Spilled Milk, no. 1

by Michael J. Scott

  He staggered backward and turned to face Mel. “You shot me. You actually shot me.”

  I bent forward and picked up the wrench, hitting him hard in the back of the head—the same place I’d hit his wife an hour ago. Bob stumbled, but somehow stayed on his feet. I could see the fear in Mel’s eyes, the gun shaking in her hand. If she fired again, there was no telling where that bullet would go. It didn’t help that I was in her line of fire.

  I hit him again, and he sank to his knees before toppling over to the floor.

  My breath came in ragged gasps. I let the wrench fall. It clanked when it hit the floor. My hands found my knees as I caught my breath. I studied Mel.

  Her eyes were wide with fright, and her whole body shook. She still held the gun out in front of her, pointed in my general direction. Slowly, I rose to my feet and, hugging the wall, slipped by the counter and came around the side of the table. I closed my fingers over the revolver, gently prying it from her grasp. Mel’s hands flew to her face. I put my arm around her. She buried her face in my shoulder, and I held her tight.

  ***

  I didn’t know whether or not any of Mel’s neighbors heard or recognized the sound of the gunshot, but I didn’t figure we had much time. I took a moment to duct tape both men’s feet and hands without checking to see if they were still breathing. In a few minutes it wouldn’t matter anyway.

  The furnace had an electric pilot light, so I had to break loose the gas fittings on the pipe to get a steady stream flowing. Bob’s pipe wrench was sufficient to the task. This done, I returned to the front of the trailer and found Mel standing beside the bodies, staring at the faces of the men. She hadn’t filled the Mason jar with water like I’d asked. I shook my head and took her hand, tugging her away.

  “Listen,” I said, forcing her to look at me. “You gotta get your stuff. The gas is already going back there, and I’m setting the detonator here. We gotta go.”

  I hustled her off to her bedroom to pack and went into the kitchen. After filling the Mason jar a third of the way, I screwed the cap into place, checked the level of the float, and attached the battery terminals together. This done, I set it on the counter beside the stove.

  I lifted the range hood and blew out the pilot lights between the burners, then ratcheted the gas on full. Below, I did the same with the oven, leaving the door hanging wide open with the dial set to “Broil.”

  Mel came out gasping a few minutes later, carrying a shoulder bag loaded with clothes. A small, stuffed leopard poked its head from the top of the bag. In her other arm she held a laptop computer.

  “The gas,” she said.

  I nodded in satisfaction. “Are all the windows shut?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay.” I picked up the shot gun, dropped the cigarettes into my pocket and grabbed the bourbon from the table. As an afterthought, I grabbed the tool box as well. When I came around the counter, I heard someone moaning from the floor. Mel froze.

  “He’s still alive,” she said.

  I took her by the arm. “He ain’t going anywhere.” I hurried her out the door, locking it behind us.

  We stowed our things in the back seat and I put the bourbon between Melissa’s knees as I took over the driver’s seat. I had to shove the seat back to compensate for my larger frame. I pulled onto the road and didn’t turn on the lights until we’d left the trailer behind.

  “How long?”

  I glanced at the dashboard clock. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

  I followed the road as it curved away from the trailer park, and then took a side street that led us up an incline to a hill overlooking the valley below. I finally parked on the side of the road and climbed out of the car, carrying the bottle with me. Mel followed, sitting beside me on the grass at the edge of the slope. We looked down at the trailer park as it lay placid beneath the pallid glow of the streetlights a mile away. From here, all the trailers looked alike. I still didn’t see any sign of police cruisers bearing down on the neighborhood. Everything looked peaceful and serene.

  I withdrew a pair of cigarettes and lit them both, then passed one to her. She stuck it between her lips briefly before wrapping her arms around her legs, propping her chin on her knees. I opened the bottle and took a swig, and then handed this to her as well. A passing thought, I wondered what Mary would think of me now, sitting there on a grassy hillside with a seventeen year old girl, drinking and smoking, and waiting for a trailer to burn.

