On the Ropes addm-1

by Tom Schreck

  I pulled into Eagle Heights at 10:40, giving me plenty of time to watch Stephanie’s arrival. The clinic was on Ninth Street, which was a busy street, and I parallel parked a block and a half away. The Eldorado was no doubt conspicuous, but the narrowness of the street made it difficult to spot. I waited for Elvis to finish up the last verses of Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right,” a song most people would be surprised he did, and I turned off the eight-track.

  I distracted Al and got him to turn around and have his head face me so he would stop with the window deal. He settled in, happy to drool on the velour elbow rest. At exactly eleven, the white pickup truck pulled up on ninth from the opposite direction. I fumbled around to adjust my seat to get the video camera in position.

  My shuffling around got Al to sit up and look in the direction I was looking. He started to whimper and shift his weight from side to side in what appeared to be some sort of nervous fit. He scratched at the passenger door and tried to get at the window switches. I grabbed his head and tried to calm him down. He had remembered the white pickup.

  I got the camera pointed at the truck and, though we were down the street and it was being shot from a distance, it was very clear that Stephanie and Tyrone were getting out of the truck, which was driven by Baldy. Tyrone and Stephanie headed into the clinic and I was relieved when Baldy took the right turn on the side street before passing Al and me.

  That was what I needed. I had the connection between Tyrone and Stephanie together with the bald guy. When I turned this over to the authorities it would be a piece of cake for them to wrap this up.

  I didn’t waste any time getting out of Eagle Heights. I drove about eighty home and stopped just once along the way to let Al do some business and to call Kelley from a pay phone. I got lucky-Kelley was there and available. I set up a meeting over lunch at AJ’s.

  Al was sleeping so I left him in the car and went in to meet Kelley. Kelley was already there sitting at the bar. He didn’t look pleased.

  “Look, I only got a half an hour. Why do I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to involve your new private-eye bullshit?”

  “Kel, you’re right, but let’s put that aside for now, this is too important.”

  I set down the video camera so we both could view the playback screen. I hit play and watched as it showed the white pickup pulling up in front of the Eagle Heights clinic.

  “That bald guy is the asshole who paid Al and me a visit and probably the same guy doing the park beatings. The black guy is Tyrone, an old perverted boyfriend of Walanda who always wanted to get weird with Shondeneisha. The woman is Stephanie and she’s one of the women I told you about from the jail.”

  “Geez… Duff, slow down. What the hell are you talking about?”

  I pulled out the webpage printouts I had made at Jerry Number Two’s.

  “Here’s the porn webpage they’re running with underage kids, and this is what they’re planning for this Saturday night.”

  I explained all the security stuff that I went through with Jerry Number Two. I explained the relationship of the three characters on the video and how they came to go to the Eagle Heights clinic. I knew I was going at a frenetic pace, but I couldn’t control myself.

  “Whoa… All right, all right. I see what you got. I won’t lecture you now about getting in over your head, as you clearly have, I’ll save that for later.”

  “Kel…”

  “Don’t interrupt, Duff. We have the bald guy on an assault. We have Stephanie on a porn site, but she’s not doing anything illegal. We have what we think is ‘Tyrone’ going to a clinic and promising to be involved with child porn on the web page.”

  “Right.”

  “Where does Tyrone live?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s the bald guy’s name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where is this webcast going down?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So what we have connecting this trio is the video tape shot from what looks like a hundred and fifty feet with a guy that could be the guy on the website, a guy who is most probably your assaulter, and a woman who we can definitively say is the woman from jail and the website.”

  “Yes.”

  “If we could find the bald guy we could arrest him. Busting Tyrone immediately will be harder because any task force will want to be sure that what they got him on sticks. He hasn’t done anything worth arresting him for yet. Stephanie is a creep, but I don’t see what we can bust her on now.”

  “Kelley-C’mon!”

  “Duff-I’m telling you how it works. The images on the tape are shot so far away any lawyer will have it thrown out. You can’t read the license plate number on the truck and even if we could, it’s probably stolen or untraceable in some other way. The child porn stuff is awful, I agree, but those task forces move slower so that collars stick.”

  “You’re telling me nothing can be done?”

  “I’m telling you what will happen. I’ll bring the information to my supervisors, but they’re going to tell me the same shit, only less politely.”

  “Shit. This sucks.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “The other thing-and I have even less proof of this one-but I think Dr. Gabbibb is financing the whole thing.”

  “Duff, you are out of your league. What the hell am I supposed to do with that kind of information?”

  “Kelley-I don’t know, but this just can’t be allowed to go on.”

  “Look, I’ll do what I can, but this isn’t how this stuff works, you know,” he said.

  Kelley left to get back to his job and I sat there for a minute or two thinking. I had no idea what to do, but I was going to do something. I didn’t blame Kelley; he was just being real and giving it to me straight. It meant that if this webcast was going to be stopped, I was going to have to do it. I thought for a while about just going to the police and telling them exactly what I had found out and being a good responsible and safe citizen.

