Spilled Milk, no. 1

by Michael J. Scott

  “Dear God,” she said. “But your house? Gerrold?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. An epiphany had taken hold, one that filled me with dread. I grabbed the laptop and flipped it open, loading the email program.

  “What is it, what’s wrong?”

  I highlighted the word, and turned the screen to show her. “I know how they’re getting the kids that are in these videos.”

  Chapter 35

  “Foster families?” she said, staring at the screen.

  I nodded. “It makes sense. Judge Rawles sits on the court, presides over the cases. Your step-dad was using his contacts as a clerk to get names to Gill, and then Parker would pick the kids up from the families and take them to wherever it is that Gill holds them. And no one’s the wiser because they’re orphans or wards of the state. And who are they gonna complain to? Rawles could see to it that nothing they ever said would see the light of day.”

  “It’s like the perfect crime,” she murmured.

  “Victimless, because the victims don’t have a voice. They just disappear.”

  “God, how long have they been doing this?”

  “Years. A system like this doesn’t appear overnight. It takes time to set up this kind of a network. Alliances have to be formed. Trials runs made. And all of it carefully concealed. Every time they push the envelope they gain confidence. Gives them a sense of how far they can go. But it also makes them cocky. Rawles must’ve known it would collapse one day. That’s why she had the forged papers and stash of dough. It was her getaway.”

  “The one thing she didn’t count on was you.”

  I took the laptop back from her and shut it down. She was starting to paint me as heroic again. I didn’t share her enthusiasm.

  “My kids are in that system. Here I was worried about my son’s diet. Whether or not they were gonna stick him on some damn drug. I shouldda been worried they were gonna…”

  “Hey,” she said, slipping off the bed. She must’ve read something in my face. All I could picture is what these monsters wanted to do to my son. Or my little girl.

  Mel took me in her arms and crushed me in an embrace. I sank my head onto her shoulder, closing my eyes, trying to force the visions of abuse out of my mind.

  ***

  I don’t remember going to bed. Mel had brought in the last of the bourbon, and we spent the remainder of the evening getting blisteringly drunk. I woke in the chair the next morning to blazing sunlight searing my eyes and sending deep pulses of agony throbbing along my optic nerve to my brain in successive waves. I groaned and covered my face with my hands, turning away from the window.

  Mel was in the shower already, and a half pot of coffee beckoned on the counter. I dragged myself out of the chair and poured myself a cup. As I lifted the black liquid relief to my lips, I wondered how the girl had fared. After all, she’d drunk at least as much as I had, and the bottle, which had been three quarters full when we started, now lay empty and discarded in the wastebasket. I swallowed the coffee and wrinkled my nose. Something didn’t smell right.

  Peering into trashcan, I understood and grimaced. Mel hadn’t fared as well as me. What little dinner she’d eaten now lay in a half-digested mess at the bottom of the trash can. I set the coffee down and tied up the bag, sealing the pungent aromas within.

  Mel came out of the shower. “Oh, sorry,” she said when she saw me. “I was gonna take care of that.”

  I gave her a wan smile. “Feeling better?”

  “Little bit. Shower helped.”

  “Hmm. Good idea. You should drink some water while you’re at it.” I tapped my head as I moved toward the bathroom. “Helps clear the headache.”

  ***

  After my shower and some pain killers, we hit the local diner for breakfast. Neither of us felt much like eating, but I pushed it anyway. “We’re gonna need our strength,” I argued.

  Together we pounded down some eggs with toast and coffee, and by the time we were done we were both feeling a lot better. Gill called soon after that and tersely informed me that my papers were ready, and that I’d better damn well have his truck gassed up and parked outside his door in an hour. I assured him we’d be there and hung up.

  “You never did answer my question,” I said as I stuffed the phone in my pocket.

  Mel looped her arm in mine. “What question was that?”

  “Whether or not you’d take care of my house.”

