The Carma Klown 17

Chapter 17

© by the author 2013

Sunday, ca. 7:00 a.m., June 13, 2010

The man finished reading all the new reports in The Carma Klown case file. Saturday had been a busy day for Altmann and his officers. Somehow they had persuaded a clerk in the property records office to come in on her day off and identify the owners of the building across the street from Syswide and then found someone in the property management company responsible for the building to talk to them about Syswide’s leasing of the building and its renovation plans. Armed with the image from the seventh tape, they had found a judge willing to sign the search warrant. Once Jim Mitchell, the detective whose calculations had facilitated Michael Chang’s reconstruction of the image from the various reflections in that tape, had access to the building plans, he had been able to determine that the video had been made on the third floor. The police search would focus on that floor first.

It was all working out so smoothly. He could sense the cops’ excitement from their reports. They had the break in the case they had been hoping for. None of them was stopping to ask if the break might be a little too convenient or to wonder if the clues weren’t suddenly a little too forthcoming. It was unlikely that any of them would question the clues he had left at the scene. No one was going to look those gift horses in the mouth. No one was going to stop and think that the room he had prepared wasn’t soundproof and that there weren’t enough electrical plugs to account for what would have taken place in the room. He had played fair. If the cops analyzed the room carefully, they would find evidence that it couldn’t be the right location. If they didn’t want to find it, if they were so ready to congratulate themselves that they could taste the arrest, well, that wouldn’t be his fault. He was giving them every chance.

It was all going so well. Just as he had planned. The man who would shortly become the major actor in this little drama was programmed and ready. It was a pity that “The Carma Klown” would spend the next few decades in jail. The man would have to find a new way to use his talents and occupy his time. But The Carma Klown had had a good run. The Klown was already a folk hero. The videos would remain available. No one would be able to stop their spread. They would have an impact and influence others who would take up his work and continue it. Perhaps not with his finesse and skills, but the guerrilla warfare against corporate criminals would go on. He would have that to look back on as his accomplishment.

He already had some ideas about his next venture. All the comments the videos had received had made it clear to him that there was a market for a certain type of product. What was the old business adage—find a niche and fill it?

Meanwhile, he had a few bits of work to do today with his proxies. He needed a strong cup of tea—Keemun would be best, he thought.

*****

Sunday, ca. 8:30 a.m., June 13, 2010

“Jeff, come in. I hope you were able to find parking close by. It’s so hard to find an open space some Sunday mornings. Everybody’s at home.” Geo Arlecchini held the door to his apartment open and greeted Jeff with enthusiasm.

“Oh, I walked over. It’s such a great day, and I was cooped up inside all day yesterday at work. I just happened to go past a bakery, and it smelled so good that I stopped and bought some muffins. I thought they would go with that great coffee of yours.”

Jeff handed the bag to Geo Arlecchini, who opened it and peered in. He inhaled deeply. “Hmmm. They smell great. Your buns are tempting. I knew that I liked you the moment I met you.”

It took Jeff a few seconds to identify the look Arlecchini gave him as a leer. It was so unexpected that he was at a loss for words for a few seconds. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. Thanks.”

Something in Jeff’s manner made Arlecchini took a second, closer look at him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You look—I don’t know—like something’s worrying you. Sit down, and we can talk about it. I’ll get that coffee for you.”

The comment struck Jeff as a bit personal. He had met Arlecchini only once before and that had been business. The blogger had texted Jeff an hour earlier and invited him over to check the edited transcript of the interview before it was posted. Jeff had almost written back telling Arlecchini to email the text so that he could look it over at home. But then he thought that Michael would be gone all day and he might as well get out and see someone else. It beat cleaning up their apartment or doing the laundry or watching TV or preparing a meal that Michael might be too busy to eat. He didn’t, however, quite know how to respond to Arlecchini’s concern. He wasn’t averse to being Geo’s friend, but it was too early to begin abandoning boundaries.

