The System - A Detroit Story - (7 page)

Vlad leaned forward. "The latter," he said.

Eddie nodded his head. "What's in it for me?" 

Vlad sat back and smiled. "Four hundred."

Eddie held his poker face. Seventy five pounds, what was that much heroin worth? Wasn't sure, but if Vlad was offering that much to hold it, it had to be worth a lot more. He'd look it up on the Web.

Eddie shook his head no. "It's risky," he said. "Very risky."

"Life is risky," said Vlad. He lifted the shot glass, downed the vodka, and poured another. "You know my father used to make vodka," he said, pronouncing it "wodka". "Out of potatoes. Strong stuff."

"I bet," said Eddie. He downed his shot. He swallowed and the top of his body shook, a mild alcohol induced tremor after the vodka hit his stomach. His lower torso was motionless and felt nothing. "Truth is, I got something I wanna try. Maybe get my life back."  Eddie shifted in his chair. "Shit, life back. More like get a few years of a life I never had," he said, slapping his arms up and down on the wheelchair. "I don't know if I can take another year in this chair, let alone whatever time I got left." He looked up at Vlad. "You ever heard of stem cells?"

"Stem cells?" said Vlad. "I have heard of them."

"Seventy five pounds of horse," said Eddie. "That's the rest of my life in jail for possession."

Vlad gestured around the dingy shop. "Or the rest of your life here. In your chair."

Eddie rolled back in the wheelchair. "I've been here thirty five years," he said, looking around the shop. "And what's it got me?" He rolled forward, closer to Vlad. "Seven hundred and fifty," said Eddie.

Vlad shook his head. "Six fifty."

"Seven hundred," said Eddie. "Final offer."

Vlad sat back in his chair. "You know," he said. "The girls, they miss you."

Eddie's serious look softened. He laughed. "I bet they do."

"I will have some new ones soon, I think. Freshen the stable," said Vlad. "Always good to do from time to time."

"That never hurts," said Eddie.

Vlad sighed. "Seven hundred it is. So, do we have a deal?"

"We got a deal," said Eddie.

Vlad reached out and shook Eddie's hand and looked at him in the eyes. "You know, where I come from a handshake is the most important thing. More than a piece of paper. More than a promise. It is a man's honor, and a man's honor is his life."

"I can understand that," said Eddie.

Vlad let go of his hand.

"Seventy five pounds," said Eddie. "I got the perfect place to keep it." He rolled over to a medium size plywood box, near the desk. "Underneath the box is a floor safe. If you move the box, you can see it."

Vlad stood up and walked over to the box. Even though the box was heavy, he slid it out of the way with one hand, revealing a rectangular false floor.

"Grab a screwdriver and wedge up the floor," said Eddie. Vlad wedged the screwdriver in the false floor outline and pried it up, revealing a large safe.

Eddie rolled over to his desk, got a notepad and stripped off a piece. "Here's the combination. I'll write it down for you." Eddie wrote down the combination and handed it to Vlad. "You can try it if you like."

Vlad took the piece of paper, twirled the combination lock a few times and pulled opened the safe door.

"Smell this place?" said Eddie, looking around the shop. "Oil and solvent. Fucks up a dog's nose. Old man used to keep one around, to protect the yard. After a while the thing couldn't smell for shit. Ran into the same thing in Nam. Dogs used to smell for Charlie piss in the field. The ammonia. If they hung around the motor pool to long, they were useless." Eddie looked at Vlad and smiled. "All I gotta do is line the rim of the safe with axle grease. If they try to pop us, drug sniffing dog won't smell shit."

Vlad nodded. He shut the safe, spun the lock and slid the box back in place.

"I never asked," he said. "What happened to you?"

Eddie wheeled back and looked down.

"Viet Nam," he said. "Took one in the back from an AK-47."

"Kalishnikov," said Vlad.

"Slug's still in there," said Eddie. "Army doctors wouldn't take it out. Too risky, said it could kill me." Eddie rolled over to the hidden safe. "The Chinese doctors can take it out and fix the connections in my spine. Stem cells, man. Stem cells."

*  *

After Vlad left, Eddie made a call to his fence to convert the three hundred k he had to cut diamonds.

Chapter 10

Martin Green at the Tiger's Den

Martin Green hung outside the Tiger's Den, just out of sight in the darkness, looking at the front door. Used to panhandle around the front door and parking lot, hitting up whoever came near, being polite, saying "Sir, sir?"  Following them to their cars. Three kinds- ones that gave money, ones that didn't, and ones that got nasty. Didn't matter. All were worth a shot.

