Clean

by Tom Lytes

  Hansel sighed, “What?”

  “While the other guy’s watching, Rockford punches his face.”

  “Huh, well, thanks for telling me. I’m really getting concerned about why we can’t reach Bobby Touro.”

  “Yeah, I just think Rockford was kind of cool.”

  Hansel pleaded, “Can you focus on what we’re doing? We gotta make sure we’re doing what’s right for Bobby Touro.”

  “Okay,” Roger said.

  “Get us drinks.” He angled his head towards Poe’s Tavern. “We gotta do something to counter this heat. I’ll be in after I try Bobby one more time.”

  Hansel stood on the hot sidewalk, getting no answer from Bobby’s driver again. Maybe Hansel’s great opportunity to work with Bobby Touro was becoming more trouble than it was worth. He headed towards the restaurant to join Roger when his phone rang, He almost fell over, trying to answer it quickly.

  “Hey, Hansel,” Roger said, “You should come join me. This place is pretty cool.”

  “Why are you calling me?” Hansel asked. “You’re looking right at me. You can see that I’m coming to join you.”

  A few moments later, Hansel, having worked his way through the small crowd, stood next to Roger.

  “Poe’s Tavern’s even better when you’re on the porch,” Roger said, as Hansel joined him. “Don’t you think, Hansel?”

  Dark and creepy Edgar Allan Poe pictures stared at them. A sign indicated the bar had been named to honor the writer who lived on the island. Hansel nodded and watched Roger as he downed another beer. The waitress was ready with a speedy refill, and Hansel hoped he would hear from Bobby Touro soon.

  As if on cue, a call came through, and Hansel’s phone jumped around on vibrate mode. Then it started dinging with a custom ringtone.

  “Hello,” Hansel when the call connected.

  “I have some news to share,” Bobby Touro’s driver said.

  “Everything is okay?” Hansel asked.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that,” the driver said. “There’s a lot of noise in the background. Is it a good time to talk?”

  “Uh, yeah, it’s fine,” Hansel said, not wanting to mention the bar. “Tell me what I need to know. One second while I go somewhere quieter.”

  Hansel hurried past the bar patrons with his hand firmly pressed against the phone to muffle sound. He let his swinging elbows connect with whatever body impeded his progress towards the exit.

  At the street, he heard the driver say, “Bobby instructed me to give you an address.”

  “For what, the cop lady?” Hansel asked.

  “I’m not a hundred percent sure who will be there, so be cautious.”

  “I don’t get what you’re saying,” Hansel said as he looked at Roger on the porch of Poe’s. “Where’s Bobby, and how come I’m not talking to him? Is this a test? Look, I’m going to do a great job for Bobby down here.”

  “Hansel, there is no test. Just stick with the plan Bobby gave you.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Hansel said, “the plan had me talking to Bobby though.”

  The driver said, “That’s not going to happen right now.”

  “Thanks for the address,” Hansel sighed when the driver gave it to him. “I know what to do.”

  The driver hung up, and Hansel was left sweating like crazy in the hot sun, watching Roger party on the porch of Poe’s. He thought about leaving him there, heading over to the address to check it out. As he watched two men climb the steps of Poe’s and point to Roger, Hansel feared a sense of dread that had started as a distant thing when they were in Massachusetts, born when Bobby Touro first mentioned South Carolina. It grew during the plane flight and through the airport, but it couldn’t be defined until it finally caught up to him, right then, on Sullivan’s Island. The two men approaching Roger were something evil. Bad things were going to start hitting the fan like crazy, and Hansel somehow, through stupid luck, stuck him and Roger in the middle of something bad, really bad. He could feel it. The men wore brand new beach clothes, evident by deep fold creases in unlikely places. There aggressive posture parted a clear line for them to get to Bobby, as people stepped out of their way.

  Hansel shouted, “Roger, Roger—”

  By the time Roger tipped a table over and leapt from the porch, it didn’t matter whether he’d heard Hansel or intuitively realized the men were coming for him. They’d grown up running from people, and Hansel knew Roger would take advantage of a head start. Hansel slipped back into the shadows of a live oak and watched Roger run through the yards of five nearby houses before crossing the street to double back to their rental car.

  “Hansel, what’s happening,” Bobby Touro’s driver asked, reminding Hansel he’d been speaking on the phone.

  “Some guys just tried to take out Roger. They’re—”

  “Take out Roger? What are you talking about?” the driver asked.

  “Some big guys out of nowhere showed up and made a run at Roger while we’ve been talking.”

  “Oh, no,” the driver said. “It’s Clean… or maybe Vito.”

  “This isn’t right, what’s going on?”

  “Listen, Hansel, Bobby’s hiding out. He’s counting on you getting the job done as he showed you, for his safety, yours, and Roger’s too.’

  “No one even knows I’m here,” Hansel said.

  “The computer— somebody, something knows, Hansel.”

  “It’s over if I get this job done?”

  “Yeah, I think it is, but Hansel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful, huh?”

