“I promised Mom I’d check on these murders. I didn’t believe much would come of it, but there really is something going on. Several people in Cass Corridor have been killed and burned. If I can get even a small amount of evidence for the police, they’ll increase their efforts on the case.”
“I understand that. But, you won’t jeopardize our settlement, right? I don’t want to postpone that.”
“No. Right. This investigation won’t take long. Then I’ll be back in move mode a hundred percent.”
“What does the undercover work involve?”
“I’m going to be a street person for a couple of nights.”
“Alone?”
Charlie heard the worry in her voice. “Reggie will be with me.”
“How will you pull it off? Where are you getting the clothes?”
“Judy gave me a couple of her husband’s shirts, some pants, and a pair of old sneakers. Things she says he should have thrown away years ago. I’ll wear a baseball cap and a hoodie, and Judy also got me a laundry cart, so I can look the part. For all practical purposes, I’ll be another homeless man on the street.”
“I don’t know. It could be dangerous.”
“There are a few risks, but Don’s going to sleep at the office to be nearby. Also, I’ll have a phone and my gun.”
“You’re taking a gun?”
“I think I’d better.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I.”
Chapter 5
It was a quarter to eleven, and Charlie and Reggie stood near the McDonald’s where they’d eaten their first meal together. It was just before closing, and the only customers were those on their way to an overnight security job, bar-hoppers, skateboarders from Hart Plaza, and late-night Cobo conventioneers.
“This is my partner, Don Rutkowski,” Charlie said when Don joined them.
“Rutkowski,” Reggie said, looking directly at Don, but shoving his shaking hands into his pockets.
“McCandless,” Don replied.
“You look pretty good,” Reggie said, admiring Charlie’s outfit. “The cap works, and the shoes are very authentic. I couldn’t tell it was you at first.”
“That’s the idea.”
“The only thing is your nails and face are too clean, and I can smell the shampoo on your hair. But we can take care of that.”
Don went into the McDonald’s to buy two coffees and apple pies, while Charlie and Reggie tended to the anti-hygiene activity. He returned in less than ten minutes to find a grimier Charlie. When she reached for her coffee, her fingernails were lined in muck.
“What did you do, Mack, roll in the mud?”
“No. I stuck my hands beneath those shrubs over there, and smeared dirt on my face. How do I look?” Charlie asked, smiling.
Don was not amused. “Being homeless is not just about being unclean,” he said. “Your smile is like a toothpaste commercial, and you don’t have the demeanor of someone who’s down and out—you’re too carefree.”
“I’m feeling pretty carefree, too.” Reggie said, getting caught up in Charlie’s mood.
“Yeah, but I’m guessing that’s because you had a drink not too long ago, and you know where your next one is coming from.”
“Don!” Charlie said angrily.
“No, no. He’s absolutely right,” Reggie said. “This is serious business, and we should go over a few things.”
Reggie moved to a bench, and Charlie sat next to him. Don leaned against the car parked across from the bench.
“You sound like a psychologist, Rutkowski.”
“Wrong, he’s a former cop,” Charlie said with a stern look at Don.
Reggie dumped the rest of his coffee onto the cement. He’d known a lot of people like Don. Judgmental, and too serious for their own good. But, it was obvious that Don cared about his partner, and that told him this hard-assed former cop wasn’t as heartless as he pretended.
“A cop was going to be my second guess. Your partner’s right about your appearance. The clothes work, but you’ve seen my mouth. This life doesn’t include a lot of time at the dentist, so keep your head down and don’t go around smiling. People who live on the street aren’t that happy, and they’re suspicious because they need to be. Let me take the lead in the conversations. You don’t need to introduce yourself, and don’t ask a lot of questions. I’ll do that.”
“That’s right,” Don agreed.
“We should work out a signal when you want us to move along, or when you want me to follow up on something you’ve heard,” Reggie continued. “That cart you have is good, but somebody might try to take it away from you. So, you need to be ready to fight, or at least scare the shit out of anybody who gets in your space. Did you bring a weapon?”