  I honestly couldn’t come up with an answer.

  “Which one is yours?” I said.

  A sudden explosion ripped through the night. A massive fireball turned the sky orange, shattering windows and setting off car alarms.

  “That one,” she replied. She took another drag off her cigarette and reached for the bottle. A moment later, a warm, foul-smelling breeze washed over us. Melissa took my arm, nestling her cheek against my shoulder.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  She raised her eyebrows, smiled, and turned back to the fire. I could see its glow reflected in her eyes.

  “I thought I’d feel different. Relieved, somehow.”

  “What do you feel?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You will. You’re still in shock. It won’t pass soon, but it will pass. And then you’ll have to get used to your new life. Once you do, you’ll feel different then.”

  She took another drag off her cigarette. “What do we do now?”

  “Now we’ve got to find a place to stay.”

  “We could stay at Misty’s.”

  I shook my head firmly. “Out of the question. The cops will be questioning your known associates. Once they find out that Misty runs that fan page of mine, she’ll become a person of interest.”

  “They’re not going to arrest her, are they?”

  “Only if they find out I stayed there. Harboring a fugitive is still a no-no. If she’s smart and keeps her trap shut, she’ll be okay. Her Daddy will see to that. Either way, I’m not gonna put her at further risk. We’ll stay at a motel—preferably one that doesn’t ask questions and that takes cash only.”

  She snorted. “Oh. One of those places.”

  “Know any?”

  “Not intimately.”

  I managed a sly grin. “Good. We don’t want anyone ID’ing you.”

  In the distance, I heard the wail of rescue personnel converging on the scene. I could see maybe a half dozen flashing red and blue lights racing toward the trailer park. I crushed out my cigarette and threw it away. “Come on. It’s time to go.”

  ***

  We drove for another hour before finding a cheap motel on the east side of town. Melissa went inside to arrange a room with a couple hundred dollars in cash, just in case she needed to persuade the night manager not to ask questions and deny that he saw anyone matching our description. I hoped she was up to the task as I waited pensively in the Civic, watching her from the outside. She and the manager conversed easily, and then he turned his head in my direction, frowning. A moment later, he went into the back office.

  I swore and thought, He’s calling the cops! I started the car, ready to abandon her there if need be. But he came out a moment later and handed her a room key. She passed over a couple bills, blew him a kiss, and scampered outside.

  Once in the car, she said, “Room eleven,” and pointed to the right.

  “How’d it go in there?”

  She shrugged. “Cost a little extra ‘cause I didn’t have a license or credit card. He called it a nonrefundable deposit. But he didn’t ask too many questions.”

  “Hope you tipped him.”

  “Gave him a fifty for his trouble.”

  I drove to the end of the lot and parked the car several doors down. Melissa led me to the room. As she opened the door, she said, “I got one with a double bed. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Probably the right thing to do. If you’d have gotten two single beds he’d have only asked more questions. I’ll take the floor.”r />
  She stopped and put her hand on my arm. “Thanks.” When I cocked my head, she added, “For not suggesting we share.”

  I smiled and kissed her forehead. “You’re seventeen, and you’ve been through a lot. I haven’t been that age in a long time. I told you: once a man has kids of his own, he doesn’t want the same things anymore.”

  She smiled sweetly, and closed the door.

  That night, we both slept soundly. The next morning, things were different.

  Chapter 31

  It started when Mel fired up the laptop, searching for a WiFi connection.

  “Good thinking,” I said, “bringing your laptop.” I was getting ready to take a shower, assuming she’d left me any hot water. She’d spent at least an hour in there already with the water running, and then another half hour blow-drying her hair. I chose to wait until she was done before taking a shower of my own, and had spent the morning sipping the cheap coffee the motel provided from a tiny, four-cup coffee maker. My stomach rumbled, and I was hoping we could get some breakfast before discussing our plans for the day. The whole thing with her parents and trailer had seriously side-tracked me, and I wanted to refocus on getting my kids back.