Arlecchini busied himself with making the coffee. In a couple of minutes he set a cup for Jeff on the table along with a plate on which he had arranged the muffins. “I’ll be right back. I’ll just pull a cup for myself. Go ahead. Drink up. Don’t wait for me.”

Jeff took a cautious sip of the coffee. It was still too hot to drink. He blew on the surface of the coffee and then took another sip. It was wonderful the way the body reacts to good coffee, he thought. It’s so relaxing and satisfying at the same time. He leaned back and let his mind drift. For a few minutes, he just wanted to forget about the past week and all the problems with Michael and The Carma Klown video.

“Can I get you another cup?”

Jeff opened his eyes. He wondered if he had fallen asleep. Geo or someone had been talking to him. Maybe I just dreamed it, he thought.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I was tireder that I thought. I must have drifted off.”

“No problem. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

It was so easy to answer Geo’s question. The words just flowed out. Jeff told Geo about the fights with Michael and his feelings that their relationship was becoming stale and routine. He revealed his part in the latest Carma Klown video and how filthy that made him feel. Geo was so understanding. And the other man was too.

“But that wasn’t your fault. You had no choice. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

The other man had such a soothing voice. So easy to listen to. He was so reassuring. And suddenly Jeff didn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed or worried about the video. When the man suggested that all three of them watch it together, he agreed.

“This Parish Haydn is an evil man. He got less than he deserved.”

It seemed so correct the way that the man put it. It made everything clear. “Yes. He deserved more.” Jeff was so agreeable.

“And you should be proud that you were part of The Carma Klown’s punishment, you and Michael.”

“I am.” Suddenly Jeff felt very proud to have helped The Carma Klown. He had been chosen. The Carma Klown could have enlisted the aid of hundreds—thousands—of men, and he had chosen Jeff. “I’m so lucky. We’re so lucky. But we can’t tell anyone. It would cost Michael his job.”

“No, people would not understand. Maybe even Michael would not understand. You must keep this a secret.”

“Yes, a secret.” Geo’s friend was so right. He was so lucky to have such understanding friends.

*****

Sunday, ca. 9:00 a.m., June 13, 2010

The man from the management company met them at the door, checked the search warrant, and unlocked the chain. The armed units went in first to verify that the building was empty. When the third floor was declared clear, the evidence team went in. Using the building plans and Jim Mitchell’s best guess as to the location where the video had been made, they had identified the most likely room on the third floor beforehand. According to the plans the room was about ten by fifteen and had a large window overlooking the street.

The techs dusted the doorknob and the surrounding area for prints before opening the door. There were several partials on the handle and a set of four clear full prints on the outside of the door and a matching thumb print on the inside of the door. It appeared that someone had recently opened the door by placing his hand along the frame with his fingers on the outside of the door and his thumb on the inside. If the prints belonged to The Carma Klown, he had left evidence of his presence. The techs scanned the best images with their phones and transmitted them to the lab for processing through the fingerprint databases.

“Someone likes black.” The leader of the group of technicians stood in the doorway and swept his flashlight over the room. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the room were painted black. The panes of the one window in the room had also been covered thickly with black paint. The only daylight came from a small hole in one pane. A triangular piece in one corner was missing. The head technician used a pen to flip the light switch on. The tech with the still camera stood in the doorway and took pictures of every part of the room. She then used a video camera to make another record. When she finished, the other tech cautiously entered the room.

The principal investigators held back while the techs did their job. Baker, Redding, and Michael each took a turn standing in the doorway and looking around the room. As Michael peered in, a technician was dusting the light switch and the plate and wall near it for prints. It suddenly struck Michael that if this was indeed the room The Carma Klown had used to make the videos, then his prints or other trace evidence that pointed to his presence might be in the room as well. His prints were on file. If one of his prints showed up in the room, there would be questions. I should not have listened to Jeff, he thought. I should have gone straight to the Captain and told him.  It was too late now. He would just have to bluff his way around it if the evidence tied him to the room. He would claim that he had no memory of being in the video and that he hadn’t recognized his cock. And he had no idea whose butt that was. That should work. No one else remembered being in the videos. Why would they doubt him when he said the same? But what about Jeff? Were his prints on file?