  Bobby felt a freedom to do whatever he wanted. He had forgot how much he liked driving and being by himself. It was hard to connect his feelings of genuine care for his driver to the joy of being without him. He stopped to get gas and nobody payed attention to him. He lingered around the snack aisles of the minimart before buying all the Marshmallow Rice Krispy Bars they had in stock, and he talked to strangers at the pumps about the weather. He wouldn’t think of doing any of it when he was running his businesses in New England. But in northern Virginia, he enjoyed being a tourist.

  It took Clean to judge him, to make him change.

  Calling Leonard every day and thinking so much about the program had the unintended consequence of making him think about mortality. What if he died? Tomorrow, or even today, or right now? He’d thought he was in the middle of his life, not the end. The situation had Bobby consider his legacy. Proud to be feared and respected, it didn’t suck that Bobby had more money than time to spend it. But now, he was convinced there was another path opening for him, with new challenges and worthwhile victories to be earned. Maybe something noble, even.

  41

  Carson didn’t like Rube’s attitude the last few days. He acted like a petty child, put out by the simplest requests, just waiting to throw a fussy temper tantrum. Did Rube forget that Carson brought him out of obscurity and onto the national political stage? Everything Rube had going for him stemmed from his association with Carson Miller’s own success. And yet Rube didn’t show even a little appreciation. Rube either didn’t know his position within the political world’s pecking order, or Rube assumed he was higher on the chain than Carson, which was about as preposterous a notion as one could ever have.

  Carson reminded himself of his own place in the political machine, the value of compromise and that sometimes, to achieve goals, you did things that you otherwise wouldn’t. It helped him explain to himself why he was yet again at the Blanford Inn in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Room number 422 was familiar to him, as was the thirty-minute drive from New York’s border to the Inn. He could slip in and out of town without too much fanfare as often as needed. There was a knock on the door and Santrelle Simonson filled the eyehole. She was alone, and over forty minutes late.

  Carson opened the door and Santrelle didn’t he
sitate to air her thoughts, as she was having them. “Carson, so nice to see you. What a fine specimen you are.”

  She ran the back of her hand down Carson’s chest.

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Daily jogging and lifting weights three days a week kept him looking lean and strong.

  She walked past him as if he didn’t speak, and said, “We will make the world into a safe, inviting place. All the cancer must be removed from society. I mean, would you keep a tumor in your body if it threatened your very existence? No, of course not.”

  Carson flexed his chest muscles, as if to argue for his place running the government of such an ideal world.

  “Yes, Ms. Simonson,” he said. “I agree.”

  “Of course, you do.” Santrelle walked behind him and ran her fingernails along Carson’s back, letting them dig in a little. “You understand and are willing to do the hard work necessary to make our society great again. Your gratification will come over time, and nothing will stop your rise to the presidency. Then we will accomplish even more.”

  Carson wanted to say that Santrelle Simonson would be nowhere near his presidency. Sure, her billion-dollar Super Pac could fund Clean, cleanse society of the bad seeds, and run around in the background of his life to make him look good. She had money and promised to turn an open spigot of spending towards him and his campaigns. But Carson knew in his gut that when it came time to be president, this nuttier than an Almond Joy at a nut farm lady would be edited completely from his life. In the meantime, it was what it was.

  “I understand the program is speeding up its process, and incorporating more people into its analytics every day,” Carson said.

  “It is.” Santrelle smiled until her perfect teeth were on full display. “It has become more expensive to run, as well.”

  She was in front of him now, cupping his chin. It seemed like she might kiss him, and Carson leaned into it, hoping to act on what had become a fantasy. As usual, she slipped away, and left Carson grasping at air as she took a position across the room.

  “It’s such important work,” Carson said. “I appreciate your support of my candidacy as well.”

  “Well, sweetheart,” Santrelle said - suddenly all-business, stony eyes, “The costs incurred with the program are an investment in the future of America, and society at large. We will purge the undesirables from our lands.”

  “And I will stay on message.” Carson said. “Nothing will stop the Clean program from finishing. We’ll see this all the way through.”

  Santrelle pinched Carson Miller’s ass and started out the door of the hotel room.

  “See you, Carson. We’ll meet again soon.”

  Carson didn’t say anything. Carson Miller allowed himself to be cheapened by this woman, so he might become the President of the United States of America.

  Santrelle walked out of the room, and immediately phoned Vortmit.

  “He was here again, Vor… Leonard.”

  “Remember, it’s Leonard for the duration of the job.”

  “Yes, Leonard.”

  “Any hint that he suspects anything?”

  For the first time dropping the aristocratically tinged voice she used to be Santrelle, she said, “He doesn’t expect anything, except that I’m going to give him money, and one day soon I might decide to seduce him.”

  “Perfect,” Leonard said before he hung up.

  42

  When Leonard finished the phone call, Peggy watched him open the porch door and step back into the house. She placed the last of her few things into a bag and tried to think realistically. Their threesome’s brief alliance held together on a shaky foundation, barely held together with the promise of ending Clean.

  Peggy worried Finley had become too enraptured with the coding and programming of Clean. His face glowed, permanently six inches from a computer screen, only his hands moving to type sporadically. He all but disappeared from the real world when he began to chase the program around the web, locating servers where it had parked, furtively using extra computational capacity and then departing.

