Finishing her weave through the final thirty rows, Angie found more of the same—no useful information and shy men who dropped their eyes within fifteen feet. There was zero support for her hypothesis or encouragement to continue. Needing a break and some air-conditioning, she trailed a chubby trucker inside the minimart and duplicated his purchase. Back outside, she settled on a curb and gave herself five minutes to enjoy sixteen ounces of Mountain Dew and a bag of teriyaki-flavored beef jerky.
Two sips into her drink, Angie heard footsteps, felt a light tap on her shoulder, and scrambled to her feet faster than her role should have allowed.
“New girl, huh?” said a middle-aged woman with a rounded belly, gap-toothed grin, and chin pulled into her neck. As though they shopped off the same rack, the woman wore a cat T-shirt, dirty jeans, and white sneakers with the tongues pulled out high and wide. Her frizzy hair was overrun by Florida’s humidity, and there were four freshly picked scabs on her face. Angie liked her immediately.
“I guess,” said Angie, wondering how her accent would play in the Sunbelt. “First day.”
“Any luck?”
“Never.”
That got the woman laughing. “Can I have a sip of your Mountain Dew? It’s hot, and I ain’t got paid anything yet.”
“Oh, sure,” said Angie. “Take the rest and this jerky, too. I’m all through.”
The wild-haired woman smiled into the bag of dried meat. “Nobody does nothing during the day, you know. Sunlight makes them all polite and chicken shitty. I saw you walking and wanted to tell you but figured that’s just something you had to learn. Guys are napping, showering, or maybe touring the racetrack. Fun starts around ten or eleven o’clock. That’s when the other girls arrive.”
Angie reached her hand out. “My name’s Penny with a y.”
The woman fought the curls off her forehead before taking Angie’s hand. “Stardust,” she answered with a smile. “That’s what I’m called around here. You stay a week, we’ll come up with something special for you. Nicknames have to be earned, though.”
“That is my nickname,” said Angie. “You know, Find a penny, pick her up. How long you been working the lot?”
“Oh, on and off for ten years. Got married, so that was a two-year break. Back now five, so I guess it’s twelve total. Never thought I’d be here so long.”
Angie noticed how she quoted a decade plus two without a hint of regret. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure—those other girls, the ones coming later, they can be some nasty bitches. They won’t help you. But not me. I’m just trying to get along. Stay away from my regulars and we’ll be fine partners. You ever need a condom, just ask, and I’ll do the same, okay?”
Angie tried remembering the line so she could share it with Marcek. He’d think it was as funny as she did. “You know most of the truckers that come in here?”
Finishing off the soda, her tongue darting inside for the last drops, Stardust said, “Yeah, I’m like the mayor of truck town. We actually have a Christmas card mailing list for the regulars. I start handing out copies in November. Next year I’m planning on e-mail.”
Angie dropped her gaze to a pebble and worked it with the toe of her sneaker. “I’m not real experienced at this.”
“They’ll like that, the men, I mean.”
“When the parties start, what do you usually charge?”
“As much as I can,” said Stardust, glancing around to make sure potential customers weren’t passing by. “Minimum is twenty for a blow job, but it depends how bad I need the money.”
Angie pulled a pack of gum from her pocket and offered her new friend a stick. “Night like tonight, what can you expect to make? Ballpark figure—two hundred bucks?”
“Oh,” said Stardust, her mouth grinding a beef strip into brown mash. “Baby, this ain’t the big city. Two hundred dollars? These cheap-ass truckers aren’t paying money like that.”
“So what, then?”
“Eighty bucks is my target. I hit that, whether it’s on my first or fourth trick, I’m done. Some nights, that’s the hardest eighty bucks you’ll ever earn. But I’m a good talker, fellows like me. Two or three think we’re dating, so when they drive through I’m booked for the night.”
