Clean

by Tom Lytes

  Peggy got low and waited. Maybe Leonard would come out from under the porch and drive away again.

  “Or maybe he’s going to walk up his front steps and on the way into going into his house, see me on his front porch,” she muttered.

  There was nowhere to hide.

  14

  Bobby Touro sat alone in the private room at Vincentia’s Italian Restaurant in downtown Albany, two blocks off the river and within spitting distance of the State Capital. Bobby liked the architecture of New York’s capital, and Vincentia’s was in the back of an old brick building right in the middle of town. Bobby ate there often, because Giuseppe Vincentia served great food while catering to Bobby and other guys who wanted to eat outstanding authentic Italian food, but without the risk of bodily harm. Giuseppe enforced one, time honored rule that even Bobby Touro obeyed: no firearms or weapons were allowed in the restaurant.

  That was one of the reasons why Bobby found himself at the restaurant tonight, eating homemade mozzarella balls in extra-virgin olive oil, served with fresh basil. When the fried calamari were served, Bobby was interrupted by a polite knock on the door of the private dining room.

  “Come in,” Bobby stuffed a few fried squid legs into his mouth, and acknowledged his driver. “You might as well come in and eat with me. You can protect me just the same in here as you can out there. We are at Vincentia’s, after all.”

  His driver nodded. “Yeah, but I doubt if Vito took out your nephew Floyd, that he’d care about the safe zone we’ve all enjoyed at Vincentia’s. Does he even know this restaurant has remained peaceful through everything, always?”

  “He knows. He grew up in the neighborhoods,” Bobby said dismissively. “I’ve arranged to speak with him here in a few minutes.”

  “I know you made the arrangement, but I’m asking, is that wise, Boss?”

  Bobby pushed his plate away and took a starched white napkin out from under his collar.

  He took a drink of water, “I don’t think Vito had anything to do with Floyd’s death. Just because we’re moving in on his territories, doesn’t mean it’s him taking out Floyd, necessarily. I’m gonna see what I think when he denies it. We’ll go from there.”

  A waiter came into the dining area and cleared Bobby Touro’s plate. He didn’t look at Bobby or the driver, and he didn’t speak.

  When the waiter left, Bobby said, “He’s gonna be here. You wanna greet him and frisk him to be sure?”

  The driver nodded and stood up from the table and went outside. A few minutes later, Bobby’s driver knocked on the door again, and entered with Vito and his younger brother.

  Bobby didn’t stand, but said, “Join me. Do you want to eat?”

  Vito looked nervous, but eventually managed a softly spoken, “No, I’m good.”

  Bobby nodded and stared at Vito, and then stared at Vito’s brother.

  “You have anything to tell me about my nephew’s death?” Bobby asked the men.

  “I didn’t know your nephew was killed until you asked me to come see you here tonight,” Vito said.

  Vito shuffled his feet like a young boy reporting to the principal after a food fight in the cafeteria.

  “We have our differences,” Bobby said, ripping a piece of bread in half and dipping it in olive oil. “I know you don’t want me in your territories, but as you can see I’m getting more out of them when I run them. I’ll continue to pay you a cut as I have been. Is that acceptable or do we have a problem?”

  Vito said, “I don’t have a problem. I didn’t do anything to Floyd. He was a nobody, with all due respect.”

  Bobby Touro laughed, “Ha, he was a nobody, a no-good punk. You’re right. Of course, he was family, which gives me an obligation. You can understand that, right Vito?”

  Vito nodded.

  “Why so serious?” Bobby asked, changing the tone of his voice and relaxing his posture. “Have something to eat. It’s on me. I’m skipping desert, or I’d stay with you. Make yourself comfortable and enjoy yourselves.”

  Vito and his brother remained standing, having barely moved during the entire conversation. Bobby stood, and smacked Vito on the back hard enough to make his head snap back from the force of the blow.

  “We’ll see you around town, guys,” Bobby said. He smiled at each of them. “We’ll see you around.”