“Yes. A gun.”
“Well, keep it on you. But don’t show it unless you’re absolutely in danger. A lot of people put weapons in their socks, mostly knives. I’ve rarely seen a gun. They separate the men and women at the shelter, so if we go to the shelter you’ll be with the male population, and you’re going to see and hear some things you might not like. I avoid the shelters. It can get real ugly.”
Charlie saw Reggie and Don share a look. Don’s scowl was getting deeper with every tip Reggie provided. She thought he was on the verge of demanding to go along or take her place, so she moved swiftly to her feet.
“What about the way I move? What do I need to do differently?”
“You walk pretty fast and, even worse, with confidence. You mostly want to move slower with more of a shuffle. The only time you see people moving quickly is if they are hyped up on some pill, or if there’s a line for free meals or services.”
“Okay, well, let’s get started,” Charlie said.
She moved her gun from her waistband to her sock. The baggy pants were wide at the leg and held up by a belt. She wore two shirts, and a military-style camouflage jacket Gil had brought in from home. At five-foot nine, Charlie could pass for a wiry man. Don appraised her, and offered more advice.
“Keep your collar up to cover more of your face, and pull the bill of your cap lower. Here’s some gum. If you’re chewing all the time, you won’t sound so white when you talk.”
“I sound white?”
“Let’s face it. You’re not exactly from the hood.”
Reggie watched the banter between the two of them, then reached into his backpack and pulled out a bottle. He took a long drink and passed it to Charlie.
“No, I don’t think I’ll be drinking.”
“Well, you need to at least pretend you’re drinking, or have some good excuse for why you don’t. Same thing with cigarettes and drugs. Otherwise, people will be suspicious. Anyway, take a bit of this booze and put it on your jacket, so you have a better fragrance.”
Charlie avoided Don’s look, poured a bit of gin into her palm, and smeared some of it onto the front of her jacket and onto the cuffs of the baggy khakis. Reggie grimaced when some of the liquid seeped through her fingers, falling to the pavement.
“Where are you headed first?” Don asked Reggie.
“Down to Grand Circus Park to sit on one of the benches. The manager of the Avalon brings day-old breads and cookies to pass out to anyone who wants them. You can get some very nice treats sometimes. Then, we’ll start walking up Woodward, maybe jog over to Cass at Mack Avenue. When the bars start closing, we can usually get a few coins from the patrons. After that, we’ll see where people are gathering. A tent city can pop up anywhere, unless the police come and roust everybody out.”
“Mack, call if you need me and I’ll be there in a hurry. Otherwise, I’ll pick you up at seven. Where should we meet? How about back here?”
“No. Mickey D’s is busy at breakfast and I don’t want anybody to see me getting into your car. Pick me up at that bus stop over there.” Charlie pointed to an enclosure on the east of Woodward.
“Okay. I’ll be there. Be careful.”
# # #
&n
bsp; The night crowd gathered at Grand Circus Park was jovial. Every bench had two or three homeless men smoking cigarettes, drinking, and talking. Three young guys with a set of portable floodlights and a boombox performed their version of a hip-hop dance routine. When a blue van pulled up to the sidewalk on the Woodward side of the park, the benches cleared and the street men, and a few women, gathered at the open doors of the vehicle, returning with gourmet cookies, flavored biscuits, sticky buns, challah, and sourdough bread. Charlie scored raisin-pecan bread, and was resisting the urge to lick her fingers. They commandeered a seat with a good view of the park’s entertainment, and Reggie drank. He had almost finished the bottle he’d offered at McDonald’s and Charlie was pretty sure she’d heard the rattle of another in his backpack.
“Damn, this is good. Aren’t you eating?”
“Nah. I don’t eat much at night. That apple pie we had earlier was more than enough.”
