Dirt

Allan Peebles had worked a long day. It was only midafternoon in L.A., but it seemed later to him. He was tired, and his editorial meeting was nearly over. He had only a story or two to clear, and he could close the paper for the week and go home. Then, through the glass wall of the boardroom, he saw a strange sight. A man named Harold Purvis, who was head of security for the Infiltrator’s building, was striding through the newsroom, followed by two uniformed security guards. Purvis walked up to the boardroom door, rapped sharply, and opened the door.

“Mr. Peebles, I must see you immediately,” he said. “Just as soon as you close the paper. It’s very urgent.”

“I’ll be with you in just a couple of minutes, Harold,” Peebles said, wondering if another lunatic had gotten into the building. He ran through the remaining stories, gave his approval, and wound up the meeting, then he walked down the corridor to his corner office. Harold Purvis and his two men were in the room, as was his secretary. “What’s up, Harold? More crazies with alien abduction stories?” This was a regular feature of life at the Infiltrator.

Purvis walked behind him, closed the door, and took an envelope from his inside pocket. “I have been instructed to read you a letter,” he said, “which will explain everything.”

“All right,” Peebles replied, wondering what the hell was going on.

Purvis held up the letter and read aloud. “‘Dear Mr. Peebles,’” he began. “‘You are herewith and with immediate effect dismissed from your position as editor and publisher of the Infiltrator.’”

Peebles blinked. He had not seen this coming.

“‘You are to vacate your office and depart the premises at once. Your secretary will send along any personal effects in your office.’”

Amanda Dart, he thought. She has betrayed me. I told her everything to save myself, but she has betrayed me.

“‘Your pension plan, medical insurance, and profit-sharing are cancelled with immediate effect; your stock options are withdrawn; your signature is no longer valid on any Infiltrator bank account; all Infiltrator employees will immediately be informed that your instructions are no longer to be followed. Two weeks’ severance pay will be wire-transferred to your personal bank account after, and only after, possession of all Infiltrator property has been surrendered.’” Purvis handed him the letter. “It’s signed by the chairman of the board,” he said.

“I don’t believe it,” Peebles mumbled, starting to read the letter.

“Give me your keys to the building and your office. your medical insurance card, and your credit cards,” Purvis said.

“How dare you speak to me that way!” Peebles sputtered. “I am your superior…” He faltered.

“Not any more,” Purvis said. He turned to the two security guards. “Gentlemen, clean out his pockets.”

One of the guards grabbed Peebles and pinned his arms behind his back while the other went through his pockets and emptied the contents onto the desktop. Purvis stepped forward, removed the cards from Peebles’s wallet, and looked through the other items. He detached two keys from a ring, then stepped back. “The rest of this junk is yours; put it back in your pockets.”

Peebles obeyed. “There has been some mistake here, and I will remember your conduct,” he said to Purvis through clenched teeth.

“Get his coat,” Purvis said to the secretary. The woman obeyed, and Purvis handed the coat to Peebles. Peebles put it on. “Tell his deputy that he is in charge until further notice,” Purvis said to the secretary, then he turned back to the two guards. “Escort Mr. Peebles from the building.”

The two guards frog-marched Peebles through the newsroom, down two flights of stairs, and out of the building. A moment later, he found himself standing alone in the parking lot.

Still unable to believe what had just happened and trying to preserve some semblance of dignity, Peebles got into his Bentley and drove home to Beverly Hills. As he pulled into his driveway and got out of his car, a man suddenly appeared, along with another uniformed security guard.

“I’m from the Infiltrator’s leasing company,” he said, snatching Peebles’s keys from his hand. “The lease on the Bentley has been cancelled.” The man detached the car key and returned the ring, which now held only a house key, to its owner. As Peebles watched, aghast, the man drove away in the Bentley.

Peebles turned to the security guard. “What do you want?” he said.

“I’m to escort you from the company’s house when you have retrieved your belongings,” he said.

Cursing under his breath, Peebles opened the front door of the house and walked in. The place was empty. All furnishings, draperies, and pictures had been removed. He walked down the hallway to his bedroom, his heels echoing on the bare tile floors. In the middle of the otherwise empty bedroom sat half a dozen suitcases, packed.

“I’ll give you a hand,” the guard said.

Shortly, Peebles was standing on the sidewalk, his luggage stacked beside him.

“Your house key,” the guard said.

Peebles handed it to him.

“I’ve been told to give you a message from your father-in-law: If you ever return to Britain he will make it his business to see that you regret it for the rest of your life.” He got into a car parked at the curb. “Do you want me to radio my office to call you a cab?” he asked.

“Thank you, yes,” Peebles said.

“Consider it done,” the guard said, and drove away.

Peebles stood on the sidewalk and tried to organize his thoughts, but it wasn’t working.

Finally the cab came, and the driver loaded his luggage.

He didn’t bother holding the door for Peebles, who let himself into the cab. “Where to, Mister?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Peebles said, staring out the window into the middle distance.

Chapter 58

The tape was suddenly ripped from Arrington’s mouth. “Ow, you son of a bitch!” she screamed. A blow caught the side of her head and knocked her off the sofa. Her eyes were still taped, and she couldn’t see it coming.

“Shut up until you’re spoken to,” Tommy Bruce said. “Does Barrington know where you are?”

“Yes,” she said. “He’ll be here any minute.” She took another blow, to the other side of her head.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said.

“What do you think, Tommy?” Charlie asked. “Are we going to have a visit from Barrington?”

“Nah,” Tommy said. “She just stopped by here for a minute to pick up something; she’s been living at his place. Isn’t that right, Arrington?”

Arrington said nothing. She hunched up her shoulders, hoping to avoid another blow.

“What are you doing now, Charlie?” Tommy asked. “I thought you wanted to fuck her.”

“I’m just addressing Federal Express packets to the New York Times and the IRS,” Charlie replied. “As soon as we confirm the money’s in the bank, I’m going to ship them. I’m sending one to the cops, too, just for the hell of it.”

Tommy laughed. “Why not? It’ll give us something to read about in the papers for months to come. I wish I could see Hickock’s face the first time the IRS calls.”

“There,” Charlie said, “all done. Now, let’s have a look at Miss Arrington.”

Arrington heard him coming toward her and she flinched in anticipation of another blow, but instead something clicked loudly, he grabbed her clothing, and she felt her blouse and bra being cut away.

“Not bad,” Charlie said, pushing her prone on the couch. “Now let’s see the rest.”

Arrington aimed a kick at his voice, but Tommy grabbed her ankles and held them while Charlie went to work on her skirt with his knife.

A car pulled up around the corner from Arrington’s apartment building and two young men got out. They were