It had been a growing anxiety on that score which made him morose and
worried the night of the Auto City filming-also in June-in Rollie's and
May Lou's apartment. Leonard Wingate, the company Personnel man, had
sensed Rollie's deep-seated worry, but they had not discussed it.
Rollie also discovered, around that time, that it was easier to begin
involvement with the rackets than to opt out. Big Rufe made that plain
when Rollie demurred after being told he would be a part of the chain
which brought marijuana and LSD into plants and distributed the drugs.
Months earlier, when the two had been side by side at a plant urinal,
it was Big Rufe who approached Rollie with a hint about recruitment
into plant crime. And now that the hint had become f act, it was clear
that Big Rufe had a part in most of the illegal action going on.
"Don't cut no slice o' that pie for me," Rollie had insisted, when the
subject of drug traffic came up. "You get some other dude, hear?"
They were on work break, talking behind a row of storage bins near the
assembly line, and shielded from the view of others. Big Rufe had
scowled. "You stink scared."
"Maybe."
Boss don't like scared cats. Makes him nervous."
Rollie knew better than to ask who the boss was. He was certain that
one existed-probably somewhere outside the plant-just as it was obvious
that an organization existed, Rollie having seen evidence of it not
long before.
wheels 413
One night, af ter his shif t ended, instead of leaving, he and a half
dozen others had remained inside the plant gates. Ahead of time they had
been warned to make their way singly and inconspicuously to the Scrap and
Salvage area. When they arrived, a truck was waiting and the group loaded
it with crates and cartons already stacked nearby. It was obvious to
Rollie that what was being loaded was new, unused material, and not scrap
at all. It included tires, radios, and air conditioners in cases, and some
heavy crateswhich required loading with a hoist-and marked as containing
transmissions.
The first truck lef t, a second came, and for three hours altogether the
loading went on, openly, and although it was after dark and this portion
of the plant saw little nighttime traffic, lights were blazing. Only
toward the end did Big Rufe, who had appeared and disappeared several
times, look around him nervously and urge everyone to hurry. They had, and
eventually the second truck had gone too, and everyone went home.
Rollie had been paid two hundred dollars for the three hours he had helped
load what was clearly a big haul of stolen goods. Equally evident was that
the behind-scenes organization was efficient and large-scale, and there
must have been payoffs to get the trucks safely in and out of the plant.
Later, Rollie learned that the transmissions and other items could be
bought cheaply at some of the many hot-rod shops around Detroit and
Cleveland; also that the outflow through the Scrap and Salvage yard had
been one of many.
"Guess you bought yourself a pack o' trouble by knowin' too much," Big
Rufe had said when he and Rollie had their talk behind the storage bins.
"That'd make the big boss nervous too, so if he figured you wasn't with
us no more, he'd likely arrange a little party on the parking lot."
414-wheels
Rollie understood the message. So many beatings and muggings had occurred
recently on the huge employee parking lots that even security patrols went
around in pairs. Just the day before, a young black worker had been beaten
and robbed -the beating so savage that he was hovering, in hospital,
between life and death.
Rollie shuddered.
Big Rufe grunted and spat on the floor. 'Teah, man, I'd sure think about
that if I was you."
In the end, Rollie went along with drug peddling, partly because of Big
Rufe's threat, but also because he desperately needed money. The second
garnishee of his wages in June had been followed by Leonard Wingate's
financial austerity program, which left barely enough each week for Rollie
and May Lou to live on, and nothing over to pay backloans.
Actually, the drug arrangement worked out easily, making him wonder if
perhaps he had worried too much after all. He was glad that just marijuana
and LSD were involved, and not heroin which was a riskier traffic. There
was horse moving through the plant, and he knew workers who had habits.
But a heroin addict was unreliable and likely to get caught, then under
interrogation name his supplier.
Marijuana, on the other hand, was a pushover. The FBI and local police had
told auto company managements confidentially that they would not
investigate marijuana activity where less than one pound of the drug was
involved. The reason was simple-a shortage of investigating officers. This
information leaked, so that Rollie and others were careful to bring small
amounts into the plant each time.
The extent of marijuana use amazed even Rollie. He discovered that more
than half of the people working around him smoked two to three
wheels--415
joints a day and many admitted it was the drug which kept them going. "For
Cri-sakes," a regular purchaser from Rollie asserted, "if a guy wasn't
spaced out, how else could he stand this rat run?" Just a half joint, he
said, gave him a lift which lasted several hours.
Rollie heard another worker tell a foreman who had cautioned him for being
obvious about marijuana use, "If you fired everybody smoking pot, you
wouldn't build any cars around here."
