The CleanSweep Conspiracy (24 page)

CHAPTER 29

Clifford and Mattie

M
att tried to rub energy into his tired writing arm when Mattie stopped talking and leaned back against the wall. He watched her draw her knees up to her chest, her eyes staring over his shoulder at some secret place only she knew about. He rested his notebook on the ground and set his pen on it.

He wondered,
Is it sadness I see? No, far more than sadness. I see melancholy so deep it can’t be measured. Is she thinking about seeing the women murdered, shot down while trying to escape? Did she think about her children, long ago lost to her? Perhaps she’s thinking about the days she danced her ballet at the park.

Clifford patted her arm, reassuring her once more. It was a simple gesture, but it seemed to carry a lot of significance. Mattie closed her eyes and absorbed Clifford’s contact. Matt remembered again her reaction to his touch when he met her.

Silence tried to reclaim the room, but distant traffic sounds and other city noises pierced the stillness. Matt could hear, off and on, the distinctive sound of sirens rising and falling, singing a frightful musical scale.

“That’s an ambulance,” Clifford told Matt, describing one siren wail. “We’ve learned to recognize the sounds of different sirens.” His voice seemed louder than necessary in the quiet darkness. “The police use a warbling siren. It makes a noise like they’re always in a hurry.

“CleanSweep vans are the ones to be afraid of. They use a siren that sounds like the honking of a giant goose. At least that’s what it sounds like to me.” Clifford shivered and crossed his arms to grasp his own shoulders. “It will be full light soon. What do you think, Mattie? Is it time to hunker down?”

She nodded her agreement but didn’t say anything. Matt saw her stand and pick up the belongings she carried in a tattered pillowcase. She reached down inside and pulled out a plastic food container. In the growing light, Matt could see the box held an assortment of carrots and other vegetables. She turned without speaking and rushed to the doorway of another room. She pulled back a sheet of plywood that served as a door, stepped into the room, and lugged the wood into place behind her.

“We need to get you settled,” Clifford said. He watched her leave and then turned to Matt. When he saw Matt’s questioning look, he added, “It’s not good to be out and about during the light of day. We will hide here. We’ve used it before. I guess it’s as safe a place as anywhere.”

Matt didn’t feel reassured. “I didn’t realize
—
”

Clifford stopped him by pointing to another part of the conservatory. Matt gathered up his notebook, hurried to put it in his backpack, and followed.

“It took you too much time to get here. That’s not good. We have to hide today, and you can finish your interview tonight, unless
…
”

He didn’t need to finish, letting the words trail off as he led Matt past the detritus of plants. Most were dead or dying, but some were trying to recover on their own. Matt was surprised that they could thrive even without a gardener’s touch.

Matt followed as they turned right, left, and left again. They came to a hallway. Clifford pushed open a metal door, and they winced at the scraping noise. Looking around, he appeared satisfied.

“Crawl under that table,” he said, pointing. “Stay there, and do your best not to move. If any auditors nose around, they use heat
-
and
-
motion detectors.”

“Auditors?”

Clifford laughed. “It’s someone’s idea of a cosmic joke. They call them auditors, but they’re just teams of CleanSweep agents, scouring the city now, on the lookout for people like Mattie and me
—
anyone considered redundant.
Redundant
, how’s that for a word to describe people like Mattie
—
people like me? They look for people who upset Claussen’s ideal of perfection, try to remove us from sight. Claussen and men like him”
—
he spat out the words
—
“hide their evil behind a lot of innocent
-
sounding terms like that. If you ever feared being audited by the tax man, know that’s nothing compared to being audited by the CleanSweep agency.”

Clifford reached into his shoulder case and handed over a brown paper bag. “Here’s some food. It’s not much, but it will have to do. If you have to pee or anything, well, just be quiet about it.” He pointed to a corner. “That’s your fancy pissoir,” he said with a laugh. Then his face turned serious again. “Don’t answer to anyone. Make sure you only reveal yourself to me or Mattie
—
no one else!”