“Hey, look at this.” One of the techs was pointing to hole in the window. “It looks like this part fell out after the window was painted. There are paint spatters on the frame. Whoever painted this room didn’t want to be seen. He would have noticed the missing piece and covered it over. This must be how the reflection got in.”

One corner of the room held floodlights on stands and a metal trunk. The techs dusted the lights and the outside of the trunk for prints. They found several. A cursory examination showed that several of them matched the prints discovered earlier on the door. Other trace evidence—a few hairs, some fiber samples—would be recovered later when the dust gathered by the vacuum cleaner was sifted.

When the techs were sure that they had uncovered all the evidence that would be found on the surfaces of the room, they invited the principal investigators to join them as the trunk was opened.

“We got him!” exclaimed Jerry Baker as soon as he saw the contents of the trunk.

The techs photographed each item before removing it and placing it in a plastic evidence bag.  The first items to be removed were the dildos used in the Parish Haydn video. The dildo that Haydn had screwed into himself in the video was wrapped in an old towel. It was still sticky with lube and other substances no one wanted to think about. A kit containing vials of a clear liquid and several hypodermic needles was met with knowing nods—the drugs had been found. Subsequent analysis would reveal that the liquid in the vials was Rohypnol. The trunk also yielded up several bottles of anal lube. Near the bottom the techs found the two butt plugs used on Milowski and Reilly.

When all the evidence had been processed, the police had forty-seven clear prints. Three of those belonged to Parish Haydn IV. Six were never identified and were assumed to have been left by the actors whose butts were featured in the videos. The other thirty-eight were all from one man. They were found not only on the door and walls of the room but on several of the items in the trunk—the vials of Rohypnol, several of the dildos, the butt plugs.

*****

Sunday, ca. 2:30 p.m., June 13, 2010

The end was anticlimactic. Matches for the fingerprints were found not in the database for criminals but in that for municipal workers. That collection also included prints for outside contractors who did work for the city.

Altmann called the lead investigators to his office when he received the news. “The prints belong to a man named Brady Wilson.”

Michael sat up. “I know him. He’s the owner of Syswide. Ellen and I were talking to him on Friday.”  That must have been how he selected me, thought Michael. He must have somehow dosed me and Jeff with Rohypnol on Friday night. But how? And when? We were home on Friday night. Michael suddenly realized that the other three men were looking at him. For a second he wondered if he had spoken aloud. “Jeez, we were sitting right in his office, and I never suspected. That explains how he was able to use all those computers. His company services them. He was probably even involved in the installation of the police alert system. He must have been planning this for years.”

*****

Sunday afternoon, June 13, 2010

Altmann appointed Baker and Michael heads of the team sent to arrest Brady Wilson at his home. The owner of Syswide surrendered without a struggle. While Baker took him back to One Police Plaza for questioning, Michael supervised the search of his home. He found the originals of the tapes. Baker’s computers held many files documenting his activities as The Carma Klown.

Wilson chose not to exercise his right to a lawyer. He admitted that he was The Carma Klown and that he had drugged and kidnapped all the men who appeared in the videos. He was defiant and insisted that he had been just and right. “They deserved to be punished. Everyone knows that they are guilty. But no one was doing anything. They were getting away with it. You forced me to act. Somebody had to do something. So I did what had to be done.” He refused to say more. Indeed he never again said anything about his activities as The Carma Klown.

*****

Sunday, ca. 6:00 p.m., June 13, 2010

“Look, there’s Michael. You are very proud of him.”

“I am very proud of him.” Jeff stared at the TV screen. Michael appeared briefly on the front steps of an old house in the Windsor Terrace area of Brooklyn. He handed a sealed cardboard evidence box to one of the uniformed patrolmen standing outside the door, who carried the box to a large black van parked in the driveway of the house. The area around the house was cordoned off with yellow police tape. A group of uniformed cops stood in front of it, denying entry to the horde of reporters and refusing to answer their shouted questions. The house belonged to Brady Wilson, who had been “allegedly” identified as The Carma Klown and arrested several hours earlier.