They sat for another hour on the bench as Charlie studied the people around her, picking up mannerisms and listening to conversations. There was more camaraderie than she’d imagined, maybe because of the break dancers and free-flowing alcohol. A couple of times someone stopped at the bench to ask for a light for their cigarettes or reefer. After the second request, Reggie passed a lighter to her from his jeans pocket. “Keep this. I have another.” And at one point he gave her his empty gin bottle. “Here. Put this in your cart. You can pretend to drink from it if you need to.”
When the dancers packed up their tip bucket, speakers, and lights, the park took on a more somber mood. The glow of the streetlights was just enough to illuminate the seediness, but not bright enough to wash away the gloom. A few people had already turned benches into beds, and Charlie watched two men argue about the use of one, until the taller man threw a roundhouse punch, knocking his adversary to the ground. The beaten man pulled himself upright and shuffled along the pathway in search of another makeshift bed. Reggie gathered up his backpack and lifted himself from their seat. It was the signal they were leaving, and Charlie rose slowly and shuffled after him. Within seconds, others had claimed their bench.
They walked up Woodward Avenue, Charlie pulling her heavy laundry cart behind her. Judy had packed it, and the wheels squeaked under the weight. Only twice did they pass another pedestrian, and Charlie kept her head down.
“Where do people get money for liquor and drugs?” Charlie asked, thinking about the scene at the park.
“Believe it or not, a lot of them get regular disability checks. Otherwise, you can panhandle, or pick up little jobs like cleaning up trash in front of a building. I sometimes make a little change washing car windows or keeping an eye on people’s bicycles.”
“And that’s enough to live on?”
“I don’t have any bills, I don’t eat a lot, and I sleep outside unless it gets too cold. I can usually make twelve or fifteen dollars a day and on a good day, thirty dollars.”
The pair meandered toward Cass Avenue in a series of turns. First Elizabeth Street to an alley, under the I-75 overpass, then past an overgrown lot where a handful of people had placed a couple of plastic chairs and a few sleeping bags to mark their overnight accommodations.
“I sleep here sometimes with a buddy who has a tent. I trade him a few drinks for a place to sleep,” Reggie said.
Charlie absorbed the facts of Reggie’s tough life, professionally leaving her personal thoughts aside for the moment. “Where are we going now?” she asked.
“To the Temple Bar. Let’s see if we can pick up a few coins from the suburban folks going to their cars. Others will be there, and it’s a good place to hear things.”
Across the street from the bar, a half-dozen men sat at the curb. Reggie called out a greeting, then he and Charlie took places at the end of the line. Reggie pulled out his bottle, took a couple of swigs, and passed it to Charlie. She pretended to drink, the gin wetting her lips and dribbling down her chin. She swabbed at the liquid with the back of her hand and returned the bottle to Reggie, who offered it to the man next to him. Charlie eavesdropped as the two men chatted.
“Busy in there tonight?” Reggie asked, focused on the door of the bar.
“Yeah. There’s a party for a guy getting married. A lot of single guys drinking a lot.” The man was smaller than Charlie, bundled in several layers and wearing a bright green knit cap and shiny black boots that made him look elf-like. “I’m watching that white sports car for one of them. He said he’d give me five dollars.”
“Nice money,” Reggie replied.
“Burt should be kicking them out pretty soon. It’s getting near to closing.”
“You always were good at keeping up with the time,” Reggie said to his curb mate. “But I never see you with a watch.”
“I don’t need a watch. My brain is my clock. For instance, right now it’s telling me it’s time for another drink.”
Reggie laughed, and offered the bottle again. The men chatted on, and Charlie listened. After a few minutes they all looked to their right as a souped-up orange Camaro rolled up the street with music pumped up to disco decibels. The car stopped at the corner and idled, the tinted windows preventing a look at the driver. The passenger window was rolled down a crack, and a stream of smoke and Spanish rap music escaped the vehicle.
“There’s one of them damn hot rods again,” the man with the green hat said. “I see them cars every night now. Word is, them gangers got some powerful heroin. They got runners up and down the Corridor selling the stuff.”
“Maybe they got an order from inside the bar,” another man on the curb said.
