The System - A Detroit Story -

by John Silver

  One of the rebels came up behind Elena and knocked her unconscious with a butt of a rifle, and the two rebels rape her again…

  "When I woke, I couldn't walk for days. I bled, almost to death. And now I am made to do this," she said, hanging her head.

  She looked up at Chris.

  "All I want is my daughter," she said. "To take her and have a life somewhere."

  Chris put his arm around her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I truly am."

  Elena curled up to him, like a cat, this warm, naked, trembling woman.

  "Please do not tell Vlad," she said.

  "Forget it," Chris said. "That's the last thing you have to worry about."

  Elena looked at him and smiled faintly. She got up, went to her purse and pulled out a rumpled envelope from her purse.

  "This is a letter to my father," she said. "I've been too afraid to mail it, but now I don't care. My father must know what happened, so he can protect Sanja."

  "Mail it," said Chris. "We can do it tomorrow."

  Elena put the letter down, got back into bed and lay close to Chris. "Thank you," she said, the slipped into a deep sleep.

  * *

  Chris and Elena dropped the letter in a mailbox first thing the following morning.

  * *

  Chris took the bottle of pills from Elena, pulled off on a dirt road and tossed them into the weeds. "I'm sorry," he said. "But we just can't risk it." Elena looked out the window and wrapped her arms around her.

  The morning was bright and cool and Elena wore large Jackie Kennedy sunglasses and an oversized fisherman's sweater, giving her a classic sixties look. Chris ditched his customary black leather jacket for a tan field coat and looked fresh and outdoorsy. Going through Customs was easy just past the border on 95 from Houlton to Woodstock. The guard briefly examined their passports then handed them back.

  "Enjoy your stay in Canada," he said.

  * *

  They found McLean's Furniture Store on Broadway in downtown Woodstock and parked in a small adjacent lot.

  "Here we go," said Chris.

  They got out of the car and walked toward the front door. "There should be a woman here," said Chris. "I have to say a code phrase, just like in the movies," he said. "She should say a code phrase back, then give us the package. "We'll have a couple of trinkets to take back with us. A vase with some fake flowers and a small globe, with a receipt. Eighty bucks," he said.

  They walked in the front door and looked around. Very woodsy and dark. Lamps, sofas, chairs, tables, all with a distinctly northern east coast look and feel. A woman in her sixties was arranging a bin of silky pillows turned when Chris and Elena entered.

  "Hello," said the woman. "Can I help you find anything?"

  Chris said, "Thanks, we're just looking around. By the way, do you also grow tomatoes here?"

  Elena looked at Chris, confused by the illogic. The woman sized them up, Elena still wearing sunglasses.

  "Yes we do," she said. "The finest in New Brunswick. Pull your car around back." She turned and disappeared into a back room.

  Chris noticed a vase with silk flowers and globe sitting on a coffee table. "Wait here," he said to Elena.

  Chris pulled the car around back to a loading area. The woman came out the rear entrance and waved him back. Chris backed in and got out of the car, looking at a long, rectangular package wrapped in brown, shiny paper secured with duct tape.

  "I believe this is what you are looking for," she said.

  Chris opened the rear doors, and with some effort unlatched the bottom of the bench seat. The seat cavity was altered to accommodate the package. He loaded in the heroin, heavy and awkward, careful not to puncture to damage any of the individual bundles. He snapped the seat back into place.

  "Please take your other items and I will write your receipt," said the woman. Strange accent, thought Chris. Like Elena and Vlad's with the edges worn away. Chris picked up the globe and Elena the vase and followed the woman to a counter with a computer terminal. After a few keystrokes an ink jet printer spit out a receipt. The woman wrapped the small globe and tissue and placed them in an oversized orange shopping bag. There was just enough room on the side of the bag to hold the package.

  "Goodbye," said the woman. She turned and walked to the silky pillows she was arranging.

  He and Elena pulled out of the small lot and got back on 95 westbound.