  I also thought about Walanda. Her whole life was one big shit sandwich and the cruelest and coldest things in this world had eaten her up. She asked-no, pleaded with me-to help her not have that happen to Shony. Shony had already been subjected to the scummiest of the earth and was about to go through a trauma that she would carry with her forever.

  Fuck being a responsible citizen.

  30

  The next morning the lead story on all the news broadcasts was that with the anniversary of 9/11 coming up in the next couple days, the Department of Homeland Security had raised the warning level around the country to orange. They noted that “chatter” had led to “specific and credible” threats and that all Americans should be “cautious.” That and, oh yeah, no “need to change your daily plans” but be “vigilant.”

  Like everyone else, I found that this type of announcement did little except make me feel creepy. Lately, there wasn’t much that could make me feel any creepier. I decided I was much better off listening to Elvis and put in Elvis in Concert, a tape of one of his last shows and poured myself a cup of coffee.

  Just for the hell of it, I gave Clogger McGraw a call to see what he could tell me about the brothers Gabbibb. He described the electronic store in Staten Island as a dirty storefront with lots of odds and ends, closeouts, and brands he never heard of. When it came to Enad, Clogger was much more demonstrative in his descriptions.

  “Dude, the dude’s way intense, man,” was the way the Clogman put it. Then the Clog went on to describe how patriotic and zealous Enad got when he talked about his home in Pakistan. That struck me as odd.

  “You mean India, don’t you Clog?” I said.

  “No way, dude’s way negative on India,” Clogger said.

  I signed off and wondered what that was all about. It might have been that Clog smoked some inferior weed and got things wrong. Or maybe it meant someone was lying.

  I decided to take a trip to the country. East Dunham was about a
s diametrically opposed to Staten Island as you could imagine. It was a ski resort town in the winter and a small artsy-fartsy community the rest of the year. The East Dunham grocery was also the exact opposite of Enad’s electronic store. It looked like it used to be a Trading Port, one of the small neighborhood grocery stores. Trading Ports come from the era before supermarkets had to be the size of 747 airplane hangars. It was neat and clean and cheerful and had everything you needed without the unnecessary bullshit that today’s megastores have.

  Tunad looked very Americanized with his nametag and shirt and tie as he walked up and down the four aisles asking folks if they needed help. I asked him where the frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts were, and he gladly directed me to aisle two, with barely a trace of accent. I grabbed a box of Pop-Tarts for Al and headed back toward Tunad to see if I could engage him in some conversation.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said in my best consumer voice.

  “How can I help you?” Tunad asked with a big smile.

  “I love your store.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “Did you own a grocery in Pakistan?” I asked. I knew it was forced and awkward, but I didn’t know what else to do.

  “I’m from New Delhi, India, sir, not Pakistan,” Tunad said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you a grocer in India?” I asked.

  “I worked in importing, actually… spices,” he said.

  “Ah… well, I love your store,” I said and went and cashed out my Pop-Tarts.

  It seemed as though it was important for the brothers Gabbibb to pretend to be Indian. Why, I wasn’t sure, but I’d guess there were some complex political reasons. I got Al out of the car, gave him a couple of Pop-Tarts, and we strolled around East Dunham. Al was recovering nicely and I admired his recuperative powers. He was still sore, but he got around well.

  There were coffee shops, New Age bookstores, a hemp store, and an organic butcher shop. It was a neat little place with lots of crunchy people walking around. I always wondered what these people did for a living because no one ever seemed like they were in a hurry to do anything, nor did they seem to ever get intense about anything, except maybe when yoga class was cancelled.

  Al was thrilled to be smelling new smells and meeting new people. A fair number of the crunchies smiled at Al and stopped to pet him. A pair of forty-something New Age housewives loved him until he slobbered on their peasant blouses. They acted disgusted and abruptly left in a huff. I guess organics have their time and place.

  We were swinging around the back of Tunad’s grocery, heading back to the car, when Al stopped short. He lifted his head in the air, looked around, and then put his nose to the pavement and started sniffing the ground as he went. He was on a scent, and I was waiting to come up on a dead raccoon or something.

  A man was unloading a van near the double back doors of Tunad’s shop. Al was pulling hard on the leash and was getting difficult to control. I held him up and he struggled, not barking but making an intense whining sound. I watched the guy swing four of the boxes into a hand truck and disappear into the back doors. I let Al lead me over to the van.

  There were a half-dozen boxes on the ground, and it looked like the driver would be back in a second to get them. Al sniffed all around them, stopped dead, and sat in front of the boxes, staring straight at them. I didn’t want to hang around and explain to the van driver what my dog was doing, but I had a good idea.

  I pulled on Al to get him going, but before he would come he lifted his leg on the stack of boxes. I pulled him even harder and began running to get away from the back of the grocery and onto the main street again. I had to find a pay phone.

  There was a pay phone just outside the hemp store. I dialed as fast as I could.

  “This is Jamal.”

  “What did Allah-King do when he smelled a bomb?” I said.

  “Duffy?”

  “C’mon man-what did he do?”

