The System - A Detroit Story -

by John Silver

  The couples near the stage watched the stripper, turning upside down on the pole, her dyed-red hair spinning. Peabody looked at the couples. She'd seen it before and was still surprised how many guys got off watching their girlfriends or wives dance naked.

  Peabody and Washington sat at a table equal distance from the stage and the hall leading to the restrooms. The only barmaid working walked over, laid down a couple of cocktail napkins and said with an accent, "Welcome to the Tiger's Den. There's a two drink minimum."

  Washington shrugged and looked at Peabody. "What'll you have?"

  "Gin and tonic," said Peabody. "With lime."

  "I'll have a PBR," said Washington.

  The barmaid turned and walked toward the bar. Peabody looked at Washington. "PBR?"

  "Hey. I've been drinking that long before it became hip."

  The regular stripper ran off the stage. The lights started flashing and the bouncer walked on the stage and said in a thick accent, "welcome to amateur time." He looked at the couples. "Who go first?"

  A woman at the middle table raised her hand and stood. The lights started flashing and the woman strolled onto the stage, overweight and wearing a bikini. Washington looked at her stomach folding over the top of her thong. She turned and wiggled her butt, rumpled with cellulite. She smiled, shook her hips, held her arm straight and pointed at her husband. Led Zepplin blasted in the background. Washington looked away. The barmaid came with the drinks and Washington paid her.

  The woman on stage gyrated around the pole, out of time with the music. She popped out of her top, pulled it off and tossed at her husband who whooped and clapped. He laughed and looked around at the other tables.

  "Jesus," said Washington.

  Peabody leaned over. "They're called BBWs. Big Breasted Women. Some guys love 'em."

  The woman pranced on stage. Peabody watched for a moment then subtly scanned the room. The bouncer patted one of the guys at the bar on the back then walked down the hall past the restrooms and toward the office.

  Peabody nudged Washington. "The bouncer. Looks like he's headed toward the office. Give it a shot."

  Washington got up and walked toward the hall. Peabody watched the woman on stage and bopped her head to the music.

  Washington saw the bouncer inside the office as he opened the door to the men's room. The office was sparse- a wooden desk, leather swivel chair, a couple of filing cabinets and a sofa with a baseball bat leaning against it. The bouncer's cell phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket.

  Washington ducked into the men's room and waited, listening by the door. He heard the bouncer talking, but not clearly. He heard enough to realize the bouncer wasn't speaking English. The conversation stopped and a moment later the men's room door opened.

  Washington rushed to the sink and turned on the faucet. The bouncer gave him a look that he knew well, the you're the wrong color, what are you doing here stare. The bouncer walked into the stall and Washington heard the toilet seat bounce off the rim of the bowl. The bouncer sat and let loose. Washington quickly dried his hands and walked out of the men's room. He looked around and went in the office, pulling the small bug from his pants pocket. He removed the waxy paper from the adhesive pad and placed the bug underneath the desktop overhang, feeling it set securely to the surface. He tried to wiggle it, but the bug held firm. Washington walked out of the office and heard clapping and yelling coming from the tables around the stage.

  He turned the corner and saw Peabody stepping off the stage, putting her thin silky top on. The guys at the bar stood and clapped. So did the little guy in the wheelchair, who put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.

  Peabody put her fur coat on and sat down, sweating from the hot stage lights. A man from the next table whispered something to his wife, got up and walked over to Peabody.

  "Great show," he said. Peabody looked up at him. "My wife and I were wondering maybe you could come over and join us? You and your friend? Have a drink?"

  Washington arrived at the table, sat down and looked at the man.

  "Thanks," said Peabody. "But we really have to go. Maybe some other time."

  "Sure you can't stay?" The guy glanced back at his wife and shook his head.

  Peabody nodded. "Can't do it. Sounds tempting, though," she said. "Sorry."

  "Okay," he said. "Could have partied together." He walked back to his wife, shrugged and sat down.

  "We all good?" said Peabody.

