“Where are we going?”
“Up to Stimson Street. Sometimes a tent city operates there, and we can sit and talk to people as they congregate.”
“That was a close call back there,” Charlie said.
“When?”
“With Betti.”
“You know her?”
“Don and I met her the day we came to look around. She offered to help us with the case.”
“Hmm. Well, you could do worse. Betti keeps her eyes and ears open, and she knows almost everybody. That’s why she was so interested in you. You think she recognized you?”
“No.”
“It’s a good thing she had a john waiting. She doesn’t scare off easily. She would have been back to find out more about you. She’s already given you a nickname I heard her tell one of the guys. She called you E.R.”
“E.R.?”
“E.R. for Eddie’s Replacement,” Reggie responded sadly.
The tent city appeared to be the size of two home lots, and the grass had been recently cut. In the center of the green space, two rusty barrels, elevated on cinder blocks, spit out embers from a bonfire, and twenty or so men and women warmed themselves over the flames. A huge pile of twigs, pieces of wood, and tree branches sat nearby, ready to be added to the barrels. A dozen people zipped up in sleeping bags, or sitting on cardboard or chairs, positioned themselves within five yards of the sidewalk on Stimson, with another row of sleepers behind them.
Charlie followed Reggie, dragging her cart over the grass to an empty spot not far away from the fire. It wasn’t a cold night, probably 50 degrees, but the ground was damp. Charlie pulled one of the borrowed shirts from her cart to make a space for sitting; Reggie used a blanket and a stack of newspapers to mark his place. He pulled a bottle of Gordon’s gin from the backpack and slipped it in his jacket pocket.
“Leave your cart here. It’ll be okay while we go over and mingle. But keep an eye on it, and don’t stand too close to the fire so people can’t see your face.”
They sidled up to the circle of people conversing around the barrels, and Charlie quickly realized she could be eavesdropping at a cosmopolitan outdoor café. One man held court with his views of how President Bush was handling the war in Iraq, then shifted to the alleged corruption of Detroit’s youngest mayor. The conversation wandered from politics to sports, and back to politics again until, finally, Charlie heard something that piqued her interest.
“I don’t know about all that stuff in Washington, D.C.,” a short, African-American man with rust-colored hair and freckles said. “But, our number one concern should be those damn drug dealers from Nicaragua, or wherever the hell they come from, who are right here in the Corridor selling that damn poison to our people. Seems like they got more rights than we do,” the man complained.
“Well, there must be a whole lot of people buying the shit they sell,” another man said. He was tall and dark with a thick beard and a tangle of salt-and-pepper hair. “Those are some fine cars they drive.”
“That boy is Satan.”
Heads turned toward the woman who lobbed those words into the conversation. She was leaning in toward the fire and was so short she had to lift her arms to warm her hands. Charlie moved closer to the barrels to get a good look. She wore a scarf tied on the top of her head, but it couldn’t control the force of unruly, gray hair that made it bulge on the sides, and escaped the scarf altogether at her nape. A blue quilted coat was tied together at her waist with a piece of rope, and her oversized pants ended in fur-topped short boots. The man who had been making the political arguments walked over to stand next to the woman, towering over her as he asked a question.
“Who you talking about, Carla? Did they mess with you?”
When the woman lifted her head, Charlie could see her disfigured eye. The lid seemed closed completely over the right socket. Carla pulled her hands back from the fire and tightened her arms across the front of her coat.
“That one in the fancy car. The Spanish one. He pulled me down and held a fire over me. He flick, flick, flick that lighter. But when I give him the evil eye, he say I a witch.” She slapped her hands against her coat, then made the sign of the cross. “His eyes. They had no soul. Nothing but blackness,” Carla said with feeling.
Charlie leaned toward Reggie and gave him a nudge. Just then Betti bounced into the circle of light, shifting from side to side and vying for attention. She and Charlie locked eyes for a second before Charlie pulled back into the shadows.
“What is this crazy bitch talking about?” Betti asked.
“Said one of them Spanish boys who drive around selling drugs tried to light her on fire,” the tall man said.
