The System - A Detroit Story - (3 page)

Chris was at his buddy's house, smoking weed and watching porn on VHS. His buddy's recently divorced mother went away with a new guy for the weekend. Getting the munchies from the weed, they took his mother's big Chrysler Imperial and drove to the corner party store. Chris rode shotgun. His buddy was wasted and instead of hitting the brakes, he stomped on the accelerator and drove through the party store's front window. Panicked, Chris grabbed the steering wheel and rammed into a man at the counter buying lottery tickets, nearly killing him. They were busted and Chris was sentenced to three years in the Wayne County Juvenile Detention Facility, on Monroe Street near Greektown.

Zippy was busted for the third time when he was fourteen years old for breaking into cars and stealing in-dash stereos. He worked for his brother Jesus, who was boosting cars Grand Theft Auto style for years. Did time for it once. The cops tried to intimidate Zippy into giving up Jesus, but Zippy kept his mouth shut and was given five years.

Chris and Zippy became pals in auto shop class. Chris liked Zippy's quick wit and sense of humor. Chris was smart and cool headed and Zippy discovered Chris was naturally good with cars. They worked on every old beater that showed up in class.  A lot of car knowledge absorbed by Zippy via Jesus rubbed off on Chris. After two years they could fix, or hack into, anything on wheels. That's what they considered themselves- hackers. Just like the computer geeks, only Chris and Zippy did it with iron, glass, wires, rubber and sheet metal.

*  *

The first Escalade was already well into being stripped, on cinder blocks, doors and fenders off, engine on a hoist like an excised heart. Jesus and Clarence were busy with saws and impact wrenches working the Escalades over. Zippy picked up a pneumatic impact wrench, revved it a couple of times and started taking the front seat out of the second Escalade.

Chris parked behind the other vehicles, all in a row, just like an assembly line. Funny thing about cars. Expensive enough in the first place but ten times the cost if the parts were bought individually. Engine, tranny, differential, wheels, fresh brake rotors, radiators, catalytic converters, whatever, were worth a fortune on the underground market. Even some of the legit auto parts stores dealt in these, marked as remanufactured.

Eddie Siegler sat in his motorized wheelchair, supervising. Next to him stood a large, powerful looking man in a black track suit with a thin white stripe running down the jacket and pants. Foreign, was Chris's first thought. Even the Mafia guys didn't dress like that anymore. Eddie waved for Chris to come over. Chris got out of the Escalade, took off his driving gloves and walked toward them.

"What took you so long?" asked Eddie.

"Security guard. Ex cop," said Chris. "No big deal. Cost three hundred bucks, though. You got it covered?"

"No problem," said Eddie. He looked at the man in the track suit. "This is a new friend of ours. Name's Vlad." Eddie briefly pointed to the Escalades. "This is his order."

"Good price for parts," said Vlad in a thick accent.

"Yes there is," said Chris.

Vlad eyeballed Chris. "More value, though, in Mercedes and BMW," he said. "Even though I drive Cadillac."

Typical European, thought Chris. Everything was better over there. No matter what it was. If everything was better there then what was he doing here?

Eddie laughed, gave Chris a look, then said to Vlad, "Mercedes. BMWs. We can do those. No problem."

This Vlad guy was big. Big and in good shape, looked like in his fifties. A lot of guys that age were powerhouses. This dude was different from what Chris had seen of the Eastern European gangster types. Clean cut. Most of them were big and heavy, wearing dense leather coats, had greasy long hair, some with beards. This dude was clean shaven and had a buzz cut. 

Chris knew Eddie was hooked up with the Italians, deep, but not with this guy. 

Eddie had a few sweet deals going and he spread them out. One was the key-cutting operation at a few dealerships. He had a couple of guys on the inside that cut keys using VINs of new cars on the lot. An order comes in, get the keys, unlock the cars, and drive away. Easy as shit. Then, go buy some used models similar to the stolen cars and retag them with the clean VINs. Cops would run them down if someone got pulled over, and they'd come up legit. Eddie sold the cars to the Italians for cheap, but still made a good profit. The Italians sold them all over New Jersey and New York. Eddie made sure the rosette rivets for the VIN plates were well accounted for and well hidden, since possession of rosette rivets was a four-year felony.