  "Think so."

  Two dudes at the bar stared at Washington, the only black guy in the place. Black guy with a hot white blond. The two guys talked, looked at Washington then started talking again. The bouncer joined them, one of the guys said something, and then the bouncer stared.

  "I think it's time to go," said Washington.

  "I'm ready when you are," said Peabody. "Just make it look good."

  Washington put his arm around Peabody. They walked out the front entrance and through the parking lot and got in the car. Washington started it and they pulled out of the lot onto Eight Mile. The two guys who sat at the bar burst through the entrance and watched Washington and Peabody drive away. They looked at each other. One of them said, "Lucky son of a bitch."

  Chapter 20

  Chris Makes a Pickup

  Chris lay back on the double bed watching television, his head propped up by two pillows. His cell phone and pager sat within reach on the small nightstand. He twisted a cap off a bottle of beer. Drinking while on call was forbidden, but he never once got a call on Wednesday night.

  He flipped through the channels with the remote when his phone rang. Chris put down the remote and looked at the incoming number. Florida area code, Miami. He pressed the green answer button.

  "Hello?"

  "Is this Chris?"

  "Yes."

  "Hi Chris. Adam Wilkins here."

  "Adam, how are you man," said Chris. "I've been meaning to call you."

  "I haven't heard from you in awhile."

  "How's the boat?" said Chris.

  "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

  "What's up?"

  "Look, Chris. I'm not a man to go back on an agreement, more of an understanding, really. I got an offer. A good one."

  Chris felt like he was just punched in the stomach.

  "How much?" said Chris.

  "I don't want to say, but it beats yours. Substantially."

  Chris held the phone to his ear, trying to think of something to say.

  "The interested party has cash. All they want is a quick survey. If the boat checks out, which it will, they want immediate possession."

  "I thought we had a deal," said Chris.

  "We had an understanding. Maybe less than that. How can I commit to the extra time you want when I have a better offer and can close in a week?"

  "What if I send you some cash? In good faith," said Chris.

  "What good would that do? There's no guarantee you could come up with the rest."

  "I'll come up with it," said Chris. "No worries here."

  Chris sat down on the bed and looked around for a cigarette. "How about this," he said. "Give me three weeks, maybe a little more. Get the boat surveyed. I didn't care about that 'cause I trust you and know you take good care of it. Like I will."

  Not seeing his pack of cigarettes, Chris picked up a long butt from an ashtray. "It'll take a week or so to get it surveyed and the report back, right? And it'll take they buyer some time to look it over. That's probably close to two weeks there." Chris lit the butt and inhaled. "What's two, maybe three more weeks gonna do?"

  Silence on the other end.

  "You know how bad I want the boat, and I'll take care of it," said Chris. "Not just the boat, but the charter. Keep it going." He looked down at the cigarette's orange tip. "That's gotta mean something."

  "All right. Three weeks. At most. Tell you the truth, I'd rather sell it to you, but an offer's an offer."

  Chris exhaled.

  "Thank you."
r />   * *

  Chris butted the cigarette in the ashtray and realized he was out. He picked up the beer and took a swig. His pager beeped. He set the beer down, picked up the pager and looked at the number. This wasn't a code but a call in number. Dispatch. Chris pressed a button on the pager, picked up his cell phone and dialed the number. After a couple of rings a female voice answered on the other end.

  "Number seven here. Wolfe," said Chris. "Just got a page to call in. What's up?"

  "Hold on," said the dispatcher. After a moment she said, "Airport run. Metro."

  "I'm on call for the RenCen tonight," said Chris.

  "I know, but this was called in special. The client specifically asked for you."

  "What time?" said Chris.

  "Nine thirty. You better move."

  Chris looked at his watch. Eight forty three. Should be enough time to hop on 94, shoot through Detroit and Dearborn then across Romulus to the airport.

  "What terminal? Who am I looking for?"

  "International. Party's name is Dragovic."

  "On my way," said Chris.

