Spilled Milk, no. 1

by Michael J. Scott

  “It doesn’t really explode, per se, but it has some interesting applications.”

  “You’ve got a real thing for fire, you know that? You didn’t like, wet the bed and such, did you?”

  I took over the cart and led her to the sporting goods section, pointedly ignoring her question. It only took a minute of searching to find a flint and magnesium lighter. I picked up a box of wooden matches, some light bulbs, wire, and four disposable cell phones to make my fuses, as well as a small scale, a glass pot from the cooking aisle, a jar of salt, and an adapter for the Cadillac.

  “Now we just need some aluminum foil and a decent coffee grinder.” I found both in the house wares department, and grabbed four rolls of foil.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll bite. What’s all this for?”

  “And a six pack. Need the cans.”

  “You’re making more bombs, aren’t you?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Let’s just say I’ve got something special planned for the zoo. But now, it doesn’t involve blowing people up or harming the animals in any way.”

  She gave me a worried look as she reclaimed the shopping cart. “Good, ‘cause I’d be totally against that.”

  “Just trust me.”

  We paid for our purchases and I had her drive us to an empty parking lot beside some abandoned warehouses, where we could work without interruption. First, I sent Melissa scavenging for rust with one of the empty shopping bags in and around the warehouses.

  “Rust,” she repeated, as if she hadn’t heard properly.

  “The more powdery, the better. Don’t worry,” I assured her. “You’ve got the easy part.” I picked up the foil and started pulling sheets out, snipping them into tiny half-inch squares.

  “You’re making powdered metal?”

  “More or less. Now get going.”

  With a shake of her head, she left to collect the iron oxide. I continued to cut away at the aluminum foil until I’d emptied two rolls, setting my clippings aside in the plastic bag. I stopped and pounded down one of the beers before continuing. After an hour, Mel came back with a nearly full bag. She looked like she was struggling to carry it. I offered her a beer when she reached the truck and set her metal down. She wiped the sweat off her brow, took a swallow and said, “I hope this is worth it.”

  I examined her find with satisfaction. “This is excellent. Just what we need.”

  She snorted. “Hit the jackpot, I guess. I found an old car on the other side. Whole frame was rotted out. I just kept kicking beneath the wheels and collecting whatever fell on the ground.”

  “You did awesome.” I picked up the scissors and continued cutting the aluminum.

  When she finished her beer she said, “Now what? I feel useless just sitting here while you grind away with that thing.”

  “Okay. Next step. Divide the rust into six equal portions using the bags, and weigh them on the scale. Try to get them equal, and tell me the weight when you’re done.”

  As she completed this step, I moved on to my second beer and continued grinding the aluminum in the coffee grinder. My fingers turned black from the metal, and I had to stop periodically to keep the aluminum from getting too hot. When Mel came back with the weight, I tasked her with crushing all the rust she’d collected into as fine a powder as she could manage. Lastly, I had her take a box cutter blade from the tool chest and begin slicing strips of magnesium from the flint kit we’d picked up.

  “Careful you don’t spark the magnesium,” I said.

  “Never knew bomb-making was so much work.”

  “Told you. We’re not making bombs.”

  “Then what are making?”

  “Keys,” I answered cryptically. “Just think of them as very special keys.”

  I could tell she wasn’t satisfied by my answer, but I decided she wasn’t going to get anymore out of me just then. Instead, I directed her toward making fuses with the light bulbs, wire, and matches just like I’d showed her the day before at her parent’s trailer. Only this time, I had her wrap four more matches around the outside of the original match, to further enhance the initial flare when the fuses were lit. She objected to making them at first, complaining that she’d screw it up. When I offered to trade with her, she rolled her eyes and asked me to step her through it carefully. After a few false starts, she successfully created her first fuse.

  “How many of these have I got to make?”

  “Just five more.”

  She took another beer for herself.