Eddie liked doing things the easy way. Grab the low hanging fruit, take on the more difficult specialized jobs later, like the Escalade boost that Chris engineered. A car parked anywhere was a low-hanger and fair game. Just tow 'em away. That's how Clarence got hooked up with ACE Salvage, working with one of his mother's many boyfriends. One of them drove a freelance tow truck and just picked up cars off the street. The tow truck driver also did a lot of repos, carried a 38 and sometimes dealt with irate, violent deadbeats. Having Clarence along was a benefit. Clarence was short, but had muscles and knew how to fight, street style.

The tow truck driver broke Clarence in, teaching him how to prep cars for towing, how to bust ignition locks, how to jack them right off the street and how to instantly pop open a locked door through the top of a rolled up window. Clarence caught on fast.

Chris didn't notice Clarence glaring at him for not diving in to do the hard, gut-busting work of tearing down the Escalades. Clarence turned and pumped the handle of a leaky hydraulic jack, raising the rear end of an Escalade.

Eddie handed Chris an envelope containing seventy five hundred dollars cash. The Escalades ran around seventy two thousand new, off lease around fifty five or sixty, which put the total around one hundred and eighty thousand. His take was around four percent, which wasn't bad. More to stash for the TradeWind.

"What about the three hundred?" said Chris.

Vlad took out his wallet and pulled out three bills from a stack of hundreds and handed them to Chris.

Chris put the bills in the envelope, opened his jacket, revealing the handle of the Glock. He put the envelope in an interior pocket.

"Glock nine millimeter," said Vlad.

"Works every time," said Chris.

Vlad looked at Chris, coolly. "This has worked out very well. Very efficient," he said. "Eddie tells me you organize and execute these, how you say, boosts?"

"I do my best."

"Maybe you could do some work for me sometime," said Vlad.

Chris smiled. He wondered why Eddie would take on orders from this dude, with all he had already going on. The big guy towered over Eddie like a hawk over a field mouse. Eddie looked frail in his wheelchair compared to this giant. Maybe Eddie's body was broken, but not his brain, so Chris figured he was up to something that would bring in a lot of fresh cash.

"Speaking of work," said Chris, looking at the crew stripping the Escalades. He nodded and walked over to Zippy. Zippy had the two front seats unbolted from the Escalade and Chris helped him pull them out.

Zippy yelled out to Clarence, "Hey asshole. Get to work!"

Clarence looked at Zippy.

Zippy made a face and laughed.

Clarence turned back into his work, removing the brake rotor from the left rear axle.

"C'mon, man," said Chris. "Don't piss off Clarence. Seriously. He's moody today. He liked that Crown Vic."

Chris saw Vlad bend down and say something to Eddie. Eddie nodded. The big guy turned and walked out.

Two hours later the Escalade parts were stripped and boxed, most of the parts oiled and wrapped in waxy paper. Eddie was hidden in his office. Chris washed up in a dirty sink with a green bar of Lava then walked to the office.

Eddie sat behind his Cold War vintage gray metal desk.

"What's up with the Russian?" said Chris.

"Albanian," said Eddie.

"Whatever," said Chris. "What's this guy all about, anyway? Don't you have enough going on? And what about the Italians? They don't like competition."

Eddie smiled at Chris's brashness. "Do I tell you how to steal cars? No." He wheeled around from behind the desk. "Don't tell me how to run my operation."

"These dudes are nasty from what I hear, man. Russians, Albanians," said Chris. He looked down at Eddie in the chair. "The Italians at least let everyone know what the rules are, and they stick to them. They got a system and so do we. And it works. What do you know about this guy? How can you trust him?" Chris crouched down a little and looked right into Eddie's eyes. "And what's this shit about me working for him?"

"Don't worry about it," said Eddie. "I got it covered. Vlad's up and coming, and connected downtown," he said. "He's big time in Eastern Europe, Canada too. Protected. He's got plans. Big ones."

"I still don't like it," said Chris.

Eddie wheeled back to his desk and looked down at some papers.

"You don't have to," he said without looking up.