  * *

  No one noticed the unmarked Impala with the lightly tinted windows standing near the Air France check-in at the International Terminal except the airport cop stationed outside. He studied the Impala and didn't like two things. One, he didn't like the tinted windows, and two, it was standing there way too long.

  Washington noticed him first. "Get your badge out," he said to Peabody. "Maybe we can call him off."

  Peabody watched the cop cross the service drive and walk towards them. "Got it," she said, reaching for her badge.

  The cop slowed as he neared the car, peering through the tinted windows, seeing a black male and a white female in the passenger's seat. He put his hand over his service weapon and walked to the driver's side.

  Washington rolled down the window. Peabody held her badge out.

  "Ann Peabody, DEA," she said. The cop examined the badge.

  "Freeman Washington, DPD auto." Washington flashed his.

  "Right now, you're interfering with an undercover investigation," said Peabody.

  "I had to check you out," said the cop.

  "Not a problem," said Peabody. "Help us out. Just step away and keep our line of sight clear."

  "Sure thing," said the cop.

  "Now, please," said Peabody. Washington was impressed with Peabody's authoritative tone.

  The cop turned and about face and walked back across the service drive. Washington rolled up the window and Peabody fiddled with the digital camera with a large zoom lens. The vehicle's lightly tinted windows did not block a lot of visible light from entering, just heat. Peabody raised the camera, focused on the entrance then put the camera in her lap.

  "Now we wait," she said.

  * *

  sVlad Dragovic emerged from the terminal walking between two women, one of them strikingly beautiful.

  "Hey," said Peabody. "There he is. With two women." She raised the camera and clicked off some shots. Vlad carried a big duffel bag over his shoulder and the women each toted small suitcases on casters.

  Chris saw Vlad and the women at the pickup area in front of the terminal. Vlad stood out, a head taller than most people, wearing an ivory track suit with blue stripes down the side and a matching baseball cap. Chris focused on Elena. My God, where did she come from? Wearing tight sweats, hair pulled back in a ponytail, obvious travel clothes. Dark hair, big eyes, innocent looking yet incredibly sexy. Only a few women ever made him feel this way on first sight. That was a long time ago and he'd forgotten the weak, warm, almost sad feeling.

  The other woman, attractive but older smoked a cigarette. Chris pulled up in front of them. Vlad looked in and smiled. Chris popped open the trunk, got out and went for the bags.

  "My favorite taxi driver," said Vlad.

  Chris smiled. "How many times do I have to say it. This is a limo, not a taxi." Chris had a hard time not staring at Elena. He smiled at her and she smiled back, weakly.

  This chick was definitely buzzed. He loaded the bags and held the door open for them. Miri got in first, then Vlad and Elena.

  "Where to?" said Chris.

  "My club," said Vlad. "My new ladies will be attractions there."

  "Very nice," said Chris.

  Vlad turned to Elena. "This young man will be working for me, soon," he said.

  "Maybe you should get to know him."

  "That's news to me," said Chris.

  Vlad leaned forward. "Why don't you come my club tonight. You and Eddie. We can talk, and maybe you can get to know the girls a little better."

  They didn't notice the Impala. Peabody shot rapid frames of Vlad, Elena, Miri and Chris. The limo drove away. Peabody and Washington followed them down I-94 to I-75 northbound then onto Eight Mile. They passed the club in the far left lane and Vlad, Miri and Elena entered the club.

  "Court order or no court order, let's bug Dragovic's car," said Peabody.

  Chapter 21

  At the Tiger's Den

  Chris watched Elena twirl slowly around the pole. He felt the music thumping in his chest. Besides the girls, that's the one thing he liked about strip clubs- the music. Music was more real, more primal, playing loud with a beautiful naked woman dancing to it.

  Eddie and Vlad sat at a table near the stage drinking Absolut, Miri at Eddie's side. Chris sat next to Vlad and took a swig from a bottle of Bud. He made eye contact with Elena. She momentarily broke out of her robotic, faraway gaze and brightened.