Tried to go inside a couple of times, but didn't make it past the bouncer at the front door. Heard the music, caught a glimpse of a girl on stage, guys stuffing bills into her g-string. The bouncer with the funny accent grabbed him by the collar, dragged him through the parking lot and threw him into the street. Told him the second time if he tried to come in again he would break his legs.

No panhandling today. No more "Sir, sir," thanks to the loaded 38 he found in a garbage can near the corner of 8 Mile and Dequindre.

The dudes in there had money. They might have less when they came out, but they still had some.

*  *

Vlad was on his cell phone in the back office when the bouncer poked his head in the door. Vlad waved him in. He took the phone from his ear and held his other hand over the microphone. "What is it?" he said.

The bouncer motioned toward the direction of the parking lot.

"The little beggar," he said. "He is back."

Vlad put the phone to his ear. "I will call you back," he said. He listened for a moment and said, "Okay, Lamtumire."

Vlad snapped the phone shut and looked at the bouncer.

"Where?"

"Parking lot," said the bouncer. "Do you want me to handle?"

"Not this time," said Vlad. He stood and walked over to an aluminum Louisville Slugger softball bat propped in a corner by the brown leather couch. He picked it up, tapped the barrel in the palm of his hand and said, "Get the car ready."

*  *

Martin was too close to the lights in the parking lot. He shuffled to the back of a green dumpster near the cinderblock retaining wall and crouched down, holding the 38. It felt good in his hand. Felt….powerful.

Two men walked out the front door, one tall and one short, laughing. One of them wobbled, then stumbled. Martin took a quick look around, gripped the 38 and walked toward them. He stopped in front of the tall guy. Martin pointed the gun at him and said, "Gimme your wallet."

The two guys looked at each other, then at the 38.

"I said gimme your wallet, goddamn it," said Martin. The 38 shook in his hand.

The two guys ducked, waving their arms in front of their heads.

"Whoa," said the tall guy. "Wait a minute, okay?" The tall guy reached around, pulled out his wallet and held it out. "Here, take it."

Martin stared at the wallet. "Just drop it on the ground." He looked at the short guy who had his hands in the air. "You too."

The short guy reached around to his back pocket. As he pulled his wallet out he saw a giant in a track suit walk up behind Martin and slam him in the ribs with a baseball bat. The 38 flew out of Martin's hand. He made a small, short squawking sound and fell to the ground, wrapping himself in his arms, his legs making crawling motions against the rough asphalt.

"Pick up your wallets," said Vlad. He stood over Martin and looked down at him.

"Holy shit," said the short guy. He and the tall guy picked up their wallets.

"Gentlemen, I apologize," said Vlad.

"Shouldn't we call the cops?" said the tall guy.

"No," said the short guy. "Cindy doesn't know I'm here. If she finds out I've been spending money at tittie bars again, I'm dead," he said. "She'll leave. This time for real."

"Don't worry," said Vlad. "I will take care of this."

Martin let out a cry and gasped for air. Vlad faced the two men. "Come back again. See the man at the door," he said.  "Tell him the boss said for you to have special treatment. On the house." Vlad smiled then turned and looked down at Martin. "Forget this. Now go."

"Okay, man. Whatever you say," said the tall guy. The two men got in their car, backed out, drove through the parking lot and turned onto 8 Mile road. The short guy in the passenger seat looked back and in the shadows saw Vlad standing over Martin.

Vlad tapped Martin in the head with the bat. It had been awhile. He was going to enjoy himself. The bouncer pulled up in a non-descript black Ford Taurus and popped open the trunk. Vlad hit Martin in the head hard enough to knock him out, but not do any severe damage. He wanted him awake and alert when the time was right.

*   *

Martin came to, arms and legs tied to a wooden chair, his mouth gagged with a filthy strip of cotton bed sheet. He blinked and tried to hold his hands to his head but they wouldn't move. Martin pulled at the ropes, but every exertion caused his head to throb.

Vlad circled him. Martin looked up and followed him slowly with his eyes.

"You try to come in my club when you are told to leave," said Vlad, circling slowly. "Then, you try to rob my customers. In my parking lot. At my club."

Vlad stopped in front of Martin's face.

"Very bad for business," said Vlad. "And for you." He pulled a pair of wire cutters from his back pocket. "You know, in some countries they cut off a thief's hands." Vlad held the cutters in front of Martin's face and snapped them open and shut. "I think you will learn a better lesson this way."