Matt got down on his knees and crawled under the table. He clutched the brown bag, suddenly famished. After he had adjusted his position, he looked back to say something, but Clifford was gone.
It’s time to settle in for a long wait,
Matt thought, hoping he wouldn’t end up on the list of people being audited.

A siren pierced the quiet, and Matt was racked with fear, trying to remember what Clifford had told him about identifying sirens.

The thought of attempting to remain still and comfortable while lying on a dank concrete floor was discouraging. His hips and elbows soon became pressure points and reminded him that flesh and concrete don’t make good partners. Feeling tired, he drifted off to sleep, as incredible as that seemed to him later. It was easier to succumb to sleep, he found, than to face the reality of his circumstances.

What am I doing here?
The question was like a tape playing on an endless loop as he drifted to sleep.

“Whaaat?”
Matt almost shouted. The crash of breaking glass brought him to full alertness in an instant. He thought he heard muffled voices, and the sound of wrenching metal caused him to rise up so quickly he hit his head on the underside of the table.

“Damn, that hurts,” he said
—
and then realized he had said it aloud.

His waking
-
up fog passed quickly.
Is it night or day now?
he wondered.

In the darkness, every nerve ending was on high alert. He listened. He was trying to brace himself
—
but for what? He sought to remember where he was and what was making the noise. Voices and the sound of twisting metal receded. Quiet returned, and city sounds and bird chirps were the only noises he heard. He tried to peer through an opening in the roof and judge the time.

A sharp hunger pang reminded him of the brown paper bag.
Let’s see what’s on the menu,
he thought. He didn’t expect it to be so good. Expecting something unidentifiable between slices of moldy bread, instead he found a nice corned beef sandwich, a small package of chips, and the requisite dill pickle in a plastic pouch. The wrapping was from a deli Matt knew and liked, and he wondered how Clifford had arranged that.

When it happened, it came uninvited.

Matt began to cry.

It wasn’t some faint cry. It came from deep inside. He realized how deeply he was in over his head. With no concept of time, Matt became aware of a new sound: a rattle of scraping footsteps. He counted the steps. One, two, three
…
stop. One, two, three
…
stop. His stomach contracted at the sounds of wood paneling being ripped away from the nails. Then he heard excited talking, but he couldn’t make out any words. He was relieved to be looking at Mattie and Clifford. His relief soon turned to something else, though, when he heard the fear in their voices
—
exposed, naked fear.

“Hurry
—
this way
—
follow us!” The urgency of Clifford’s command was all Matt needed to hear.

“Them’s be CleanSweep sirens!” Mattie yelled as the sound of a siren grew in intensity. “We heard them earlier, the auditors, walking all around here,” she said, waving her arms. Matt saw her face drawn tight and pale. Her eyes flitted in all directions. She hopped from one foot to the other as if she had to pee.

“We don’t have any time,” Clifford said. “They’re close. Damn, I don’t know why I went to sleep. Still, there’s no time to think about that now. Keep up with us,” he said to Matt, breathing hard. “We have to run. It’s getting dark, but it’s not dark enough yet. Damn.”

They raced through the conservatory, and Clifford stopped at the south entrance. Matt looked over his shoulder and saw bright beams of powerful flashlights sweeping through the dusk at the far end of the building, up and down, right and left.

“Don’t let them get you in the light!” Clifford called out. They all knew it for the needless warning it was.

They paused at the south entrance, the door leading across the grass to Gerrard Street.

“They not on this side of the building yet!” Mattie yelled. “Hurry! Run!” She didn’t wait for a response and moved with surprising speed, heading toward the street. Matt could see that if she made it across the road in the shadows of George Street, she would reach cover and safety.

“This way!” Clifford shouted as he pointed east, to Pembroke Street. He was breathing hard. “She knows we have to split up. Better chance for us that way.”

It was getting hard to suck in oxygen. Matt urged his out
-
of
-
shape body to follow. They raced across Gerrard Street, and had almost made it to the darkness of Pembroke Street when the first shots were fired.

Hearing the shots, Matt felt a sudden warmth down the front of his pants as his bladder released. He knew he had to keep running, but he was afraid for Mattie. Shouting for Clifford to stop, he turned to face her direction
—
and then wished he hadn’t.