  When Bobby and his driver left the restaurant, Bobby asked, “So what do you think?”

  “Vito didn’t take out Floyd,” his driver said with certainty.

  “I agree. You know what I think?”

  “What’s that Boss?”

  “I was looking at him,” Bobby said, “And I agree that he wasn’t the one who did Floyd. Floyd was kind of a lowlife, so it could have been anyone that was fed up with him. But I did see something in Vito. He’s up to something, even if he didn’t have anything to do with Floyd. We’re gonna wanna watch him closely, you hear?”

  “Yes, Boss,” the driver said.

  “You heard anything about what he might be up to?” Bobby asked.

  “I haven’t heard anything, but I’ll ask around.”

  “Yeah,” Bobby Touro said. “And keep asking about Floyd.”

  15

  Meanwhile, Peggy flattened herself on Leonard’s porch floor as she cast her eyes across the yard and parking area. It was a useless endeavor, thinking practically. It was hotter than standing near a blazing fire, and that was in the shade. The sunny yard was inhospitable, and from the looks of the lush, green grass it was rarely stepped upon.

  A door opened underneath the house, she thought. It was an unsatisfying thought, because it could have easily been something knocking to the ground or being dropped. Then there was silence and no indication of further movement. Peggy felt pinned to the exposed section of Leonard’s porch.

  Who was Leonard, anyway, and what did he have to do with the computer program? What were his warnings to her about? How the heck did he know Bobby Touro? Most importantly, what was Peggy doing imitating a rug on his front porch?

  She heard footsteps now and they were clearly coming towards her, slowly and methodically. If she stood, she could confront the person from further away. Waiting might delay the inevitable, but there was a chance she wouldn’t be seen all the way at the end of the porch. As unlikely a scenario as it was, Peggy stayed low, only moving her hand to rest on her firearm’s leather holster.

  Peggy counted the footfalls on the stairs. After about five she’d started counting, and there had been eleven since then. She prepared to roll onto her knees and draw her gun in one fluid motion. Coiled, nervous, sweaty and anxious, Peggy decided not to wait to be discovered. She rolled and drew down on the top of the stairs just as Barbara Pelman’s head rose into sight.

  Peggy recognized the realtor and quickly adjusted her movements, lowering the gun and standing on her feet. Drops of sweat rolled down her nose, and after hurriedly stuffing her gun back into its holster and snapping it, she wiped at the perspiration that flowed out of her.

  Barbara noticed her afterwards and knew nothing of her close encounter with Peggy’s fear and active self-preservation instincts.

  “Oh, there you are,” Barbara said. She wore a white hat with a wide brim and sunglasses. Her lipstick was a complimentary shade of both and looked freshly applied. “Dear, you really shouldn’t be waiting around for Leonard on his porch by yourself like this. You never know these days who’s carrying a gun and what they might do to a trespasser. Especially somebody like Leonard, who I don’t trust in the slightest.”

  Peggy opened her mouth to ask why Barbara thought it would be okay for her to wander around Leonard’s place, given that logic, but Barbara walked to her and grabbed her by the arm.

  “I got to thinking about you when you left the office and thought it would be best to check on you.”

  Peggy wondered if that was for he
r sake, or Leonard’s. Was she worried she’d be responsible if something happened and she’d been the one to give Peggy Leonard’s address?

  “Why did you come find me?” Peggy asked as they walked down the front steps.

  “Oh now, I just swung in on my way home, Dear. I live a half block down at the end of the island.” She flung her arm back at Leonard’s house. “It’s not fancy like this place, but it’s stood the test of time. Didn’t blow away in Hugo. Still standing after three generations of my extended family summered there. Made it through my grandma’s washing. Back thirty years ago, she’d clean the clothes right in the yard with a big pot over a fire. She was all about efficiency and kept it real close to the house, so she could pop out the screen door and give the boiling pot a stir. Lit the house’s siding on fire more than once, you know.”