Martin's eyes widened and he shook his head from side to side, jumping in the chair. Vlad held down Martin's left hand and cut off his thumb, hearing the gristle pop and the bone snap. Martin screamed through the gag, then let out a succession of long sobs. Vlad quickly held down Martin's other hand and cut off Martin's right thumb.

Vlad held up the thumb so Martin could see it.

"Now, you can no longer hold a gun," said Vlad.

Martin moaned through the gag.

"But still," said Vlad. "Maybe a knife?" Vlad held down Martin's right hand. Martin looked down at his mangled hand, looked at Vlad, made noise and shook his head.

"Do you have something to say?"

Martin shook his head up and down.

Vlad pulled the dirty rag from Martin's mouth. Martin's head dropped, spittle running down his chin. "Please," he whispered.

"Have you learned your lesson?" said Vlad.

"Please…yes," said Martin.

"Will you ever try to steal from my customers again?" said Vlad.

"No," said Martin. "Never. Please…."

Vlad looked down at him, and held down Martin's right hand. "I want to make sure" he said. Vlad quickly cut off the four fingers on Martin's right hand, starting with the index finger. Martin screamed. Vlad was amused at the power behind the outcry, coming from such a little man. The fingers dropped to the floor, one by one. Martin moaned, on the shore of unconsciousness, his head hanging.

Vlad leaned down in front of Martin and held Martin's head up by the chin.

"Will you ever come near my club again?" said Vlad

"No," whispered Martin, weeping. "Never. Never. I swear."
Vlad pulled back his hand and Martin's head dropped. He walked behind Martin.

"I don't believe you," he said.

Vlad picked up a plastic two liter pop bottle filled with gasoline and poured half of it on Martin and the rest on the dry wooden floor around him. Martin's head popped up. He choked on the gasoline and flailed his head. The gasoline brought the burning, electric pain back in his hands.

Vlad opened a book of matches, lit them, and threw them at Martin's feet. The gas instantly ignited, covering Martin in an orange fireball. Martin screamed, struggled in the chair, bubbled, then blackened and went still. The old floorboards caught fire and quickly spread. Vlad walked down the stairs, crushing broken hypodermic needles under his boots and strolled out the door. He got in the passenger's seat of the Taurus and nodded to the bouncer at the wheel. Great car for these little projects. So many on the road, and they all look alike. The bouncer and Vlad drove away, smoke now pouring from the windowless house.

Over eighty thousand abandoned houses in this city. Pick one, do your work, burn it down. No one snitches.

Chapter 11

Chris Picks Up a Fare

Chris sat in the limo in the parking lot by the RiverWalk, in view of the carousel, Ceasar's Casino on the Windsor side and the Renaissance Center on the right. It wasn't really a limo, but a bubbly black Lincoln Town Car. Chris loosened his tie. He didn't mind wearing the chauffer's suit, simple and black, but he hated the hat that the limo company made him wear. And he also had to shave.

The parking lot was empty and there wasn't much business this time of morning, which Chris didn't mind. He looked at the idle carousel and saw a solitary black guy fishing, right where the RiverWalk ended and the State Park began. Die hard. Some guys fish no matter what time of year or weather. Probably fishing for Muskie. Chris saw the guy set his jig and deftly cast it in the water. He obviously knew how to fish.

A freighter slipped by going upstream toward Lake St. Claire. A couple more months and the river would be filled with giant ice floes, jammed together like giant blue-green pieces of mismatched linoleum.

A siren sounded in the distance. Chris half smiled. One thing about Detroit, there were always sirens, as constant as the river current. He got out of the Town Car, leaned against the front left fender and lit a cigarette. Against the rules, but fuck it.

He took a drag off the cigarette and saw a large, white yacht emerge from the Belle Isle shipping channel. Just like the TradeWind, a Hatteras Convertible. White and sleek, but in a classic way. Flying bridge, easily rigged for fishing or cruising. Chris figured it to be a fifty two- same length as the TradeWind. He stared at the boat as it passed and thought he better call the marina this week to see if anyone inquired about the TradeWind. Sure, there were a lot of boats available, but this one stuck to him. Perfect spot, the little Key Cove Marina, small and personal. Chris felt lucky the guy that owned the boat liked him and said that he would hold off selling it and give Chris first shot. He said Chris could take over his steady Marlin charter, too. Introduce him to his steady clients. It was perfect.