The System - A Detroit Story - Read online

"Right," said Peabody. "But occasionally someone in the mob will flip and go into witness or prisoner protection. Look what happened in New York a few years ago. One guy flips and takes down the top bosses, walks clean and moves into witness protection."

  Peabody tapped the pen against her index finger. "Not these people. Albanians don't flip. Period. They live and die by the Kanun," she said. "Means code. Goes all the way back to the fifteenth century."

  "What is that?" asked Washington.

  "It's a code of honor," said Peabody. "There where Besa comes into play. Break a Besa and it usually results in a blood feud between clans."

  Peabody looked squarely at Davenport and Washington.

  "People die," she said. "Sometimes a lot of them. It's called 'being in the blood'. It's all about honor and revenge. After the initial murder, the other side kills someone in the opposing clan, and if it's not the original offender, then any male will do," said Peabody. "In rare cases, females. It goes back and forth."

  "Like the Bloods and the Crips," said Davenport.

  "Only more intense," said Peabody. She picked up the tablet computer and swiped, showing a map of Albania, Turkey and Italy. "Especially since drugs came into the picture." Peabody enlarged the map around Milan, Italy. "In the early days the Albanians partnered with the Italians, the struck off on their own. A lot still happens in and around Milan," she said, looking down at the map. "Milan is an intersection of sorts for gangs from Kosovo, supporting the KLA," she said.

  "The KLA?" asked Washington.

  "Kosovo Liberation Army," said Peabody. "The gangs in Milan help supply what's left of the KLA with weapons." Peabody swiped the map and enlarged the image of Albania.

  "Heroin comes in through what's called the Balkan Route. Starts in Turkey, goes through Greece, Bulgaria, Albania, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Austria, Germany and Italy," said Peabody. She stood with her hands on her hips. "Heroin flows in, up to fifty kilos a day."

  "Fifty keys…" said Davenport. He put his hand to his chin, mentally calculating.

  "That's around one hundred and ten pounds," said Peabody, "which has a street value of around eight million, eight hundred thousand dollars." She picked up the tablet. "A day. Not counting the cocaine."

  Peabody flipped back to the photo of Vlad.

  "Make no mistake," she said. "We're dealing with one of the most powerful drug organizations in the world."

  "Didn't really know that much about them, to tell the truth," said Washington.

  "I'm not surprised," said Peabody. "They live very, very humbly. Only a few of the top bosses live large. Their code of silence and revenge play into it big time," she said. "Wrong somebody, talk, it not only comes back to you, but your entire family."

  She looked squarely at Washington and Davenport.

  "It's more than just money to some of them," she said. "It's a cause. A lot of the cash still goes to the KLA." She looked down at the photo of Vlad. "This guy is different. We think he might go rogue. We think he's got ambition and is going outside the clans."

  Peabody looked at Washington.

  "That's where you can help us," she said. "We also think he's involved in an auto theft ring, here in Detroit." She turned off the tablet computer and closed the leather case. "That might be the best and easiest path to get to this guy and to the heroin. That and the strip club." She looked at Washington. "Inspector Davenport says you're cool under fire. And, we're aware of your record."

  Washington straightened.

  "Whoa," he said. Who are you to talk about my record? I don't know you, and you certainly don't know me," said Washington, staring Peabody directly in the eye, then shifted to Davenport.

  "What Agent Peabody is saying is that you're a resource. A valuable one," said Davenport.

  Peabody piped in. "A major part of your job is surveillance," she said. "And you're good at it. Patient and effective, according to Inspector Davenport. I respect that," she said. "And frankly, you're not afraid to act."

  "Agent Peabody can use you to help watch this guy," said Davenport, pointing to the rendering of Vlad.

  "What about auto?" said Washington. "That's my thing. Always has been."

  "This is auto for the most part," said Davenport. "At least for ninety days. This goes all the way up to the Chief."

  "What about Purdy and Robbins?" asked Washington.

  "They'll be there when you need them." Davenport leaned forward. "Look," he said. "Other units are being cut or scaled back, more and more going over to gangs, homicide. That's just how we have to roll," he said. "You know the system."

  "The system," said Washington.

