Clean Sweep

by E. B. Lee

  “This distinguished gentleman is Rocky,” said Grant, when they stepped into the tropical paradise. “Some of you know him. He’s high security. Used to live on the streets but got himself inside and got himself a job, as you can see. You three need to make it easy for him; if it weren’t for Rocky, you wouldn’t be here. Like I showed you before, bathrooms are around the corner. Everything else is off-limits. What Rocky says, goes.”

  As predicted, Rocky welcomed the company and set aside his newspaper. Instead of shaking hands, the group simply nodded. Wilson openly gawked at the height of the plants and expanse of the atrium before touching a single plant leaf, and then another, with both gentleness and apprehension. Next, he ran his hand along a tall, straight stem. One of the other men looked at the ceiling of glass before sliding his eyes to ground level and taking a rapid scan of the lobby. His examination complete, he walked to a spot between two large granite pools and set down his single plastic bag. The other member of Canada’s street group followed and began settling in. Wilson joined to bring out a bedroll and pile his lone bag neatly against the granite. He started to unfold a long cardboard box. Grant curtailed the operation. “Wilson, remember, we said inside means no box.”

  Resigned to the different reality, Wilson refolded the box and placed it in the lineup. Settling in had taken less than three minutes.

  As the men reveled in their newfound riches, Carli could only think how unusual it looked. With a ring of an elevator bell, a young man blasted into the lobby, tie loosened, coat open, and with a look that said he was ready for a weekend. He eyed the men but continued his surge toward the exit without a word. Grant and Rocky exchanged looks. The men finished settling in, and Carli decided that maybe it was okay after all – how oddly marvelous. The law firm’s partners were certainly progressive.

  “I know it’s new, but try to settle in. I’ll be back in four or five hours.” Grant added firmly, “Remember, we’re guests.” Then Carli and Grant left the group sitting in their bedrolls, with one of Canada’s men dealing cards. Apprehension crept through Carli when she and Grant stepped outside, and she saw them through the glass-front divide. Something about the atrium housing two vastly different worlds still didn’t feel right, despite the indifference of the young man heading home and the partners’ blessing. The thought was pushed aside when Grant asked, “Want to see if Harry and Grudge are home?”

  Carli liked that Harry looked after Grudge, but concerns lingered. What was Harry really like if he was, in fact, Lenny’s assailant? There was one way to find out.

  Grant’s swift gait took them to Harry’s highway in no time at all. Carli was glad to have Grant by her side. It wasn’t a place to be alone at night. Maybe not even during the day.

  Grant called to Harry from a distance to let him know who was approaching. “Your turn at the barrel, I see,” he said, once near the trestle.

  A single steel drum, with a well-contained flame, kept the two men warm. Harry stood alongside it, while Grudge was presumably entrenched in a cardboard box on the ground. A wheelchair rested alongside, tethered to a pole by a short rope.

  “What’re you burning tonight?” Grant asked.

  “The day’s news. The only news worth a dime is we were left alone today.”

  Grudge chimed in, “Amen,” and then emerged from the box, with a pair of crutches used adeptly to settle himself into the wheelchair.

  Grant delivered two hoagies he purchased on the way over. With Grudge claiming to be famished, Carli better understood Harry’s generous “take out” portions from Lucy’s church buffets.

  “Say, pass me one of those pine sticks,” said Harry. “We can get this thing going strong, seeing as we have guests.”

  Grant handed Harry wood from a small pile. It had been splintered away from a pallet. At first, it smoldered. Then it shot up an impressive flame, illuminating Grudge. Harry stepped close to settle a fire-warmed blanket across his lap.

  Carli had expected the air over the river to be gusty and unforgiving, which it was, but the aqua alcove had been picked with care. It was clear Harry and Grudge knew how to fuel the flame enough for comfort but how to dowse it when patrols passed by. Fire code didn’t permit open burning, of course, sort of like barbecues on fire escapes. Plenty of cars drove overhead, weaving together a song of tires, but down at their level it was quiet. Anything could happen below, and no one would ever know. Carli thought about Lenny. She knew retaliation could be brutal. She feared for their lives, even if they had each other.

