On the Ropes addm-1

by Tom Schreck

  As Elvis went through his paces on “In the Ghetto,” I cruised into Crawford. I went right past Walanda’s house, which still had a washer on the little five-by-five front lawn, and the porch door was still banging off the wall in the wind. The rest of the neighborhood looked like it needed a shower and a good night’s sleep. This part of town was where my Polish grandparents lived, and in their day it was a poor but proud neighborhood. Folks from my generation who wouldn’t think of walking a block through one of these neighborhoods now like to point out that their ancestors had little money but kept the neighborhood looking beautiful.

  That sort of mentality had elements of truth to it, but it also seemed oversimplified to me. Growing up black and poor was a whole lot different than growing up Polish or Irish or Italian and poor. I’m not exactly sure why, but I believe it has something to do with one’s ancestors being sold as property for centuries. I know that doesn’t happen now, but I think the residual effects on our culture linger. I’m sure people a whole lot smarter than me could explain it better.

  I parked my car near the top of the hill three blocks from the jail. My ’76 burnt orange Eldorado was a lot of things, but inconspicuous wasn’t one of them. Al and I walked down the street to get a look at the front doors of the county jail. The two-block walk took us past three guys selling crack and two women who offered to gratify a very specific desire of mine for ten dollars. Interestingly enough, the crack dealers were selling two rocks of crack for the same price.

  The second woman dropped her price down to five dollars, and when I looked closer at her I realized she was a former client of mine whose case I recently closed.

  “Teresa?” I asked.

  “Yeah? Oh, Duff, it’s you… er… this isn’t what it looks like, man… I… uh,” she stopped in mid-sentence. Though her mind was fixated on nothing but crack, she still realized the absurdity of denying what she was doing, especially after just offering to perform an unmentionable act on me for five dollars.

  “Teresa, be careful, please. Come in to the clinic tomorrow. Promise me.”

  She started to cry and turned and walked up the street. I couldn’t think of anything sadder. By the time she reached the corner, she was already offering herself to the crackheads and johns walking by.

  I would’ve pursued her, but I wanted to be in position by midnight and we had just five minutes. Al stood in the darkness next to a tree one block from the jail. I would’ve turned up my collar and smoked a cigarette like any self-respecting private eye, but I had on a hooded sweatshirt and I don’t smoke.

  A Lexus SUV pulled up in the “No Parking” area in front of the jail at 11:58. The Lexus SUV was the pimpmobile of our times, replacing the Cadillac and Lincoln. I suppose today’s pimps did a lot of camping.

  A black guy wearing a bright blue, baggy FUBU warm-up got out of the Lexus, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the front fender. He was a ways away but he looked like he could’ve been the guy from the website with Shony. The Lexus had gold trim all over it, and someone had taken great pains to wax the thing.

  At 12:01, half a dozen people walked out of the front door. There were five men and one woman. Two of the men hooted and hollered when they walked out and gave each other high-fives. The other two men went in opposite directions, both lighting up cigarettes as if choreographed.

  The woman was Stephanie, and she walked toward the Lexus. The black guy put out his cigarette and, without any acknowledgement toward Stephanie, got in the Lexus and started it up. Stephanie got into the passenger seat and the Lexus drove away.

  I looked down to my private-eye partner, Al, and said, “I think we just met Tyrone.”

  I didn’t have a whole lot of time to bask in the pride of my tremendous detective work. Before Al and I could step off the curb in the direction of the Eldorado, there was a screeching of tires and the slamming of doors, followed by a bunch of yelling.

  “Hands up, hands in the air!” the guy jumping out of the silver Crown Victoria said. He was wearing a blue blazer with gray pants, though I didn’t get the color of his tie because I was busy looking at the gun pointed at my chest. He had a partner who had circled around the car and he, too, had his gun drawn.

  I tried to put my hands in the air, but that pulled Al’s leash, which caused him to yelp and then bark. Both suits focused their guns on Al momentarily, then back at me. I could tell they couldn’t make up their minds which of us was more dangerous.

