The System - A Detroit Story - Read online

  Eddie thought a moment. "I'll put him with Zippy, maybe Clarence."

  "Clarence'll kill him," said Chris.

  "You're right," said Eddie. "Zippy it is."

  * *

  Vinnie drove out of Detroit and took the Square Lake exit toward Bloomfield Hills. He turned on Telegraph Road and passed by where the old Red Fox restaurant once stood. One day was fixed in his mind, July 30, 1975. The day he made his bones. The mark really did look like a bulldog. Scheduled to meet Tony Jack and Tony Pro, have lunch, square things.

  Didn't happen.

  Instead of meeting Tony Jack and Tony Pro, Vinnie met him with two guys from New York. Told him the big guys didn't want to meet in public, and said they were here to take him to a house in Bloomfield Hills to meet with them. The mark didn't like it and was suspicious, of course, but what could he do? This was the last chance to make things right before everything turned to shit. The mark got in the car, sitting between the two guys from New York. Vinnie drove.

  They went to an isolated house near Stony Craft golf course, got out, went inside and one of the New York guys did him right there, in the foyer. Two shots, back of the head with a 38. Vinnie was on cleanup detail, mopping up the blood as fast as possible and bleaching it down while the New York guys wrapped the body in a blanket. Clean, well placed shots. A little brains and blood in a side table, but none on the walls. These guys were good.

  They waited until dark. Just so happened they were pouring the foundation for the new Matilda Wilson wing of the Detroit zoo's aviary that night and next day. They just poured one slab a little early, which was no big deal since Vinnie's boss was hooked up with one of the contractors. They took the body to the zoo in a work van, drove to the construction site and put the body and the blanket in the excavation. The mixer was already rolling. They covered the body with concrete and smoothed the slab, the first poured for the new wing.

  Now, when families ooh and aah at the exotic birds cruising around the aviary, the have no clue they're walking over Jimmy Hoffa.

  Chapter 15

  Vlad Visits Jerzy

  Jerzy Vogodian was stunned when he looked through the peephole and saw the Dragon. "Shit," he said, tapping the bouncer's shoulder. "Open the door, open the door." The bouncer obliged. Vlad was smiling and looking down at an image on his cell phone sent by Gregor.

  "Vlad, my old friend," said Jerzy. "I didn't expect to see you so soon." Jerzy stepped aside. "Come in, come in." Vlad flipped his phone shut, stepped in and each man hugged and patted the other on the back both with eyes wide open.

  "So what brings you back this time?" asked Jerzy.

  "Just some business," said Vlad. "And pleasure." Vlad smiled. "What do you have that's new?"

  Jerzy stepped back and tried to recall where Elena was at the moment. After adding the receipts and cash for an hour he forget where she was supposed to be- dancing or with a customer. Sloppy. He turned and looked around the floor and stage. She must be with a customer. He saw Miri at the bar, smoking a cigarette.

  "Not much new," he said. "Business has been slow. I can set you up nicely, though. Follow me."

  They walked past the bar and Jerzy snapped his fingers. The bartender pulled a bottle of Absolut and started a setup with two glasses and ice. Jerzy and Vlad walked through the main parlor, passed the stage and entered a private room lined with red velvet wallpaper, furnished with a couch and two oversized blue velvet chairs. Vlad sat on the couch and Jerzy sat in a chair. Techno droned in the background.

  Jerzy glanced at the bar and saw the bartender was finished with the tray.

  "Let me get our drinks," said Jerzy. Vlad nodded. Jerzy stood and walked to the bar. A naked woman slowly started walking towards Vlad, seeing Jerzy leave.

  "Miri, where is Elena," said Jerzy.

  Miri studied Jerzy's expression, never seeing him this nervous. "Upstairs with someone."

  "Go upstairs. When she is finished tell her to stay there. Out of sight. She is not to come down, understand?"

  Miri looked over Jerzy's shoulder and saw Vlad. Vlad looked at her as the naked woman walked up and stood in front of him.

  "Go. Tell her now," said Jerzy.

  Miri nodded and walked toward the stairs. Jerzy took the tray with the setup and walked briskly back to Vlad. The naked woman looked down at Vlad, swaying side to side, flipping her brown hair. Jerzy motioned for her to leave. She pouted and slowly walked away.

  "Just how I remember you," said Vlad. "A waiter."

