Set Me Alight

by Leviathan, Bill

  The storage facility was a few miles away. At the very, least checking it out and walking over there would give me some good exercise when I would have otherwise sat around drinking a cheap bottle of liquor until I passed out. The key had the number of the unit engraved on it, so it wouldn't be too hard to find. I wasn’t sure what to make of the pin code, though. What I loved to do most? Bitch and moan? Whine and complain? Run away from my problems? Beat myself up over my regrets? Bottle my emotions until I eventually burst? I couldn't think of any numbers that were related to those things. Maybe it had something to do with my alcoholism Paul always loved to rag on me for. Seven and Seven? Two numbers doesn't make for a particularly good pin, so it couldn’t be that. 40% 80 proof? 40oz of 800? Paul was so repulsed by alcohol I doubt he could ever bring himself to make the pin something like that.

  I had arrived at the storage facility. It looked like the pin was supposed to be four characters long. Birthday dates? Neither mine nor Paul's worked. Our address? The office address? None of that was something I loved to do, and great, I had just locked myself out for too many failed attempts. At least I would have a few minutes to think it over. God dammit Paul, why are you doing this to me? This was worse than all those little 'training' expeditions he took me on, or those pointless water tank inspections. Wait, maybe that was it. The stupid bastard was trying to be sarcastic. Water Tank Inspection, Form #0289. Something I was able to look forward to whining about seemingly every day during that summer. I just had to wait another minute for it to unlock so I could enter in the code, and, fantastic! It worked. Thanks for making it easy on me, my dear friend Paul. Your sense of humor continued to confuse me even after your death.

  I opened up the door, and there wasn't much to see. Not sure what I expected, but there was only one small box in the corner. It had a note on it:

  Pete,

  As I am undoubtedly sure, the mining companies have seized all the documents my brother left me. Of the hundreds of thousands of documents he left to me, only a few contained anything significant. You'll find all those documents in this box. There was so much other junk that it will be weeks before the mining companies realize that these documents are still missing. I hope these find you well, and you don't meet the same fate that I did.

  Good luck,

  Paul

  I leafed through the documents as quick as I could. Most of them seemed to be memos. I didn't recognize any of the names, but I recognized their titles. CEO, CFO, Board of Directors. Everything was about approving of the dumping of the waste. Based on the dates, it appeared to go back to over ten years prior, right around when everything in the country was going to shit. There were also maps of the local area, with spots marked for dumping and signed off on by the same people. There was even something that looked like it was sent out company wide, informing all employees what was happening, that it was all approved by the local authorities, and with a post script stating that there is no need to inform non-employees, as the PR department already took care of that. Guess that man we roughed up in Vanderbilt Park wasn't lying to us after all.

  I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with all the information that was just dumped on me. There was no indication about what Paul was planning on doing with it. No advice left behind, just a dump truck of information. Go to the police? They received more funding from the mining companies than they did from the local tax payers. The media? The local ‘media was just that one guy who still owned a printer, which he only used to try and spread his 'the end is nigh' bullshit. I didn't even know where to begin figuring out how to contact the FBI, or whatever corrupt government organization was supposed to oversee this kind of shit. As much as I hated to say it, the only person I could think of bringing the information to right then was that little teenage punk Pim.

  I was afraid to try and move the documents, and I wasn't about to hand them over to Pim. I led him to the storage unit, making sure he wasn't able to look over my shoulder while I was entering the pin. I asked him if he had any idea of who the guy who delivered the envelope with the key could be, but he had no idea either. When we got inside the unit, he just kept pouring over the documents again and again. I finally found a way to shut him up while in my presence.

  “We have to take this to the net.”

  “What the hell are you talking about now, Pim?”

  “The Internet, online, we need to leak all this information on there.”

  “And how do you suppose we do that?”

  “The library still has a computer that's connected online. We can post everything we have from there.”

  “What is that going to accomplish, Pim? What difference will it make if all this garbage is online?”

  “It means it’s out there for everyone to see. The mining companies won't be able to deny it any longer. We can start a movement online. I've spoken with other anarchist groups. We can post this to their forums and they can spread the word.”

  “Great, so a few more idealist twats will know about all this. What's the plan then? Commandeer some parks and hold hands until they stop polluting our water?”

  “You don't get it, Pete. Once the information is out there, once people know, the companies will be on the defensive. It's now on them to prove us wrong and answer the hard questions. Some people will believe them, but not everyone. Our movement can grow over time, and some day we can hope to take them down. It might not save us, but maybe it will save our children, or our children's children. You can't just sit there knowing something like this and do nothing. Doing nothing makes you as bad as them.”

  “Ok, ok, stop your ranting already. I've heard enough. I don't care what you do with this information. Post it where ever you want, whether that's online or nailed to someone's door. You'll just be wasting energy either way. Whatever you do though, these documents can't leave this storage unit. Don't write it down either, memorize what you need to post and then do it.”

  “But people will want to see the original documents! How can we claim to have proof otherwise?”

  “I don't care, Pim. Paul left these documents to me, and I'm saying that they aren't leaving here, got it?”

