The System - A Detroit Story - (15 page)

Chris was too road weary to care whether Elena watched him strip or not. He pulled off his clothes, started the shower and waited for the water to heat up. A bonus, the showerhead was surprisingly powerful. He stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over his head and face. He put his arms against the wall and stood. The door opened and in walked Elena, naked. She stepped in and embraced him from behind. Chris turned, looked in her eyes, dull but not distant as they usually were. He kissed her, and they made love.

*   *

Chris and Elena lay in bed, watching television, Elena's head on Chris's shoulder, her hair still a little wet. Chris felt her tightened, like she suddenly had a severe cramp. She let out a tiny yelp, got up and pulled the bottle of painkillers from her purse. She pulled out a pill and chewed it. Chris watched her.

"You're going to have dump those before we cross the border," he said. "Besides, those are really bad for you."

"I don't care," said Elena. "I need them."

Elena walked over to the bed and got in, sighing as she lay on her back, feeling the wave of relief form the pill pulse through her with every heartbeat. They kept her feelings shielded, like a lion tamer with a whip and a chair. Only the lion grew larger and more powerful while her tools to keep it at bay grew weaker. She sat up, put her face in her hands and began to sob.

"Please don't tell Vlad," she said. "He will kill me."

Chris sat up, startled by Elena's outburst. "Kill you?" he said. "Nobody's going to kill you. What are you talking about?"

"Vlad," she cried. "If he found out I cried in front of a customer then he would kill me," she said. "That is the system."

"I didn't think I was a 'customer'," said Chris. "System, shit. Everybody has a system. The Government. The Feds. The cops. The Italians. The Albanians. Even we do, at Eddie's. You know what? They don't work. They're all full of holes, and everything eventually falls apart and turns to shit." He looked at Elena. "Why on earth would he want to kill you? He doesn't own you."

"Yes he does," said Elena. "Oh yes he does. He owns several of us. Me. Miri, other girls. He buys us and brings us here. I am not really like this. I hate this," she said.

"Then why do you do it? This is America, for Christ's sake. Get a job somewhere, or go back," said Chris.

"A job," Elena laughed. "That's how all this started. I was tricked, how do you say, duped? Instead of going to Tirana like I was promised I was sold to a pimp. A filthy pimp," she said, sobbing. She looked up at Chris. "And my daughter. My little Sanja. What becomes of her?"

"Your daughter?" said Chris. "You have a daughter? Where is she?"

"At home," said Elena. "With my father and step mother, the evil witch. Her brother is the one who sold me."

"Have you talked to them?" 

"No, it is not allowed," she said. "But if I did Vlad would kill me and them if I didn't say everything is fine."

"Didn't you have anyone back home?" asked Chris. "Someone who looks like you surely must have had someone?" 

Elena paused. "I had a husband. Sheptim was his name." 

And that's when Elena went away… She and a young man stood in the town square saying wedding vows under a white arch festooned with red and white flowers. They finished, turned to the guests and were showered with rice and confetti...

"It was beautiful," she said. "We had the bridal room. I was never happier," she said. Her voice went flat and cold. "Then they came and killed him and damaged me. Many in the army are just gansters and use that as an excuse to kill people and steal from them."

…
Gunshots rang outside in the town square. Sheptim got up and started putting on his underwear and pants. Elena rushed to the window and saw several men lined up and shot by the rebel army. Sheptim tried to lock the door when four rebels burst into the room and tackled him. Elena screamed. Two rebels dragged him from the room, beating him. The other two soldiers went for Elena, slapping her nearly unconscious and throwing her on the bed. Both soldiers raped her, ripping into her, laughing and grunting as they came.

Sheptim was dragged to the town square. The two rebels forced him to his knees.

The soldiers were finished and Elena broke free and rushed to the window, saw Sheptim and screamed his name. He looked up and a rebel strode up to him with a pistol and shot him in the head. Elena saw the surging mist of blood and brains as Sheptim slumped to the ground. 

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 stormed 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."