Clean

by Tom Lytes

  “I need somewhere to work. The beach is no good. Can I use your police station?”

  “It’s up in the new town hall. Doors are open. Badge your way in there, and I’ll radio ahead to ensure you get cooperation.”

  Finley ran back to the Smart Car and headed back down Middle Street.

  Peggy reached the civilian group as an older man in a tweed coat said loudly, “I’m telling you, it was just a matter of time before a dirty bomb came into the port. Everyone keeps telling me I worry too much but look at that.”

  A younger woman said matter-of-factly, “It’s not a dirty bomb. The ship is on fire. If there was a dirty bomb you’d be dead.”

  “And we don’t even know who’s behind it,” the older man continued. “It could be some angry militant from any of twenty countries, places I’ve never heard of, where people hate us for sticking our nose in their business.”

  “Don’t start up with this again. It could just be an accidental fire.”

  “Start up with what? You think I’m going to bring up Carson Miller’s pro-America agenda?”

  “Isn’t that where you were bringing the conversation?” the woman said. “I’m your neighbor, you’ve told me about all of this before.”

  “You’re too young to be standing around waiting for the dirty bomb. If I were you I’d be hightailing it out of here before the damn thing explodes.”

  Peggy turned away as Officer Pincus rolled his eyes at her and pointed her towards a group of emergency technicians preparing for the arrival of the rescue boats. Peggy joined the crew.

  Officer Pincus took a phone call, excusing himself. He stepped a good distance away and tucked his head down behind a dune to muffle the noise of the rescue efforts and the sound of the crackling fire which seemed omnipresent.

  “Pincus,” his old friend was saying. “You there?”

  “What’s so urgent that you need to call me. There’s a big fire down at the end of the island. A cargo ship had some kind of explosion.”

  “I’m watching the news, old friend,” the man said. “I see it. Listen, what I have to say is of extreme personal importance to you and can’t wait.”

  “Shoot,” Officer Pincus said.

  “I received a strange phone call today,” the man said. “I’ve been an attorney a long time and thought I’d seen and heard most everything.”

  “I bet you have.”

  “Yes, well, as I said, today was something new. I received a call with instructions to contact you and relay the following. I have a verified communication from another attorney who I know well. He represents a client who would prefer not to be named.”

  “What’s going on?” Officer Pincus asked. “I really don’t have time for this cloak and dagger stuff. Get to the point. There’s an emergency going on, and I’m out of time.”

  “The attorney’s client requests that you follow through with the email,” the attorney said to Officer Pincus. “I asked what email, and he said you would know.”

  Officer Pincus couldn’t think of an email.

  “What email?”

  “They said you would ask. It was ‘about the mistress’ is all I can say.”

  Officer Pincus knew right away that his friend was talking about the email that urged him to kill Peggy.

  “Anything else?” Pincus said, thinking.

  “I’ve been instructed to tell you that it’s worth five million dollars to you, if you complete the task,” the lawyer said. “The money is in an escrow account.”

  “What?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe,” the lawyer said, “But the other attorney provided evidence of five million dollars in an escrow account. It’s earmarked for you.”

  Officer Pincus thought about eliminating Peggy in this chaotic scene. Was that why the ship fire lit up the night? Was it to create chaos, so he would have cover for murdering Peggy? Surely the idea was a stretch, but it kind of felt like it, given the timing of his friend’s phone call. Officer Pincus thought about Lisa Anne and Sullivan, and the seven years of upcoming payments towards his deceased mother’s hospital bills.

  “I’ve got to go,” Officer Pincus said.

  “Yup,” his friend commented, “I’d get at whatever it is that you’re supposed to do. That’s ‘retire now’ money, if you know what I mean.”

  Officer Pincus hung up the phone and went directly to where Peggy was working. She was checking oxygen masks and tanks and reviewing a checklist of procedures for treating burns and drowning symptoms at the same time. Her hair was back off her face and he could see her focused intent. Pincus shook his head and walked in the other direction.

  He went to the area where the crowd of bystanders gathered, to check with his deputy. Leonard Roberts stood amongst the crowd, and Officer Pincus waved at him. The two boys who lived down the street were in the crowd too, and they were wearing Batman and Robin pajamas and no shoes.

  The younger kid in the Robin pajamas ran up to Officer Pincus when he saw him.

  “Any chance this is the work of a vampire?” the young boy asked, as he looked over to where Leonard was standing.

  29

  Rube almost missed it.

  Even while staring right at the television.

  He spent the last hour waiting to see a news story featuring a head shot of Peggy Whitfield, and some tale of woe about how a good cop from New York met an untimely death. He figured it might be reported as a random act of violence, or a terrible auto accident. He anticipated a thirty-second throwaway story, like the dozens that came on the local news every night. He pictured a sad looking announcer with just the right combination of gravitas and ‘this isn’t right’ etched upon overly manicured features.

  Instead, he got the freaking ocean apocalypse, with the biggest boat he ever saw, burning like a marshmallow in a campfire. The helicopter cameraman was bound to win an award for the live images battering his senses. And the caption along the bottom of the TV screen labeled the scene as live from Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina. He called Carson immediately.