  Peggy’s adrenalin was still slamming against anything else she was feeling when Barbara swung her legs into the driver’s side of the golf cart.

  “Leonard’s not home. I checked under the house, and his golf cart isn’t there.”

  “Wouldn’t he be mad if you were under his house and he saw you?”

  Barbara laughed as she pulled out of the driveway.

  “I’m old,” she said, “and everyone down this side of the island knows I’m fussy and curious and over-protective. I do my best to keep that going. It allows me a great amount of liberty to do what I want on the island.”

  As they drove out the driveway, there were two boys that looked to be about six and eight years old. Eyes wide, they were giving Barbara’s golf cart plenty of room to back out of the driveway. They wore shorts, longish blonde hair and no shoes. They were unmistakably brothers. Peggy waved, but they didn’t wave back. The older one looked away after his eyes briefly locked with Peggy’s.

  Barbara put the petal of the golf cart to the floor and it jerked forward. She didn’t take the gas off until they were four houses down on the right, and Peggy’s police car was visible, pulled off the road ahead. Barbara careened into the drive and drove on the grass. The house was smaller and less well kept. Paint peeled off weatherboard, and weeds grew tall in last year’s mulch, the gardens working to become one with the rest of the yard.

  “Is this your house?” Peggy asked.

  “Oh, no, Dear. It’s on the rental program. People coming on vacation pay a fortune to stay in a place like this for a week in the summer. I’ve managed it for the owner, oh, I don’t know, maybe fifteen years?” Barbara pulled a chain attached to rings and rings of keys. She sorted through them before picking one that looked like all the rest. She didn’t get up from her seat on the golf cart when she asked, “Now, do you have a place to stay?”

  “No, not yet, I haven’t gotten that far.”

  Barbara didn’t say anything, but Peggy felt like she was being judged, maybe making the old realtor suspicious? There was no way to know for sure, and Peggy felt like it would be the same even without the hat and sunglasses. She wondered why Barbara had taken such an interest in her. Was it really because she was a police officer?

  “You can stay here a few days,” Barbara said.

  She handed Peggy a key.

  “I couldn’t do that, Barbara. Thank you though.”

  “I insist,” Barbara said emphatically. “Besides, the owner is a prick. Never has a nice word to say, and the place is just sitting here otherwise.”

  “I can’t Barbara.”

  Peggy wondered again if she was being offered the place to stay because Barbara wanted to keep tabs on her.

  “Of course, you can, and I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, the owner is my brother. He’ll never know, and he owes me, looking after the place like I do.”

  Peggy thought about Doyle, about going to the seashore on Cape Cod when they were kids. They’d both get fried clams and go through a dozen little ketchup packets. Then she thought of him as a grown-up, and it seemed inconceivable that one could become the other, even over as many years as it takes to grow up.

  “Take the key and freshen up. Any clothes you find in there, you’re welcome to wear. There’s an owner’s closet that’ll have a few things, I imagine. I’ll be back in twenty minutes and give you a tour of the island.”

  Peggy took the key and entered the cottage as Barbara Pelman’s golf cart again took off at top speed. The windows of the place were small, and the house sat at ground level, but the view was nearly identical to Leonard’s. She opened a stiff sliding door to the outside and tried to encourage the fresh air to come inside. The view held her gaze for a minute before she gave herself a quick tour of the house.

  She’d barely splashed water on her face and changed into a plain blue t-shirt and jean cut-offs that were two sizes too big when Barbara yelled to her from the kitchen. Peggy had locked the door, so it was obvious Barbara had another key to the place. The twenty minutes Barbara promised was more like five. Was Peggy being paranoid, or was Barbara keeping close tabs on her?

  Either way, Peggy was interested in understanding the island that Leonard chose to live upon. She checked her phone and there was no word back from Finley yet.

  “Come on,” Barbara was back in the seat of her golf cart and itching to go. When Peggy sat down, Barbara hit the gas again as if there was nothing in between full speed and stopped.