  Pim ensured me that everything he posted on was 'secure' and impossible for any outside entity to snoop in on. I think it’s needless to say I didn't believe a single word of that. Wherever he was posting information from the new documents, I guarantee some pawn of the mining companies was right there observing and reporting. Since I showed him the documents, I had been drinking more, and becoming more and more paranoid. I hardly left my house. I scavenged what meager amount of cash I still had, bought just enough food to survive, and just enough liquor to forget the days. Every car light that passed by my house had me panting from fear. Every creak or groan I heard outside had me with my ear against the wall listening for anyone skulking around outside. I removed my address from the post office registry, for whatever good that would do.

  While I turned inward, Pim seemed to be getting more and more brash with sharing our little secret. At first he was only speaking about it online and in closed groups. Now he was speaking about it to anyone willing to listen at The Sink Hole. A bunch of drunk kids blabbing about on end for everyone to hear. Just what we needed to avoid being snuffed out by those more powerful than us. The only thing we had going for us was that no one really seemed to be taking Pim seriously. At least in person, he was met with indifference or scoffs more often than not. Either our story was completely unbelievable, or maybe no one wanted to accept it and believe it. Knowing that only the way to stay alive is to consume something that's slowly killing you isn't much of a comforting thought for most people. Better to convince yourself the kid telling you that was crazy than to try and face the harsh reality.

  The kid did seem intent on continuously reminding me of the progress he was making online. Apparently, in a forum where no one can see your ugly mug or hear the tremors in your voice, a kid like Pim could be taken seriously. Or so he claimed. Some group in Minnesota had
been in heavy contact with him. Their leader, who went by the name “FireOnTheDeck” was quite eager to meet Pim and his gang. With a name like that, why not just blindly trust them and invite them into the inner circle? Pim and Kevin had invited me to some sort of meeting at The Sink Hole. I had been trying to distance myself from those numbskulls, but they just keep dragging me back. I fully accepted that I was a disappointment to whatever Paul thought I would accomplish by bequeathing all his information to me. I passed it on to Pim, to let it burn up in his face. I just wanted to sit there in my ball sweat numbing my senses with whatever alcohol or drug I could afford. Alas, while I was too weak minded to take the responsibility in my own hands, I was also too weak to completely rebuff them and to say “Fuck off”. That seemed to require some sort of social courage I was never going to acquire. So there I was, sitting around a dirty bar table surrounded by a bunch of kids I completely despised.

  “I heard from 'FireOnTheDeck' today, and learned that her real name is Christine Fougue. She's on her way here right now. We will be meeting her tomorrow night.”

  “Where are we meeting her, Pim?”

  “It will be here, The Sink Hole, but she doesn't want to meet the whole group. Just one of us.”

  “And who's that?”

  “Pete.”

  Well, that certainly took me by surprise. I couldn't think of a single reason she would have wanted to meet me specifically. I hadn't posted anything online, I hadn't even looked at any of those forums or whatever Pim had been talking about yet. I had no ambitions of furthering this conspiracy nonsense. I just wanted to be alone until I withered away in my little hovel. Based on how much cash I had left for food, that wouldn’t take that much more time. What the hell could she have wanted with me?

  “Why Pete? He hasn't done a God dang thing for the movement! He just sits on his ass and gets drunk every day! Did she explain why she wants to meet him to you, Pim? This makes zero sense.”

  “Calm down, Kevin. I have no idea why she wants to meet Pete either. Hell, I don't even recall mentioning him to her before, but I guess it must have slipped. Anyway, Pete, are you willing to go ahead with this? As Kevin said, you've been a bit withdrawn from the group lately.”

  “Well, Pim, I've never been much involved with the 'group' to begin with, so there isn't anything for me to withdraw from. I don't much care for any of this nonsense any more, but if the lady wants to meet me, I will. I’ll sit here and smile as she rattles off the same nonsense to me that you do on a regular basis. And just like I do whenever I meet up with you, I’ll more than likely forget it all by the time I wake up the next morning. Though, since this little meeting of the teenage conspiracy crusader minds seems so important to you guys, I’ll try and remember a detail or two. I’m just a nice guy like that.”

  “This is bullshit. He’s the guy we’re sending to meet our most important contact? The guy who openly admits he wants nothing to do with us or our cause?”

  The stick up Kevin’s ass was especially large that night.

  “Who did she ask to meet again, Kevin? You? Or was it me?”

  Kevin grunted, stood up, threw his chair into the table, and stormed out of the Sink Hole.

  “Well, then, I guess it's settled. Got any questions for us before the meeting, Pete?”

  “Yeah, know what she looks like?”