  “Easy, man, take it easy.” Jamal was caught off guard. “Oh yeah, uh… the dogs were trained to sit and stare at whatever had the explosives.”

  I hung up without saying goodbye.

  31

  I had to find Kelley. The Gabbibbs were lying about where they were from and one of them had explosives. I’m sure that being from Pakistan wasn’t a crime, but I thought the authorities might be interested in today’s combination of events.

  By the time I got to AJ’s it was nine o’clock, the prime Foursome hour, and I was also in luck because Kelley was there. I didn’t say hello to anyone, I went right to Kelley.

  “Kelley-you gotta hear this,” I said.

  “What makes me think I’m not going to want to?” Kelley said.

  “I found explosives in Gabbibb’s cousin’s grocery store, and his other cousin, the one who runs the electronics store in Staten Island, admitted that he’s not Indian-he’s Pakistani.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you see? They’re covering up being Pakistani, one of them has explosives-they’ve got to be up to some sort of terrorist thing.”

  Kelley just stared at me for a second. He didn’t blink and his mouth hung open a little bit.

  “Let me get this straight. Dr. Gabbibb is masquerading as an Indian because he’s really Pakistani. He’s financing a porn site, and he’s planning a terrorist act with his two cousins, one of whom has explosives in his grocery store?” Kelley said.

  “Yes-there’s a Pakistani extremist organization known as Alfinuu. They make their money exploiting women they’ve deemed as ‘unclean’ through prostitution and pornography. It looks like he’s set up the same operation here and his cousins are in with him. They’re financing something big, damn it-something horrible.”

  “You are out of your league-can you prove any of this?”

  “Al sniffed out the explosives in East Dunham.”

  “Al the cheeseburger-eating hound is doing your intelligence work?”

  “I’m serious, Kelley!”

  “You’re fucking nuts-that’s your problem.”

  “Nuts! I’m not fucking nuts!” I could feel my forehead throb. “A little girl’s life is going to be ruined, some scumbags are fucking around with terrorist bullshit, no one can do anything, and I got federal guys threatening me-and I’m fucking nuts?”

  “What do you mean you got federal guys threatening you?” Kelley said.

  “I’ve had a Crown Vic following me home for the last two weeks. The other night, two federal types cornered me, jumped out of the car, put a gun to my head, and told me to leave things alone.”

  “Who were they?”

  “I have no idea, they didn’t identify themselves.”

  “They show you ID?” Kelley said.

  “They didn’t show me shit, they didn’t say shit-except to threaten me.”

  “What did they look like?”

  “Blue blazers, gray pants, one guy looked Middle Eastern, the other was young and blond.”

  “Middle Eastern?”

  “Yeah, but no accent.”

  “Duff, the car, the outfits-they sound like FBI. I’d do what they say.”

  “Can you find out anything about who they are, Kel?”

  “No-the FBI doesn’t answer to us.”

  “Then what the hell do I do? I’m not sitting back while something happens to this kid. And what if these guys are planning something? Then, what do I do?”

  “Call the FBI anonymously and tell them about the explosives,” Kelley said.

  “What will that do?”

  “In this day and age, a lot. They will follow up.”

  That made some sense. I didn’t know where the Crown Vic was from or what they were up to. Maybe they were on to the Gabbibbs and I was in the way. If the Crown Vic boys were from the FBI, then the FBI should know what I knew. And if those guys weren’t from the FBI, who the hell were they?

  I wasn’t letting go of going after Shony, though. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next, but I was
going to do something. This had gotten way too personal, and it wasn’t time for me to let it go-not a chance.

  I asked Kelley for the number for the appropriate FBI contact. He fished a small piece of paper out of his wallet and pointed to it. I borrowed Rocco’s cell phone and went outside. I called and spoke quickly to some clerical type and then I hung up.

  There, I had done something a responsible levelheaded citizen would do.

  I came back inside AJ’s and got a fresh Schlitz.

  “Did you call?” Kelley said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you tell them everything?”

  “Yeah, then I hung up without giving my name.”

  “See, being a responsible citizen isn’t so hard.”

  “Shut up and drink.” I bought Kelley a round and asked AJ for a sidecar of bourbon. I wanted desperately to chill out before the vein in my temple exploded all over the bar.

  With the Yankees game over, it was time for the eleven o’clock news. The bar got quiet as the talking head anchor told us about the nation’s alert level going to orange. This was the type of fuel that the Fearsome Foursome thrived on.

  “They’re goin’ to botulize the reservoirs,” Rocco said. “Bushel full of bad mushrooms in the water system and we’ll be shittin’ our pants for months.”

  “Thanks for the visual,” Jerry Number One said.

  “I did some bad mushrooms once,” Jerry Number Two said. “I didn’t shit my pants, but I did hallucinate.”

  “What did you see?” TC asked.

  “Spiro Agnew and Golda Meir having sex,” Jerry said.

  I ordered another Schlitz and watched the rest of the local news. The Foursome just wouldn’t let go.

  “They could hit the bridges with explosives,” Rocco continued. “I heard something on the news about how they could infect all the hookers with a small ox.”