Clean

by Tom Lytes

  Rube wrote an email to Carson’s campaign media manager to drop the State House news clip onto YouTube and link it to the campaign’s website. Then he sent an email to the campaign’s fundraising guru and told him to promote the new video across the Midwest, the South, and rural New England. He changed the channel back to CNN and then Fox News. There wasn’t any coverage of Peggy Whitfield reaching an early demise. He looked at his watch again.

  The waiting sucked.

  21

  After lunch, Officer Pincus drove Peggy back to Barbara Pelman’s brother’s house. There were several men with mowers and weed wackers assaulting everything green in the yard, seemingly at once. It looked and sounded like a small engine research facility.

  “I’m going to walk with you as you go in, Peggy,” Officer Pincus said over the racket. “I’d appreciate if you’d hand me your badge and if you have another gun in there, I’d like to have that too.”

  “You’re joking, right? Why on earth would I agree to that,” Peggy asked, with her hands on her hips.

  They sought refuge from the deafening sound of the yard crew, achieved when the front door closed behind them.

  “I never tire of the view,” Officer Pincus said, instead of answering Peggy’s question.

  She didn’t move, except maybe her eyebrows looked more cross.

  “Day’s gonna come when me telling people I don’t know where you are, isn’t going to be enough information,” Officer Pincus said. “I don’t think it will happen today, but it will happen. We might even get a visit from the FBI. I’d sure appreciate having those items of yours. It would look like I’ve been monitoring the situation.”

  “Why would you risk putting yourself in a bad situation just to help me?” Peggy asked.

  “Well, hell,” Officer Pincus said. “I’m not putting myself in a bad position because you aren’t going anywhere. You stay on the island and we won’t have to worry about the FBI, who I’ve never had a good feeling about, or anyone else.”

  “Thanks,” Peggy said.

  “Keep a low profile with everyone but me. It will be tough with Barbara Pelman talking about you, but she’s mostly talking to the older crowd. Just keep in mind that there are some people on this island that might not see an email like the one I got as a joke. Calling out their indiscretions very well could lead to violence.”

  “I don’t want anyone’s attention,” Peggy said. “I want to be left alone. And I want to figure out how to stop this program once and for all.”

  She retrieved her revolver and badge. She hesitated, but then handed them to Officer Pincus.

  The policeman held her gun in front of his belly. “This is what we call collaboration down here in the South.”

  Peggy nodded. She couldn’t decide if he was joking, being a bully, or being nice. It felt like he was all three.

  Officer Pincus smiled broadly and walked out the door. The sound of him whistling meshed with the many mower sounds until the door shut completely.

  She dialed Finley’s cell, and he picked up on the first ring.

  “I’m a little delayed getting down there, Peggy. Sorry, something came up with the investigation.”

  “What happened?”

  “Looks like Ms. Bourgeaux and her husband were a team,” he said. “She followed through on hitting Floyd after her husband bought it over at Doyle’s place.”

  “How did you determine that?”

  “We have physical evidence that she was the shooter who took down Floyd at his trailer. We think when Mr. Bourgeaux bit it on the transformer pad chasing Floyd, and she was probably there too. And we know Floyd was in that electrical area because we found Floyd’s blood on the fence opening. The fence pattern matches the scrapes on his stomach. He was in there with Mr. Bourgeaux. When Bourgeaux got electrocuted, Floyd must have then drove home while drinking beers. It would have been easy for Ms. Bourgeaux to take him out. Floyd was pretty popped, according to toxicology.”

  “Drugs?” Peggy asked.

  “Nah, just alcohol.”

  “Huh, so Ms. Bourgeaux is a shooter too,” Peggy said. “Did that come up when you were investigating the darkness at the river with her?”

  Finley didn’t take the bait, “No, Peggy, it didn’t.”

  “What did you talk about, exactly?”

  “I’ve got to go, Peggy. I’m trying to leave tonight to come down there.”

  “I might even let you see me.”

  “Peggy—”

  “Just kidding, Fin, hurry down.”

  “Bobby, yes,” Leonard said. “Your name is not in the program.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. What the fuck are you doing with your days? Any progress on stopping your fucking program?”

  “You asked me to be creative,” Leonard said. “I’ve been reading the news stories up there, and I called Peggy Whitfield.”

  “Jesus— what am I gonna do with you? You don’t involve her in this, okay?”

  “It’s too late. You asked me to be creative, and I think she could help. She’s with the police and knows a lot about the murders in New York.”

  “I asked you to be creative, Leonard,” Bobby yelled into the phone loud enough to make it seem to be on speakerphone, “not randomly call the cops and tell them my business. Please tell me you know the difference.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Leonard said.

  Peggy was barely off the phone with Finley, when she accepted a call from Bobby Touro.

  By the time she brought the phone to her ear, Bobby Touro was mid-sentence already, “… and pick his smart-as-shit brain. I’m telling you he doesn’t even know what he fucking knows. I have half a mind to get him liquored up again and start asking him more qustions. You would have been amazed by half the shit that kid said when I got him going. Now, at the same time, he’s not too savvy. He can’t find his ass in a field of donkeys. Am I right?”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Peggy said, laughing despite herself.

