The System - A Detroit Story - (9 page)

Vlad nodded. Shall we get down to business?" he said. "I have the distribution arranged. With a certain degree of protection and excellent intelligence."

Gregor nodded. "We expect the flow of cash every two weeks."

"Not a problem," said Vlad. "Detroit is very systematic."

Vlad learned the Detroit system from Cletus B. Lincoln. With twenty thousand addicts, demand was high. Lincoln said to Vlad, "man, they don't sell to junkies in the street here. It's busted up into two gigs." Lincoln went on to say the two gigs were quarter houses and shooting galleries. Dudes that owned shooting galleries came in and bought caps at the quarter houses, which were like wholesalers. Dudes would take the caps back to their shooting galleries and sell hits to their junkies. Make 'em shoot up right there, just to make sure they weren't undercover cops. Plenty of shooting galleries in Detroit- at least two thousand. Lincoln said he knew of twenty on Mack Avenue alone, near Comerica Park. Alanzo Hendricks controlled a lot of the quarter houses in Detroit, along with a number of shooting galleries. Lincoln knew some of Alanzo's galleries brought in at least ten thousand a week, let alone what came into the quarter houses. If up-and-comers got in Alanzo's way, they were executed, plain and simple. Cops had so much other shit to do few q-houses and galleries were busted.

Vlad and Gregor waited until sunset and loaded the heroin in the back of the Land Rover, covering it with a green woolen army blanket. They drove north, past the airport toward the port of Durres.

"You know my uncle," said Vlad. "My mother's brother. Spent eight years in prison for having a map," said Vlad referred to the days under the communist regime when it was illegal to own a map of Albania. "Some good with it, though," he said. "You learn how to get around by landmark only."

"True," said Gregor.

They pulled into Durres and passed by the sparse train station. A vintage cold war diesel locomotive, green, white and burnt orange sat idle on the tracks. They cruised past the ancient Roman amphitheater. Vlad studied it as they rolled by.

 "I would have felt very comfortable in there," he said.

"I believe you would," said Gregor. "The dragon in the arena."

They drove along the remote northern coastline, the hillside populated by concrete bunkers, short and toadstool-like. Just a subset of the seven hundred and fifty thousand constructed during the early fifties under the paranoid communist dictatorship, built to fend off an invasion that never materialized. Many were spray painted with graffiti, names of World Cup teams and players.

Vlad looked out the window. "The coast reminds me of my father," he said. "People are such fools. They work. Sacrifice for others, and where does that get them? Nowhere. There is only yourself."

Gregor switched the Land Rover into four wheel drive, killed the headlights and pulled off the gravel road. He navigated up a hill and stopped near a derelict bunker surrounded by tall grass and brush.

"Concrete mushrooms," said Gregor. "Very useful."

Vlad and Gregor got out of the Land Rover and walked to the bunker. Vlad reached inside the rectangular aperture, down toward the false floor, touched a bag and felt for the canvass handle. He pulled out the bag and handed it to Gregor. He reached in and pulled out the second bag. They unzipped the bags, revealing neatly bound packets of one hundred dollar bills.

They zipped up the bags and loaded the bricks of heroin.

"They will be out of here and on their way by morning," said Gregor.

Vlad and Gregor were getting in the Land Rover when they heard a twig snap and saw a silhouette moving against the moonlight. The figure stopped and bent over, picked something up, then moved again. Vlad and Gregor looked at each other and pulled their guns. They scrambled up the hill and converged on a young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. He stopped when he saw Vlad and Gregor.

"What are you doing here?" said Vlad.

The young man looked at the guns. "Just getting some firewood."

"Firewood for what?" said Vlad.

"For a fire. My girlfriend and I are camping."

"Where?" said Vlad.

The young man pointed to a hilltop. "Over that ridge, near the beach."

Vlad looked at Gregor, then back at the young man. "Take us there."

"Why?" said the young man. "Are you the police or something? I haven't done anything wrong."

Vlad pointed the gun at the young man's face. "Shut up and take us there."

The young man dropped the wood and started walking up the hill. "What did I do wrong?" he said.

"Just keep moving," said Vlad.

They cleared the hilltop, the moonlight sparking over the Adriatic Sea. A tent was pitched on the beach. A female figure stood next to the tent, outlined against the water.

Vlad, Gregor and the young man walked down to the tent and stopped.

"What's going on?" said the young woman, stunned at seeing her boyfriend with two men holding guns.