  Toward the end of the afternoon I’d powdered the aluminum foil into a sizeable quantity with the coffee grinder and Melissa had crushed six bags of iron oxide and built an equal amount of electronic fuses. We both moved to the cell phones. I taught her how to take them apart and rig leads to the vibrating armature inside.

  “The cell phone works like a switch. You put it on vibrate, and when you call, the armature spins and completes the circuit.”

  She held a phone up for scrutiny. “So that’s how you’re able to remote detonate.”

  “Exactly. You could be almost anywhere on earth. As long as you’ve got access to a signal and your receiving phone is on, you can set off your charge.”

  “Great. I feel so safe now.”

  “Ain’t technology grand?”

  Once this was all done, night had fallen, and we were measuring out the aluminum powder I’d created and mixing it with the iron oxide in the correct ratios. She shook her head, disbelieving. “This stuff can’t be dangerous. I mean, it’s just metal shavings.”

  I put a small sample from the bags on a napkin and stuck a bit of magnesium into the end of it. With no place better to illustrate its power, I pulled out her step-dad’s toolbox and set it on the ground. Then I leaned as far away as I could and lit the magnesium.

  The magnesium caught quickly, lashing up at me with furious heat. I leaped back and watched as it hit the thermite. Angry white sparks hissed and spat as the molten iron ate through the tool chest and burned itself down to the ground.

  Melissa swore in amazement. “How’d it do that?”

  “Metal burns at a very high temperature. The magnesium is the catalyst. Once it lights, it ignites the iron oxide and aluminum. After that, there’s no stopping it until it burns itself out.”

  She shook her head, biting her tongue. “Well, I’m impressed. That was pretty cool. But I don’t see what it has to do with getting your kids back.”

  I grinned at her attempt to get me to reveal my plan and handed her one of the bags of powder. “Just start pouring this into the empty cans. We finish up here, we can grab some dinner. And then I want to call Gill—see how he’s doing on those papers.”

  ***

  After putting the finishing touches on my “keys” I drove us to a roadside diner where we could wash up and order a decent meal. I had the hostess seat us in the far back, away from the scrutiny of the front door and near to a side exit. A television set hung from the ceiling flickered in the corner. The volume was turned down, but close captioned text scrolled onto a black screen below the images. Right now, it was tuned to a car commercial. The waitress came and went after serving us some coffee and taking our order.

  “So are you gonna tell me anything about this plan?” Mel asked.

  “It’s not complicated. We get Rogan to bring my kids to the zoo. I’ll have him send the kids to the gift shop while he and I meet and talk near the back. He meets me alone. I give him the laptop and tell him what we know. Meanwhile, you get Misty to help you get the kids out through the back. Once the kids are clear, you send the signal and swing around the back to pick me up. I’ll activate my diversion and get away over the fence.”

  “And what if something goes wrong?”

  “Then you just get in the car and go. Don’t look back. If you’ve got my kids…” I hesitated, realizing that I was asking a lot of her. She raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve got my kids, and you want to, I’ll give you the address to my sister in Texas. You can take th
em there. They’ll raise ‘em right. They might even give you a hand, you know, finding your way once this is all over. If not, umm…”

  “Don’t worry about it.” She put her hand on mine. “I’ll look out for them. I owe you that much.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  I pressed my lips together in a sad smile. There was no point in arguing. “If you can’t get my kids out, just go. I’m sure Misty will give you an alibi.”

  “And what about you?”

  “If I get caught, I deserve anything that happens to me. New York doesn’t have a death penalty, so the worse they can do is prison. I broke out once. I can do it again.”

  She gave me a doubtful look, but held her question as our food arrived. I thanked the waitress, and my eyes caught sight of the television screen as she left. Mel opened her mouth to argue further, but I held a finger, urging her to silence. My eyes were fixed on the TV, riveted by the story unfolding there.

  “What is it?” Mel asked.