The “continuous live coverage” at Wilson’s home had begun within an hour of his arrest. The police chief himself, surrounding by his posse of deputy chiefs but none of the investigators on the case, had called a news conference to announce Wilson’s arrest and his admission of guilt. The cops standing on the perimeter of the property refused to speak to the reporters, who were reduced to interviewing Wilson’s neighbors. Their responses varied from surprise (“He is such a quiet man, and friendly, always ready to help out. I would never have suspected he would do something like this.”) to claims of prior suspicions (“I always thought there was something off about him.” and “He was always coming and going late at night.”)

“You will reward Michael when he returns home tonight.”

“I will reward Michael when he returns home tonight.”

“You know what you have to do.”

“I know what I have to do.”

The man reiterated the commands. When he was satisfied that Jeff would carry out his programming, he sent Jeff home.

*****

Sunday evening, June 13, 2010

Michael’s search team quickly found the originals of The Carma Klown tapes, the camera, and the tattooing machine. The voice-alteration software was found on one of his computers. Michael was later able to trace Wilson’s use of the backdoors he had installed in the municipal computers used to upload the videos. Even if Wilson hadn’t confessed, there was more than enough evidence to convict him.

*****

Tuesday morning, June 15, 2010

“I’m going to have to interrupt you, Angela. We’ve just got word that Brady Wilson, the man accused of being The Carma Klown, is arriving at the Criminal Court in Brooklyn for his arraignment hearing later this morning. WHM reporter Bob Starling is on the scene. Bob, can you hear us? What can you tell us?”

“Jim, Angela,  . . . , the scene is tumultuous. The Carma Klown’s supporters have turned out in full force. The police are keeping them back from the driveway they will use for the perp walk, but the crowd is pressing in on all sides. As you can see, Schermerhorn Street outside the municipal courthouse here in Brooklyn is packed.”

The TV camera panned slowly over the scene and lingered on one of the many hand-lettered signs held aloft. “Free The Carma Klown” was the most common sentiment. Hundreds of people were wearing T-shirts with The Carma Klown image. Policeman pushed back the crowd so that a van with the logo of the municipal prison department could make its way through. Shouts of support for The Carma Klown mingled with denunciations of the police and “corporate criminals.”

The van moved slowly through the crowd and halted before a door at the side of the building. A line of chained prisoners wearing orange boiler suits emerged. Each man was briefly visible as the cops hustled him inside the door. It wasn’t clear to the crowd of onlookers which of them was The Carma Klown, but they cheered each middle-aged white male.

The man turned the sound off. The breathless excitement of Bob Starling and the noise of the crowd grated on his nerves. He identified Brady Wilson, but then he had an advantage over the others watching. He had spent several hours with Wilson programming him. He didn’t need to be told by the TV or newspaper reporters that Wilson had refused legal counsel. Nor would he need them to tell him in an hour or so that Wilson had pled guilty to all charges and had been sent back to jail pending sentencing. That was how he had programmed Wilson. Wilson’s guilty plea would close the case. The cops would stop looking at the evidence, and it would be boxed away. Michael Chang or some other curious cop might look into some of the questions that remained unanswered, but soon other cases would claim their attention, and the niggling questions would fade from their minds.

And it would never occur to them that he had selected Wilson as payback for the three years he had labored as an underpaid worker at Syswide, the years he had rushed around New York City cleaning up other people’s mistakes and the constant messages from Wilson to hurry up and get on to the next job.