  “You ever seen a better heater?” Grant asked. Carli knew he wasn’t expecting her to answer.

  “It works,” said Harry.

  “Nothing like real heat,” said Grant.

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “I just don’t want you two getting hurt.”

  Harry shrugged.

  “Why haven’t I seen you at lunch?” asked Grant.

  “Didn’t feel like it, with The Sweep and all. Miss the cookies, though.” Harry smiled at Carli and then gazed off for a moment. “My wife used to make the nicest sugar cookies,” he said. “Added lots of vanilla. I can still taste them.”

  “Lunch or not, remember, it’s five bucks if you go to the talk next week,” said Grant.

  “The talk,” Carli had learned, was a meeting at Four Bridges, meant to give leads, plant seeds, and maybe get someone off the street. Five dollars were given to each attendee, but she didn’t see Harry adding it to his schedule.

  Snaking their way from the river, Carli and Grant found a Church Run making stops. Carli recognized some of the visitors, including the woman who yelled and Spaceman Irving. She had never seen Irving awake, let alone upright. Grant looked directly at him, but their eyes did not connect. Then Grant stared down a couple of young moochers and followed with stern warnings when they tried moving in. One thing Grant hated as much as street cleaning was a moocher ripping off someone in need.

  Shelves in the vans were still half full. Either the group had gotten a late start, or The Sweep was keeping too many of them away. Grant didn’t recognize the driver; maybe that had something to do with it. With a few firmly planted hands on shoulders, Grant was done with the vans and ready to check on Vera. Carli was more than ready to make sure her new friend Vera was safe and sleeping soundly.

  Vera didn’t answer when Grant whispered a greeting, but he wasn’t worried; they had found her and had found a sock tucked under the box, with just its toe visible. It was Vera’s nightly signal to Grant that all was good. That was a win. “Needs her rest,” he said. “I imagine you do too.”

  Walking to her apartment, Carli and Grant came upon a pile of boxes in front of Hannah’s Bakery. They were neatly folded and bundled, just like the boxes they found after Cedric’s clinic trip.

  When Grant left Carli at her building, she waited in the lobby until Grant walked out of sight. Then she slipped outside to shuffle through the boxes at Hannah’s. She felt fortunate to find two that were clean. Back inside her apartment, Carli manipulated the cumbersome pieces of cardboard into their original box forms and slipped one box partly inside the other. Her new construction wobbled as she slid it on the floor of her studio and closed the flaps at one end. Carli maneuvered herself through the opening at the other end of the box and, once inside, pulled shut the remaining end flaps. She wanted to know how it felt.

  Carli heard Lila and Terrance sniffing and felt the box rock when their noses bumped against it. Their sounds were slightly more muted than usual. Carli felt invisible in the box’s dark interior. There was practically no space to move, but she found the coziness comforting and the box protective, even though it was somewhat thinner than a piece of toast. The problem, of course, was it didn’t have a heater. Was there a science to cardboard, she wondered? Were some types more insulated than others? Some stronger? What if this were her world? “Good Lord above,” she whispered, closing her eyes, “please, get Vera into that atrium.”

  In the aftermath of the night’s cold stree
t air, Carli’s face felt burning hot and continued to burn as she rested in her cardboard box. The smell of corrugated fibers filtered into her sinuses, eclipsing the smell of oil paints that coated the studio. Carli wondered how Grant could leave them night after night and wondered how they could stay. He had never told her where he lived, though she assumed it was near so he could keep close tabs on them. Carli decided to sleep in her box. She didn’t know why. She opened the flaps so her dogs could see her, but she didn’t bother to turn off the lights. Crawling out would take too much effort.

  A dark-gray paw poked Carli’s eye and roused her early the next morning. She was surprised to see a wall of cardboard inches from her face. She was also surprised at how stiff she felt and how difficult it was to crawl out. She pushed painting aside to make a trip to the atrium. According to Rocky, everyone had vacated, with no complaints, by six a.m. Grant had looked in during the early morning. She suspected it was right after he left her.