  “It’s the big guy from Gill’s place,” I said. She craned her head around to see.

  “Grease Pit? What happened?”

  “Somebody shot him.”

  Chapter 34

  “Oh my God,” she exclaimed. An image of the scene flashed on the screen. They’d found him lying in a dumpster by some abandoned warehouses, somewhere near the river. It couldn’t have been more than five blocks from where we’d spent the day grinding metal to powder.

  I stared hard at the screen, a raw suspicion turning my gut to lead. The text on the television said he’d been shot three times, execution style.

  “Execution style?” said Mel. “What’s that mean?”

  “Triple tap. Two to the chest. One to the head. The head shot is delivered last, usually after the subject is down.”

  She breathed a blasphemy and found my hand, squeezing it. The camera angle switched to a view of Gill’s apartment complex, and I saw Gill himself standing for the camera, speaking to a reporter. He was telling the man with the microphone that Grease Pit was a friend, and wondering who would do this to him.

  “Maybe for money?” he suggested. Then he looked at the camera, just briefly, and in that moment I felt like he was looking right at me. The hard edge in his eyes told me everything.

  “That son of a bitch!” I said.

  Mel looked at me. Tears rimmed her eyes. “Gill?” she said.

  I nodded. “Damn right, Gill. He shot him.”

  “Why would he—because he talked to us?”

  “Because he helped us.”

  She let go and put her hands to the sides of her head. “You don’t think he’s coming after us? Oh my God, I think I’m gonna hurl. I gotta get outta here. I gotta—”

  “Mel? Mel! Stop. It’s okay.” I took her hands and gripped them in my own. She shook her head, uncomprehending.

  “Okay? No. This is not okay. There is nothing about this that is okay!”

  “He doesn’t know where we are, and—”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “—and he doesn’t know that we’re on to him.”

  “That car could have LoJack in it. God, it’s parked out front. He might know exactly where we are!”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I still had the revolver tucked in my jacket pocket. I could feel its weight against my side. Still, it would be of little effect if Gill chose to come after us guns blazing. “Listen,” I said. “Don’t panic. We’ll handle this.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and started dialing.

  “Handle it? How?”

  “By calling him up. He doesn’t know we’re on to him. That gives us an advantage.”

  Mel looked like she was going to be sick. Her burger and fries lay on the plate before her, untouched. I gave her a reassuring smile as the phone rang. Numbly, I stuck a French fry in my mouth and chewed, not tasting anything. The call connected.

  Gill’s voice said, “Speak.”

  It was an odd way to answer the phone, and it put me off a bit. “G-Gill?”

  “Yeah, what? Who is this?”

  “It’s Gerrold. Sorry, you caught me with my mouth full. I wanted to check on the progress of my papers.”

  “Your papers.”

  “Yeah. You got ‘em?”

  “Where’s my truck, Gerrold?”

  “The Caddy? That is a nice piece of machinery. How much a ride like that set you back?”

  “What the hell kind of game are you playing, anyway? You think you can just waltz in here and take whatever the hell you want? Bring back my damn truck!”

  “I really would like to do that.” I grabbed a few more fries and stuffed them into my mouth, hopefully chewing loud enough so he could hear. “But here’s the thing: I can’t go nowhere in a car that can be identified as long as I’m, well, still me. I need those papers. There’s no sense in me driving over to your place if you ain’t got ‘em.”

  A string of epithets scorched the phone, and I had to hold it away from my ear. Mel winced at the words that poured forth. The only intelligible thing he said was, “Eighty thousand dollar piece of equipment, and I want it back now!”

  “I promise I will return it to you with a full tank of gas, just as soon as my papers are ready. Think of it as collateral. Call me when you’re set.”

  With that, I hung up. I heaved a breath, shoved the phone in my pocket, and started eating. Mel stared at me, eyes wide. After swallowing I nodded at her. “Eat up. Your food’s getting cold.”