  And Leonard… she just worried about. He seemed interested in ending the program, knowledgeable about possible ways to accomplish it, but he’d come up with the thing and launched it into cyberspace. All the random killing came back to him. How do you trust a guy like that?

  They were prepared to leave for Clemson. Food, spare clothes, more computer stuff than Peggy expected, and plenty of water were secured into the trunk of a Porsche.

  “Do you know the guys Bobby is sending down to help us?” Leonard asked her.

  He came around to lean on the open door of his car, and in the moment, drew attention to his almost twelve-inch height difference with Peggy. She opened the passenger door of the Cayenne, filled the cupholders and stowed her backpack in the footwell.

  “I don’t know who they are, but Bobby said they’d help us get into the Clemson building, like you wanted. I imagine they’re pretty sophisticated.”

  Leonard nodded, and moved his feet around nervously. He put his sunglasses on, and then pushed them up into the tussle of blonde hair that sprouted in all directions off his head. He still didn’t get into the car.

  He said, “I’ve just been thinking about it. Bobby’s nervous, calling me every day about his status with Clean. Now he’s been marked for death. I’m wondering who he sends down here. What if they’re thugs?”

  “They’ll be thugs.”

  Leonard nodded, “I’m worried they intimidate me and I freeze up, won’t be able to concentrate. What if I can’t do my part with the program?”

  “You have to stop thinking about that,” Peggy said, looking up at him. “Focus on doing your job. I’m going to handle Bobby’s guys. We’ll get what we need out of them, and I’ll send them on their way.”

  Leonard shook his head. “What happens when Bobby Touro doesn’t need us anymore? The program kept him from stealing all my money, and maybe killing me, way back when we met the first time. We were definitely not friends then, or working together, and we aren’t friends now.”

  “You know Leonard, you’re a pretty smart guy. You’re right about Bobby. He preys on people, and for some reason I forget that because I feel… weirdly comfortable with him. But he did take advantage of me too, when I was young and naïve. Now, I think he has other, more romantic ideas for me. They’ll never happen, but probably inoculate me from being on the receiving end of his worst behavior. You’re probably right to be scared.”

  Leonard didn’t look comforted.

  “I might have another way to stop the program,” he said. “It doesn’t involve having to break into the supercomputer or using Bobby Touro’s thugs to help us do anything.”

  Peggy stood up on the seat of the Cayenne, and her head and shoulders were out of the roof and they were eye to eye.

  “Leonard,” she said, “That would be great. I have such a long history with Bobby Touro. He’s been manipulating my life for so long that I could easily walk us into a trap of his. Bobby has no moral compass, and you do need leverage over him, or he will roll over you.”

  “I think he wants to kill me,” Leonard said. “And take my stuff. Finley, too and maybe you too.”

  Peggy nodded warily and thought again about Bobby Touro’s attraction to her. Would it protect her when the stakes were this high?

  “What do you have in mind?” Peggy asked. “How can we stop Clean without going to Clemson?”

  Leonard opened his mouth, but before the conversation could continue they were interrupted by the sound of a “Pssst” sound coming from the bushes.

  Peggy’s head stuck out of the Porsche, making it difficult to defend herself. Instinct trumped comfort, and in the second it took to realize the youngest of the two boys that lived down the street hid in the bush, she managed to drop into a ball and land in the back seat. Along the way,
she banged her head and scuffed both shins.

  Leonard hadn’t move and looked startled. “What?” he asked the bush next to them.

  The boy pulled a leafy branch back, exposing his cherubic face. He held a quieting finger up at his mouth.

  “Shush, those men watching you might hear us.”

  Leonard wasn’t good at being subtle, and he started to look around and gawk. Peggy pushed open the back door and jumped into his arms.

  She wrapped her legs around him and grabbed his head, mimicking a loving embrace.

  “If somebody is watching us,” she told him, “We want them to continue to watch. Don’t look at them.”

  “Right,” Leonard said.

  He kissed her after taking a second to think about what Peggy was telling him.

  After a few more seconds of looking her in the eyes, he said, “How’s that for trying to act natural.”

  “Don’t push it,” she said. “Do that again and I’ll shoot you.”

  “Hey,” the boy said softly, interrupting. “That kissing is super gross. I don’t want to see that.”

  Peggy said, without taking her eyes off Leonard, “Sorry, where are the people watching us?”

  “They were out on the beach, and they’re dressed funny,” the boy said. “When they came off the beach they walked right through my yard. My Daddy doesn’t like it when people aren’t on the beach path. When I saw them, I was going to say something about it, but they were arguing because one of them drank too much beer at Poe’s.”

  “I see,” Peggy said. “Good idea not to confront them.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Then they were talking about your address. They’re looking for the pretty cop and some computer geeks. Isn’t that you guys?”

  Leonard said, “That sounds like Bobby, describing us.” And he asked the boy, “How do you know they’re watching us?”

  “They said, ‘Let’s just watch them for a few minutes,’” the boy said. “That’s pretty much what gave it away. Also, the other one said, ‘There they are. Let’s see what they’re doing.’ Then I snuck under your house and through the bushes there and hid behind this big Saga Palm.”