Gunshots ripped through the dark
—
evil streams of tracers, flaming shots seeking their targets. Like bumblebees, the tracer lights of the bullets were stretching out deadly stingers, reaching out to Mattie as she ran. When the fiery malignancy caught up with her, she began to tumble. Matt desperately hoped she had only tripped. But he knew better.

It was worse than anything he’d ever imagined, the fusillade of bullets spraying her body, those awful projectiles jarring her body over and over. An arm separated from her body, showering her blood through the air like a garden sprinkler.

“No time to stop and stare.” Clifford grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled him into the shadows. “Your tears are no use to her anymore.”

Matt bid a silent good
-
bye to the Dancing Lady and her grotesque ballet finale.

CHAPTER 30

Dark Alleys

“W
ill I have to slap you to keep you wide awake?”

Clifford pulled Matt back into the shadows, turned him around, and pushed him into a hard run. Matt wanted to close his eyes to the image of bullets hammering Mattie’s body, causing that obscene ballet. He felt blind as he started to run, rushing without regard, holding his hands out in front. It didn’t help. He collided with a Dumpster, and his head slammed against the hard steel. It hurt like hell, and he felt blood when he touched his chin.

“That’s just a scratch
—
no time to stop!” a hard
-
breathing Clifford yelled. “Keep moving. Damn it, pay attention. They’re close. I hope they didn’t see us come down this street. We need deep cover. They’ll be coming at us, hard!”

Matt held a sleeve against his chin to stanch the trickle of blood and, with his now wide
-
open eyes, focused on Clifford. He was moving fast, and Matt raced to catch up with him. When he was driven by terror, Matt discovered a newfound ability to run.

Clifford’s prediction came true. Bullets suddenly ricocheted from the brickwork around them, and Matt saw a flash to his left as a slug scraped and caromed off the side of a building, sparks tracing a lethal trail into the darkness. More shots could be heard, and he knew some of the guns were set to automatic, rapid fire.

Clifford stopped short, and Matt almost ran into him as his momentum carried him forward.

Clifford turned sharply down a side alley to the right until they came to a narrow lane, a gap between two buildings. Matt guessed it wasn’t any more than two feet wide. A piece of sheet metal served as a flap that concealed access. It was hardly noticeable from the alley, especially in the dark. Clifford seemed to be familiar with it; he reached out and pulled the sheet metal back. The shrieking sound of the twisting metal was masked by the sounds of the gunfire behind.

“This way
—
hurry!”

They had to turn sideways, and Clifford pushed Matt in first. He pulled the flap closed behind them, and they sidled, crablike, between the buildings, the laneway too narrow to walk straight ahead until they came to an alcove where it opened into a space wide enough for both of them.

“This was designed as an access for utilities,” Clifford said, breathing hard. Matt heard the lingering distress in his voice. “I was a building inspector
—
”

He stopped talking as footsteps pounded past the sheet metal that served as their makeshift door. The steps faded in the distance without anyone stopping. They heard running again, and then stopping. Uncertainty. Someone shouted in a voice that was clearly in charge.

“I know they came down this alley. You two, run to the far end and check out the street. The rest of you, start checking any place they could have hidden. Get on the radio and get some searchlights set up here. It’s black as ink, and these flashlights are doing sweet fanny all.”

Clifford urged Matt to keep moving. They came to a door on their right.

“Damn, it won’t open!”

Matt watched Clifford look around and guessed it was for something to use as a pry bar.

“Help,” Clifford said.

The two of them put their shoulders to the door and tried to push it open again. It inched open slightly and finally gave way when Clifford shoved his left shoulder doubly hard against it.

In the predawn hours approaching daylight, it was pitch black inside. On faith, Matt followed Clifford and stepped through. He could barely see Clifford’s hand motioning the way.

“Careful,” Clifford warned over his shoulder. “Two steps down”
—
he gestured
—
“and then we will be on a platform. These buildings are death traps since the riots. Hell, they weren’t much better before. This isn’t the fancy Distillery District, after all.”