“Burt doesn’t allow that,” Reggie offered.
“No, but he can’t control what goes on outside,” Reggie’s curb mate said.
Right on cue, the door of the Temple Bar opened and a couple of young white guys wearing business suits with loosened ties stepped outside. One glanced toward the Camaro, and the car’s lights flickered. The two men approached the car and the passenger door opened. A husky guy in baggy pants and a shiny black jacket hopped from the car, and semi-trotted up to the bar patrons. Charlie and the others watched as the trio had a brief conversation; then one of the businessmen fumbled in his pocket. In one motion the husky man took the money they offered, shoved it into his pocket, and exchanged it with something else that he handed to the yuppies. The transaction ended with each giving an upward nod, and the dealer trotting back to the car. The white guys reentered the bar with their score, and the Camaro continued idling at the curb.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” the man next to Reggie said. “These young white kids come down here and buy that shit and just get into their expensive cars and drive back to the suburbs. But you see any police down here making any arrests? Naw. Cause they waiting to come down here in a few hours to roust us out of our sleep.”
A stream of bar patrons poured from the bar. They laughed and joked, giving each other handshakes, and punching and ribbing one of the men who must be the groom-to-be. The line of homeless men bounced up from their curb-side seats and rushed across the street. Charlie held onto her cart and Reggie’s backpack, sneaking a look at her disposable phone. It was 2:05 a.m.
She watched Reggie and the others engage in an animated pantomime of street theater. Most of the panhandlers convinced the partygoers to part with change and, in a few cases, a bill or two. From the corner, another figure entered the negotiations. Charlie realized it was the edgy addict who had offered her help to the Mack investigation. Betti’s occupation was on full display as she systematically bounced up to each of the men leaving the bar. Apparently, none of the men wanted to pay for her services, because she joined Reggie and the other men, who sauntered back to their positions along the curb. Charlie had been standing, but quickly retook her seat on the curb. She adjusted the bill of her cap lower across her forehead and with dirty fingers put two sticks of gum in her mouth. She mumbled a welcome to Reggie when he sat next to her. As the men counted and compared their earnings, Be
tti fidgeted and chatted with a few of them. Finally, she made it down the line to Reggie and Charlie.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked Reggie. She wore leopard slippers, white leggings, and a black-and-white sweater poncho.
“Just a guy I know. You want a drink?”
“You got anything stronger?”
“You know I don’t do that stuff.”
“What about you? You got anything?” Betti aimed her question at Charlie, and took a step closer to her.
“He doesn’t do the hard stuff either,” Reggie answered.
“He can’t talk for himself?”
“I can talk,” Charlie said in a husky voice muffled by the gum.
“You got anything?”
Charlie shook her head “no,” reaching into her cart and pulling out the gin bottle. She twisted off the cap and lifted the bottle to her mouth, pretending to take the last drink. Then she threw the bottle over her shoulder where it shattered against the building behind her. The sound startled the group, and the men verbally protested: “Man, what you do that for?” “What the hell.” “What’s up with your friend, Reggie?”
The action had the effect Charlie desired, and Betti stepped away to talk with the men farther down the line. A few of them glanced down the line, shaking their heads.
A few minutes later, vehicle lights sprang on in the parking lot next to the bar and a late model dark car turned out of the driveway and stopped. The driver tapped his horn twice, and Betti’s head spun like a windmill caught by a gust. She pirouetted and sashayed over to the car where she shifted her weight onto one hip to lean into the window. In a few seconds she circled the car and opened the passenger door without even looking back at her audience on the curb.
“Come on, let’s move,” Reggie said, lifting up from the curb.
Charlie stood, grabbed the cart’s handle, and followed Reggie’s slow movement up Cass Avenue. She glanced back and noticed the men watching their exit.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have thrown that bottle.”
“It was a good move. You’ve established that you’re a little bit dangerous, and probably crazy. Crazy isn’t a bad thing to be when you’re living on the streets.”
Catch Me When I'm Falling Page 5