  “Carson.”

  In his mind, Rube made a list of people to call. A scholarship award in Peggy Whitfield’s name would convince at least some Duchess County voters that Carson Miller cared about their struggles, out there in the country. He made a preliminary list of the people he thought should attend a special ceremony to announce its inception. He would follow up with the Rotary Club, and the mayor, and that donor… Bobby Touro.

  Carson said, “Rube, is everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” Rube opened several files on his desk and felt adrenalin shoot through him. The mounting pressure he felt slowly lifted. Waiting for Peggy Whitfield to be in the news, and because he’d fielded dozens of angry calls from Carson, his frayed nerves welcomed the relief. Finally, he could move on, and get back to the details of the campaign. “I’m just excited.”

  “I can hear it in your voice. Was there some news from South Carolina?”

  “There sure is, Carson,” Rube said, talking fast and pounding his hand on the desk. “A massive ship, like a huge cargo boat is on fire right off the beach at Sullivan’s Island.”

  “And Peggy Whitfield has become a casualty of whatever’s happening down there?” Carson asked. “Did you get a confirm from the news, or something else?”

  “Uh, no, nothing like that yet,” Rube said. “It’s just such a big fire. And there’s so much destruction, there’s going to be ongoing news coming out of there for days. I just don’t think it’s a coincidence. She had to have been victim of this thing, that’s the way it works.”

  “The way it works,” Carson said, repeating Rube’s words in a monotone.

  “Yeah,” Rube said with suddenly diminishing excitement. Carson had taken the energy out of his ideas for the scholarship.

  Carson sighed loudly before he said, “Rube, you
don’t know how this thing works at all. Neither do I. We have a political goal here, and a big picture, society changing plan to improve the quality of people who live on this planet.”

  “I know,” Rube said, feeling lectured to.

  “You know…” Carson said, losing patience. “So, if you know all this stuff, then has it crossed your mind that when we go public with the program, things like a huge ship on fire off our country’s coast might not play well with the voting public? An incidence of violence between two people is one thing. It’s so common that people have an incredible tolerance for it, especially if it doesn’t affect them directly. Having a huge boat on fire is another, sensational and unforgettable incident. The whole point of the program is the stealth of it. While everyone goes about their business, it quietly cleans up society’s ills. All the while, my leadership works to push our society into a better place.”

  “I just got excited about the big fire, and the newscast,” Rube said. “I didn’t think that through, Carson.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  Rube said, “I want Peggy Whitfield off the to do list. She’s been causing so much stress.”

  “I’m looking at coverage of the ship now, and you’re right, that thing is huge,” Carson said. “What’s all the stuff with fire all over it? Something it’s carrying?”

  “Yeah,” Rube said, totally subdued now. “It’s shipping containers. You see them on trains and eighteen-wheeler trucks. Stuff moves all over the place in them. It’s just hard to tell that’s what it is from the television coverage because there are stacks of them ten tall on that boat, and fire is all around them.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Carson said. “It’s the kind of event that could get me national media attention—”

  “—But like you said, you want to distance yourself from it.” Rube said, finishing his sentence.

  “You’re right, yeah,” Carson said hesitantly.

  Rube nodded to himself more than at Carson’s comment. He turned off the television and closed all the open files. His feet found his desktop for a second before he put them back on the floor. Throughout the late afternoon, the last of the campaign’s employees left the office to find their families and friends, waving to him almost automatically. None of them were surprised that he would be alone, working late and the last to leave Carson Miller’s campaign headquarters.

  “Get me a confirm on Peggy Whitfield when you actually have one,” Carson said. “Don’t jump the gun and do something stupid, okay?”

  Rube didn’t respond.

  “Okay?” Carson asked again.

  “Right,” Rube said, feeling bullied.

  “Then, call our media contacts and alert them to the developing story. Mention we’ll have a ceremony to recognize her valor, and mention it’s going to happen during the media frenzied lead-up to the funeral.”

  “I’ll get right on it,” Rube said, lying now.

  Carson pushed him too far, ridiculed him one too many times, became exasperated and condescending when Rube didn’t have the tolerance for it. Rube crumpled the list of people from Duchess County he planned to rally around Carson in the wake of Peggy Whitfield’s death. He re-thought his scholarship idea completely. His heart wasn’t in it anymore, and he realized he didn’t care, either, if Carson gained popularity.

  Carson was a jerk.

  Rube closed the files with the latest poll numbers from farmers and horse owners in Duchess County. He turned the lights off at headquarters and used the same words he usually did when he ended a call with Carson.

  “I’ll get right on that.”

  “Good,” Carson Miller said to his trusted campaign manager and loyal friend, “I really appreciate it.”

  “Really appreciate it,” said Rube, repeating Carson’s words back to him just as he had done to Rube earlier.

  Carson didn’t notice, “Bye, Rube.”

  Rube hung up the phone without saying anything else and did none of what Carson asked. He left the office. It was the first night in a long while that he didn’t bring files with him, or something to look at for the campaign. Rube told himself he was going to eat dinner without distraction. And he felt almost naked without a briefcase or files in his hands.