The man didn’t know if the judge at the arraignment would set a date for sentencing or whether that would come later. It wouldn’t matter. Professor Stephens would see a televised report on The Carma Klown later that day. It would trigger a subroutine in his programming. He would contact a man in Washington, DC, and direct his attention to the similarities in the behavior of The Carma Klown’s victims and those of his test subjects many years before. Stephens was, of course, not aware that his test subjects hadn’t been the last people to be dosed with the SECA drugs. But the man in Washington would know and would become alarmed about possible leaks. And he would set an investigation in motion that would quickly lead to federal intervention in the case. Brady Wilson would disappear into the maw of “national security” and all the evidence the local police had found, all of Brady’s personal computers, all of Syswide’s records, would be confiscated. Because the feds would know what to look for, it wouldn’t take them long to discover that Wilson knew of Stephens’s drug cocktail and had used it. Wilson would prove to be cooperative. His confession would end the feds’ curiosity, just as it was now ending that of the local police. Wilson the man would be swallowed up and never seen again, but the legend of The Carma Klown would live on.

*****

Monday, ca. 2:30 a.m., June 14, 2010

“Hey, you’re home.” Jeff sleepily turned on the lamp beside the bed. “What time is it?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I was trying to be quiet.”

Jeff squinted at his alarm clock. “It’s after two. Have you been working all this time?”

“Yeah, after we finished at Wilson’s house—Wilson’s the owner of Syswide. He’s already confessed to being The Carma Klown. Anyway when I got back to Midtown, I thought I would just take a few minutes to look over what we had found. I lost track of the time, and the next thing I knew, it was after midnight. The duty sergeant sent me home. He said that the evidence would still be there tomorrow, and I would see it better if I had a good night’s sleep.”

“You were all over the news. They even mentioned your name. Detective Michael Chang this and Detective Michael Chang that.”

“Yeah, I know. My parents called to tell me. They even videotaped it. They’ve probably already enlisted Mikey to help them post it on Youtube or something. I had to turn my phone off, I was getting so many calls from reporters.”

“Get undressed and come to bed.”

“I’ll just keep you awake. I’m too excited to sleep.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?” Jeff stood up and embraced Michael. He unbuttoned Michael’s shirt and began playing with his nipples, stroking them and pulling on them lightly. He rubbed his thumbs over Michael’s pecs, massaging the first drug into Michael’s skin. Absorption through the skin and into the bloodstream and thence into the brain took a few minutes. Jeff kept Michael distracted with his hands and mouth. He wasn’t consciously aware of doing so, but his brain tracked Michael’s calming. Michael’s body grew relaxed and malleable. His will shut down. When Jeff told him to open his mouth, Michael did. Jeff removed a small plastic vial from the nightstand, unscrewed the cap, and poured the contents into Michael’s mouth. “Swallow.” Michael swallowed. “Lie down.” Michael lay down.

Jeff activated his phone and sent a text message. The man was waiting in his van in front of the building. He had seen Michael return a quarter of an hour before and was anticipating Jeff’s call. In a few minutes, he was inside Michael and Jeff’s bedroom. He sent Jeff to sleep. He had decided to postpone Michael’s full programming until later in the week. Tonight, he wanted only to instill one conviction in Michael’s mind.

“Michael, listen to me.”

The body on the bed stirred and Michael’s eyes opened. He focused on the man.

For the next half hour, the man reiterated the same message. “Brady Wilson is The Carma Klown. Every piece of evidence you uncover points to his guilt.” When the man knew that Michael was programmed, he erased Michael’s memory of his presence.

*****

Saturday, ca. 1:00 a.m., June 19, 2010

“Just relax. Don’t struggle. You feel great.”

As soon as the voice spoke, Jeff’s body relaxed. He did feel great. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed. The space around him was totally dark. He was so comfortable. He felt so great.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember our previous meetings?”

“Yes. The video and then later.”

“That’s right. The video you and your partner were so kind to help me make. I really appreciated the efforts both of you put into it. What did you feel when you discovered that you and Michael were actors in the video.”

“Anger. I was very upset and angry.”

“You are no longer angry.”

“No, Sir.”

“You enjoyed appearing in the video.”

“I enjoyed appearing in the video.”

“You are always happy to assist me in my endeavors.”

“I am always happy to assist you in your endeavors.”