  At eight o’clock that evening, Carli again met Grant to chaperon the group for its second night inside. Once again, Canada was missing. Grant was agitated by his absence and in a noticeable rush to find him. “I’m taking the subway. Come with me,” he said, his voice oddly commanding. “Madison’s in Brooklyn, I’m sure. There’s a place out there where he sometimes stays. And he might be getting more of his stuff tonight. First, though, I need some food.”

  Gloria’s was lively. So was Grant. For thirty minutes, Grant ate and talked of fashions and hairstyles. His voice was loud and laced with excitement. Carli listened, unsure what to make of it. Finally, she asked, “Are we looking for Mad?”

  Grant shot her a condescending look and abruptly dropped his fork to his plate. “You want to go?” he asked. He stood immediately and was halfway to the door when Carli reminded him they had yet to pay. A few yards from the subway stop for the train to Brooklyn, Grant veered into an alley, surprising both Carli and a group of teens passing out drugs. Carli didn’t know if she should follow. After Wilson’s lessons, she wondered if he was using it for personal business. Trash barrels, upright and not, lined buildings alongside the alley. Carli had passed it many times.

  “Sometimes, Cedric uses this skanky little place,” Grant called to her over his shoulder. He glared at the teens, then banged on one of the barrels. It sent a rat scuttling past and the teens running with a hail of shouts.

  “Damned rats,” he said. “Can pick a home anywhere, fit into anything, and there’s no Sweep to move them. People? No. They have to move, piss around the city to find a place they won’t be bothered. Fucking rats. I hate ’em.”

  Carli stared at Grant, but he took no notice.

  “Cedric, you here?” he called. No one answered.

  Carli and Grant rode to Brooklyn and back with no sighting of Canada, leaving Grant even more agitated than before. As soon as they pushed through the atrium door, they found their man, sitting on the edge of a granite pool. Canada spoke first. “Where have you been all night? We were ready to deal in Wilson or Rocky.”

  Carli saw Wilson asleep near a planter. Rocky was minding the monitors while his television broadcast a game show.

  “Finally,” said Grant. “Deal me in. But, first, tell me where you’ve been.” The cards started to fly, and Grant said, “Seriously, man, where have you been?”

  “You know me,” said Canada. “Here and there. Subways. Outer borough. Sorry I missed it here last night.”

  When Grant’s turn to deal came around, he shuffled swiftly and fixed his eyes on the cards as they flitted from his hand, nearly too fast to follow. With equal speed, he stacked the remaining cards in a pile on the floor.

  “Card or draw?” he asked Canada with an expressionless face. “Card or draw?” he continued around the circle. Grant studied selections, discards, and faces with a continued lack of emotion. He played his cards with no hint of what was in hand, but as though he could read the others spread before him. Carli wondered if he was stealing reflections off the glass or if Rocky was giving secret nods. Both seemed impossible given the seating plan.

  “Beginner’s luck,” said Grant, taking the fifth game, and third in a row.

  “Yeah, like always,” said Canada. “Things never change.”

  Grant casually tossed his cards into the pile, and his intensity slid quickly away, as though someone had flipped a switch. Carli couldn’t wait to get home to capture the essence of the night with charcoal and paper.

  Fifteen

  The following week, Grant hooked his arm into Carli’s as they walked, taking her by surprise.

  “Um, what are you doing?” she asked.

  “You were right about the atrium,” he said. “Wilson loves the place, and I think he’ll meet with Mercy again. There’s hope, Carli! There’s hope.” He sounded like he had touched the moon. Within minutes, his errant conversation sounded like an uncomfortable extension of Gloria’s gleeful fashion talk. “While we’re here,” he said, “let’s see if he’s in his park yet.” Grant jogged off and didn’t bother stopping at three out of four red lights, deciding, instead, to dodge his way through streams of moving cars. Twice he turned to check for Carli. She didn’t understand the hurry, and several close calls made her scream. When they hit upon the corner park, they found Wilson minding his table, looking to be out cold. Instead of his usual gentle approach, Grant skipped forward, hopped onto the bench and up to the tabletop. “Wilson,” he sang out. “What’s the word?” He actually sang, and Wilson bolted upright.