  “Well, I hope it’s because he’s fucking thinking,” Bobby said. “I can’t believe he called you.”

  “Yeah,” Peggy said, “and I’m getting ready to ask him about the program he wrote. I made the trip to South Carolina. I needed to be away from Hoosick for a little while—”

  “You’re down in South Carolina?” Bobby asked.

  “Yeah, there really might be a strong connection between the murders and Leonard’s program.”

  “Of course, there is. But, really, I can’t believe you’re down there, Peggy. I really can’t.” Peggy could almost hear him recalculating. “I would never have gotten you involved in this, but there it is, and we might as well make the most of it.”

  “Finley’s working the case, too, I’ve been caught up with some police business down here but will be talking with Leonard.”

  Bobby continued, as if Peggy wasn’t saying anything. “Maybe it was meant to be. I’ll tell you, this Clean program is a fucking hazard. You let me know if you can figure this out. It’s a big thing that has to be done.”

  “I hear you, Bobby.”

  “Call me tomorrow fucking morning, okay? And watch yourself around Leonard.”

  “Yeah, Bobby,” she said, “I’ll do what I can.”

  “And Finley.”

  She disconnected the call and looked out the window. She wondered where to go next with what she knew. Agent Finley would find Ms. Bourgeaux eventually. And it sounded like he was actively investigating the computer angle of the Hoosick murders. Bobby’s involvement was more self-centered, and his aggravation couldn’t be contained, almost. Predicting where that would take him wasn’t possible. Officer Pincus seemed content to wait and see what developed.

  “Leonard is the key to this,” Peggy said aloud. “I’ve got to speak with Leonard, directly, and soon.”

  She remembered his warning
to her, that she was in trouble. Is that why she was worried about talking with him face-to-face?

  Looking out the window of the beach house, she saw a small crowd and three emergency rescue trucks parked out on the beach. To the side of her house, she saw Barbara Pelman bouncing off the seat of her golf cart as she made her way over the dune. Peggy ran out the door, the screen thwacking into the door frame loudly.

  “Barbara, Barbara,” she called out.

  The older woman slowed, and Peggy caught up to her.

  Barbara motioned Peggy to come towards her with both hands. “Hop on.”

  “What’s going on?” Peggy asked.

  “When there’s a scene like that, Dear, it generally means somebody got caught up in the riptides. The currents can get pretty rough, and the ocean gets deep in a hurry off the island. A forty-year old man from New Jersey whisked away last year in knee deep water. They found his body in Virginia. Doesn’t matter if you’re a good swimmer, a strongman. That water doesn’t care, Dear.”

  Barbara punched the gas petal and the golf cart jumped forward, momentarily leaving their heads behind with a whiplash affect. As they careened closer to the small gathering, Peggy saw the surfboards of the two neighborhood boys strewn off to the side. Her heart sank worrying about them, until she saw the boys pushed right up on the back of an emergency technician. Each one of the boys was stretching and angling to look over a shoulder.

  Barbara stopped the golf cart abruptly, close to the group, and Barbara blocked Peggy’s path as they came up on the scene as she hurried to see.

  Realizing the rudeness of her action, Barbara said, “Oh, sorry. Just want to know everything that’s happening.”

  She continued walking in front of Peggy, and neither of them came upon what they expected when they assimilated into the crowd enough to see a five-foot alligator, lying on the beach.

  “An alligator—” Peggy said wistfully.

  The older boy from the neighborhood said to Peggy, “There was one two years ago, and this is the second one this year.”

  “Aren’t you guys kind of close to that thing?” Peggy asked one of the officials. “Isn’t that pretty dangerous?”

  “Yes and no,” said the emergency technician. “Alligators can live for a couple of days in salt water. They become less energetic the longer they’re in the ocean. This one’s lethargic, so he’s been in a while already.”

  “So why would an alligator want to be in the ocean?” Peggy asked.

  “They don’t,” the man said. “There are a couple factors at work. Scientists know the population explosion in the low country routinely displaces alligators from fresh water ponds. Basically, the gators start investigating new territory as humans take over their old habitat. Then gators like this one get surprised by the super tides during the full moon. The tide rips them off the land and they get caught up in the currents of the ocean. This guy here, he beached after a wild ride, I imagine. He’s one of the lucky ones.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?” the younger boy asked.

  “We’ll capture him and bring him to a pond in Mount Pleasant,” the man said. “It’ll be a simple relocation.”

  The alligator looked battered and confused. The crowd didn’t look like it was going anywhere anytime soon, despite the current lull in the action. After a few minutes, Peggy waved to Barbara, the boys, and the emergency technician.

  As she walked away she heard the youngest boy ask, “Can I ride it?”

  22

  Vortmit grew tired of being Leonard but understood the importance of remaining mentally strong. If he could finish what he started, Leonard would begin to fade as a difficult-to-place memory, like the other people Vortmit created and became to accomplish a goal. The difference, of course, was this time it wasn’t for a country or cause with which he was unfamiliar. It was for him.