"Pack up your tent," said Vlad. "You're coming with us."

"I don't understand," said the young woman.

"Shut up and pack your things," said Vlad.

"But we've done nothing wrong," said the young man.

Vlad swung around and hit him in the side of the jaw with his gun. He dropped to his knees and his girlfriend rushed over to him.

"What are you doing?" she cried. "Why are you doing this?"

"Pack up the tent. Now," said Vlad.

The girlfriend helped the young man up.  He stood, dazed for a moment then started taking down the tent. The young woman started crying.

"Please," she said. "We did nothing."

"No talking," said Vlad.

They packed the tent in a nylon carrying case and rolled up two sleeping bags. The young man carried the tent and a sleeping bag. The young woman carried her sleeping bag and a small mess kit.

"Move," said Vlad, pointing to the hilltop.

They walked over the hill, passed the bunker loaded with heroin and headed down the hill toward the Land Rover. Gregor opened the Rover's rear gate.

"Put the tent and bags in here," said Vlad. "You," he said to the young man. "Get in the front." He pointed the gun at the young woman. "You get in the back."

The young man looked at his girlfriend and yelled, "Run!" He charged at Gregor, tackling him. The young woman ran down the hill. Vlad walked over, picked the young man by the collar and threw him down. He aimed the gun at the back of the young man's head and fired.

The young woman heard the shot, a crack echoing off the hills and let out a sharp cry. Vlad saw her stumble, get up and run toward the road. He held the gun with both hands and aimed. The young woman looked back. Vlad squeezed off a shot, hitting the woman in the nose, the bullet exiting through the back of her skull. She dropped and tumbled a short distance down the hill and stopped.

"Shit," said Vlad. "I didn't want that to happen here. Let's load them and go."

Vlad walked down the hill, grabbed the dead woman by the leg and dragged her up the hill. They could wrap the bodies in the army blanket and dump them in the Adriatic a few miles up the coast, at the point. The current would take them all the way to Greece. A shame. Vlad looked down at the dead woman. She might have done well at the Tiger's Den.

Chapter 14

Vinnie the Viper

A cylinder on the Harley wasn't acting right. Missed firing twice.  An average rider wouldn't notice it, but Chris did. He was sensitive to every little nuance, every little quirk in the bike's performance and behavior. He rumbled into the ACE garage to check it out.

Eddie sat at the table with Vinnie Tucci with a bottle of Johnny Walker Black between them. At Vinnie's side sat a scowling, tattooed young man maybe about twenty that resembled Vinnie.

"Whoa," said Eddie. "Look who's here."

Vinnie looked at Chris and nodded. "Long time no see."

"Hey Vinnie," said Chris. He looked at the young man.

"Take a seat," said Eddie. "Have a drink with us."

Vinnie put is arm around the young man's shoulder and pulled him in.

"This is my nephew Paulie," he said.

Chris nodded. He sat. "I'll pass on the drink," he said. "I'm driving."

"Hey man. I don't drink that shit either," said Paulie, pointing to the bottle of JWB. "Blue label only."

Vinnie got serious. "I was tellin' Eddie, someone boosted a hauler full of Escalades. Driver worked for a friend of mine." He sat back and downed a shot of JWB. "Get this," he said. "Even had the keys shipped separately. Amateurs would have cut loose right there. Had to be some talent on that job." He looked directly at Eddie. "Hear anything about it?"

Eddie looked Vinnie in the eye and said, "No. Not a word."

Vinnie fixed on Eddie's face. After a moment he sat back.

"Whoever pulled this job should be careful. If you catch wind of anything, do me a favor and let me know."

"They're dead meat," said Paulie.

Vinnie smacked him in the head. "What's wrong with you? Did I tell you to talk?"

Paulie sat back and lit a cigarette.

"Let me put it to you this way," said Vinnie. "Whoever did this isn't a friend of mine. It brings unnecessary heat."

Chris looked at Eddie. "I thought you didn't have any friends, only customers?" 

"We got friends," said Eddie, shifting his weight in his wheelchair, "and good ones. Like Vinnie."

Eddie wheeled a little closer to the table, toward Chris. "Vinnie has something for us," he said. Vinnie chimed in, and said slowly, "big party at the RenCen. The Marriot. Benefit for Detroit Receiving Hospital. Lots of doctors gonna be there. Rich ones. Always some lawyers, too."