Matt followed, easing himself down the steps until he was standing chest
-
to
-
chest with Clifford on the platform and could smell their combined fear. They were radiating a rancid perfume of terror. To his great surprise, Clifford reached out and embraced Matt, as if to reassure him.

“We
have
to make it,” he whispered. “You have to tell her story.”

Matt felt tears on his cheeks
—
Clifford’s.

If his intent was to calm Matt, it worked.

Clifford turned away. “Maybe we gained some time. Do you have a cell phone with you?”

“It won’t do us any good to try a call from here. They must be monitoring signals.”

“Techies like you never think past high
-
tech solutions,” he said with a laugh. “Just give me the damn phone.”

Clifford turned it on, but only to use the light it emitted in the gloom as a flashlight. There were two stairways: one to the right, another straight ahead. He pointed to the one on the right, which led up.

“There,” he said, holding up the phone to light the way. “This building was slated to be rehabbed but has been deserted since the economy tanked
…
and now with the riots
…
Just keep an eye out for rotting flooring when we get to the upper floors.”

They tiptoed through the basement, and Clifford led the way up another set of stairs to the ground floor. He paused at the top, listening at the door to make sure the building was unoccupied and that no CleanSweep agents were waiting for them. He waved to Matt to follow and held a finger to his lips as they crept along the main
-
floor hallway.

Matt whispered, “We sound like a herd of elephants.”

“Especially if you keep yakking,” Clifford retorted.

Near the front of the building, they heard loud shouts and the urgent voices of CleanSweep agents on the street.

Someone yelled in a commanding voice, “I need a report, dammit! Where are they?”

Another voice began relaying commands and directing the agents in their search.

Clifford turned the cell phone off and spoke in a muffled voice. “I’m sure they can’t see us, but I’m not taking any chances.” He held his hand to cover his mouth, the way people do when they whisper. “We’re going up top now. They probably can’t hear us with all the noise they’re making, but be careful. Watch your step; the flooring probably can’t be trusted.”

Probably?
Matt thought.

The building had three floors. Clifford seemed to know exactly where he was going. He used the phone as a flashlight again once they got to the top level, and walked toward the back of the building. The glass panes of the rear windows were broken away, with a few pieces hanging tenaciously to the frames. He turned the phone off again and signaled as they went to the window at their far left, both taking care when they peered down and out.

“Look at that. There must be more than a dozen agents looking around,” Clifford said in a low voice.

They ducked back when a beam of light swept past the window.

“This is no time to be foolish,” Clifford said with a chuckle. But there was a different tone to his words now. He didn’t sound fearful anymore, but more like someone in charge. “See that door?” Clifford walked over and pulled it open. The doorway opened onto a skywalk that led over the alley and to the next building. “We might make some noise, but we don’t have a choice. We have to be careful and walk softly.”

Taking off their shoes, they walked across in stocking feet. Once they reached the other side, they quickly put their shoes on again, both grunting as they leaned down to tie the laces.

“There is one more floor in this building,” Clifford said. “Follow me up those stairs. We have more light here. It must be getting close to daylight.”

When they got to the top floor, they walked through a fire door in the far corner.

“From here, there’s a short flight of steps leading to the roof.” Once they were at the top, he opened the doorway and peered out until he was satisfied it was safe. “C’mon,” he said in a low voice. The roofing gravel crunched underfoot. “That can’t be helped. We need to hurry.”

Matt scurried behind Clifford until they came to the edge of the roof and a low wall. The rooftop to the adjacent building was divided from theirs by a two
-
foot
-
high brick wall. They stepped over it and continued running. Then they jumped over several more similar divider walls. When they reached the final roof in the block, they were ten buildings from where they had started. Clifford stopped suddenly and looked up.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked, his fear returning.

“Helicopter. We have to get off the roof.” As soon as Clifford spoke, a searchlight began shining a bright beam down, sweeping across the tops of buildings and streets below.

Matt was gripped by fear again. “How did you know?”

“I don’t know. I just sensed it somehow. They use sound
-
suppressing helicopters. You don’t hear those devils until they’re right overhead.”

