James Swain - The Program

“But I will be run over,” Mr. Clean shouted back.

“Do it!” Vick said.

“No!”

“I’m ordering you.”

“I am hurt. I can’t jump,” he shouted back.

The eighteen-wheeler had shifted into drive, and was moving forward with the flow of traffic. Mr. Clean was getting a free ride to Miami, where he’d slip into the vast Cuban community, and resume his killing ways.

“I’m ordering you to jump down!” Vick repeated.

Mr. Clean mocked her with his eyes.

“I won’t tell you again,” she said.

“Goodbye, little girl,” he called back.

She emptied the.45 into her suspect. Mr. Clean dropped to his knees, then fell onto his back, his hands clutching at the bullet holes in his chest. He seemed surprised but not shocked, as if he’d known this was his fate. He died staring at the sky.

She watched the eighteen-wheeler rumble away. The driver was going to be in for a real surprise when he reached his destination.

Linderman appeared, covered in black soot. Her boss looked like he’d been to hell and back.

“Nice shooting,” he said.

Wayne saw the Audi pull into the parking area in a cloud of dust, and park beside a pick-up truck loaded with hay. Behind the wheel sat Rachel Vick. Vick appraised herself in the mirror before getting out.

Wayne brushed the mare tied in the cross-ties. The stable had eight horses, and this mare was his favorite. She was a quarter horse, which was the fastest horse in the world over a short distance. He’d gotten on her several times and gone galloping across the pasture. It had been like riding a rocket.

Vick came up the path. She still hadn’t spotted him. Or maybe she had, and assumed he was a hired hand. Wayne wore blue jeans and a stiff denim shirt, and could have easily been an employee.

Vick had been on his mind a lot. They’re never really had a chance to talk. He’d considered calling the FBI’s office in North Miami and asking for her, just to see how she was doing. Seeing her now constricted his heart with a strange, purposeless urgency he didn’t quite understand.

“Hey,” he called out.

Vick stopped with a start, and brought her hand up to her heart.

“I didn’t recognize you,” she said.

He started to brush the horse’s tail. “I’ve got a new career.”

“She’s a beauty.”

“You like horses?”

Wayne already knew the answer to his own question. All women liked horses.

“I’ve only ridden once,” she admitted.

“Bet you got thrown.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Most people who’ve only ridden once get thrown and never get back on. I learned that from my riding instructor.”

“You’re taking lessons. That’s great.”

“It’s part of the deal. I work with the horses and also get to ride them. It’s called equine therapy. My doctor says that if I can relate to horses, I won’t go shoot up my highschool after they let me out.”

“Your doctor didn’t say that,” Vick said, growing serious.

“No, but that’s what he’s thinking.”

“That’s not funny, Wayne.”

“Crap. I pulled out a hair.” He pulled a long hair from his brush, and displayed it to Vick. “I’m not supposed to pull out any hairs when I brush their tails. It takes a horse several years to grow their tails. About an inch a month.”

“The same as a human,” Vick said. “Is there someplace we can speak in private?”

“We can use the office. It’s air-conditioned.”

Wayne led the mare into its stall where a flake of hay was waiting in the corner, then closed the sliding door and latched it. “She’s a smart one,” he said. “If I don’t latch the door, she’ll let herself out.”

“Do you like the horses?” Vick asked.

“Yeah. They’re cool.”

The office was a small room across with framed photos of horses and ribbons from shows adorning the walls, the cold air a welcome relief. Wayne sat in a chair while Vick leaned against the desk. From her purse, she removed a handful of papers.

“Do you know what these are?” she asked.

Wayne flipped through the papers. It was a copy of the statement that he’d given to the detective who’d interviewed him.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“Why did you lie?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You left out the fact that you and I had sex. Why did you do that?”

“Why should I tell the police about that?”

“It’s the truth Wayne, it’s part of what happened. By leaving it out, you’re contradicting what I told them.”

“You told them we had sex?”

“Yes.”

“You should have lied. It’s nobody’s business but ours.”

“Are you trying to protect me?”

“Yes. Didn’t that guy hurt you enough?”

Vick took the confession back and tossed it on the desk. She looked disgusted with him. Like she’d expected more out of Wayne, and he’d come up short.

“There’s something else that I told them,” Vick said.

“What’s that?”

“That I’m ninety-nine percent certain that your brother Adam stabbed your mother’s boyfriend to death.”

The teenager abruptly stood up, the chair making a harsh scraping sound. Vick stiffened and pointed at his chair.

“Sit down, Wayne. Right now.”

He came forward instead. His hands shot out, and grabbed her arms.

“Why did you tell the police that?” he asked angrily.

“Sit down, Wayne.”

“You had no right doing that.”

“Sit…”

“It will kill her if that comes out.”

“What are you talking about. Kill who?”

“My mother. Adam was her favorite. Did you see how she drinks? She started doing that after my father died. What do you think will happen if the police tell her that Adam was a murderer? It will throw her over the edge. You had no right to do that.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

Wayne lowered his arms. He returned to the chair and dropped his head, his eyes glued to the floor. “How did you find out?” he asked.

“I never believed you were a killer,” she said. “I don’t think you have a mean bone in your body. That meant someone else killed your mother’s boyfriend. Since it was Adam’s bayonet, I started with him. I contacted the national Armed Services web site, and requested Adam’s army record. Sure enough, your older brother got a ten-day leave the Christmas your mother’s boyfriend was murdered.”

Neither of them spoke, the window unit humming noisily.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Wayne finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “I picked Adam up at the airport. He’d been drinking on the plane, and was messed up. We came home and mom was passed out on the couch with a black eye. Adam got his bayonet and made me tell him where the boyfriend lived. It was only a few blocks away, so he ran over and killed him. I tried to stop him.”

“So your mother never knew.”

“Shit, no. No one knew Adam was home, so we kept it that way.”

“Taking the blame ruined your life.”

“I didn’t want Adam to go to prison.”

Another silence. Vick picked up the confession from the desk. “You’re going to have to tell the police we had sex, and you’re going to have to tell them about Adam,” she said. “We can figure out a way to break the news to your mother so it won’t destroy her.”

“What do you mean, we?”

“The police and the FBI. They have psychologists who know how to handle situations like this.”

“What good will any of that do?”

Vick crossed the office and put her hand on his shoulder. “It will do two things. It will set the record straight, and it will clear your name. In the end, it will be the best thing for everyone involved. You have to trust me on this.”