  “Sorry-what do you want me to do?” I said.

  “Make the dog shut up,” came from blue blazer who seemed to be in charge of talking. He had a Middle Eastern complexion with slicked-back, very dark hair and very bushy eyebrows.

  “I don’t know how to do that,” I said.

  The other guy who looked about twenty-five was about five foot eleven, 185 pounds. He had blond hair and it looked like he didn’t shave yet.

  Al just kept barking and the two guys looked bewildered. I probably would have been much more frightened if Al wasn’t making such a racket. Too much was happening too fast.

  “Tie the dog to the streetlight and get in the car,” Blue Blazer said.

  “He’s not going to like that.”

  “You think we’re playing games here!” He waved the gun toward the pole.

  I tied Al to the pole, which thoroughly pissed him off. Then I got into the back seat with the two guns pointed at my face. The Middle Eastern guy had a pockmarked face and perfect white teeth, which made for a strange combination. Blondie had a slightly turned-up nose, which made him look even more juvenile than he already did.

  Al wouldn’t shut up and the noise was deafening, even with the windows up.

  “What do you know about Alfinuu?” Pockmark said.

  “Not much, just-”

  “Stop fucking around, sticking your head where it doesn’t belong.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Leave things alone.”

  “What are you talking about?” This was getting weird.

  “Alfinuu is nothing to mess with. Stay away-it’s a matter of national security.”

  “Don’t you guys have to tell me who you are?”

  “Duffy, you watch too many movies,” Pock said, which caused his pubescent partner to snicker. “Never mind about the girl too.”

  “The girl?”

  “Don’t fuck around with us. Do what you’re told. Go to the gym, go do some counseling, I don’t care, but stop looking into things that ain’t your business.” He paused for emphasis. “You hear me? Leave it alone-all of it.”

  The car got quiet, which all of a sudden made me realize Al wasn’t barking. I looked at the streetlamp and Al’s collar and leash were there and he was gone.

  “Al!” I yelled and went to bolt out the door but they were locked. “He’s gone-let me out.”

  Pockmark laughed at me. “Word to the wise, Duff-do what you’re told and leave things alone. Now, get out of here and go find your fuckin’ dog.”

  I heard the electric locks disengage and I ran out the car and into the street screaming for Al. I had no idea how to find a runaway dog, and in my panic I wasn’t being terribly strategic. I sprinted up one street and down the other, getting funny looks from the street whores and low-level crack dealers.

  “Allah-King, Allah-King!” I screamed until I was hoarse. I was looking down driveways, in alleys, and behind abandoned buildings. Between the running and my anxiety I could feel myself running out of gas.

  In the distance, a couple of blocks over, I thought I heard something. I didn’t waste time running around the block-I ran right through four backyards, jumping fences, and two streets over, I saw him and it dawned on me. This was where I should have started the search.

  Al was on Walanda’s porch scratching at the front door, whimpering and then barking out of frustration.

  “C’mere boy, it’s all right, it’s all right,” I said. It took him a little while to come to me, and when he did, he looked up and whimpered.

  “It’s okay, buddy
. Let’s go home,” I said.

  We started to walk and he stopped and looked back at the house a couple of times.

  I thought about the jail, I thought about Tyrone, and I thought about my visit from the men in the Crown Vic. I thought about Walanda and I thought about Shony. I thought about Al.

  And I thought I’d be damned if I was going to leave anything alone.

  28

  It was Wednesday and I had until Monday to nurse my irritable bowel syndrome, which didn’t give me a whole lot of time. I had learned that there were some connections, but I still wasn’t sure what they connected to. There was definitely some skuzzy business going on involving three scumbag chicks from Forrest Point, there was a bald biker guy who was connected to them who also beat me and Al, and there was Tyrone, a former significant other to Walanda whose highlighted resume sections included pimp and pervert. He was connected at least to Stephanie and Melissa, but maybe most disturbing was that he had voiced a desire to get Shondeneisha into prostitution or something equally as vile. Then there was the Crown Vic.