"I know the structure there," said Chris.

"It's not that structure, the one across Beaubien. Some big automotive convention's going on at the same time. Structure's booked solid for two days. Same time as the party. Doctors were pissed. They're parking in the Millender structure. Valets will take the cars from the door."

"I know that structure, too. Low concrete. Narrow and tight. Got to watch your speed or you go airborne and the car's done," said Chris.  "So what are we looking for?"

"CL class," said Vinnie. "Top of the list. Then C class. BMW from there."
Chris nodded.

"Want 'em intact, and want at least four, five if you can," said Vinnie. "It goes down two weeks from now. On a Saturday night."

"We'll work on intel," said Eddie.

"You in?" Vinnie said to Chris.

"Sure," said Chris. "What's the take?"

"The usual," said Vinnie, sitting back. "Another thing," he said to Eddie. "You'd be doing me a huge favor if you could take Paulie on. As an apprentice, maybe." He pinched Paulie's cheek. Paulie scowled and pulled away. "Show him the ropes, so to speak. Start him out small, make him work." He looked at Eddie. "Make his mother happy."

After a small flash of surprise, Eddie nodded and said, "sure, shouldn't be a problem, Vinnie. We'll work something out." Eddie looked at Paulie, then Vinnie. "Start next week?"

"Sure thing," said Vinnie. He turned to Paulie. "Thank the man."

"Thanks, man," said Paulie.

"Alright," said Vinnie. He stood. "Adios. Paulie, let's go."

Paulie stood and followed Vinnie out.

*  *

After Vinnie and Paulie drove away, Chris said, "What about the Albanian? Vinnie's thinking you're playing both sides of the fence. That's why he's sticking that little greaseball with us."

"Vinnie don't know. He may suspect, but he don't know. And what Vinnie don't know won't hurt him. Or us," said Eddie.

"Bullshit. He'll cut your balls off if he found out. Mine too. You know how he is," said Chris.

"Read my lips," said Eddie. "What Vinnie don't know won't hurt him. Besides, Vlad's into something new. Bigger take."

"You get in deep shit, don't involve me. I don't want to wind up floating down the Detroit River," said Chris.

Eddie looked at Chris. "Bust my balls all you want," he said. "I can't feel them anyway." He rolled back in the wheelchair. "Extra three grand for you if you score a CL."

"Deal," said Chris. His expression turned serious. "How did Vinnie get wind of the Escalades? I thought it was just us that knew? You, me, Clarence, Zippy and Jesus."

"Things get out on the street. You know that," said Eddie.

"Still, I don't like it," said Chris. "What do you know about this Vlad dude, anyway?  At least with Vinnie you know where you stand. Besides, you two go back." Chris lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

"Way back," said Eddie.

Vinnie and Eddie did go back. Humping on patrol in Vietnam. Same unit. Vinnie was vicious in the field, where he picked up the nickname "The Viper," wasting anything that moved while out on patrol. Vinnie was in Nam six months before Eddie. 11-Bravo. Eddie being an FNG- fucking new guy fresh out of jungle school, was ignored by the rest of the unit until he talked to Vinnie and found out he was from Grosse Pointe. "Oak Park Eddie," Vinnie called him. They both were outliers, the Jewish kid from Oak Park and the Mafia punk from Grosse Pointe. They hung out together in the field barracks made of old ammo boxes on a cement slab with a sheet metal roof, eating C rations, some going back to World War II. Vinnie would go after the beans and meatballs and Eddie ate ham and eggs. Far from kosher, but fuck it.

One night in Injun country they got into a firefight outside a village, trapping a squad of VC and wasting them all except for one. They tied him up and sat him down in a clearing surrounded by elephant grass. The Lieutenant had Vinnie carry a bag of onions in a big, sealed plastic bag, just for occasions like this. Something he learned from a South Vietnamese Captain. Vinnie took the onions, cut them up, put them in the bag and put the bag over the gook's head. The onion vapor instantly choked him. The Lieutenant radioed in for an interpreter.

After just over a minute the Lieutenant told Vinnie to remove the onion bag. The prisoner gasped, coughed and refused to talk. They put the bag back over his head and the prisoner collapsed, unconscious. They smacked him in the face to revive him, but he still said nothing. Tough little bastard. The Lieutenant told Vinnie to take the bag of onions and bury it, and told Eddie to go with him. They did and on the way back they heard two pops from an M16.