  Jerzy forced a smile. "Old times," he said. "I would rather forget." He poured the vodka into the glassed, the ice popping. He raised his glass and said "Skoal!"

  They were on their second round when Vlad said, "Who was that you were talking to at the bar? The one with the missing finger?"

  Jerzy sat back. "She's been here awhile."

  Vlad nodded. "She looks interesting."

  "She's nothing all that special," said Jerzy.

  "The older ones," said Vlad. "They must be exceptional to keep them around. Bring her over."

  Jerzy hesitated, then turned and looked toward the bar. He caught Miri's eye and waved her over.

  Miri wore a short robe, open with nothing underneath. She walked toward them, one high-heeled foot in front of the other, like a cat. She stopped in front of Vlad.

  "Miri, this is my old comrade, Vlad," said Jerzy.

  He motioned for her to sit next to Vlad. Miri sat and automatically put her hand on Vlad's inner thigh.

  Vlad ignored Miri. "I am looking to purchase." He leaned forward. "What do you have that is new?"

  Jerzy shook his head. "Nothing really."

  Vlad nodded, took a drink and said, "Any news of the Army lately?"

  Jerzy looked at him. "No."

  "No? I understand they have been very active. Even around here. Are you sure?"

  "Yes, sure," said Jerzy.

  "So they have not bothered you?" said Vlad. "That is good, but these times are so uncertain. Unstable. Alliances change so easily, day to day. You never know what could happen. Who to trust." Vlad reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone, opened it and brought up an image on the small screen Gregor had sent him.

  "I have something to show you," he said. "I just received this from a very good friend of mine." He leaned forward and turned the phone so Jerzy could see the image. "Here, take a good look."

  Jerzy wasn't sure what he was looking at, and then it came together. He saw a bloody, beaten body, it's severed head tucked neatly between the right arm and torso, mouth open, eyes bulging. Jerzy jumped back in his chair, away from the phone.

  "Is this a threat?" he said.

  "Not at all," said Vlad. "But these things happen from time to time." He flipped the phone shut and put it in his jacket pocket.

  Jerzy sat back and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he said, "Miri, go get Elena."

  Miri nodded. "I think she is with a customer."

  Jerzy flashed an angry look. "Do it. Now."

  Miri got up, walked to the stairway and scrambled up the stairs. A few moments later Elena emerged, wearing a thin, transparent gown over a garter with fishnet nylons and high heels. She walked down the stairs and Miri followed, stopping in front of Vlad.

  Vlad sat up when he saw Elena. "Jerzy. You've outdone yourself with this one," he said. He scanned Elena up and down.

  "This is Elena," said Jerzy. "Sit. Both of you."

  Elena sat on one side of Vlad and Miri on the other.

  "I think I would like to go upstairs with you," said Vlad. He looked at Miri. "You also."

  "Take the penthouse," said Jerzy. "It's all yours."

  "You know I would expect nothing less," said Vlad. He stood and said to Elena, "Lead the way." He followed Elena up the stairs. Miri followed. Vlad put his hand between Elena's legs as she slowly climbed.

  * *

  Vlad sauntered down the stairway zipping up the jacket of his track suit after finishing with Elena and Miri. Jerzy sat at the
table, a good portion of the Absolut gone, staring into space.

  Vlad sat in the chair opposite Jerzy. "You taught them well," said Vlad. "The other, although older…." His voice trailed off. "I want them both."

  "Elena is a big money maker," he said, reconciling to the fact that Elena would soon be gone. "My best. I keep her in reserve, like a fine whiskey. Very tame with her, let's say, treatments. She can get fiery, though, without. She is dependent, only mildly. Give her what she needs and she settles down." Jerzy sat back. "Miri will do whatever a client wants. Anything, anytime, drugs or no drugs."

  "Let's talk business," said Vlad. "Name a price and we go from there."

  "Thirty five thousand. Deutschmarks," said Jerzy.

  "That's a lot, my old friend," said Vlad, his eyes hardening. "Friends do not gouge friends on price."

  "No less than twenty five. Deutschmarks," said Jerzy.

  Vlad nodded. "Ten thousand. American dollars. For both," he said.

  Jerzy sat up. "I do not want to let Elena go. Not for that," he said.

  "I can see why," said Vlad. "Where did you find her?"