  I needed to find out more about the connections, and I figured my best bet was to hang around the Eagle Heights clinic because eventually Stephanie had to show up there. Usually, post-jail assessments occurred within forty-eight hours of release, and because it was part of probation, the clients usually kept those appointments, even if they dropped out of treatment shortly after that. Probation officers had a habit of checking on the first-visit attendance but after that losing track of the clients on their caseloads.

  If I was going to keep my eye on the Eagle Heights clinic, I had two choices. I could sit outside the clinic for the next forty-eight hours, which was going to be very tedious and there was always the danger of being spotted by Stephanie, Tyrone, and Baldy, or by the clinic staff. If the first group spotted me, that could cause them to be suspicious and might bring on another surprise visit from Baldy. This time it might mean more than a warning.

  If the clinic staff spotted me and it got back to Claudia, then that would probably blow my sick-time claim and I’d get fired faster than Claudia could buy a new pair of elastic-waist pants. The best chance I had was to get ahold of Katy and see if she could get me some information and be quiet about it. If it got back to Claudia, I was in trouble, and if it got to Rhonda, I was probably in trouble. The fact of the matter was that I was likely to get in trouble no matter what I did. I guess I was already in my fair share of trouble and was probably going to lose my job for a bunch of reasons, so-what the hell?

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and figured I’d call Eagle Heights around 9:20. If I called right at nine, I would look too anxious. There was also a good chance that, Eagle Heights being a not-for-profit, no one would be there until ten after nine. Human service workers usually have so many issues that getting to work on time is almost impossible.

  Al’s health was showing some improvement. He was walking okay and whimpering less. I still had to lift him on and off the sofa and bed because the few times that he jumped it caused him to make this awful yelping sound. Right now he was lying on the kitchenette floor, sleeping.

  Before I could call Katy, my phone rang. It was Jerry Number Two.

  “Duff-I think I got something you better see.”

  “What is it?”

  “The website has announced their special monthly event.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “I went to the members-only pay site-the one with the kids and the sicker shit,” Jerry said.

  “Yeah?”

  “They were promoting their next webcast featuring the newest girls.”

  “Jesus…”

  “Yeah, and they’re making a big deal about Shondeneisha losing her virginity live with somebody named Tyrone.”

  I froze. I felt a sickness in my stomach that quickly spread all through me. This was beyond sick and had to be stopped. It didn’t matter if I lost my job or got in trouble or took a beating. Concern for that now seemed ridiculous.

  “Duff-you there?”

  “Yeah, Jer. When is this all going down?”

  “It says on the webpage that it’s supposed to happen on Saturday, but the time won’t be announced until sometime that day. It looks like they take care in not letting out too much information. They’re pretty sophisticated in the security measures they take.”

  “Jerry, can you look into Dr. Gabbibb?” I asked.

  “I can find out something on just about anybody,” Jerry said. “What kind of stuff are you looking for?”

  “I know that he has at least checked out the site. Can you find out about the alfinuu. org site and the offshore banking stuff?” I said.

  “I can try, Duff, but without being real sure what I’m looking for, I’m not sure what I’ll come up with.”

  “Whatever you can come up with will be great.”

  I signed off with Jerry and told him I’d be over to see him after I took care of something else. I called Eagle Heights and asked for Katy.

  “Hi Duff, what can I do for you?” she said.

  “Hey Katy, how’s it going? I was calling to see if Stephanie’s eval was scheduled,” I said.

  “Uh… Duff, aren’t you supposed to be out on disability or something?”

  Shit. She had found out. I had no idea what this was going to do. I decided to go with it and see where it took me.

  “Yeah, I’m just following up with what I can from home.”

  “Rhonda told us that Claudia called her and they want us to let her know if they hear from you. Duff-I think you’re in some trouble.”

  “Probably.”

  “I don’t know if I feel comfortable talking to you.”