“I know one of them guys,” Betti said.
“Puta! What guy you don’t know? You a two-dollar whore,” Carla spit out.
The women started shouting names at each other, and Charlie pulled Reggie into the shadows. “See if you can find out when the guy threatened her with the lighter.”
“Ladies, ladies,” Reggie said moving closer to the barrels. “It’s too late for all this noise. Carla, when did you say this man threatened you?”
Carla turned back to the fire. She straightened her clothing with a nonverbal harrumph, and resumed her position of handwarming. Betti was still fussing, but the attention of the group had now returned to Carla, who was taking her time before speaking up.
“Maybe two weeks. I remember it was cold. I was asleep on that bench on Alexandrine, and I didn’t even hear no one come up on me. Then there he is with that hellish look. He grabbed my hair and wouldn’t let go, and put that fire so close I could feel my skin get hot.”
There was a sharp reaction to the woman’s revelation. Charlie had been keeping an eye on Betti, who had turned her back to Carla. She stepped away from the inner circle and was making her way toward their side of the barrels.
“I’m going back to our spot. I don’t want to be around Betti,” Charlie quickly whispered into Reggie’s ear.
The cart and Reggie’s backpack hadn’t been molested. Charlie sat on the oversized shirt and pulled in her knees. The ground was cold, but the tights she wore under the corduroy pants made it bearable. Others had set up their sleeping quarters near them, and Charlie watched as an industrious man fashioned a makeshift tent from two plastic chairs and a couple of blankets.
It was now 3:15 a.m. and Charlie was tired. She rummaged in the bottom of the cart for something to use for a bed, finding a flannel throw and hand warmers. Also, a package of cookies and a flashlight. Good old Judy. Charlie doubled over the throw and bunched the extra shirt into a place for her head. She lay on her back and looked up at the stars. She could use a real drink now. She sat up, looked over her shoulder toward the fire, but couldn’t see Reggie among those gathered. She settled again on her outdoor bed. Carla’s outburst about a Hispanic boy with a cigarette lighter was the first real clue in this case, and she hoped Reggie could get more information from her. Two spots away, someone covered in a sleeping bag snored rhythmically. The last thing Charlie remembered thinking was, twinkle, twinkle little star.
# # #
At six o’clock, the burn phone in Charlie’s back pocket began to vibrate with a wake-up alarm.
She opened her eyes slowly. It was still almost an hour before sunrise, and overcast skies cloaked the stars. She sat up on her elbows; the camp was quiet. Reggie’s backpack was next to her cart, and his blanket looked undisturbed. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. She’d slept soundly for three hours, and felt surprisingly refreshed.
“You ready to go?”
Reggie had moved with stealthy silence and startled Charlie with the whisper in her ear. She stuffed her shirt pillow into the cart and rolled up her cover, which was wet with dew. Charlie followed Reggie’s careful steps around those still sleeping. The fire barrels still glowed orange, and a half-dozen people tried to capture the last of the warmth. When they reached the sidewalk, Charlie touched Reggie’s arm to slow him. His backpac
k was over his shoulder, he had no shakes, and he was walking steady. This morning he looked like a guy headed off to work the morning shift.
“I slept pretty good for my first night on the streets. You must have slept well, too. You look rested.”
“No. I didn’t sleep at all. I’ll find an inside place to crash this morning. You want coffee?”
“Desperately.”
“Okay, the bakery people are always open early.”
Reggie was right. The Avalon Bakery was in full Friday morning swing. Charlie waited outside while Reggie went in for the coffee. When he returned, they walked east for the rendezvous with Don. The sky was just beginning to show a swath of tangerine.
“Did Carla say anything else about the boy who threatened her?”
“Not too much. She did remember it was after the bars closed, and she said the guy had a mark on his face.”
“What kind of mark?”
“She wasn’t clear. She said it was the mark of Satan.”
“Who are these guys in the fancy cars?”
“You saw them last night. They’re new to the area, selling drugs. Day and night. They’ve been pushing out the other dealers.”
