling suit.

SHIT..SHIT..SHIT

It hit Eddie like an incoming missile. He was number one in the draft, and all he wanted to do was to listen to Jimi Hendrix, learn how to play guitar, smoke a little weed here and there and work in the old man's shop, learn the business. He looked at the televised board, 001 on the left, a cream colored card with Sep 14 printed on it, and 018 on the right. The letter from the Draft Board came two weeks later…

Eddie wheeled over to the table with the computer. Funny thing was, even though he couldn't feel a thing from the waist down, he was still horny as hell and loved women. Loved the way they looked, smelled and tasted- all of it. Lap dances, girls straddling him in his wheelchair, naked, rubbing their tits in his face.

Even though his equipment wasn't working, he still got off in his mind. Strippers loved taking care of him. Kind of mothered him. Gave him special treatment, especially at the Tiger's Den. So much so he quit going to other places along 8 Mile. He'd roll up in his modified van, exit via the hydraulic lift and wheel in the front door like a VIP. The girls would see him and come right over, one, two at a time. Vlad took good care of him there.

Man, it wasn't over yet. Chinese stem cell treatment. He read about it, studied it all the time. Read about the guy who was a quadriplegic and could feel his arms again. Read about the guy who could move his legs again, and feel his skin. Fetal brain tissue injections, umbilical chord blood injections. Read the success stories, didn't care about the risks. The Chinese clinics were all over the Web.

Takes time and money. Lots of both, and Eddie was short on money. With enough he could live in China up to six months for treatment and therapy, maybe even a year. Cut this place loose, get treatment then retire somewhere warm, maybe Thailand. Cheap to live, lots of foxy women who did what they were paid to do, and money went far there. This place wasn't worth anything. Did okay with his old man in his day, always broke even during the worst of times, but this was Twenty First Century Detroit, and worth next to nothing. Had some scratch tucked away, about three hundred thousand. With double that amount he could convert the three hundred to diamonds. Not as good as gold, but much more portable. Better than cash. Just one call to the fence and it would happen.

Eddie saw Vlad pull in the yard through the front office window. Eddie felt a pang, yearning as Vlad got out of the CTS and stood. Standing, walking. What was that like? Once in a while it came back to him in dreams, walking as a kid, or running through the elephant grass in Nam. Most of the time it was distant, abstract.

Spend time in China, get fixed and maybe learn to walk again. He was going to be upfront with the Chinese. Walking would be great, but man, the main thing was just to feel his dick again. No matter what it cost and what it took.

Vlad carried a paper bag and knocked. Eddie wheeled to the front entrance and unlocked the steel door. Vlad stood, looking down at Eddie, then walked in. He went over to Eddie's big work table and put down the package.

"Get the glasses. We need to talk some business."

Vlad sat at the work table. Eddie wheeled over to a cabinet and pulled out two filmy shot glasses. Vlad pulled a bottle of Absolut from the bag and poured two shots.

"What's on your mind?" said Eddie.

Vlad smiled. "I have something coming in I need to store. Some packages," he said. "Safely and quietly, and I will need access to it when I need."

"Do I get to ask what it is?" said Eddie.

"I would prefer you not," said Vlad.

"You want me to store something, but won't tell me what it is…" said Eddie. "How big is it?"

Vlad shrugged. "Not that big. Thirty four kilos. In ten packages. Around seventy five pounds."

Gotta be coke, or smack, Eddie thought.

"Seventy five pounds?" said Eddie. "Why not keep it at your club?"

"It's best that I keep it somewhere different. Somewhere- unexpected. Somewhere where I can get at it without any trouble, and no extra eyes," said Vlad.

Eddie gripped the arms of the wheelchair. "Look, if we're gonna do business, be straight with me. Or we can't do anything." He looked straight at Vlad. "Packages that size, gotta be coke or smack."