  "Let's just say she found her way to me," said Jerzy, taking a drink of vodka.

  Vlad looked coolly at Jerzy. "Fifteen. Fifteen thousand is more than generous, don't you agree?"

  "Euros," said Jerzy.

  "Dollars," said Vlad.

  Jerzy looked at the pocket where Vlad put the phone.

  "Deal."

  Vlad smiled. "Good. I will be back tomorrow."

  Chapter 16

  Dogfight

  Cletus B. Lincoln parked the rusty Jeep Cherokee four houses down the block. Great vehicle for this neighborhood- rugged, could four-wheel through just about anything or anybody. Lincoln just shook his head at the pimp machines, two parked ahead, near the house. Big tittie hood ornaments, lake pipes, gangsta walls, spin wheels and shag interiors. Dumb asses. The DPD loved these rides, easy to track and place at a scene.

  He looked in the rear view mirror before getting out of the Jeep. He tried to look away from his nose but couldn't help it, almost flattened and pushed to one side. Never healed right.

  …Lincoln couldn't stand the sight of the kid. Dirty, little motherfucker. Funky smelling. It was a game, harassing him. Take shit away from him, cookies, chips, pop, whatever. Didn't matter, just as long as he had something worth taking. The kid just stood there and took it, not saying anything, not crying. Lincoln laughing with his friends, making faces and eating or drinking what they took. Kid never had any money. How old was he? Seven, eight? His mama didn't say shit either. Always with some new dude, every time Lincoln would see her…

  Lincoln remembered walking to the party store with his mother, seeing the punk's mama working the corner, laughing and cackling with a couple of dudes. Lincoln's mother grabbed his sleeve and strode by with her nose literally in the air.

  One day, in front of a couple of girls Lincoln cornered him and tried pulling the kid's pants down. The girls giggled while Lincoln bobbed and weaved, grabbing at the kid's baggy jeans. He got the jeans halfway down, the girls squealing, when the kid stood firm and landed a roundhouse on Lincoln's left ear. Lincoln still remembered the impact, the popping sound as the air compressed in his ear canal, the bright flash, and shock. He remembered dropping to the ground. The kid straddled him and pummeled away at his face, finally punching him square in the bridge of the nose. Lincoln held his hands over his face, feeling his nose swell to twice its normal size. The girls ran away. The little punk got up, didn't say anything, pulled up his jeans and walked away. Lincoln and his mother moved out at the end of the month. Lincoln never saw him again.

  …Learned something from it, though. Don't be direct. Back door it. If you want to fuck someone over, do it indirectly, from behind. Never hit them head on…

  Lincoln walked down the sidewalk then turned left toward a neglected asbestos shingle bungalow. He walked up the broken concrete driveway into the dirt back yard, looking at some dog pens in the garage. Lincoln passed three dog pens made from two by fours and chain link fence. The corner fence was chewed away on the third pen, leaving a trace of blood and fur. He wished he knew what dog lived in that pen. He would bet on him.

  He walked up the wooden porch and knocked on the steel barred door. The door opened. Dude looked like one of Alanzo's homies, which was good. Lincoln paid his sixty five dollar entrance fee, stepped in and looked around.

  Alanzo turned the corner from the hall and stopped when he saw Lincoln.

  "Man, you got some balls showing up here," said Alanzo, flashing his diamond studded front teeth.

  "Sup, dog. Man's got a right to make a wager," said Lincoln.

  Alanzo nodded. "That's true, homes."

  Lincoln looked beyond Alazo into the front room. Two treadmills, thick ropes, cattle prod, rape stand, syringes on an end table. They walked through the threadbare kitchen and down the stairs where dudes stood around a blood stained fighting pen. The smell- sweat, dog shit, excitement and fear hit Lincoln and he stopped momentarily.

  Alanzo looked at him. "Like that smell?" Alanzo breathed in deeply. "Man, that's power."

  Lincoln looked at the ring.

  "This ain't no street show," said Alanzo. "Cajun Rules. Classy."

  The fighting pit was square, the sides two feet high and the scratch line twelve feet apart, right according to Cajun Rules. The referee was searching the handlers, before they washed each other's dogs. Two stocky American pit bulls. Lincoln heard of both of them. Little Joe Louis, a Grand Champion, knew how to win but was aging and got torn up the last two shows. The challenger, Ripper, was young, had game and hadn't lost a show yet. The referee nodded and each of the handlers scrubbed down the other's dog and toweled them off. Alanzo and Lincoln watched carefully.