“You want to help me.”

“Yes, I want to help you.”

“Did Michael tell you about the backdoors I’ve installed on computers?”

“Yes. He mentioned it.”

“Well, I have installed backdoors into your mind and into Michael’s. So that I can access your minds at any time I need to.”

“Cool.”

“Yes, it is cool. I’m going to take a vacation for the next two weeks. But I will be back. Not as The Carma Klown, of course. We don’t want to disturb Mr. Wilson’s sentencing, do we?”

“No, Sir.”

“And when I come back, I will have a use for you.”

“Great.”

“You look forward to being of use.”

“I look forward to being of use.”

“You want me to access your mind and use you.”

“I want you to access my mind and use me.”

“Excellent. When you helped me make the video, I thought of marking you and Michael with the Klown tattoo. But I decided against that. But I may do so in the future, after the furor has died down. You would like that.”

“Yes, I would like that.”

“You would find Michael even sexier if he had a Carma Klown tattoo on his butt.”

“I would find Michael even sexier if he had a Carma Klown tattoo on his butt.”

“Good. And you would feel even sexier if you had a Carma Klown tattoo on your butt.”

“Yes, I would feel even sexier if I had a Carma Klown tattoo on my butt.”

“You love Michael.”

“I love Michael.”

“You would do anything to make him happy.”

“I would do anything to make him happy.”

“You would do anything to make me happy.”

“I would do anything to make you happy.”

“You know what would make me happy?”

“No. What?”

“It would make me happy if every time you saw Michael’s butt, you think of me. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Every time you see Michael’s butt, you will think of me. You will remember how good it feels to be controlled by me. You will want to help me.”

The man repeated that lesson over and over. He had previously programmed Michael in the same way. Daily both Michael and Jeff’s bodies would subconsciously reinforce their willingness to help him.

“Excellent, Jeff. For now, you are going to forget everything that has happened. When you wake up, you will remember nothing of our conversation. However, what we have talked about will remain part of your subconscious mind. When the time comes, I will activate you and you will serve me.”

“I will serve you.”

“Now, sleep.”

The man waited a minute to make sure that Jeff was fully asleep. He had already programmed Michael. For Michael, however, he had added a subroutine that would make Michael study hard for the detective sergeant’s exam. Along with the excellent recommendation that Altmann would give Michael, his high score on the examination would ensure his promotion. By the time he had everything ready and had resumed his activities, he would have a detective sergeant under his control.

Jeff and Michael looked so peaceful lying next to each other in bed. The programming would ensure that they remained devoted to each other. He did have to congratulate himself on the care he had devoted to strengthening their relationship. All those long heart-to-heart talks with the two of them. What he had done for them was almost couples therapy. They should be so grateful to him. Of course, he couldn’t let them know about it. They had to think it was their own doing. He had plans for them, but the least he could do for them was to make their relationship intensely rewarding for both of them. It was in his best interests that they remain together happily.

It had been so hard to resist the temptation to mark them with the Carma Klown tattoo. But Michael had to undergo annual physical evaluations. He couldn’t risk a police doctor spotting the mark. So he had had to settle for programming them so that the sight of each other’s butt reinforced their obedience to him. Later he might tattoo Jeff. He was so hairy, though. He would have to include a subroutine in Jeff’s programming to make him keep his butt shaved. So many things to think of. The new set-up had to be prepared. The programming modules. The distribution network. Well, he had time. Two weeks in Aruba. He looked forward to his vacation. Relaxing on the beach, swimming. He always found that it helped his thought processes to get away. It was a miracle the way that ideas came to him when he relaxed. He would be lying on the beach, not a thought in his mind, and suddenly an improvement he could make in his scheme would become clear to him.

Well, it was time to go. He doublechecked to make sure that no traces of his work remained. He had programmed Jeff and Michael not to notice his presence, but still best not to leave anything they might have to devise an explanation for. At the doorway to their bedroom, he paused to take a final look at them.

“Sweet dreams, boys,” he whispered. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

The end for now