Street Justice (16 page)

As she set them down on the right of Devon she said, “I think there is only one more load.” Devon gave a slight nod. His pace slowed slightly and returned to trudging through his work. The dull florescent lights buzzed above him and he suddenly noticed the air was stagnant and stuffy.

Early the next morning, while Russ was still cocooned in his bed, there came a sharp knock at the door. Russ’ eyes shot open, he felt the stabbing pain in his head and his eyes immediately slammed shut again. Russ listened for the briefest of moments, then pulled his blankets up over his head and hoped the knocker would go away. Three sharp raps on the door again and Russ figured he had better get up and see what the person at the door wanted.

Fumbling out of bed, he nearly tripped on the tangle of sheets and comforters. He staggered out of his room, slightly clipping his left shoulder on the door frame on the way out. Lumbering toward the door in his socks, boxers and a t-shirt, he rubbed his shoulder. He grabbed the handle just as another sharp rap reverberated through the door. He jerked it open, now a little annoyed. A hand brushed by him as the visitor had been trying to rap on the now moved door and swung through space.

Russ squinted and looked at the visitor. He wore dark blue shorts and a blue polo shirt. Above the left breast was the familiar purple and green logo for FedEx. “Russ Evenhuis?”

“Yes.”

“Sign here,” the delivery driver thrust an electronic clipboard toward Russ. Russ signed it and as he handed the clipboard back then driver handed him a large box. Russ scowled at the box, it was significantly larger than the last one he had received, but maybe Eric sent the product in different boxes so as not to establish a pattern.

“Thank you,” Russ said to the driver’s back. He wandered back inside and set the box on the coffee table. He wandered into the kitchen and proceeded to start a pot of coffee. He looked through the fridge for something to eat as breakfast and found a Greek yogurt. Pulling it out he looked at the expiration date which had passed several weeks before. He shrugged and opened the yogurt anyway. Digging a spoon out of a drawer he headed back into the living room.

Russ ate a couple of spoonfuls of yogurt, then picked up the remote and turned on the TV. He tuned into Sports Center then promptly tuned the talking heads out. He reached over and picked the box back up from the coffee table. Using the back of the spoon he split and tape and opened the end of the box. He turned the box over and three large packages fell out, each about twice the size of the first package they had received.

Russ stood dumbfounded. This was not simply double the last amount they had bought. This was a lot more. His mind raced back to the conversation he had with Eric, “…ten percent for ten days, thirty percent for thirty days. Don’t take more than thirty days.”

Russ stared at the tightly wrapped plastic bundles. They seemed to be growing the longer he stared at them. Slowly, never taking his eyes off the packages, he backed into the kitchen and found his cell phone charging on the counter. He took his eyes off the cocaine for a moment, to find and dial Jeff’s number then went right back to watching the pile.

Jeff answered on the fourth ring, he voice crackling, and obviously Russ had awoken him. “Yes, hello?”

“Jeff, we have a problem,” Russ said in a flat monotone voice.

“Hmm, what’s that?” Jeff asked sounding as if was about ready to drift off back to sleep.

“Well, the package we ordered from Eric just came in.”

“What?” Jeff’s voice suddenly perked up, fear and apprehension rising in his voice, “What is wrong? Are the cops there?”

“What? No!” Russ fired back.

In a calmer voice, “Then what is wrong?”

“Um, there is more than we ordered.”

“Dude, buddy, there is supposed to be more, remember?”

“I know that,” Russ snapped. He was getting annoyed that Jeff did not seem to be nearly as worried about this as he was. “But there is a lot more.”

“How much more?”

“Well, I don’t have a scale on anything but if what we got the first time was a half a kilo, then this looks like three keys or so.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Russ could hear the rustling of sheets as Jeff sat up in bed.

“I’m saying, we didn’t get twice what we got last time, we got six times what we got last time.”

“What the hell?”

“Exactly, now you see why I’m more than a little freaked out. What are we going to do with this?”

Jeff took a couple of deep breaths, “Calm down. We got rid of half in two days. The word is out, so I’m sure our base has expanded a bit…”

“Yeah, but we just supplied everyone. And some of those people bought extra when they heard we were running low. They won’t be buying again soon. Let’s face it, our drugs move Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. If we got rid of a half in one week, that means we’ll get rid of two full in four weeks. That’s the thirty days and that is if everyone buys again.”

Jeff continued to breath heavily and slowly into the phone, “I know, I know. Hang on, I’m on my way over.”

Twenty minutes later Russ heard a knock on his door. He opened it and let Jeff in. Jeff strode in carrying a backpack. He walked over to the coffee table, saw the bundles and said, “Holy hell that is a lot of coke.” Sitting,  he quickly pulled a scale from his pack. He set the packages on the scale one at a time. “With the excess weight we had last time, it is fair to say that each of these is in fact a full key.”

“So now what?” Russ asked.

“I don’t know, let’s call Eric.”

“Good idea,” Russ said. He scurried to a drawer in the kitchen, dug out a burner phone and dialed Eric’s number. As usual the phone was not answered but that no longer bothered Russ. He waited and, as expected, the phone rang a few minutes later.

“This is Eric,” the voice said.

“Hello, this is Russ…”

“I figured, I saw the area code,” Eric continued with the customary, light hearted lilt in his voice.

“Right, fine, hey, um we got your package and I’m a bit confused.”

“About?”

“Well, we wanted a full kilo, but it seems we got three.”

“You didn’t say during the last conversation how much you wanted, you simply said more. This is more.”

Russ stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say. The logic was sound, this was more, and he tried to replay the conversation in his head, to see if he had ever actually said one kilo. Finally he said, “Sorry, I should have been clearer, we only wanted one kilo. So what do we do, ship the other two back to you?”