Angie had met full-time prostitutes in Philadelphia. And a couple girls she knew from school dabbled in the craft, though she’d never met anyone like Stardust, a woman so resigned to the oldest occupation she discussed her day-to-day routine without irony or sadness. Angie decided her last act of the evening would be giving Stardust all her cash. Buying the redheaded prostitute the night off was the least she could offer.
“Mind if we sit?” asked Angie, pointing a finger at the curb. With the truck stop to their backs and the overnight lot on the other side of the gas pumps, she had a good angle to see all the arriving tractor-trailers.
Stardust dropped onto her haunches, leaning into Angie when a foot got lodged beneath her thigh. “You sure you’re done with this?” she giggled, jamming the last piece of jerky into her mouth.
“Stardust?”
“Yeah?”
“You said you keep a list of all the drivers? For Christmas cards?”
Stardust nodded. Her mouth was too full of beef juice to speak without leaking.
On a hunch, Angie asked, “You ever heard of Viagra?”
Stardust swallowed and ran her tongue over both rows of teeth. “Is that a type of spaghetti?”
Angie hesitated with her last question, not anxious to hear the wrong answer. “How about Pfizer? That name ring any bells? Pfizer, starts with a P? Maybe you’ve seen it on a truck or one of your mailing lists?”
“Penny, you chasing an old boyfriend? Because I know everybody on this lot and I’ve never heard of a Pfizer. I once had a man I loved so much I tried hunting him down. His name was Gowen, and I went all the way to Virginia for his hairy red ass.”
Angie leaned back on her palms, closed her eyes, and lifted her chin. Late day orange and lemon sunlight leaked through her lids, unexpected reminders of summer breaks at South Jersey beaches—classic rock on every radio, high school boys tossing a football, little brothers and sisters riding waves, her girlfriends bitching how they couldn’t get tan without using oil, and Angie not wanting the time to end because of home’s reality.
“Oh, shit,” said Stardust.
Angie opened an eye.
“Here comes Gary the Preacher. Coming to shower before tonight’s service.”
A dozen men moving in every direction, Angie asked which one.
“See him in the white shirt, all clean? With the ironed jeans? Yeah, by the trailer right there. That’s him. Fresher than a baby, the man still showers before he eats and preaches. You ain’t Baptist or anything like that, are you?”
“I’m Catholic.”
“Oh,” said Stardust. With hips so wide she couldn’t cross her ankles without splaying her knees, her crotch was on full display to approaching traffic. “Well, Gary the Preacher is Baptist. I mean, like, really, really, Baptist. Set your mind to saying no to anything he asks. He’s tricked me before. Start answering his questions and the next thing you know, you’re at his Bible study group on the other side of this building and you’ve missed three hours of work. Oh hell, here he comes. Just know his favorite thing is saving whores.”
Angie considered walking away but didn’t want to abandon her new friend. The man Stardust identified was indeed making a straight—though not uninterrupted—line in their direction. To each passing trucker he offered a hearty hello and a business card, which Stardust explained was his verse of the day plus the time and location of tonight’s prayer meeting.
Before he was close enough to hear, Angie asked, “How many go to his services?”
“Depends,” answered Stardust. “I have no bias against preaching, though he tends to run long when taken by the spirit. He tries grabbing every new trucker, has six or seven regulars, and a few will drift through. Says he likes stopping over
in Daytona for all the sinners.”
Gary the Preacher made eye contact with Angie a dozen steps away. He was the type of well-built, joyous man who looked younger than his true age. His belt was buckled a notch too tight, and he carried a leather gym bag, which Angie assumed contained shower supplies and a change of clothes. The only marking on the bag was a white patch with a single blue word. Unable at first, she could read it as he got closer—PFIZER.
Holy shit, she thought. Jackpot.
Stopping a yard off the curb, Gary said, “Hi, Stardust.”
“Hi, honey.” True to her nature, Stardust accepted his approach with the same easy aplomb she brought to every other facet of her bumpy life. Blow jobs for twenty bucks received the same emotional investment as Baptist truckers spreading the Good Word.