  * *

  Chris turned right into the Customs Loop on 95 on the American side, just before Airport Drive. He stopped at a booth and rolled down his window and smiled.

  "Can I see your identification?" asked the guard.

  Chris, already holding their passports, handed them to the guard. The guard examined the passports, and looked at Chris and Elena.

  "Would you please remove your sunglasses, ma'am." Elena pulled off her sunglasses and looked at the guard. The guard studied their faces, looed into Elena's eyes, and then handed back their passports.

  "Do you have anything to declare?" he asked.

  "Just these," said Chris, reaching into the back seat and picking up the bag with the vase and globe. He showed them to the guard.

  "What was the total amount spent," he said.

  "Eighty dollars," said Chris, pulling out the receipt. "Canadian."

  The guard stepped out of the booth. "Please pull over into the inspection area," he said, pointing to a mostly empty lot.

  "Is there something wrong?" said Chris. "We just got married and are on our honeymoon. Thought we'd poke around Canada a little, since we've never been up here before," he said.

  "Please pull over," said the guard.

  Chris pulled into the lot and they sat while the guard walked back to the booth and tapped on a terminal, running the plates. Data popped up on the screen and the guard picked up a phone. The female voice on the other end said, "Let them pass." Two minutes later he came out of the booth and walked over.

  "Could you open the trunk, please?" he said, walking around to the rear of the car.

  Shit, thought Chris. Stay calm. By now Chris could read Elena's subtle body language and knew she needed a pill, or a fix. Chris pressed the trunk release button.

  The guard looked into the trunk and found it empty and clean. He leaned into the trunk for a moment, out of view. He knelt by the license plate and reached underneath, near the gas tank. He shut the trunk and walked over to the driver's side.

  "You're free to go," he said. "Have a nice day."

  "Thanks," said Chris. He drove slowly through the loop and turned right onto 95.

  The guard picked up the phone and dialed the same number. Peabody asked the guard if he inserted the GPS unit and transponder. The guard responded, "Affirmative."

  Chapter 26

  Clarence on the Down Low

  Clarence lay naked in bed with the fifteen year old boy, pissed about the money he lost on the dogfight but happy the kid was with him. He could smell the dogs all the way up here, even in the makeshift attic bedroom.

  The kid got out of bed and Clarence admired his slender body, hot little queen if he ever saw one, worth every penny of the fifty bucks he paid him.

  Clarence knew the risks of being on the down low, but hey, the kid worked here tending to the dogs, liked Clarence, loved the money and the brother who ran the fights was in the closet himself, so it all worked out.

  Clarence was getting hard again when the dogs downstairs and in the yard started barking. The kid went to the window and saw the SWAT team rush up the crumbling cement porch and smash the front door with a steel battering ram. Clarence heard shouting downstairs and shot out of bed. The kid stood naked, still looking out the window, the yard filling up with two squad cars and a black police van.

  "Nathan, get your clothes on, godammit," said Clarence, searching for his underwear and pants.

  Fierce barking downstairs followed by a gunshot and a sharp yelp. Clarence heard heavy footsteps trample up the stairs and sat on the bed. The black clothed cops stor
med the attic, automatic weapons trained. Clarence saw a red dot dance across his chest.

  "On the floor now," shouted one of the cops. Clarence put his hands up. He got on his knees and lay on the floor. One cop stood over him, his foot squarely on Clarence's back, gun pointed at his head.

  "You too," said the other cop to the naked kid. The kid complied and lay face first on the stained and dirty blue shag carpet. The cops handcuffed them both with thick nylon ties and did a quick sweep of the room.

  "Got any weapons?" said the cop standing over Clarence, pushing his foot into his back.

  "No," said Clarence.

  "Telling the truth?" said the cop, pressing harder. "Don't lie to me."

  "No, man," said Clarence. "I ain't got no motherfucking weapons."

  The other cop said to the kid, "How old are you?"

  "Eighteen," said Clarence.

  "Shut the fuck up," said the cop. "Nobody's taking to you." The cop looked down at the kid. "How old are you?"