Another effect of Rollie's drug peddling was that he was able to get
squared away with the loan sharks, leaving some spare money which he used
to indulge in pot himself. It was true, he found, that a day on the
assembly line could be endured more easily if you were spaced, and you
could get the work done too.
Rollie did manage to work to the continuing satisfaction of Frank
Parkland, despite his extra activities which, in fact, took little time.
Because of his lack of seniority, he was laid off during two of the four
weeks when the plant shut down for changeover to Orion production, then
resumed work when the first Orions began to come down the line.
He took a keen interest in the Orion, describing it to May Lou when he
returned from his first day of working on it, as "Hot pants wheels I" It
even seemed to affect Rollie sexually because he added, 'We gonna lay a
lotta pipe tonight," at which May Lou giggled, and later they did, Rollie
thinking about wheels most of the time and the chances of getting an Orion
himself.
All was going well, it seemed, and for a while Rollie Knight almost forgot
his own credo: Nuthun'lasts.
Until the last week of August, when he had cause to remember.
The message from Big Rufe came to RoWe's
416-wheels
work station via the stock man, Daddy-o Lester. The next night there would
be some action. At the end of Rollie's shift tomorrow he was to stay in the
plant. Between now and then he would be given more instructions.
Rollie yawned in Daddy-o's face. "I'll check my engagement book, man."
'-fou so smart," Daddy-o threw back, "but you don't hipe me. You'll be
there."
Rollie knew he would be, too, and since the last after-shift episode at
the Scrap and Salvage area produced an easy two hundred dollars, he
assumed tomorrow's would be the same. Next day, however, the instructions
he received half an hour before his work day ended were not what he
expected. Rolhe-so Daddy-o informed him-was to take his time about leaving
the assembly line, hang around until the night shif t began work, then go
to the locker and washup area where others would meet him, including
Daddy-o and Big Rufe.
Thus, when the quitting whistle shrilled, instead of joining the normal
frenzied scramble for exits to the parking lots and bus stations, Rollie
ambled away, stopping at a vending machine area to buy a Coke. This took
longer than usual because the machines were temporarily out of use and
being emptied of cash by two collectors from the vending company. Rollie
watched while a stream of silver coins cascaded into canvas sacks. When
a machine was available he bought his drink, waited a few minutes more,
then took it to the employees' locker-washup room.
This was drab and cavernous, with a wet cement floor and a permanent stink
of urine. A row of big stone washup basins-"bird baths"was set centrally,
at each of which a dozen men normally performed ablutions at once.
Lockers, urinals, toilets without doors, crowded the remaining space.
wheels 417
Rollie rinsed his bands and face at a bird bath and mopped with paper
towels. He had the wasbup area to himself since by now the day shift had
gone and, outside, the new shift was settling down to work. Workers from
it would begin drifting in here soon, but not yet.
An outside door opened. Big Rufe entered, moving quietly for a man of
his bulk. He was scowling and looking at his wrist watch. Big Rufe's
shirt sleeves were rolled back, the muscles rippling in his raised
forearm. He motioned for silence as Rollie joined him.
Seconds later, Daddy-o Lester came through the same door that Big Rufe
had used. The young black was breathing hard, as if he had been running;
sweat glistened on his forehead and on the scar running the length of
his face.
Big Rufe said accusingly, I told you, hurry it..."
I did! They runnin' late. Had trouble at one stand. Somethin' jammed,
took longer." Daddy-o's voice was high-pitched and nervous, his usual
swagger gone.
"Where they now?"
"South cafeteria. Leroy's watchin' out. He'll meet us where we said."
"South cafeteria's those guys' last stop." Big Rufe told the others,
"Let's move it."
Rollie stood where he was. "Move Where? An' what?"
"Now get on this fast." Big Rufe kept his voice low, his eyes on the
outer door. "We gonna bust the vending machine guys. The whole deal's
planned-a cincheroo. They carry a big load, 'n we got four guys to their
two. You get a cut."
I don't want it! Don't know enough."
"Want it or not, you got it. You got this, too." Big Rufe pressed a
snub-nosed automatic into Rollie's hand.
41 8-wheels
He protested, "No I"
"What's the difference? You done time for armed. Now, if you carryin' a
piece or you ain't, you get the same." Big Rufe shoved Rollie ahead of him
roughly. As they left the locker-wasbup room, instinctively Rollie pushed
the pistol out of sight into his trousers waistband.
They hastened through the plant, using outof-the-way routes and keeping
clear of observation -not difficult for anyone knowing the layout well.
Though Rollie had not been inside the south cafeteria, which was a small
one used by supervisors and foremen, he knew where it was. Presumably it
had a battery of vending machines, as had the employees' area where he
bought his Coke.
Over his shoulder, hurrying with the others, Rollie asked, "Why me?"