“Have you read the verse I mentioned?”
“Yes. I mean, I looked at it, but I haven’t had a chance to really think about it.”
Gary nodded at Stardust’s answer while looking at Angie. “I’m Gary,” he said, handing her a card. “I haven’t seen you before. What’s your name?”
When Angie inhaled, Stardust tapped her with an elbow, like, Careful, this is how he got me. Angie couldn’t help smiling. “Penny with a y.”
“Well, Penny with a y, have you accepted Christ as your Lord and Savior?”
Angie read the card before rolling it over in her hand. “I’m Catholic.”
Gary winked. “You don’t think Catholics can be saved?”
“My priest thinks I’m okay already. What’s up with the card?” she asked, holding it up between her first two fingers. She’d never flirted with such a religious man, figuring it couldn’t be too different.
“It’s my prayer meeting. Love for you to attend. Since being dipped in the holy waters, I’ve personally saved twenty-six sinners.”
“How long?” she said, extending the last syllable with her glossed lips.
“Excuse me?”
“How long are the meetings? Me and you, how long would we meet?”
Stardust’s snicker made Gary blush. “Oh, I see,” he said, his mood dimming as he tightened his grip on the bag. “You’re having a little fun at my expense. Well, it’s not too late for you, Penny. There’s still time. Listen to your heart and join me tonight. From seven to ten o’clock we’ll be near the tree line. Stardust, you’re of course welcome.”
Angie pointed to his bag. “Hey, on the patch, that the name of your church?”
Mouth falling open, Gary locked eyes with Angie as he experienced what he would later describe in sermons, testimonials, and self-published materials as The Epiphany. Yes, of course, he thought, the message was so clear. My church, indeed, if they had their way. How could I have been so blind? This is my moment of deliverance. Shifting his focus upward, he shouted, “How you do work, sending me this courier of truth. Yes, I’ve been weak, allowing myself to be led by a false prophet. I’m shamed and sorry.”
Smile restored, Gary knew God had spoken to him through this beautiful prostitute. He’d wandered. The bag—that prideful leather bag adorned with corporate patches—was Pfizer’s gift to him for ten years of service. He now understood it as a lure, the devil’s work to ensure he’d haul their unholy intoxicant. Sex was a spiritual gift, and if taken away, who’d be so brazen as to defy this mandate with a pill? The devil, he thought, that’s who.
Pulling his shoulders back, resolute in his newfound peace, Gary the Preacher said, “No, Penny, despite their intentions, that’s not my church. Pfizer is the company I drive for, my employer, but not much longer. Truth be told, I now believe they’re peddling false idols.”
“Never heard of them. What do they make?”
“Fool’s medicine.”
“Is that what you’re delivering?” asked Angie. “Are you the Medicine Man?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping around the two women. Knowing he had the beginnings of his most powerful personal statement, there was much to consider before the night’s prayer meeting. “I need to shower. Seven o’clock, Penny. Don’t forget.”
Angie closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She’d celebrate the victory for five or ten seconds, call Marcek with the news, and wait for Gary the Preacher to reemerge. Finding his truck was her final task. Marcek could handle picking the keys off the preacher and driving his truck off the lot.
“Hey,” said Stardust, shaking her new friend’s shoulder. “You see that? Your boyfriend’s name is printed on the preacher’s bag. You did it, you found him, Penny. You found the man of your dreams.”
27.
THE PLAN WAS SIMPLE. Avoid using cell phones while traveling from Daytona to their own warehouse. Stay close, drive a few miles under the limit, and hug the right lane regardless of slow drivers. If there was an issue, neither was allowed to flash headlights or honk, because both were police attractors. Just wave a hand or run the windshield wipers, which meant take the next exit.
With almost no traffic and perfect spring conditions, they pulled into Sonny’s warehouse just as Gary the Preacher finished his closing prayer and blessed the flock.