  "Fifteen," said the kid.

  Clarence let out a sigh.

  * *

  Clarence sat in the interrogation room wearing baggy jeans and a torn white t-shirt. Washington watched him through the one-way glass.

  "Caught him naked with an underage boy. Still had a hard on," said Detective Greg Kline, DPD Vice. "Been doing him for awhile, according to the kid. Oral, back door, fifty bucks a pop."

  Kline looked at Clarence through the glass. "Dude's an amateur boxer. Used to train at Kronk. Pretty good, too, could go pro. Now he's here looking at ten to fifteen," said Kline. "It's killing him getting caught like this. Worried more about his reputation than the time. This gets out, might as well have a tattoo on his forehead. Step into the ring with that baggage?"

  "What does this have to do with me?" said Washington.

  "He's talking," said Kline. "He steals cars for a living. Talked about a job coming up at the Marriot, a big one." Kline looked at Clarence through the glass. "This guy's no canary, but he's giving us some useful information. They're going to hit Mercedes, parked in the Millender structure. BMWs also. And get this," said Kline. "Made none other than Cletus B. Lincoln at one of the dogfights, betting pretty heavily, too. Hanging with Alanzo Hendricks. Verified it with the kid, since he was there tending the dogs after the fight."

  Washington perked up. "We can bait Millender."

  "Thought you would be interested in that," said Kline.

  Washington looked at his old partner and smiled. He appreciated the tip. They helped each other out, going back to their Wayne State days.

  "What did you offer?" said Washington.

  "Contributing, possibly child endangerment," said Kline. "We can't really prove he had sex with the boy, not without some DNA. We can make other charges stick if we try. Found a lot of bud, crack on the premises," said Kline. "Along with the dogs and fifty thousand cash. Turns out the dude running the operation is the kid's second cousin." He turned to Washington. "Want to talk to him?" asked Kline.

  "Sure do," said Washington.

  * *

  Washington sat across from Clarence.

  "So when does it go down?" asked Washington.

  "Next Saturday night," said Clarence.

  "What time?"

  "Ten O'clock."

  "What's the order?" asked Washington.

  "Foreign," said Clarence. "Mercedes M, BMW."

  Washington sat back, thinking about where he could get a Mercedes or BMW for bait. "How many?" he asked.

  "Four, five if we can," said Clarence.

  Washington leaned forward. "Give me some names."

  "Can't do that," said Clarence.

  "You know what you're looking at," said Washington. "Boxer loves little twinkie boys. There goes any cred you had." He stared at Clarence. "Where's the drop off? Give me names. You cooperate, chances are you may even walk. That's how the system works," said Washington.

  Clarence looked at Washington. "I ain't makin' no deal with you. I already did with the other dude. That ain't how this shit works. I wanna talk to a lawyer."

  "You don't need a lawyer," said Washington. "What you need right now is me." He stood and looked down at Clarence. "Now," he said. "Here's what you're going to do."

  Chapter 27

  The Delivery

  After dropping Elena at the Tiger's Den Chris drove to Eddie's shop per Vlad's instructions. He pulled into the hanger-like garage and Eddie was waiting for him. Chris parked and got out of the car.

  "Got the package?" asked Eddie.

  "Got it," said Chris. "Where's my hundred grand?"

  "Got to get that from Vlad."

  "Then why should I give you that package?"

  "That was the deal," said Eddie. He frowned. "What's the matter, kid? Don't you trust us?"

  "I take all the risk, what did you do?" said Chris.

  "Keeping the shit here, ain't I?" said Eddie. "That's a bigger risk than just delivery. He's good for the hundred grand, believe me," said Eddie. "Don't fuck with him, he won't fuck with you." Eddie wheeled closer to Chris. "Besides," he said. "He likes you. He gave you that hot little piece for the ride, didn't he?"

  Chris pictured Elena. "That he did."

  "He'll be back here tomorrow night," said Eddie. He turned and started wheeling away. "C'mon," he said. "Get the shit and help me stash it."