“You think they’re involved in the burnings?”
“Could be, I guess.”
They walked in silence for a while, traveling to Woodward and then south. There was a light flow of pedestrians moving in both directions. Reggie suddenly stopped to sit at a corner bench. He was in trouble again. The tremors in his hands had begun, and he dropped his coffee. Charlie retrieved the cup, threw it in a nearby trash receptacle, and sat between Reggie and her cart.
“Are you okay?”
Reggie shook his head. “Back at the fire, a few of us were talking about Eddie. He never hurt anybody.”
Reggie was crying, and Charlie didn’t know what to say. They sat for a while then Charlie stood. She grabbed the handle of her cart with one hand, and Reggie with the other. The pace was slow, and a few times Charlie had to catch Reggie’s elbow to steady him when he stumbled, but Charlie knew if they were even five minutes late, Don would come looking for them. When they reached the McDonald’s downtown, it was daylight. Breakfast customers entered and exited the restaurant in a steady stream. Reggie pointed toward the next block.
“Isn’t that Rutkowski’s car at the corner?”
“Yes, that’s him. Should we meet back here tonight?”
“Okay. But make it earlier. Let’s try to get a slot at the shelter. We have to be there by nine to get a cot.”
“Fine. I’ll meet you here at 8:30.”
“Yep. See ya.”
Charlie watched Reggie walk away. He moved quickly. She ambled across the street, and was reaching for the handle on Don’s car door when a voice behind her made her jump and turn around.
“Pretty good disguise. But it didn’t fool me,” Betti said, shifting from leg to leg.
Chapter 6
After a drive to another McDonald’s, the trio sat under the Fisher overpass near Michigan Avenue. Betti was in the backseat enjoying a bacon-egg-cheese biscuit and orange juice. Charlie had ordered an OJ to be sociable, and Don’s coffee accompanied a scowl. At Charlie’s insistence he’d allowed Betti into his car, and gave frequent glances in the rearview mirror.
But it was Betti doing the watching. She’d been suspicious of Reggie and his new pal as soon as she noticed the two of them outside the Temple Bar. After the quick but direct look at Charlie in the light of the tent city’s campfire, she’d decided to follow them. First, to the bakery, and then to the downtown McDonald’s. When Betti spotted the same Buick that had been parked in the NSO lot two days ago, she crossed Woodward a block south and walked up behind the car.
“Do you go undercover a lot?” Betti asked through a mouthful of sandwich.
“Only if I think a case requires it.”
“Was the idea to fit in so you could find out who’s behind the burned bodies?”
“Something like that,” Charlie said, turning to face her. “I need to get as much information as I can before the end of the week. And tonight, I got the first clue about who might be involved—from Carla.”
“She’s not in her right mind.”
“You don’t believe what she said?”
“I didn’t say that. Some of the L2Ds are wild and dangerous.”
“The who?” Don growled.
Betti and Don locked eyes in the mirror. Charlie watched her as she sat next to Rudy’s car seat and chewed the breakfast sandwich. She seemed to be making some sort of calculation.
“The L2Ds. They’re a gang.”
“Back there, at the fire, you said you knew one of them,” Charlie said.
“One of the older guys in the group is a friend, uh, a client of mine.”
“Jeez,” Don said with irritation. He removed his baseball cap to make room for his head to explode. “You mean he’s one of your johns.”
“That’s a matter of semantics,” Betti countered indignantly.
“Okay, okay,” Charlie said forcefully. “Let’s get down to business. I’m going back to the Corridor tonight. Undercover. I don’t want anybody to know who I am, or what I’m doing. Understand?” She waited for Betti’s nod. “I want you to work for me, starting today, and I’ll pay you.”
Don started to protest, but Charlie stopped him with a hand on his arm. He put on the baseball cap and squared himself in the seat with eyes on the mirror.
“All you have to do,” Charlie continued, “is see what you can find out about the boy who threatened Carla. Do you think you could ask your client?”