  “Are you giving it to me or just asking me to take care of it?”

  “Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

  After a moment, she nodded. “All right then. I’ll do it. On one condition: I’m only taking care of it, and you got to promise to sell it once I’m done with school and on my feet.”

  “Okay. I think I can agree to that.”

  “You’ll probably need the money anyway.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Of course, I’ll have to find a way of getting it to you.”

  I unlocked the truck. “We’ll work something out. At least this way, I’ll know how to find you.”

  We climbed inside and drove toward Gill’s house. As we neared the apartment complex, I pulled to the side of the road and went to the back of the SUV. Melissa came out to watch what I was up to.

  “Little bit of insurance,” I said, grabbing one of the cans we’d rigged the other day. I turned on the cell phone and connected the leads.

  Mel took a step back. “That’s not going to go off, is it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Says the man covered in burns.”

  I grinned. “That was from an engine fire. Had nothing to do with one of my charges.”

  I ducked briefly beneath the rear of the truck while Mel stayed back, studying me with her hands in her pockets. Once the charge was in place, I scrambled out and waved her into the truck.

  “You sure?” she said.

  “It’s gonna be fine. Trust me.”

  Still reluctant, Mel stuck her lip out and climbed into the passenger seat. She slid her seatbelt on and gripped the door handle.

  I rolled my eyes and shifted into gear.

  “Not so fast!”

  “Mel, take the cell phone out of my pocket.”

  She raised an eyebrow and reached into my jacket, pulling the phone free.

  “Go to the phone numbers. See that number about a third the way down? The one labeled truck?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t call it. ‘Cause then we will blow up.”

  She dropped the phone. I laughed and pulled it out of her lap, slipping it back into my pocket. She heaved a breath, grabbing the door handle again. “You got a sick sense of humor, y’know?”

  I drove the rest of the way to Gill’s apartment complex, and parked on the street. As I shut off the ignition, I said to Mel, “Hang on a sec.”

  Her hand was already on the latch. “What?” She sounded like she couldn’t wait to get out of the truck. I studied the apartment, peering at the windows. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but a vague sense of unease washed over me.

  “C’mon, Gerrold!”

  “Mel, relax. Something isn’t right.”

  “You’re damn right ‘something isn’t right.’ I’m sitting on a frickin’ bomb!”

  I tossed her the phone. “Here. Hold the detonator.”

  She uttered a blasphemy, gripping the phone like it was a hot potato.

  “It’s a phone, Mel. It’s not going to call by itself.”

  “Oh yeah? I can see it now. Saint Peter at the pearly gates. ‘How’d you get here?’ ‘Oh, I dunno. I think I butt-dialed my truck bomb.’”

  I chuckled.

  She snarled at me. “It’s not funny, Ger! What happens if someone dials a wrong number?”

  Hmm, I thought. Hadn’t really considered that. “All right, fine. If it makes you feel better.”

  I opened the truck. Mel scampered out on the other side, putting distance between her and the vehicle. I locked the doors and
hissed at her. “Get over here. You trying to give it away.”

  “Trying to get away,” she sniffed. To her credit, she came over and stood beside me on the sidewalk.

  I asked for the phone back, and then called Gill as we stalked to the front door. He answered with his typical amity. “Speak.”

  “Truck’s parked outside, Gill. You got my papers?”

  “Yeah, I got ‘em. Come on in.”

  “No thanks. Why don’t you come out here and we can finish our business where I can see you.”

  “What the hell is this? You call the cops or something?”

  “Seriously? Do I seem like the kind of man that would call the cops? I’m public enemy number one. Biggest fish you can fry. They ain’t gonna throw me back for some two-bit minnow like you.”

  “That hurts, Gerrold. That really hurts,” he dead-panned.

  “Okay. Minnow is a bit harsh. Maybe a bass or a trout. But I’m still the marlin.”

  “I get your point. Except that why would you want to do it out there in public, where we can be seen? It’s almost like you don’t trust me no more.”