Eric’s voice lost its good natured tone. An edge sharp enough to cut through three thousand miles and bad reception on the cheap phone, lashed into Russ’ ear, “Listen carefully, I do not do returns. You asked for more, I delivered more. Now, you’re on the clock. Ten percent for ten days, thirty for thirty. Do not take longer than thirty. Do I make myself clear?”

Russ pulled the phone from his ear and looked at it. He looked at Jeff, then back at the phone. He heard a tinny voice from the speaker say, “Do I make myself clear?”

Quickly putting the phone back to his ear he said, “Yes, yes.”

Resuming his jovial tone, Eric said, “Well, is there anything else?”

“Um, no.”

“Excellent then, have a great day.” With that the line went dead.

Russ slowly turned to Jeff, “He says we’re stuck with it.”

“Great, now what do we do?”

“I don’t know, you’re the drug dealer. I’m just the hired help,” Russ threw up his hands and collapsed on the couch.

“Let me think,” Jeff said as he headed to the kitchen and grabbed a beer. Coming back in the room he handed Russ a beer and cracked his own, then dug out a plastic bag of cocaine from his pocket. He fished out his keys, stuck the tip of one in and snorted the powder off the tip. He then handed both to Russ who did the sameas he stuck both back in his pocket.

“What about a corner?” Jeff asked.

"What about it?" Russ asked leaning forward.

"Well, we need a way to unload a bunch of this coke. That might do it."

Russ' features calmed. He returned to his element, that of strategy, tactics and defense. "We know nothing about a corner, what is needed to stake one out, defend it or effectively sell without immediately getting busted."

Jeff looked deep into Russ' eyes, which were calm, deep pools. He knew this is why Russ had joined the team and conceded, "OK, then what are your thoughts?"

"I don't know."

Both men leaned back into their cushions and closed their eyes in unison, as if they had practiced the move. Russ took long deep breaths. Jeff took a long pull from his beer. Russ quietly said to himself and the room, "How do you sell through a corner without being able to control a corner?"

"That's it," Jeff exclaimed as he suddenly sat up.

"What?"

"We don't need to control a corner to sell through it," Jeff continued, "We can simply sell to someone who does. Consignment if you will. They sell, we split the profits after we cover the cost of the product. With what we bought this stuff for, we should be able to convince one of the corner guys to take on a little extra product."

"Will that work?"

"I think I know a corner guy and while they aren't supposed to take on outside product, these kids are drug dealers, not exactly known for being stand up guys. They hustle and grind. I'm sure we can get one of them to work a little harder. With the quality of this stuff, I'm sure they'll be back for more."

"If you think we can do this, it makes a lot more sense than trying to take over a corner ourselves. Where do we start?"

"Let me make a few phone calls, see if I can feel a few guys out."

Charles drove down 40
th
street toward the wheels shop. Rather than continue straight to the shop he took a turn north on Woodlawn Park Ave then a right onto 42
nd
street, then south on Interlake Ave. He nervously watched his rear view mirror, looking for signs of a tail. He had been told from Chad that the FBI was onto them and they needed to be extra careful. Rather than bringing his crew with him, Charles traveled alone. His stomach was in a tight ball and a slight sweat coated his brow.

His head was on a swivel, looking forward, then at his mirrors, then left, then right, he guided his car toward the wheel shop. Today it was a 1994 Mercedes Benz E500 that Chad had supplied, rather than his personal Audi which apparently the FBI knew all about. The car’s large engine rumbled, causing the steering wheel to shake ever so slightly, at least Charles told himself it was the engine causing the shake, not his own body.

Charles pulled over to the side of the road three blocks away from the wheel shop. He collected a backpack from the front seat which contained the envelopes containing cash and packets of drugs. Earlier his crew had followed their traditional two car strategy for picking up. They had then followed a circuitous route to an apartment with a garage down by the terminals. The crew had parked the Audi and Impala, taking their haul into the apartment, then directly down to the garage where the Mercedes had been waiting. Then they dumped their haul into the backpack and taken off. When everyone else had left, Charles had left in the Benz. Taking one last look around, Charles exited his car.

Charles trundled out of the car, flipping the backpack onto his back. His heart was beating as if he had been running the few blocks from downtown. He headed down the sidewalk while continuing to look around. The street was empty. There was no movement. Charles relaxed a bit. They had a routine that worked and he questioned why now they wanted to try and improve it. Since no one was around he could have simply pulled up to the back as always. But he knew it was not his place to question but to simply follow the rules they gave him.

As he approached the back of the shop, his heart slowed down. He relaxed. From here in it was as if he had pulled up in the Audi. The closer he got, the more his heart rate returned to normal. Stepping onto the grounds that made up the back landscape of the wheel shop he nearly let out an audible sigh of relief. His shoulders lost their tension and sagged. His gate became less mechanical. Each breath became deeper and deeper. He strode across the oily and pitted surface.  he glanced around again, still he saw no one.

As he boomed toward the backdoor a small voice echoed in his head. At first he ignored it. Then it became louder. The voice gained a tone and a pattern. Too quickly the voice realized in his head. It was Chad. The voice said, "Collect all product and money in one bag." He had that. He kept moving. Charles found the back parking lot of the wheel shop. His mind eased for a moment. He walked across the expanse then realized the issue that the Chad voice was trying to break free.

He had his gun tucked in the waistband of his pant. It was in a holster that was clipped to his belt. Chad had said no weapons and specifically no guns. He stopped immediately. He un-slung the backpack and placed it on the ground. Unfurling the top and kneeling before the opening he tugged the gun from its holster and dropped it into the sack.

Looking around again, he re-wrapped the top of the bag and headed toward the entrance. He did not see anyone and relaxed. He knocked on the back door. After a few seconds the door opened slightly. "Who is it?" the voice asked.