  Chapter 7

  Not only did I get zero information from Pim about what the meeting was supposed to be about, I never asked him what time I was supposed to meet this ‘FireOnTheDeck’ person either. Just to be safe, I showed up at The Sink Hole at 9:00am. If she had been hanging around Pim and his gang, I could only assume she was like me and ceased to function without some alcohol in her system at all times. The Sink Hole didn’t open until noon, so I greeted the owner with a bottle in one hand and a wavering handshake while I sat on their stoop waiting for the joint to open. I tried to slow the pace of my consumption after they let me in. Since I had a baseline of the liquid courage, I only needed to maintain it until the mystery lady from Minnesota showed up. On a typical night at the bar I needed to be stammering drunk to work up the gumption to talk to a woman, and it looked like the same would be true for this. Though this situation was a little different than usual, this woman actually wanted to speak with me, unlike all the others who wanted me to be speaking to anyone but them.

  After I had been sitting at a table in the corner of the bar for a few hours, a sultry looking vixen walked in. She had long, vibrant red hair. When it caught what little light was in the place, it would light up, shimmering as though her scalp was on fire. Her skin was a healthy bronze, smooth and consistent all over her body. The only other person in the bar besides myself was the owner, and she was taller than both of us. She looked like some sort of life sized doll, manufactured in a factory without a single imperfection. No one else I had ever seen looked like her. The rest of us were walking around with dull colored hair that looked like it would shatter apart if it was ever touched. With loose thin skin, covered in liver spots, that looked pale and sickly. All of us stunted looking and slightly hunched over. She looked like she was just cast from marble. How could someone like this get involved with riff-raff like Pim?

  “Are you Pete?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Christine Fougue. I came here from the Minnesota group. I’ve been speaking with Pim, and it looks like you guys have uncovered something here.”

  “That’s what Pim keeps telling me.”

  “Pim is just a confused little kid who’s stumbled upon something he can’t even begin to comprehend. I’ve spent enough time talking to him online to gather that. He’s got one interesting piece of information, the rest of what he sends me is either complete crap or some horribly disguised attempt to hit on me.”

  “What do you want from me? I’m not involved with any of this crap. Pim is the one trying to run this shit show.”

  “I know you’re Pim’s source of information. “

  “I told that son of a bitch to keep my name out of all this. I’m not suited to deal with this crap. I’m not suited to deal with anything anymore.”

  “You might not realize this, but your friend Pim isn’t the best at keeping information safe. All it takes is a winking emoticon in response to his flirtations to get anything I want.”

  “Can’t say I expect any more out of that little twerp.”

  “Anyway, Pete, I’m not here to bad mouth Pim. I came here to get information from you. Pim keeps saying you have some sort of secret cache of information. Can you show me this?”

  “I’m physically capable of showing you my 'secret cache of information', sure, but why should I? This information was given to me by a close friend. I don’t want to be giving it away to any two bit shmuck who comes around asking me for it.”

  “Yet you let Pim in on it?”

  “Fair enough. It’s all locked away in a storage unit. It’s about 3 miles from here. If you’re willing to take a bit of a stroll from here, I can show you what I’ve got.”

  “I’ve got a car with me, we can just drive over.”

  “Really, a car?”

  “Yeah, how did you expect me to get here from Minnesota?”

  “I don’t know, I just assumed you hopped on a few trains or something. Whatever, that’s beside the point. We need to make a stop first.”

  “What for?”

  “The storage unit is locked, obviously. Do you really think I’m going to keep the key on myself when I have such damning information in it?”

  “Ok, lead the way then, Pete.”

  To say I was a little wary of this Christine character is a bit of an understatement. I was guiding her over to where Patti lived, or at least where I thought she was supposed to live. I could only hope Patti would pick up on what I was about to do before Christine did.

  “Pull up right here Christine, this is the place.”

  I walked up to the door of Patti’s place and knocked. I can’t say I had ever been there before. T
o be honest, I didn’t know anything about Patti’s personal life. She signed my paychecks, and that’s about as far as my interest in her went. When she opened the door, it was quite clear she wasn’t living alone. There were a few children, and a few adults in the one room house with Patti. The other adults looked younger than her. It looked like there were at least three generations of Patti’s family living there.

  “Oh, hi Patti. How are you doing today?”

  “I’m fine I guess. What are you doing here, Pete?”

  “Well, Patti, first I want you to meet my friend, Christine. She’s come all the way from Minnesota.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Christine. Now, I’m guessing you didn’t come all the way around here to introduce me to your pretty friend. So, what is it Pete?”

  “Yeah, is there any place we can speak in private around here?”

  Patti stepped outside and closed the door.

  “This is as private as it gets, Pete. Now, what do you want?”

  “Patti, do you remember when I gave you that key to the storage unit?”

  “Yes, what of it?”

  “Well, Patti, I need the key back.”

  “What are you talking about Pete, I-“

  Well, this was it. If Patti realized what was going on, I might be able to avoid leading Christine to all of Paul’s documents before I had time to learn more about her and figure out what she was after. I don’t know why I was all of a sudden so intent on keeping the documents under wraps and out of the ‘wrong hands’, but something was just rubbing me the wrong way about the mystery Minnesotan. I tried my best to send the message to Patti without saying anything. It ended up just being a deadpan stare, but somehow it seemed to work. She was picking up on something. Hopefully nothing that offended her.

  “I mean, Pete, what do you need with the key?”