  “I don’t. Never did. I trusted Grease Pit. What happened to Grease, Gill?”

  He sniffed. “Grease done something he shouldn’t have. Guess he picked the wrong friends.”

  “I see. Well, I won’t make that mistake.”

  I heard the footsteps behind me even as Mel’s eyes widened in warning. Before I could turn around, a gruff voice ordered, “Hands up!” It came with the distinctive sch-schlock! of a shotgun shell being chambered.

  I put my hands up, still holding the phone. From the speaker, the now tiny voice of Gill answered, “You already did. Bring ‘em inside.”

  I smiled apologetically at Mel and hung up the phone. The man shoved me with the barrel of the gun. “You heard da man. Get inside!”

  Mel opened the door, and together we walked into Gill’s domain.

  Chapter 36

  The man with the gun was as easily as big as Grease Pit had been, but with a darker complexion. Hispanic, I thought. I wondered where Gill kept finding these obscenely large men. Fat Guys R Us? Rent-A-Thug?

  He carried Grease Pit’s shot gun. It looked even smaller in his meaty paws. I said, “You might want to think about the nature of the man you’re working for. Thugs like you keep turning up dead. You heard what happened to Grease Pit?”

  “Heard about it? I’m the one that shot him.”

  Mel gave me a worried look.

  “You might be next,” I told him.

  “Shut up.”

  “Just sayin’.”

  He forced us into Gill’s office and shut the door behind him, taking up a sentry position with the shot-gun cradled in his arms. Gill sat at his desk smoking a cigarette, sleeves rolled up on his shirt, with horn-rimmed bifocals perched atop his nose. He held a set of papers in his hand, studying them. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and gestured magnanimously.

  “Gerrold Smith and Melissa Cooper. Come on in. Have a seat. We’re all friends here.”

  Mel and I took our seats in front of his desk. He stubbed out his cigarette and read from the papers in front of him.

  “Certificate of Live Birth from the Department of Health, State of Hawaii. Your name is now Hollis DeMann, born October 17, 1972. Your momma was Ginger DeMann. Father unknown.”

  He passed the certificate over for my perusal, followed by a social security card. I studied the two documents, frowning. He’d done as I’d asked, and I hadn’t expected it.

  “These look good,” I said.

  “They are good. The social security number and the birth certificate are valid and ready for use.”

  “Where’d you come up with the name?”

  He grimaced and took them back from me. “Somewhere, buried in the archives of some governmental agency, is a death certificate for a two year old kid named Hollis DeMann. Mother’s dead, too. Died in an apartment fire long time ago. Biggest secret about getting fake ID’s? Don’t fake ‘em. Get the real deal. All you gotta know is where to look and who to ask.”

  “What about the rest of it?”

  He smiled thinly. “That you’ll have to get on your own. Driver’s license is your golden ticket. That’ll get you a passport. To qualify, you need sufficient proof that you are who you say you are. The DMV assigns a point value to different documents. The birth certificate confirms your name, but gives you no points. Social gives you two points. You need four more. Toward that end,” he reached into the folder and pulled out more documents, laying them on the table in front of me, “we have a pay check made out to you. Don’t cash it. It’ll bounce. A W-2. The address listed is an apartment I keep in the city. It’s a dead drop only. Pick up your mail and move on. You also have one major credit card—again, don’t use it. And finally, a supermarket check-cashing card. Believe it or not, that was the hardest to procure. Each of these documents is one point. Altogether, six points wins you a new photo ID. Be sure you smile for the camera.”

  I heaved a breath. “This is—”

  “Less than you expected? Too bad. I told you what my price and timeframe was. You get half the ID for half the price in half the time. I am nothing if not professional.”

  “I was going to say this is good. Better than I expected.”

  He put the documents back into the folder. “Trust is important to me. A man cannot succeed in this business unless his clients know they can trust him to come through.”