  “Damn, Old School.” She shook her head. “You got balls made out of titanium.”

  I winked at her. “Nickel plate.”

  ***

  We left the restaurant and I drove us to another motel by the expressway. Once more, Mel charmed the clerk into giving us a room for the night, paid with cash, and we shut the door and closed the blinds.

  I’d brought the laptop into the room with me, and spent part of the evening researching non-extradition countries. I didn’t relish the thought of leaving the good ol’ United States, but I didn’t see that I had much choice, given what I faced if I were caught here. The worst part was knowing just how much freedom I’d have to sacrifice to, well, stay free. Most of the countries on the list weren’t places I’d want to live at any cost. My best hope was that Gill’s handiwork would be adequate, and right now the man hated me.

  Or feared me, which amounted to the same thing. His assistance was questionable, at best.

  I sighed and shut the laptop, turned, and studied Mel.

  She’d claimed the bed again, which was fine by me. I wanted her to have it. Right now, she sat cross-legged in its center, idly flipping through stations on the TV channel. I wondered what was going to happen to her now. Her Mom and step-dad were dead, and her home destroyed. What was she going to do? We’d only spoken about it briefly, but now I thought we should talk more openly.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” I began. She said nothing. I continued after a moment. “About your plans. You know, when all this is done.”

  She shook her head and clicked off the TV, tossing the remote to one side. She turned her head to me and shrugged.

  “What are you going to do?”

  She looked away. “Plans. I didn’t get that far.”

  “You should stay in school. Finish.”

  “Suppose.”

  “But that means you gotta have a place to stay. Someone who’ll take you in.”

  “I turn eighteen in a month,” she said. “I’ll get my own place. That’s what I was gonna do, you know, before. Blow out the candles on the cake and wave buh-bye. Little money saved up. I still got my job at the hospital. I think.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure they’ll understand the extenuating circumstances.”

  “Ya think. Didn’t really have many plans after that.”

  “I have an idea. It’ll be a little tricky to pull off, but I think if we can get a hold of a decent lawyer, we can make it happen.”
<
br />   “Lawyer.” She snorted. “I hate them about as much as I hate cops.”

  “They have their uses. One of them being confidentiality. The attorney-client privilege is regarded as a sacred trust by the courts. It’s inviolable. An attorney who breaks confidence faces disbarment. Most of them won’t risk it—even if their clients are still wanted by the government.”

  “Go on.” She faced me again, and I could tell I had her interest.

  “I have a house that’s sitting empty. I own it free and clear. Mary’s life insurance paid off the mortgage about four months back. It’s not much. Little three bedroom ranch with a pole barn out back. Maybe half an acre, surrounded by woods. It’s quiet. The only expenses associated with it are taxes and utilities. Gas, electric and phone. It’s probably all been shut off by now. It’s not gonna be a big problem, except that in the wintertime, the pipes will freeze and probably burst. That’ll be a pain.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I think you should have it.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Your house? You want to give me your house?”

  I pressed my lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yeah. I can’t go back there. Not many places I can go, but that ain’t one of them. Thing is, I’m not even sure I wanna go back there. Too many memories. You’d have the place to yourself. You could stay and finish school. All you’d have to do is pay the bills and groceries. Hell, even on a high school graduate’s salary, you could afford that. I’m trusting, of course, that you wouldn’t trash it or turn it into a crack house or nothing.”

  “Ger, you can’t give me your house.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, people like, work their whole lives for something like that.”

  “So?”

  “So you’d be like, giving me your life or something.”

  “Mel, you’ve pretty much given me mine. Without your help, I wouldn’t have made it six blocks from that hospital. Now here I am with a workable plan to rescue my children and get the hell outta Dodge, and it’s all because of you. You’ve saved my life. In about two days I’m going to have my kids back, and I’ll be on my way to wherever it is we’re going. I can’t in good conscience leave you to fend for yourself on the street, or be stuck with some foster—”