James Swain - The Program

* The killing must be violent in nature.

* A knife or bat or even the hands can be used.

* No guns!

* There must be direct physical contact between the boy and victim.

* The boy must help in disposing of the body.

Good luck!

He flipped the last page over. There was writing on the back. A hand drawn calendar, with notations for Step 1 through Step 7 penciled in for different days.

He stared at the date for Step 7.

It was today.

Linderman closed the folder. He told himself to start looking around the house for clues. There had to be a thread here that would tell him where Mr. Clean had gone. A slip of paper in a trash can, or a saved message on the answering machine.

He shook his head. Deep down, he knew it was too late. Mr. Clean was two steps ahead of them. The generator in the garage had shown him that. Vick was a goner.

Linderman felt his shoulders sag as the blackness settled in, its vastness ready to swallow him whole. The day he’d lost Danni had felt like this; the heart-wrenching ache of knowing that no matter what he did, it was probably not going to be enough.

“Linderman.”

Moody entered the dining area, cell phone in hand.

“What’s up?” the FBI agent asked.

“We just got a 911 call from the manager of a McDonald’s in Lauderdale Lakes,” the sheriff replied. “A car came through the drive-through and a teenager threw a bag of garbage out his window. One of the employees picked it up, and found a note. It was written by Wayne Ladd.”

“What?” Linderman said.

“He gave us an address, and asked us to hurry.”

“Why do you want to dump the body there?” Renaldo asked.

“It’s near my highschool,” Wayne replied.

They sat behind the abandoned shopping center. Dusk had turned to darkness, the hot night air murderously still. Renaldo had lit up another bowl of dope. He took the last hit and banged the pipe out in the ashtray.

“Would you like your friends to see the body?” Renaldo asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It would fuck with their heads, you know? Do you see the movie River’s Edge, where a highschool kid offs his girlfriend and shows off her body to his friends for a few days? That actually happened someplace in New York.”

“Would you like to fuck with your friends’ heads?”

Wayne smiled loosely, his eyelids heavy. He looked ready to fall asleep. “You bet. They’re all assholes. They have cars and nice clothes and are always complaining. It would break them out of their comfort zones, you know?”

Renaldo laughed silently. Wayne wasn’t content to just kill the girl in the trunk; he also wanted to hurt his friends. These were all good signs.

“Where is your highschool?” Renaldo asked.

“In Lauderhill Lakes. Get on 41 and head north.”

Soon they were on the road. Vick had regained consciousness and banged around the trunk. As he drove, Renaldo watched Wayne out of the corner of his eye. The boy was cool with it.

“Tell me more about this movie,” Renaldo said.

“What do you want to know?”

“Did the boy who killed his girlfriend keep her in his bedroom?”

“No. He dumped her body down by the river. That’s why it’s called River’s Edge. His friends took field trips to see her. They acted like they were visiting a haunted house.”

“Like it was a game.”

“Yeah. After I saw the movie, I found a story on the Internet about what really happened. It said half the kids in the highschool knew about the girl’s body, but didn’t tell anybody. The principal who ran the highschool freaked out. He brought in a team of psychiatrists to figure out why nobody reported it.”

“Do you think your friends will report the body when they find it?”

“I think they’ll shit in their pants.” Wayne laughed.

Renaldo laughed as well. He could not remember how long it had been since he’d done that.

They came to Wayne’s highschool, which was named after a dead president. It was surrounded by a fence and flooded with low-wattage halogen lights. Wayne pointed at a grassy field next to the property which abutted the football stadium.

“That’s the spot,” Wayne said. “No one hangs around there at night.”

Renaldo spun the wheel and drove down the two-lane road next to the school. He came to the field and pulled his car up into the grass. A chorus of crickets competed with the hiss of traffic from the nearby highway. A good spot, Renaldo thought. He removed the Taurus from under the seat and got out. Slipping the gun behind his belt, he walked around to the back of the vehicle and found Wayne waiting for him.

“Ready?” Renaldo asked.

“No time like the present,” Wayne said.

Renaldo threw him the keys. “Unlock the trunk.”

Renaldo stepped back and drew his gun. He aimed at the trunk using both hands. Wayne unlocked the trunk and opened it. Vick had rolled onto her side, and was writhing frantically from side to side. Her body grew still, and she shut her eyes.

“Take her out,” Renaldo said.

“You’re not going to help?”

“Do as I tell you.”

Wayne dragged Vick out of the trunk, and made her stand against the car. Renaldo sensed an electricity between them as Wayne touched her.

“Do you want to fuck her again? You can if you want.”

“Not here,” Wayne said.

Renaldo pulled away the carpet covering the spare tire cavity. Lying inside the cavity was a knife, a long piece of chain, and a tire iron.

“Pick your weapon,” Renaldo said.

Wayne stared into the trunk. “You’re not going to let me shoot her?”

“No.”

“In the movie he shot her.”

“This is not a movie. Pick one.”

“Okay. I’ll use the tire iron.”

Renaldo removed the tire iron and slammed the trunk. Wayne pushed Vick ahead of him without having to be told. Renaldo liked his enthusiasm. The teenager stopped at a spot near the fence which had a large slit.

“One of my friends cut through the fence so we can slip through during the day,” he explained. He pushed Vick to the ground and held out his hand.

“Give it to me,” the teenager said.

Renaldo slapped the tire iron onto Wayne’s palm. He realized that he was trembling in anticipation. He hadn’t been this nervous since he’d killed his own sister.

Wayne tossed the tire iron from hand to hand. The teen said something under his breath that sounded like a prayer. God doesn’t listen to our prayers, Renaldo nearly told him. We are his bastard children.

“Why can’t I use a gun?” Wayne asked.

“No gun. Hit her in the head. Do it now.”

“Whatever you say.”

Wayne raised the tire iron over his head. He started to bring it down, then froze, his eyes darting through the fence at the adjacent football field.

Renaldo followed his gaze. A group of heavily armed men were on the fifty yard line, sprinting toward them. Above them hovered a helicopter, its bright spotlight sweeping the ground. Police. Renaldo instinctively aimed the Taurus at them.

Something hard hit his hands, breaking several of his fingers. He dropped his gun to the ground and cupped his hands together, the pain shooting up his arms. Wayne stood in front of him, wielding the tire iron for another strike.

“Why did you do that?” Renaldo said.

“I’m not who you think I am.” Wayne raised his voice. “Over here!”

“You little bastard. I will kill you.”

Renaldo rushed Wayne, and sent him tumbling to the ground. Retreating to his car, he managed to open the driver’s door with his broken fingers, and start the engine. His headlights automatically came on. Policemen poured through the fence, their weapons aimed at him. He saw Wayne lying on top of Vick, hugging her.