“I was willing to give you information for free, but now that my assignment has expanded, I guess I should accept some cash,” Betti said, enjoying the attention. “How many days are we talking about?”
“Tonight, and maybe Saturday and Sunday.”
Don interrupted his surveillance of the rear seat to look at Charlie. “Saturday and Sunday?”
Charlie ignored Don and kept her full attention on Betti. The woman was bright. She might be useful to the investigation. But without a doubt she could hinder it by blabbing about the private eye who was pretending to be homeless. Charlie had heard enough last night to know playing homeless to spy on those who lived their lives on the streets wouldn’t go over well, and Reggie would pay the price for the betrayal.
“How about fifty bucks a day?” Betti asked.
“That’s sounds fair,” Charlie answered. “But that means you don’t tell anybody about our investigation or my undercover work. You fish for information without attracting suspicion, and you come when I call.”
“Now you sound more like a pimp than a private investigator. So I got a new nickname for you. I’m just gonna call you ‘The Mack.’”
Charlie pulled the burn phone out of her sock, and the charger and cash from an inside pocket. “Here’s a phone. Keep it with you. And here’s your first payment.”
Betti asked to be dropped off near NSO, but Charlie nixed the idea.
“We’ll drop you off near the Temple Bar. There’ll be nobody around this time of morning. You’ll have to walk the rest of the way. We can’t afford to be seen together.”
“Okay. You The Mack,” Betti said, tucking Charlie’s five twenties into her bra. “Where you going to be tonight?”
“Reggie thinks we should go to the shelter.”
“You ain’t gonna hear nothing in there. You need to be walking around like Eddie used to do. Call me before you sign up for the shelter.”
Betti bounced from the car and moved quickly down the street on her tiptoes. Don turned north toward the office. He didn’t say a word the entire trip, and when they got to the office he marched to his desk, took off his shoulder holster, put it in the bottom drawer, and slammed it shut. Gil looked at Charlie, but she excused herself to change her clothes. When she returned, wearing sweats, she got stern looks from both partners.
“Don told me what’s going on. How do you know you can t
rust this Betti? I thought Reggie was our point person on the streets?”
“He is, but we have to innovate. I think she can be helpful. For instance, she said I shouldn’t be going to a shelter tonight. I should be walking around again. I think she’s right.”
“I called a guy I know at the gang squad,” Don announced. “He’ll be here in an hour to update us on organized gang activity in the Corridor.” Don was still angry and didn’t even look at Charlie.
“If you think we need to work the Corridor through the weekend, I’m going out there with you,” Gil said. “Or maybe I should take your place.”
“We’ll see, Gil. Maybe that will work. Meanwhile, I’m headed to the gym to take a quick shower.”
# # #
Alonzo Scott was thirty-five but could pass for twenty-five. A youthful appearance was a plus when dealing with the region’s gangs, and he’d been doing it for seven years. He was obviously a regular weight lifter, and his arms and shoulders bulged in the brown jacket he wore. His head was clean shaven. Scott knew the challenges in Cass Corridor and many of the players. He sat with the Mack partners in their conference room and used the whiteboard.
“The Black Mafia Family still operates all over the city, but in the last few years we’ve been tracking gang activities by Iraqi, Mexican, and Asian, mostly Vietnamese, gangs. All of them deal in drugs, but some focus on their specialty drugs. In the Corridor, they’re selling to residents, students, and the people who drive in from the suburbs to score.”
Scott wrote a glossary of the most common terms on the board. “DTO” was a Drug Trafficking Organization, “HIDTA” a High Intensity Drug Trafficking Area. The available drugs in the Corridor included cocaine, marijuana, heroin and “MDMA,” more commonly known as Ecstasy.
“Detroit’s a regional distribution center for every drug you can think of,” Scott said, “and the Corridor is one of the hotspots in the region. The L2D group are a Mexican gang, newcomers, trying to make a name for themselves and become a DTO. L2D stands for ‘Live to Die.’ We’ve been watching them grow in strength for the last year, and like the Young Boys Incorporated group of the 1980s the L2D leadership uses minors to do a lot of their running.”
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