  “Can you just tell me what time her eval is? I promised Jane at the jail.”

  “I really shouldn’t. You’re putting me in an awkward position.”

  “I won’t tell anyone I talked to you. Please, it’s important to me.”

  “I don’t feel right about it…”

  “Look, Katy, do you really want to spend your life being afraid of assholes like Claudia and Rhonda? Do you think they care about helping people or do you think they care about protecting their own little pathetic bureaucratic power? Don’t become one of them-it means death to your soul.”

  I lost my cool. My little tirade probably would mean she’d run right to Bowerman. She was young and impressionable and was still scared.

  “Hang on,” Katy said and I heard the call go on hold.

  I didn’t have any idea what to expect and I waited for a few minutes that felt like a month.

  “She’s coming in at eleven today.”

  Katy hung up before I could thank her. I was impressed. The kid was all right.

  I went to Jerry’s and we reviewed the site and it was as sick as I imagined. There were images of a very frightened Shony with Tyrone next to her with all sorts of promises of all the things he was going to do to her in the upcoming simulcast. There were images of other young girls-some looked barely ten-who were also to be featured that night. Apparently, the simulcast was the big event for the losers who belonged to this club of scumbags.

  I asked Jerry if there was any way of telling where something like this could take place. He said there wasn’t, that was what made Internet porn so difficult to track. Nothing pointed to the physical presence of things, and any evidence of whereabouts was limited to servers and domains and that bullshit.

  I asked Jerry what he had found out about Gabbibb.

  “I didn’t come up with a lot, Duff,” he said. “He’s been a doctor for twenty-seven years, went to medical school in Pakistan, is part owner with his cousin in an electronics store, and he paid cash for his $350,000 home.”

  “Must be nice,” I said.

  “I found a way to translate alfinuu. org, and it’s an extremist site-anti-Jew, anti-American. It’s either terrorist or terrorist related.”

  “Is there any sign that Gabbibb is involved in any way?”

  “N
o, but I would doubt if anyone who was going to get involved in terrorism in this day and age would leave their name and address,” Jerry said.

  “What’s their aim?”

  “The usual shit. Death to America, death to the Jews, et cetera, et cetera…”

  I thought it over for a minute. There’s lots of reasons a guy could go to a site like this. Maybe he read about it in Newsweek, maybe Tom Brokaw was talking about it, or maybe he wants to keep a handle on what his enemies are doing. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

  “What about the Bank of the Canary or whatever it is?” I asked.

  “Like I said before, maybe he has money that he doesn’t want the government to know about,” Jerry said.

  “Like if you invested in a very profitable porn site?”

  “Yep, that would be a reason,” Jerry said.

  29

  I got done at Jerry’s at about five minutes to ten, which gave me just enough time to make the drive to Eagle Heights. I asked Jerry to loan me his video camera and he gladly gave me some space-age thing that fit neatly in one hand. It was ergonomically shaped so that it was easy to carry and maneuver.

  In the middle of my ride over to Jerry’s, I had a startling moment of sanity. Kelley was right about me sticking my nose into things. I had come a long way, but this whole deal was getting way beyond my scope. I figured if I could catch Stephanie and Tyrone or Baldy or all three of them on tape and show the FBI and the cops the website, it would make arresting them relatively easy. The whole evil thing could be stopped, and they could do it better than a goofy social worker pug who read too many comic books. Maybe my friends in the Crown Vic would be the guys who would ultimately be the saviors in this deal after all, and, though I wasn’t following their directions, the ends would justify the means.

  Al took the ride with me because I didn’t feel it was okay yet to leave him alone. With the forty-five-minute ride, the company wasn’t bad as long as he kept the flatulence to a minimum. Al’s new habit of playing with the power windows and power locks was getting on my nerves. On long drives, he’d throw a big, fat paw up on the switches and then watch with fascination as the window went down or the locks clicked up and down. He tried sticking his head out the window like he had before, but lately his ears kept slapping him in the face, which would make him howl as if some evil force in the universe was doing it.