  “I see. Thank you.” I put my hand out for the folder. He held it back.

  “Oh we’re not done. Not by a long shot. You see, you’ve got something that belongs to me.”

  “Your truck. Parked out front as promised.”

  “Of course it is. I knew that when you pulled up. No, I was talking about our dear Ms. Cooper here. Your hostage, remember?”

  I glanced at Melissa, wondering where he was going with this. “Mel’s free to go,” I said.

  He shook his head, smiling toothily. “No, I’m afraid she’s not. She was free to go, when you were in here last. I see that now. That little bit with the gun was a nice piece of theater. Good acting, Mel. I didn’t realize you had such skill. It will come in quite handy in your future. You see, Gerrold, Mel has something that belongs to me. I am a man of many talents. I have diversified interests. A few quite profitable ventures. Scoring fake papers is a bit of a sideline. It’s good to make a little money here or there, and the insurance it gives me is, well, worth the loss I sometimes have to take. In our present case, that insurance is going to prove very useful. I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  He rose from the desk and came around to sit on the edge, lecturing us as if we were ignorant. “Now, of course I’m in to supplying drugs, guns, and the occasional threat elimination service. But the real money is in two related services: escorts and film.”

  “Prostitution and porn,” I answered.

  He nodded. “You say ‘to-may-to,’ I say ‘to-mah-to.’ Ms. Cooper has damaged my network. Certain associates that I rely on are now deceased, and a particular piece of property—a laptop computer I’d given to one of these associates is now missing.”

  “Smoothtalker,” I said.

  He pursed his lips. “I assume then, you’re familiar with my work.” He leaned over the desk and slid open the middle drawer, drawing something out. I looked at his hands, recognizing the passport he held. “I suspected as much when you showed up here with Julia’s passport and ID. More of my handiwork, of course. Why else would you come to me for an ID unless you knew my work?”

  I snorted, shaking my head. I could see Mel sinking down into her seat from the corner of my eye. I didn’t want her to think this was her fault.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said. “Near as I can tell, you’re story’s on the up and up. You really did shoot Rawles and that bailiff and have been on the run ever since. See,” he wagged his finger, “at first, I thought you might’ve been a cop—maybe a fed going deep undercover—something like
that. Something worth killing for. You claimed to be that terrorist, but nobody’d heard from him in weeks. Maybe you was faking it. But then you blow up Mel’s trailer. Kill her parents… and Parker too, a man of limited talents, but definitely some use. That’s when I put it together. You really are this man. Dangerous, but only because of how clumsy you are. You blundered your way into my business, trampled my network and upset a very carefully balanced operation, without clue one what you was into. You’re like a bull in a china shop. There’s really only two things you can do with a bull in a china shop. You can shoot it and drag its carcass on out of there, in which case, all you got left is a lot of broken plates and a dead bull. Or, you can put it on a leash and lead it out, where you can make it plow your field, turn your grindstone or what-have-you. Basically, you throw a yoke on its shoulders and let it work off the cost of all the china it broke.”

  I stared at him, amazed at how his mind worked. Calculating to the last. He handed the file folder with my forged papers to me. “Know what this is?”

  “Your idea of a leash. You’ll blackmail me with threat of exposure.”

  He tapped his forehead. “I knew you were smart.”

  “What do you want?”

  “From you? Nothing at the moment. You’ve got skills. I might need a man who knows how to blow stuff up. Think of this as me putting you on retainer. That’ll cover your part in the matter. As for you,” he turned to Mel, “you belong to me, now.”

  He tossed another document down. It landed in Mel’s lap. She stared at it, uncomprehending. I picked it up, equally dumbfounded. It was a legal document.

  “This here document grants me guardianship of you, in the event your parents die. It’s a little deal I worked out with your step-dad some time ago. All nice and legal. You’re gonna earn back the money you cost me. I figure a couple of months on your back oughtta cover the cost.”