  Chapter 7

  Elena Wakes

  Elena opened her unfocused eyes, the room painfully bright. Her head pounded with every beat of her heart. She pushed off the quilt and sat up, causing the dull pain in her head to sharpen. The bed smelled sour and the sheets were stained, as if they hadn't been changed in weeks. The taste in her mouth was metallic and her throat was dry, making it difficult to swallow.

  A woman sat across the room at a cheap white vanity, looking in a mirror. The woman, Miri, showing signs of age put filler in the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes.

  Elena looked at Miri, watching her work meticulously on her face, wearing nothing but a thin, transparent pink robe. Elena noticed Miri's little finger on left hand was missing.

  "Where am I?" said Elena. "Where is Sami?"

  "Who is Sami?" said Miri, dryly, not turning from the mirror.

  "My step uncle. We were going to Tirana."

  "Tirana," said Miri. "That might as well be on the moon."

  "Please, I must go," said Elena. "There is some mistake," she said, blinded by the shooting pain in her head.

  "You cannot go," said Miri. "Jerzy owns you now. You belong to him, as I do. All of us here do."

  "What?" said Elena.

  "Take my advice and accept it," said Miri. She smiled. "You are very beautiful. And young. You should do well. At least for a while." Miri dabbed her cheek with a makeup brush. "I wonder how much Jerzy paid for you."

  "Paid for me?" said Elena.

  The bedroom door lock clicked, the door opened and Jerzy walked in. Miri quickly turned back to the vanity and her makeup.

  "I see you are awake," said Jerzy.

  "Where is Sami?" said Elena.

  "He is gone," said Jerzy. His expression turned cold. "Now stand up."

  "Why?" said Elena.

  Jerzy slapped Elena across her face, her head snapping to one side.

  "Stand up."

  Elena, shocked and reeling from the slap started to cry. She stood.

  "Why are you doing this?" she said.

  Jerzy fondled her auburn hair. "Such beautiful hair. Soft." He put his hand up her dress on her crotch.

  Anger rose deep within Elena, white hot, overriding the sharp pain in her head. She hit Jerzy with both fists, pounding at him. Jerzy punched her in the ribs, knocking her back on the bed. Elena couldn't breath, as much as she wanted and tried to, having the wind knocked out of her. She stared at the ceiling. After a moment she drew in a deep, uncontrolled breath, her ribs and side feeling empty and on fire.

  "Bring me the kit," said Jerzy.

  Miri quickly opened a drawer of the vanity and pulled out a black pouch containing a hypodermic needle and teaspoon and took it to Jerzy.

  "Light a candle."

  Miri took a match from a small book of matches and lit a candle on the nightstand next to the bed. Jerzy pulled out a small, sugar-sized brown paper packet of heroin, put it in the teaspoon and held it over the candle. The heroin melted and he filled the hypodermic.

  "Hold her."

  Miri went to the bed and straddled Elena and held her down. Elena, reeling from the punch, spacey and detached looked up at Miri. Jerzy took Elena's right arm and tapped the soft inside flesh with two fingers, raising a vein. He injected the heroin into Elena's arm.

  Within a few seconds Elena felt sick to her stomach, then came a
wild rush of pleasure and relief. She felt as if she floated, soft and airy as a cloud. Then she lost consciousness.

  * *

  Elena vaguely felt something heavy and someone in her. She lay on her back, her legs spread and tied to two lower wooden bedposts. Her arms were tied to two top posts by strips of a torn cotton sheet. She drifted into consciousness with a man sweating on top of her, his garlic and vodka laced breath washing over her like a blanket of putrid fog. He let out a succession of thrusts and grunts, pulled out, stood and put his pants on. He turned and strolled out of the bedroom.

  Elena tugged at the bindings. Her eyes felt on fire and the smell, her own and that of the man made her stomach churn. She vaguely remembered Jerzy coming into the room and putting the needle in her arm. How many times? Two? Three? It sent her back to the cloud of warmth and calm. Now she was cold, hungry and had to pee. Bad.

  The door opened and Miri walked in, carrying a bottle of water. She sat on the bed next to Elena. Elena looked up at her, her mouth too dry to talk. Miri untied her arms and legs and helped her sit upright, trying to ignore the smell. The smell and the eyes. She saw it before and it was the same every time, Jerzy creating another addict. Just get them dependent enough, but not ruin their looks.