"Could be we like you," Big Rufe said. "Or maybe the boss figures the
deeper a brother's in, the less chance he'll chicken out,"
"The boss man in this too?"
"I tol' you this piece of action was planned. We bin studyin'them vending
guys a month. Hard to figure why nobody knocked 'em. off before."
The last statement was a lie.
It was not hard to figure-at least, for those with inside knowledge-why
the vending machine collectors had gone unmolested until now. Big Rufe was
among those who possessed such inside knowledge; also, he knew the special
risks which he and the other three were running at this moment, and was
prepared to accept and challenge them.
Rollie Knight had no such information. If he had, if he had known what Big
Rufe failed to tell him, no matter what the consequences he would have
turned and run.
The knowledge was: The vending conces- wheels--419
sions at the plant were Mafia-financed and -operated.
The Mafia in Wayne County, Michigan, of which Detroit is part, has a
compass of activities ranging from the outright criminal, such as
murder, to semilegal businesses. In the area, the name Mafia is more
appropriate than Cosa Nostra since Sicilian families form its core. The
"semi" of semilegal is also appropriate since no Mafiacontrolled
business ever operates without at least some ancillary
knaveries-overpricing, intimidation, bribery, physical violence, or
arson.
The Mafia is strong in Detroit's industrial plants, including auto
plants. It controls the numbers rackets, finances and controls most loan
sharks and takes a cut from others. The organization is behind the bulk
of large-scale thef ts from factories and helps with resale of stolen
items. It has tentacles in plants through surface-legal operations such
as service and supply companies, which are usually a cover-up for other
activities or a means of hiding cash. Its dollar revenues each year are
undoubtedly in the tens of millions.
But in recent years, with an aging Mafia chieftain declining physically
and mentally in Grosse Pointe remoteness, a power struggle has erupted
within Detroit Mafia ranks. And since a bloc within the power struggle
consists solely of blacks, this substratum-in Detroit as elsewhere-has
acquired the title Black Mafia.
Hence, black struggles within the Mafia for recogition and equality
parallel the more deserving civil rights struggles of black people
generally.
A cell of the Black Mafia, headed by a militant outside leader who
remained under cover, and with Big Rufe as an in-plant deputy, had been
testing and challenging the old established family rule. Months earlier,
forays had begun into un-
420-wheels
authorized areas-a separate numbers operation and increased Black Mafia loan
sharking, extending through the inner city and industrial plants. Other
operations included organized prostitution and "protection" shakedowns. All
cut across areas where the old regime had once been absolute.
The Black Mafia cell had expected retaliation and it happened. Two black
loan men were ambushed in their homes and beaten-one while his terrified
wife and children watched-then robbed. Soon after, a Black Mafia numbers
organizer was intercepted and pistol-whipped, his car overturned and
burned, his records destroyed and money taken. All raids, by their
ruthlessness and other hallmarks, were clearly Mafia work, a fact which
victims and their associates were intended to recognize.
Now the Black Mafia was striking back. Robbery of the vending machine
collectors would be one of a half dozen counterraids, all carefully timed
for today and representing a test of strength in the power struggle. Later
still, there would be more reprisals on both sides before the white-black
Mafia war ended, if it ever did.
I And, as in all wars everywhere, the soldiers and other victims would be
expendable pawns.
Rollie Knight, Big Rufe, and Daddy-o had come through a basement corridor
and were at the foot of a metal stairway. Immediately ahead was a halfway
landing between floors, the top of the stairway out of sight.
Big Rufe commanded softly, "Hold it herel"
A face appeared, looking downward over the stairway rail. Rollie
recognized Leroy Colfax, an intense, fast-talking militant who hung around
with Big Rufe's crowd.
Big Rufe kept his voice low. "Them peckerwoods still there?"
wheels 421
"Yeah. Be two, three minutes more by the looks."
"Okay, we in place. You get clear now, but follow 'em down, 'n stay close.
Understand?"
"I got it." With a nod, Leroy Colfax disappeared from sight.
Big Rufe beckoned Rollie and Daddy-o. "In here."
"Here" was a janitor's closet, unlocked and with space for the three of
them. As they went inside, Big Rufe left the door slightly ajar. He
queried Daddy-o. "You got the masks?"
"Yeah." Rollie could see that Daddy-o, the youngest, was nervous and
trembling. But he produced three stocking masks from a pocket. Big Rufe
took one and slipped it over his head, motioning for the others to do the
same.
The basement corridor outside was quiet, the only noise a rumble,
distantly above, where the assembly line was operating with the fresh
eight-hour shif t. This had been a shrewd time to pick. Traffic through
the plant was never as great during the night shif t as in daytime, and
was even lighter than usual this early in the shift.