  “What’s the secret of life?” Grant asked, holding the last note for quite a long time and spreading his arms to the sky. He could have been on Broadway.

  Wilson smiled oddly and glanced at Carli. It didn’t make sense.

  Grant reached toward the sky again and yelled in a sing-songy voice, which morphed into a more organized tune, casual dance motions included. “Can anyone tell me the secret of life? Is it love, is it lust, is it lavender, is it lace, is it leaves or legalese? Or is it simply lies and law school, lobsters and traps, licorice and lollipops, legs and laps?” He followed with a billowing laugh.

  Carli froze. She recognized the tune. The words were new to her, but the jingle was a childhood favorite. She and Henry used to sing it together in a raucous duet. Carli’s legs nearly buckled as she stared at Grant. Wilson tilted his head to see Grant towering overhead. With a sharp slap on the shoulder, Grant descended and marched to the park gate, ready to move on. “Feel good today, okay?” he yelled over his shoulder to Wilson.

  Carli and Wilson exchanged glances again. She was slow to catch up. When she stood beside Grant, she demanded to know, “What was that? You nearly scared him to death.”

  “What was what?”

  “The singing and shouting. And, that song. Where did you learn that song?”

  “That song? An oldy but goody,” said Grant. “And Wilson ought to be out enjoying life.” Grant walked on, displaying a huge smile. Then he added quickly, in a loud whisper, “I’m going to Harry’s to do a bit of spying. You move in on Sarah and check on The Vera. Then, make sure everyone else is out of the atrium. I might not get there in time. Meet me at St. Mary’s first thing tomorrow.”

  “Spying?” Carli asked. Was Grant still checking into Lenny? And since when did Vera become “The Vera”?

  “Just do it,” he said. “It’s important.”

  “Wait,” said Carli.

  “Can’t,” said Grant. “Gotta go.” He gave an unexpected hug and jumped into the street, jogging to cross before the next wave of cars.

  “Wait!” she shouted. Grant didn’t stop. Cars roared past, and Carli remained in place until a woman rushing to make the light bumped her shoulder and knocked Carli off balance. Carli wobbled three steps out of the pedestrian mainstream to a large display window and steadied herself against the glass. She saw a petrified reflection in the window; her arms were shaking. What was going on?

  Carli remained glued to the glass, catching her breath and reconsidering the possibili
ty that Grant might be her brother Henry, something she had dismissed for weeks. She watched dozens of groups of people crossing in front of her and saw Wilson exit the far side of the park before she felt able to walk. Finally, she pushed forward in search of Sarah. Carli felt oddly numb, as though disconnected and simply watching herself go through the motions. It was as though she were bouncing uptown in some weird, see-through bubble. People passed, lights changed, and cars moved and honked, but they all seemed distant, even though they were barely feet away.

  She spotted Sarah clucking at pigeons and ignoring the rest of the world around her. Carli sat on a nearby bench and watched for almost an hour. In that time, Sarah looked at Carli exactly once. After, Carli paid a visit to Rocky’s atrium. It would be hours before Canada and the others returned, but she half hoped to see them enjoying the inner luxury. Some luxury, heat. She did find Rocky, earning overtime, and not the least bit upset the other guard had called out sick. Carli swung through the door.

  “Is everyone doing okay here?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “They play cards for a bit and sleep. Last night, they read the newspaper to each other. Occasionally they ask me about the TV shows I’m watching. I think they’re just looking for company. Reminds me …” Rocky’s voice quieted.

  “Reminds you?” asked Carli.

  “Yeah … of back then.”

  “When you were on the streets?” she asked.

  “Exactly,” said Rocky.

  “Do you mind me asking how long you were out?”

  “Too long,” said Rocky. “I lost a bunch of years, and plenty before that. I don’t plan on wasting another second, thanks to the Lord.” Rocky nodded as he sifted through memories. “Grant knew I could do it before I did. Helped get me to meetings, even though I wasn’t very sure about them for the longest time. I kept fighting it. Finally, I started to get ahold of myself. Got one temp job, and then another, until I finally got this one. My first permanent job in years, almost ever.”