Inside the warehouse, with the stolen truck parked alongside the new one, Marcek and Angie allowed themselves a moment of celebration. They jumped up and down, hugging and high-fiving their success. Even if Stardust remembered the new prostitute and Gary could describe the fellow who bumped him hard enough to knock heads, how did that information help the cops recover the truck? As long as they got the product unloaded and onto a new truck heading north within the next twelve hours, they’d be tough to pin down.
Walking through their future timeline, they realized the immediate issue was whether they should open and unload the truck before calling Sonny. He knew nothing of their progress. He didn’t know they’d found the distribution warehouse in Fort Lauderdale or traveled to Daytona Beach.
Marcek said, “What if this thing is full of packing peanuts or aspirin? How does it make sense bringing Sonny down to embarrass ourselves? If it’s a bust, we still have time to steal another truck or come up with a second plan.”
Angie acknowledged his point before countering with the winning argument. “Sure, this truck could be bogus. But what if we open it up and find Viagra? Sonny might already be sore because we kept him out of the loop, like we’re going a little too rogue. Then he sees we opened the truck and rooted around?”
“So?”
“Come on. In his position, you and I’d be thinking the same thing—I wonder how much Viagra was in the trailer before I arrived.”
That was all the convincing Marcek needed. She was right. Again. It was Sonny’s project, and he needed to share in the joy or disappointment of opening the doors. For the moment, Angie and Marcek would have to define success as hooking the truck within forty-eight hours. Whatever they found inside was the purview of Lady Fortune.
Sonny arrived within an hour of receiving the call. They picked him up at a fast-food parking lot to minimize traffic coming in and out of the warehouse. On the five-minute drive, Sonny asked two questions—How did the truck handle on the road, and why was Angie dressed like a truck-stop hooker? Heavy enough it wasn’t empty, Marcek answered to the first. And for the second, he explained their plan required her to dress down. Those were the last words until they reached the warehouse.
Once they popped the back doors and unloaded the pallets to the warehouse floor, it took a few moments to appreciate what they’d stolen. Best-case scenario was a trailer full of Viagra. They didn’t get that. Worst case was all niche pharmaceuticals for treating gout or swimmer’s ear—obscure products with zero street value. They didn’t get that either.
In total, the truck held twenty-six pallets. Twelve pallets were a mystery—a hodgepodge of scientific-sounding, unrecognizable names. Eight pallets were Viagra. For all involved to walk with six hundred grand, Sonny said, each pallet needed twenty thousand pills. By a rough count—given the rows and columns—they were playing math in the right neighborhood.
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br /> The final six pallets were dismissed until later that night at Sonny’s condo. Standing around his dining table, thinking of next steps, they agreed to call Bielakowski. Sonny had already cleared the air about roles, so no issues were expected. As Marcek had predicted, his old man was fine with the arrangement. He was getting a half-million or more without assembling a team or running the operation. His sole responsibility was middle-manning a northeastern buyer with the resources and willingness to appreciate the hottest pharmaceutical drug in the world. What complaint could he have?
Sonny assumed the lead on their end of the call. Once his partner answered, Sonny explained the truck contained twenty-six pallets and eight were worth hauling north for sale. The buyer needed three million with a half-million reserve in case their preliminary count was low.
“What’s getting left behind?” Bielakowski asked.
“Twelve are a grab bag of medicines we can’t pronounce.”
“And the others?”
“Six pallets of Sudafed. Can we make money off them? Sure, meth cooks need the pills and would pay a price, but—given your position on drugs—we’re leaving the pallets in the warehouse.”
“Walking away?”
Sonny didn’t want to get pinned with a committed position. “To be determined.”
A thinking man’s pause from Anton. “Those are the pills with the pseudoephedrine?”
“Yeah,” said Sonny, his face playing out the surprise. “Six pallets of cold pills with pseudoephedrine. While it’s probably one-fifth of the Viagra’s value, there’s still something there.”
The Friendship of Criminals Page 21