  Chris went to the car and pulled the package from under the dashboard, getting used to how heavy seventy five pounds felt. He followed Eddie into the back office.

  "Move that box," said Eddie, pointing to a wooden box sitting on the floor. Chris gave Eddie a puzzled look, walked over and moved the box, revealing an old in-the-ground safe.

  "You talk about trust," said Eddie. "Here's the combination. Spin it to the right to start."

  Chris knelt down and looked at the old safe, made of hardened steel, painted dark green like something manufactured in the 1940s.

  "Twenty two, fifty four, seventy eight, nineteen," said Eddie slowly.

  Chris twirled the combination lock and faintly heard the tumblers click.

  "What were the last two?"

  "Seventy eight, nineteen," said Eddie.

  Chris rotated the dial and in nineteen the tumblers clicked. Chris opened the heavy door. The safe interior smelled musty and stale, like opening a crypt.

  "Fits just right, don't it?" said Eddie.

  Chris put the package in the safe and fought to keep the combination from slipping from his memory. He associated the numbers-- twenty two and fifty eight, that was easy. That's how old his sister and mother were when his doped out mother drove her car into a tree at seventy miles an hour, killing them both. Seventy eight, that was the year he was born. Nineteen, how old he was when they released him from Juvie.

  "Close it up and spin the dial," said Eddie.

  Chris spun the dial and stood up and slid the box over the safe.

  "Remember the combination?" asked Eddie.

  "Nope," said Chris. "I'm not good at memorizing shit. Twenty two something, forty seven?"

  Eddie studied him. "You seen Clarence around?"

  "Negative," said Chris. "I've been away, remember? Have you?"

  "No. Haven't heard from him either," said Eddie. Which wasn't unusual, they both knew. Clarence would disappear for long stretches- usually after a difficult match. He either recuperated or trained, or so they figured.

  He's never missed a boost," said Chris.

  Eddie paused. "There's something I gotta tell you," he said. "About the boost."

  Chris didn't like the sound of Eddie's voice. "What's that?" he said.

  "Paulie's going with you guys."

  "What? No fucking way."

  "I know how you feel," said Eddie. "But it's business. Good business. Besides, I talked to Zippy and he said he did okay on the Book Cadillac boost."

  "No fucking way he's with me," said Chris.

  "You, Clarence and Jesus go solo," said Eddie. "Paulie will stick with Zippy."

  "Damn strai
ght," said Chris.

  "Don't worry about it," said Eddie. "The kid's a little hot under the collar, but he's okay. It'll make Vinnie happy."

  * *

  Ann Peabody studied the breadcrumb trail on the map on her tablet. Using Google maps she saw the pinpoints through Maine, New Hampshire, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio then around Lake Erie through Toledo into Detroit, finally stopping and disappearing in the Southwest side. She tapped on the last recorded position, displaying a latitude and longitude value, tapped again and a geocoding engine translated the lat/lon into a street address.

  Eddie Siegler's junkyard.

  Chapter 28

  The Millender Boost

  Freeman Washington, Ann Peabody, Big Bill Purdy and Walter Robbins sat in the white surveillance van. Peabody sat in the rear bench seat with Robbins. Robbins focused on the laptop display, studying a map showing the location of the bait car in the parking structure along with two unmarked cars, one on Brush and one on Randolph. Both the Larned and Randolph exits were covered.

  "Ping the bait," said Washington.

  Robbins fiddled with the mouse pad and watched the laptop display.

  "Bait's a go," he said.

  Washington watched the entrance of the parking structure from the van's front passenger seat. Purdy was in the drivers seat.

  "Now we wait," said Washington.

  * *

  Twenty minutes later Washington saw Clarence wearing a brown non-descript uniform round a corner and slip inside the parking structure. Clarence glanced at the white van.

  "There's our mark," said Washington, sitting upright in his seat.

  Once in the structure Clarence pulled his gun and walked toward the left booth at the exit gates where the head valet stood and pointed the gun in his face.