The two ran across the last roof until they reached the building’s stair access to the floor below. They made it just in time. Clifford closed the door behind them just as the searchlight swept over the roof behind them.

“They didn’t see us this time, but they will be searching every building as soon as it gets light. We want to be gone by then.”

“How is it that you know your way around like this?”

“I told you, I used to be a building inspector. I know these buildings like the back of my hand, even better than the architects who drew the plans. This building’s basement has a passage under the next street.”

Matt must have looked doubtful.

“Don’t worry,” Clifford laughed. “We’re far enough from them for now. Once we get out of this building, we only have to walk out and get on the Dundas streetcar
—
just like a couple of guys looking for work.”

Matt’s shirt was clammy under his jacket. He could smell the stench from when he’d pissed himself. He realized he was still carrying his backpack and dropped it to the ground when they stopped. He took out his notebook.

“I wanted to check and make sure I still had this.”

The first morning light began slinking past the slats of the boarded
-
up window beside them.

The distorted image of the Dancing Lady’s horrible dance of death came uninvited, and he wanted to write a note while the memory was still fresh, something to honor her.

“Hold it.” Clifford held up his hand as Matt finished writing. “OK, I think we can go now. The light makes it easier to see.” They were standing next to another boarded
-
up window, peering through a crack in the slats. “But we have to stay on our toes. You do stink, by the way,” Clifford said, holding his nose.

Matt was too nervous to be embarrassed and thought of Stinky, the guide.

Was it only a few hours ago I met the man, or a full day?

“What’s your size? Let’s see what we can find for you.” Clifford nodded in the direction of a door and waved for Matt to follow.

“I’m well past being surprised at anything anymore,” Matt said as he looked around the room at shelves of parcels that were wrapped in brown butcher’s paper and tied with cording. He watched Clifford sort through parcels on one shelf, looking at the labels until he found one and tossed it to Matt. “Here,” he said, handing over a small pocketknife.

“What is this place?” Matt looked around the room.

“This was a warehouse for some nonprofit organization. They distributed all this clothing,” he waved his arm around the room, “to homeless shelters, or to anyone needing clothing. Mattie got her dress
…
” Clifford couldn’t continue. After he had composed himself, he went on. “They closed down when the funding ran out. The government said churches and charities would take up the slack and help the poor. Like that happened, eh?

“The foundation couldn’t pay the rent and never reopened. That was over two years ago. They’re out of business now, bankrupt. There must be hundreds of similar stories. All the stuff had to be abandoned. People are afraid to come here, even looters
—
except for them,” he said, referring to a rat that suddenly scurried past them, running from one hiding place to another.

“Now with the riots
—
” Clifford paused. “That size might work,” he said.

Matt had cut through the string and opened the paper to find underwear, jeans, and a shirt. He looked at the size and shrugged. He stripped down, pulled on the new underwear and jeans. They were inches too big around the waist, and the legs were longer than he needed.

“This might help.” Clifford picked up the cord that had been used to wrap the parcel and handed it to Matt.

“Doubled up, you can thread it through the belt loops. Pull tight and tie it off. People used to call that a hobo’s belt.”

It wasn’t going to start a new fashion trend, but it did hold the pants up. Matt rolled the leg bottoms up enough to avoid tripping. The shirt was too large, but at least the tail concealed the rope belt. He put his socks and shoes back on and turned in a circle to model his new wardrobe.

“At least you don’t stink as much,” Clifford said, having a good laugh at Matt’s expense. “All you have to do is look like someone going to work. Between the economy and the riots, there are lots of people dressed like us.”

Clifford walked over to the corner. “You might use this, too,” he said and picked up a black workman’s cap. It has the right look, and it might help to conceal your face, a little.”

There was an opening where the flooring had rotted away. Clifford pulled the boards apart just enough to throw in the old clothes and watched them tumble toward the basement. “A lot of people aren’t bathing and don’t smell too good these days. It won’t be noticeable until we get to the part of town that’s still undamaged. It’s time to go. Just do what I do.” He seemed to consider something. “Besides, what choice do you have?”

Matt conceded the point, fully intending to do whatever Clifford did. He was going to follow every move as if they were joined at the hip.