  “Mind if I pull my car in here?” Peggy asked.

  Barbara shook her head and stopped when they reached the New York squad car that looked ridiculously out of place.

  “Like me?” Peggy wondered aloud.

  She brought the vehicle to the side of the cottage and pulled forward until it was unseen from the road. She locked it and rejoined Barbara, who whisked them away again at high speed. In a minute, and before Peggy could ask which house was Barbara’s, the island ended and the road curved back towards the commercial section. On this side of the island, the view turned into miles of marsh and the Intracoastal Waterway. The fragrance of Jasmine flowers gave way, here on the backside, the closer they came to the marsh, to a different smell that was distinctively less pleasant.

  “You can smell the low tide,” Barbara said.

  “I smell it now.” Peggy took a few breaths. “It’s almost like sulfur but not really, more like a dirty diaper.”

  “It’s pluff mud,” Barbara said as glimpses of the mainland could be seen through the trees, and across the marsh. “The marsh is full of it, and you get used to the smell. There are thousands of animals that call the marsh home and eat nutrients found in pluff mud. The stuff is filled with life. When you think about it that way, you at least have to respect the stuff. Just don’t get it on your clothes. It’ll never wash out no matter what you do to it.”

  Peggy nodded and said, “The houses along here are really nice. Whoever lives here obviously doesn’t mind.”

  “They are nice homes, Dear,” Barbara said, pointing to a large raised house that looked newly built. “Some of them are worth several million dollars if they have a view of the marsh. Those values have risen faster than anyone would have imagined during the last ten or twenty years though. It wasn’t always that way.”

  “What do you mean?” Peggy asked as they passed under an oak tree that spread branches in every direction, with some growing down to the ground fifty yards from the tree’s trunk. The dead and interior branches of the tree were cut away, leaving a hollowed-out center inside an expansive canopy that resembled an enormous umbrella. This place was so unlike anything she knew in New York, and she wanted to know everything about it. The huge oak trees pulled at some place inside her, begging her to sit down, and they seemed to hint that her troubles could be sorted out over time if she gave in to the island’s charms.

  “The back side of Sullivan’s Island wasn’t a sought-after place to live, years ago. A few local families lived off the land back here for decades, undisturbed by modern life for the most part, eating oysters out of the marsh
behind their houses and growing vegetables, nuts and fruit on the higher ground back here.”

  “That’s a life I wouldn’t mind living right now,” Peggy said.

  “You and me both.” Barbara said. “I’m old enough to be describing my own life, you know. During the last twenty years, people decided that anywhere on the island was a fantastic place to live, and all year round too – not just the summers like it used to be. The draw of living on the beach while being a few minutes’ drive away from downtown Charleston attracted the next generation of families. A lot with a small house back here changed in value from a few thousand dollars to over a million.”

  “Wow,” Peggy said, “The island has seen a lot of change in a short time.”

  “Yes, it has.” They were down the block, and marsh grass dominated the view. “There’s an effort to preserve the old cabins on the island and it’s working, but most of the old buildings are becoming outbuildings to newer houses that are huge and modern.”

  “It must be tempting for some of the old families to move somewhere else and cash in on their land wealth,” Peggy said.

  Barbara nodded.

  “Many have done just that and couldn’t be happier. Some feel forced out. There are quite a few families that have moved away because they can’t afford the increased taxes. I find that sad, to be priced out of your family home, but I guess it can happen anywhere.”

  “Somehow, everyone, the old-timers and newcomers too, seem happy living together, as the island continues to transition.”

  “Maybe all the different people out here find a common appreciation for all the beauty,” Peggy said as she gazed out over the marsh.

  The sunset began to change the color of the marsh as they watched. The greens gave way to browns and the wind rustled the grass until Peggy could have sworn it was whispering something she wanted to understand.

  “Might be,” Barbara said as she pointed to a flock of large white birds with long skinny, orange legs pecking at something small in the marsh.