  "Was at one gang show," said Alanzo. "Real ghetto shit. Didn't wash the dogs. No rules. One was slicked down with three-in-one oil, rubbed in so you couldn't see it, laced with rat poison. Fucked up the other dog big time. Had to be put down." He looked at Lincoln. "Handler and owner got capped."

  "Happens every day," said Lincoln. He looked at Alanzo. "Wanted to let you know. Our little project. Our friend is making it happen. As we speak."

  "Alright," said Alanzo. "I'm ready when y'all are."

  "He'll be back next week," said Lincoln. "A little after that we should be good to go."

  "That's what I like to hear," said Alanzo.

  The referee told the handlers to get in their corners. The handlers held their dogs facing away from each other. The referee then said, "Face your dogs."

  The handlers turned and stood over the dogs, showing only their heads and shoulders. Little Joe Louis's handler felt the dog tighten. Reminded him of a cobra, ready to strike.

  "Let go," said the referee.

  Both dogs roared toward the scratch line, legs like springs. Little Joe leapt and went for Ripper's throat. Ripper dodged but Little Joe caught the base of Ripper's ear just above the left eye and bit through. Ripper yelped, flipped over and clamped on Little Joe's left inner hind leg. He sunk in his teeth and shook hard. Little Joe howled and blood spurted from his leg.

  "C'mon, motherfucker," yelled Alanzo.

  Little Joe kicked, squirmed and snapped at Ripper. He caught Ripper in his underbelly and broke skin. Ripper cried and Little Joe broke free. Little Joe Louis did what he was famous for. In a blur his jaws clamped on Ripper's throat. Ripper gasped for air and went down, kicking and scratching. Ripper snapped his jaws twice then collapsed.

  The referee motioned to the handlers. Little Joe's handler barked a couple of commands but the dog wouldn't let go. Ripper lay on the pit floor, near the scratch line.

  "That's my motherfuckin' dog," said Alanzo, laughing.

  Lincoln put two grand on Ripper. He shook his head. "I should hand the bitch his balls who told me to bet on that lame ass mutt."

  The referee told Little Joe's handler to get a break stick. The handler rushed to his corner and picked up a wooden
axe handle. He worked in Little Joe's mouth and after three minutes pried Little Joe's jaws open, releasing Ripper. Ripper, barely conscious and bleeding, lay on the pit floor.

  "No big whoop," said Alanzo, who stood to collect fifteen thousand dollars from the five he bet. The payout started and Alanzo took his cash.

  Lincoln thought of what he could have done with the extra two grand he just lost. "You're right," he said to Alanzo. "Ain't nothin' compared to what's comin' in."

  They turned and walked toward the stairs. Little Joe Louis was outside of the pit, being cleaned up by his handler and owner. Ripper lay on the pit floor, his handler standing above him with a shovel. No doubt he had to put Ripper down.

  Lincoln and Alanzo turned and walked toward the stairs, never noticing the short, jet black dude in the gray hoodie. Clarence Russell turned and watched them climb the stairs, after catching bits of conversation, wondered what was going down. He also remembered with perfect clarity, just like it was this morning, how it felt to flatten Lincoln's face.

  Chapter 17

  Elena Leaves Albania

  Elena sat on the bed, chilled, goose bumps forming on her arms and legs. She felt empty and dizzy, spinning, like she was falling off a cliff. The needle. Feeling like this, it wasn't so terrifying. She shifted position. It still hurt to sit in one spot for very long.

  Last night's final client was bizarre, a well dressed, well placed government official. His bodyguard stood outside the door. Jerzy arranged for Miri and Elena to perform for him. He sat naked in the armchair and directed them. Miri took the lead, telling Elena to smile and act like she was getting off. Any complaints and Jerzy would punish them. Severely. Miri went to work and Elena put herself somewhere else. The client finished himself, then left.

  Miri sat at the vanity brushing her hair. Elena shivered. When was her last hit? Twelve, fourteen hours ago? A wave of nausea and diarrhea hit her. She rushed to the toilet, just making it into the bathroom. She crawled to the bowl, naked and vomiting, fouling the floor. She hung over the bowl, shaking.