  A group of men sat near the stage, enthralled by Elena. Chris watched them. Two wore white shirts and ties, young but with beer bellies, waistbands rolling over their belts. Probably had wives and kids at home, steady nine to five jobs and happy to have them. Chris wondered what it would be like to live like that. Stable. Maybe be an engineer or accountant. He figured he would last about two months. Follow a coffee cup around for thirty years? No thanks.

  Elena slowly spun around the pole, got on her hands and knees and crawled toward them. She stopped at the edge of the stage, rolled on her back and spread her legs. The two guys wearing ties whooped and high fived each other, dollar bills in their hands. The other guy stood silent and mesmerized. Elena got on her knees and the guys tucked the bills into the side of her g-string. Elena swung her head around, her dark hair rolling like a wave of sex-charged surf.

  "Goddamn," said Eddie. "She's a hot one." He looked at Vlad. "I shoulda opened a strip club."

  The music stopped and the guys near the stage stood and clapped. Vlad motioned to Elena. She walked off the stage under the watchful eye of the bouncer. She was poised, but somewhat unstable. Chris couldn't tell if she was buzzed or dizzy from the stage gyrations. Vlad pointed to the chair next to Chris and Elena sat down and smiled, blankly.

  "You're a good dancer," said Chris, instantly feeling stupid and awkward. Dumb thing to say.

  "Thank you," said Elena.

  "You speak English well," he said, again feeling dumb. It had been awhile since he sat with a beautiful naked woman. He tried not to stare at her tits.

  The music started again and another dancer, young with short black hair started spinning upside down on the pole. Vlad leaned over and said, "Elena, take my friend in the back room. For a private dance."

  Elena looked at Vlad, then Chris and said, "come with me." She stood and took Chris's hand.

  "Have fun, buddy," said Eddie. He looked at Miri, who was playing with his ear. "Man," he said. "If my junk still worked."

  Elena led Chris to one of the lap dance rooms in the rear. "Sit here," she said, leading him to an oversized leather easy chair. Chris sat and Elena straddled him. She put her arms behind her head and let her hair slip through her fingers. She gyrated on Chris's lap, moving up and down, pressing her breasts lightly against his face. She smelled like warm, wet lavender.

  "You like?" whispered Elena.

  "Yes I do," said Chris. She smiled, then looked away and went back to someplace distant.


  * *

  Vlad and Eddie moved to the office. Vlad sat behind the desk and Eddie wheeled to the front. He looked at the bat leaning against the couch.

  "Our shipment is here," said Vlad. "All we need now is to have someone pick it up."

  "Where is it?" said Eddie.

  "Somewhere far from here," said Vlad.

  "So what's the plan?"

  "Your guy," said Vlad, motioning to the room where Elena was working Chris. "The taxi driver."

  Vlad sat back, his knee just missing the bug under the desk. "They make an attractive pair, do they not?"

  Eddie shrugged his shoulders. "I guess so."

  "They will pose as newly married," said Vlad. "On first trip together, how you say, something moon?"

  "It's called a honeymoon,"' said Vlad.

  "Yes, honeymoon. They go to Canada. Very easy to get documents and cross border. Both ways." Vlad leaned forward. "They will pick up the package and bring it back."

  "I dunno, man. I don't know if he'll go for it," said Eddie. "Boosts are one thing, but this…"

  Vlad sat back, thinking. "I know what he wants. You told me."

  Eddie thought for a moment. "He does have his heart set on that boat."

  "This could be a big step toward getting it," said Vlad. "And Elena, she will do whatever I tell her to do, or I will have her daughter killed. Or worse. I will buy and sell her to people with certain tastes. She knows this."

  Eddie frowned and wheeled away from the desk.

  * *

  Vlad pushed a button on his cell phone and a moment later the bouncer walked in.

  "Tell the new one with the missing finger to get Eddie's friend. I want to talk to him."

  The bouncer nodded then disappeared.