  "Here, drink this," said Miri, twisting the cap off the bottle of water. She held it to Elena's mouth. Elena took the bottle and drank, her wrists red and chaffed from the tight strips of sheet. After downing the bottle of water, she whispered, "toilet."

  "Come," said Miri. "I'll take you. You can take a shower. I will get you something to eat." Miri helped Elena to her feet. Elena's legs felt elastic and unsteady and her crotch was sore and burning.

  "I'm to help you," said Miri. "Jerzy told me to. If you obey and do what you need to do, life may not be so bad. If you don't…"

  Elena used the toilet and showered, feeling the hot water run down her face and body like liquid sunshine. She slowly washed her hair and felt the pain in her head dissipate. She was relieved to have the man's sweat and stink off of her. Elena toweled off slowly, then felt incredibly hungry.

  "I need something to eat," said Elena. Miri handed her a robe and lead her back to the bedroom.

  "Stay here," said Miri. "I'll bring you back something."

  Elena stood in front of the vanity for a moment then sat, letting out a squeal of pain. It hurt to sit. She put her head in her hands, arm propped up by her elbows. The temporary relief of the shower was wearing off. She felt cold and her skin began to itch. No– crawl.

  Miri walked in the bedroom carrying clean sheets. Balanced on the sheets was a plate holding a bowl of soup and a small brown loaf of brown bread.

  "Here, eat this," said Miri. Elena stood and took the plate holding the bowl of soup and bread, put it on the vanity and started eating. Miri stripped the dank, sweat and semen soaked sheets from the bed and tossed them in a pile on the wooden floor.

  "You must do what Jerzy tell you to do. Everything. You need to do what you have to do to survive," said Miri.

  Elena swallowed a hunk of bread, looked at the bed and said, "How long was I tied there?"

  "Two days," said Miri. "Two days and at least fifteen men. Very light duty."

  It was all fog to Elena. She remembered the needle, some men, sometimes feeling good, and the highs.

  "Do as he says, and it will not be so bad for you," said Miri. "Do as he says and he will not shoot you up so much. Trust me," she said. "It will ruin you."

  Elena felt a tremor from seeing the needle pierce and sting her arm, but liked the calm and happiness shortly after. The pleasant detachment…and wanted it again. She wrapped her arms around herself, hunched over and rocked.

  The door opened. Jerzy walked in and stood over Elena. Elena looked up at him.

  "Please," she said softly. "Where is Sami? I'm not supposed to be here."

  "That's were you're wrong," said Jerzy. "This is exactly where you're supposed to be."

  "But Sami," said Elena.

  "Enough Sami," said Jerzy. "You're mine now. Bought and paid for." Jerzy smiled. "Your step-uncle is an opportunist. He saw one. In you."

  Jerzy looked down at Elena. A defiant one. Ahh, the art. How to keep her on the edge. Just give her enough to obey and need it, but not enough to make her look like a junky. This one was worth a lot.

  "Give me your arm," said Jerzy.

  Elena held her arms tightly around her, but though of how good she could feel. Her thoughts turned to Sanja, conjuring an image of her. Was she forgetting what she looked like?

  "Give me your arm, or you'll spend three days in the bed," said Jerzy. "I promise. I will let every sick animal have you until you die," he said. Jerzy leaned close to Elena's ear. "And after you die, I will kill your daughter."

  Elena's head jerked up and she looked at Jerzy. Jerzy laughed.

  "Do you not think I know who your family is? Your father. Your daughter?" he said. "Give me your arm."

  Elena held the image of Sanja and offered her arm. Jerzy shot her up, and Elena started to float, the vague image of Sanja melding with a cloud.

  "Take off your robe," said Jerzy.

  Elena didn't respond, off on the cloud, floating over green hills.

  Jerzy untied the robe, opened it and slid it off Elena.

  "So very nice."

  Jerzy unzipped his pants, exposing himself. "Show me what you can do," he said.

  "No please," said Elena, slowly.

  "Go to work. Remember what I can do to your daughter. What is her name? Sanja?" he said.

  Do what you have to do…to survive, ran through her head, anything to get back to Sanja. She went down.

  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 wat
ched 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.