  “It’s not my laptop,” she replied. “It’s Robert’s. This is what he watches all his porn on.”

  “Marvelous,” I dead-panned.

  She grinned as she scrolled through his email program. “Don’t act all superior. I know you’re curious.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too. All guys look at porn.”

  “Not all. And definitely not the filth he’s got.”

  “How d’you know what he’s got?”

  Nice trap, I thought. “I know what he was in to, and based on that, I can imagine what sort of things he liked to watch. No thank you. There are some things you can’t unsee. Why are you so curious?”

  “It’s that guy. It got me thinking.”

  “What guy?”

  “The one you clubbed with the pipe wrench last night. I’ve seen him before. I was hoping to figure out who he was—maybe find a clue or something in Robert’s email. I don’t know his name, though.”

  “His name was Michael Parker.”

  “Parker,” she murmured, scrolling through the list. “Are you sure?”

  “That’s what they said on the news this morning. We made headlines again. They had your picture, except you had brown hair and no piercings. Almost didn’t recognize you.”

  She grinned. “Had a glam-shot done for the year book. Then I decided to change things up a bit. Thought I looked too pristine.”

  I wondered why she’d thought that, and if it had anything to do with what she’d been through with her step-dad. “Probably worked in our favor.”

  “So what are they saying?”

  “Usual. Mad terror suspect. Armed and dangerous. Nice little recap of the bombings, and then some good shots of the trailer as it burned. They pulled three bodies out. Two they believe are your parents. The third they think is this Parker guy, based on the license plate. Speaking of which, we should probably swap yours when we can.”

  “My license? With what?”

  “Anything we can find. Maybe something abandoned. Something someone won’t miss. If it belongs to another Honda Civic, it’d be even better.”

  “Jeremy has a Honda. He doesn’t drive it, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “Something about the head gasket.”

  “Okay. We’ll have to deal with that today.”

  “We should leave now. It’s Sunday,” she explained. “Choir boy’s got church in a few minutes.”

  I nodded. “Lemme grab a shower, first.”

  I disappeared into the bathroom and stripped, checking my wounds in the mirror. The scars looked like they were healing nicely, but I’d torn a stitch on my nose during my altercation with Mel’s step dad. I didn’t relish the thought of trying to fix it myself. I wondered if the girl could sew, and whether she’d be too squeamish to try.

  I was about to step into the shower when I heard a pounding on the door.

  “Gerrold, I’ve found something.”

  I opened the door and poked my head out. She was right there with the laptop. “I’m kinda indisposed, here,” I said.

  “You gotta see this. That guy I was telling you about, Parker? I wondered where I’d seen him before. I couldn’t think of it last night. Then this morning, it hit me. I’d seen him at Gill’s. He was buying something, but it wasn’t drugs. I didn’t think nothing of it at the time, but then I saw him again on the news. He’d just like won a court case or something like that.”

  “Okay.”

  “So then I find this email chain about him, and look what it says.” She held the laptop up for my view.

  Gently, I closed the lid. “It can wait.”

  “Gerrold!”

  “I’m naked, and I’m going to take my shower now.” With that, I closed the door and locked it. I didn’t think she’d actually come in and read me the email while I showered, but I didn’t want to take the chance, either.

  “Well hurry up!” she called through the door.

  You’re a fine one to talk, I thought as I started the water. In minutes I was soaked and lathered up, and letting the massaging jets of the shower beat into my shoulders.

  I dried and dressed, conscious that I was putting on the same borrowed clothes that I’d worn since yesterday—as well as the same underwear I’d had on in the hospital for some time before that. Just as soon as we snagged a plate for the car, we were going shopping. I needed some fresh duds.