  Maintaining Leonard’s persona required intense concentration, and as Leonard, Vortmit barely kept up. Clean, alone, would demand several programmers working full time to keep well-maintained,

  “Ha, it gets me, for an hour here or there.”

  And, as a result, Clean made mistakes – more and more as time went on. Vortmit forced himself not to think about the salmonella outbreak wreaking havoc throughout the Southeast.

  “Guilt and dreams—” he said wistfully. The dreams bothered him, but seemed inescapable, constantly tugging at his sanity. And then, he’d started talking to himself. “A sign of intelligence,” he said aloud.

  Everything he did took mental toughness, and he needed to remain focused. Peggy seemed to be getting dangerously close to him, which of course, was the goal when he’d summoned her for help. How better to manipulate the men in her life than to be in hers? Still, he feared he’d slip up, or worse, he would subconsciously give her clues that would make her run far, far away because he too was drawn to her tough fragility that made men want to save her.

  “Hold it together,” he implored himself.

  Vortmit knew Bobby would give up a lot for Peggy, given the right persuasions, and Carson would do anything for power. Throw in the concern Bobby Touro had for Clean while fanning those flames of Carson Miller’s burning desire for success…. Toss Peggy into the middle of it all….

  “Like fishing with hand grenades,” he said, imagining the situation’s end. “Constantly recalculate, lead them beyond the brink,” he instructed himself. “It’s time to move money, deliberately and quickly.” For now, he kept the bad dreams compartmentalized by staying busy. “So many details to tend to.” He typed manically on his keyboard. “What a shame Peggy will likely die before the week is out.”

  23

  Whitecaps found a spot to crest a distance from shore that made Leonard wonder what was out there. The possibilities were endless, after all. Wasn’t that the lure of man’s obsession with the ocean – deep sea fishing, diving, boating? The unknown lurked out there, maybe even an alligator? All of it a flirt with danger? Maybe that’s why Leonard felt so comfortable utilizing the vast possibilities of the internet for his own gain. The internet and the ocean had a lot in common.

  He watched Peggy and Barbara Pelman, drive out to the beach in a golf cart like old friends. Barbara was harmless, by herself, even if she did have her nose in everyone’s business. There were limits to her harmlessness, Leonard thought, if she was sharing with Peggy everything she knew from gossiping away each day. Peggy would make connections, that would possibly lead to revelations into Leonard’s plan. She was too close already, he felt, but again, he felt the risk was essential.

  Leonard went into his kitchen and looked at his Michelangelo sketch. It was the byproduct of genius, and he’d done unthinkable things to secure it for himself. To take it and have it no matter what the consequences.

  “Just more nightmares.”

  His laptop was open. Clean’s lists were longer than ever. He’d typed Peggy Whitfield’s name, adding her to the guilty list, manually.

  It was foolish, of course. The program might blur its rationale for guilt. Focusing on the wrong thing, learning the wrong thing, skipping the systematic progressions that made it “smart.” Maybe it would determine, as it cut corners on its process with her, that she was guilty because she liked hamburgers or kept her hair in a braid. It might focus on anything about Peggy, justify her guilty designation with it and carry it forward. People would die because of it. But Leonard’s plans required Peggy to be on the guilty list.

  He hesitated. The whitecaps repetitiously created an artificial line far off shore.

  “Sometimes lines must be crossed,” he said.

  He pressed “enter” on his keyboard. Peggy Whitfield’s name was added to the guilty list. Empirically speaking, it meant that for as long as the program functions, it would plot to kill her.

  24

  Peggy considered the prospect of working through another sleeve
of Saltines. In front of her, she lined up a container of Tabasco Sauce, pepper, crab boil and parmigiana cheese. Each Saltine worked the line until it became a mere delivery vehicle for the multitude of other tastes. A loud knocking left a cracker soggy and spicy, but without cheese, waiting for her return from opening the front door.

  The house had darkened, the disappearing sun giving way to a rapid dusk. She flicked a hallway light on, and only one out of five potential bulbs illuminated. Long shadows disappeared into darkness. A spattering of bugs found the bulb instantly.

  “Hello?” Peggy asked into the darkness, flicking switches that didn’t turn lights on in front of the house. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Whitfield?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Officer Pincus. Open the door.”

  “Hello,” Peggy said, still hesitating.

  Peggy leaned against the door warily. Was it because she was alone, because she didn’t really know anybody on the island, or was Clean making her jumpy? She’d lived alone for years, now, and told herself to get over her concerns. Flinging the door open, Officer Pincus stood before her. If she hadn’t met his family, she would have been scared of his presence at her door. She thought about little Sullivan and welcomed him into the house.

  “Haven’t been inside this house in twenty years,” he said, looking around. “Not much changed, to my eye.”

  He grabbed the back of a wooden chair and pulled it up to the kitchen table. He looked at the Saltine assembly line and Peggy thought he was trying to un-see it almost immediately afterward. Impossible to do, and his eyes came back to it twice before Peggy cleared the table, returning the items to the cupboards and putting the butter back into the refrigerator.