*   *

Chris walked out through the back of the garage. He put on his black helmet, fired up his Fat Boy, feeling the low Harley rumble and rolled out of the junkyard. Stealing cars was a calculated risk. Conducting a criminal enterprise- twenty years, a hundred thousand dollars plus forfeiture of everything related. Operating a chop shop- ten years, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars plus mandatory restitution. Intent to pass false title- ten years and five thousand dollars. Receiving and concealing a motor vehicle- five years and ten thousand dollars.

Grand theft auto- three years usually, and three years probation after that, even for a first offense. Since Chris helped strip the cars he could also be charged with operating and concealing. They all had a lot to lose. Eddie better know what he was doing…

Chris gunned the Harley, got on Woodward and headed south toward Jefferson. He planned on throwing the keys to the torched Crown Vic and the driver's cell phone into the Detroit River.

Chapter 4

Elena Gets Duped

Sami drove fast through the narrow mountain road for hours then connected on SH2 toward Tirana. The night was still and warm and the bright moon cast silver light on the trees. Elena stared out the window, rolling the situation over and over in her mind. Being separated from Sanja was killing her, even in these short hours on the road. She worried about Sanja being alone with Rada. What if Sanja did something to make Rada angry and Milos wasn't home?

There was logic in her leaving. Making money, getting her own place, sending for Sanja. Putting her in school, maybe Sanja could be somebody. Who knows, Elena thought, I could maybe meet someone…. It might not be so bad after all. Elena took off her shoes, reclined in the seat and fell asleep.

Sami slowed the big Mercedes and pulled off SH2 near Rruga Marqinet on the distant outskirts of Tirana. He drove a few kilometers as Elena slept, crossed railroad tracks slowly as not to wake her, then stopped in front of a small, two story corrugated metal warehouse with blackened windows. Sami quietly stepped out of the car and walked toward the building and rapped on the large steel door. He heard techno music through the thick door, thumping and continuous. He saw a shadow cross the peephole and the door opened.

A thick bouncer looked Sami up and down. Jerzy Vogodian stood at the bouncer's side. "Well, well," he said. "My old friend. What have you brought me?"

"Come see," said Sami. "Her name is Elena."

Jerzy nodded to the bouncer and followed Sami outside. They walked to the Mercedes where Elena still slept. Sami opened the passenger door and said, "Elena. Wake up. Step outside." Elena opened her eyes and momentarily was not sure where she was. She blinked, looked at the building then at Sami, standing and smiling with another man at his side.

"We will stop here awhile," said Sami. "Let's get something to eat and drink."

Elena, confused, looked at Jerzy.  "Hello, Elena," he said.

"This is Jerzy, an old friend of mine," said Sami. "Come," he said, motioning for Elena to get out of the car. "Let's go inside." Elena, still cloudy from sleep, put on her shoes and stepped out of the car, momentarily revealing her long, tanned legs through her loose cotton dress. Jerzy looked at Sami and said "Very nice. You were telling the truth."

"What was that?" said Elena.

"Nothing," said Sami. "Let's go inside."

They walked through the door and entered the building, techno music pounding. Elena's eyes adjusted to the dim light. Blue cigarette smoke hung in the room. A large mirrored disco ball suspended from the ceiling rotated and reflected red and blue light. The shards of light bounced off the foil covered walls. The floor was strewn with velour sofas, love seats and chairs. A sign above the long, lacquered black bar read in English MANHATTAN DISCO.

A girl danced topless in a g-string on a dark stage, swinging on a pole and grooving to the beat. Men laughed and hung around the stage, grabbing at her. Other girls danced topless around the stage. One nude girl swooned in a man's lap on one of the big velour chairs.

Elena stopped, shocked, mouth open. A naked woman brushed against her carrying a tray with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. The woman smelled of Chanel, sweat and sex.

"What kind of place is this?" asked Elena. She felt sick and out of place. Violated. Why would Sami bring her here?

Jerzy laughed "A very good one, my sweet." Sami laughed also. "This is not the way I remembered it," he said to Elena.

"Come, follow me," said Jerzy. They passed by the dancing girls and the bar. The naked woman on the man's lap now stood holding the man's hand, leading him toward a staircase. Sami, Elena and Jerzy passed through a small archway to a back room, furnished with three old dining tables.

"Please," said Jerzy, holding Elena's chair. "Sit." Elena sat and Jerzy, acting as the perfect gentleman, pushed in her chair. "What would you like to drink?" he asked. "We have some very fine champagne."