  30

  Bobby Touro sat in the back of his dry-cleaning place and waited for Hansel to show up. With Jimmy gone, he wondered if he even needed a presence in Lowell, but he felt like Jimmy was probably missing opportunities during the past months when he was high.

  “New blood can be a good thing, am I right?” Bobby asked his driver.

  “Oh, yeah, definitely, Boss. People like Hansel, too. Our guys think he’s dependable and honest, follows orders, knows everybody.”

  “Our guys, our guys… I have half a mind to stop listening to our guys in Lowell. Remember, they were telling me Jimmy was the greatest, right up until the end. You’d think he invented nacho cheese sauce or something.”

  “You’re right, Boss. Hansel’s different though, it’s not just our guys. He checks out.”

  “Tell me.”

  The driver said, “He came out of Lowell High School with all the records a running back can acquire in four years. Boston College recruited him, big time, with alumni all over him and everything, taking him out.”

  “So, what happened?” Bobby asked.

  “It looked like he found himself in a good situation. But then he got homesick after the first week of college and came home. That’s the truth. There’s other stories about a gang that threatened his life, and a real whopper about him returning home to donate his liver to a sick uncle. All that’s baloney. He got homesick, and that’s what happened.”

  Bobby nodded, thinking to himself.

  Then he asked, “Is he here?”

  “Yeah, he’s here,” the driver said. “I’ve got him in the waiting area. You think I should bring him in now?”

  “Nah,” Bobby said, “wait ten more minutes, then bring him in.”

  Ten minutes later, the driver knocked on the door and opened it. A three-hundred-pound man who stood six inches taller than the driver dominated Bobby’s perception of the moment. The man wore mostly orange, and mostly corduroy.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Bobby asked. “Where the fuck is Hansel?”

  His driver said, “This is Roger. He’s Hansel’s younger brother. He and Hansel work together.”

  Bobby looked at the enormous man and nodded.

  “No offense, what I’m gonna say,” Bobby said to Roger. Roger nodded like it was okay. Then Bobby turned to his driver and said, “He doesn’t look like Hansel’s brother.”

  The driver said, “Roger was from a different father.”

  Bobby nodded, and after a pause, he asked, “Well, where the fuck is Hansel then?”

  The driver said, “Uh, he’s here, boss. He’s standing behind Roger.”

  Roger looked like he was trying to get small as Hansel stepped out from behind his brother. The contrast in style between the two men was immediately evident. Hansel wore a wool suit with a matching tie, impeccable Italian shoes, and a short haircut, greased with wax.

  “Mr. Touro,” Hansel said. “It is a great honor to be here with you. I will do anything and everything to help you with your business interests.”

  Bobby nodded without giving anything away and asked, “You know why you’re here?”

  “Jimmy and his seven or eight friends tried to fight you at the river, after taking advantage of your generosity,” Hansel said. “You fought them off by yourself, and your driver stayed out of the way, despite having a weapon. During the fight, you killed Jimmy by breaking his neck and throwing him off the boardwalk. Now you need a new man to organize your business interests.”

  Bobby looked at his driver and looked back at Hansel. He looked over at Roger too. His driver put up his hands in a “I ha
ve no idea what he’s talking about” gesture.

  Bobby said, “So those guys by the boardwalk told you about the fight, then.”

  “They did,” Hansel said. “They said you had incredible strength and moves. You were fearless to take them all on.”

  Bobby nodded and looked at Hansel appraisingly.

  “Well, I’d prefer not to talk about that,” Bobby said to Hansel, finally. “What’s in the past with Jimmy is in the past. I do need a new guy handling my business in Lowell, like Jimmy used to do, but better. I’m expecting a lot. If you’re going to be the man, you gotta produce and you can’t suck.” Bobby looked at his driver, smacked the table and brought his gaze back to Hansel. “And let me tell you just how much Jimmy sucked. He was out of his mind on drugs. I stuck by his sorry ass until the very end because the only thing that matters to me is loyalty.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hansel stood up straighter.

  “Here’s how I want us to be,” Bobby said. “You need to know what’s going on in Lowell, and set me up to be part of it. You help me make money and I reward you generously. That’s it. We keep it simple, and nothing stupid happens.”

  “Okay,” Hansel said, sounding like he would agree to anything.

  “If you can’t put me in the middle of what’s going on, you have to at least know it’s happening. If I know from you there’s an opportunity, then we can work on it together. That includes construction projects, city contracts, labor problems, anything where money changes hands and politicians have a say in it.”

  “I understand,” Hansel said.

  Bobby nodded slowly and looked at Hansel for a long enough time that Hansel started to look uncomfortable.

  Bobby said, “Be creative.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “The problem with Jimmy,” Bobby banged on the desk again, “is he didn’t know what the fuck was happening anymore.”

  Hansel nodded. Roger just stood there. He was huge.

  “What’s Roger do for you?” Bobby asked.

  “He’s just retired from the music business,” Hansel said. “Before that we played football together at Lowell.”