The System - A Detroit Story - Read online

  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 wal
k 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."

  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 dum
pster 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.