"You two watch me, move when I do." Through the mask, Big Rufe's eyes
appraised Daddy-o and Rollie. "Ain't gonna be no trouble if we do this
right. When we get them guys in here you both tie 'em up good. Leroy
dumped the rope." He motioned to two coils of thin yellow cord on the
closet floor.
They waited silently. As the seconds passed, Rollie found himself with a
sense of resigned acceptance. He knew he was in this now, that his
participation would not be changed or excused whatever happened, and if
there were consequences he would share them equally with the other three.
His choices had been limited; in fact, there were really no choices at
all, merely decisions
422-wheels
made by others and forced on him, which was the way it had always been,
for as long as he remembered.
From the coveralls he was wearing, Big Rufe produced a heavy-handled
Colt revolver. Daddy-o had a snub-nosed pistol-tbe same kind Rollie had
been given. Reluctantly, reaching into his waistband, Rollie held his,
too.
Daddy-o tensed as Big Rufe motioned with his hand. They could hear
clearly-a clatter of feet coming down the metal stairway, and voices.
The door to the janitor's closet remained almost closed until the
footsteps, now on the tile floor, were a few feet away. Then Big Rufe
opened the door and the masked trio stepped out, guns raised.
The vending machine collectors looked as startled as any two men could.
Both wore gray uniforms with the vending company's insignia. One had a
thatch of red hair and a pale pink f ace which, at the moment had turned
even paler; the other, with heavy-lidded eyes, had the features of an
Indian. Each carried two burlap bags slung over a shoulder and joined
together with a chain and padlock. The pair were big-boned and burly,
probably in their thirties, and looked as if they could handle
themselves in a fight. Big Rufe gave them no chance.
He leveled his revolver at the red-haired man's chest and motioned with
his head to the janitor's closet. "In there, babyl" He ordered the
other, "You, tool" The words came out muffled through the stocking mask.
The Indian shot a glance behind him, as if to run. Two things happened.
He saw a fourth masked figure-Leroy Colfax-armed with a longbladed
hunting knife, leaping down the stairs and cutting off escape.
Simultaneously, the muzzle of
wheels 423
Big Rufe's revolver slammed into his f ace, opening his left cheek in a
gash which spurted blood.
Rollie Knight jammed his own automatic against the ribs of the
red-haired man who had swung around, clearly with the intention of
aiding his companion. Rollie cautioned, "Hold itl It ain't gonna work
I" All he wanted was to have done with this, without more violence. The
red-haired man subsided.
Now the four ambusbers shoved the others ahead of them into the little
room.
The red-baired man protested, "Listen, if you guys knew..."
"Shaddupl" It was Daddy-o, who seemed to be over his fright. "Gimme
thad" He grabbed the canvas sacks from redhead's shoulder, pushing the
man so he tripped backward over mops and pails.
Leroy Colfax reached for the cash sacks of the other collector. But the
Indian, despite his cheek wound, which was bleeding, bad spirit. He
lunged against Leroy, thrusting a knee into his groin and his left fist
hard into the stomach. Then, with his right hand, he reached up and
snatched the mask from Leroy's face.
For an instant the two glared at each other.
The vending machine collector hissed, "Now, I'll know who...
aaaaaaahl"
He screamed-a loud, high-pitched sound which descended to a moan then
subsided into nothingness. He fell forward heavily-on the long-bladed
hunting knife which Leroy bad thrust hard into his belly.
"Jesus Christr' the red-haired man said. He stared down at the slumped,
motionless form of his companion of a moment earlier. '-fou bastards
killed him I"
They were his last words before unconscious- 424-wheels
ness as the butt of Big Rufe's gun crashed into his scalp.
Daddy-o, who was trembling more than he had originally, pleaded, "Did
we hafta do that?"
"What's done's done," Big Rufe said. "And them two started it." But he
sounded less sure of himself than at the beginning. Picking up two of
the chained bags, he ordered, "Bring them others."
Leroy Colf ax reached for them.
Rollie urged, "Wait!"
Outside, hurried footsteps were coming down the metal stairs.
Frank Parkland had stayed later than usual at the plant for a foremen's
meeting in the office of Matt Zaleski. They discussed Orion production
and some problems. Afterward he went to the south cafeteria where, at
lunchtime, he had left a sweater and some personal papers. It was when
he had recovered the items, and was leaving that he heard the scream
from below and went down to investigate.
Parkland was past the closed door of the janitor's closet when something
impinged on his consciousness. He turned back and saw what he had
observed but not taken in at once-a series of blood spatters extending
under the door.
The foreman hesitated. But since he was not a man given to fear, he
opened the door and went in.
Seconds later, with an ugly head wound, he tumbled, unconscious, beside
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