  When I came out she was waiting in a chair by the door. The bags were packed and on the floor beside her, and the laptop was on her knees. “I’m driving,” she announced. “You’re reading. I’ve already checked us out, so all you gotta do is get in the car.”

  “Well, aren’t you little Miss Efficient this morning?”

  She stood and looped her bag over her shoulder and handed me the computer.

  I followed her out to the car.

  ***

  The laptop’s screen was a little hard to read in the broad daylight, especially on battery power—a fact I was happy to point out once we were on the road.

  “Quit griping,” she chided. “You sound like an old man.”

  “I am an old man. We should swing by a McDonald’s or something on the way.”

  She shook her head. “Uh uh. Jeremy’s church let’s out in a half hour, and I don’t wanna be there when he gets home.”

  My stomach rumbled, and I grimaced. “Good point.” I turned my attention to the laptop. “So what am I looking at?”

  “Emails between Robert and someone else about that Parker guy. Robert’s email was BigDaddy08.”

  “Huh.” My eyes scanned the document. I quickly realized why she’d been so adamant I read them. I swore openly.

  She grinned at me. “See what I mean?”

  I did.

  The email chain told a sordid tale, starting with the fact that Parker and Mel’s step-dad were both a part of a pedophile pornography ring, trading thousands of pictures between each other and several other unrecognized parties. Whatever guilt I might have felt about killing them both quickly vanished as I read the twisted glee they shared about their mutual escapades. About halfway through the list of emails, though, I caught lines that blew me away.

  SmoothTalker: Agreed. Better to eat the cost and maintain good rapport than lose customers for short term gain.

  BigDaddy08:> info requested: fourteen subjects recently acquired. send parker to collect from fosters next week. 2 recruits aren’t accessible till this blows over. tell clients we will find replacements asap. if they cannot wait, offer full refund with our regrets. we may have to eat the cost on this.<

  SmoothTalker:>>Don’t worry about it. It’s unrelated. Have you got the info on the new recruits?<<

  BigDaddy08:>>> rawles thing has me rattled. what if they’re on to us?<<<

  SmoothTalker:>>>>D
espite recent events, we will proceed as planned, especially given that clients have already paid and are expecting delivery by the end of the week. How are you holding up?<<<<

  “Who’s this SmoothTalker he’s chatting with?” I said, showing her the screen. “He mentions Parker, Rawles, and the Fosters, whoever they are.”

  She shook her head. “Beats me.”

  “Rawles has got to be Judge Rawles. I’d bet my life on it. This was written six weeks ago, shortly after she died.”

  “Who was Judge Rawles?”

  I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. She may have followed the bombings and car chase on the news, but that didn’t mean she’d kept up on the details. “Ontica Superior Court Judge Julia Rawles. Shot in the line of duty.”

  After a moment, she said, “Oh! That judge.”

  “Mmm. I found out she was dirty when I locked myself in her office to avoid capture. That’s where I found the money and the fake papers.”

  “Wait a sec, you shot her before you knew she was bad? Why?” she added when I nodded.

  “She got in the way,” I murmured. I heaved a breath before continuing. “She’d just sentenced me to ten years in prison for threatening a Sheriff’s deputy, interfering with an officer in the performance of his duty—blah, blah, blah. Basically, I had these pinhead bureaucrats from the FDA show up at the house demanding that I dump the raw milk I’d bought for my son. He’s got certain food allergies that cause behavior problems. I didn’t want him on the meds because of how they screw up his system.” She listened patiently as I explained my theory regarding the raw milk and my desire to protect my son. “When it comes down to it, I just wanted the right to live my life in peace and raise my kids as I saw best—without some pencil-pusher coming around sticking his nose in my family’s business. They came to the house and showed me their warrant. I showed them my 12-gauge. Told them to get the hell off my property. Next thing I know I’m under arrest facing ten years, and Child Protective has swooped down and taken my kids from me. And all they’re going to do to him is put him back on the same damn chemicals that killed his mother. I can’t let them do that.”