Spilled Milk, no. 1

by Michael J. Scott

  “You sick son of a bitch!” I rose from my chair, but the man who’d been standing guard by the door was on me before I knew it, dragging me back into the chair by my collar.

  Gill clucked his tongue. “I’m doing you both a favor. Standard operating procedure in the event of a rupture to the network is to burn everything to the ground. Something you ought to appreciate there, Gerrold. By rights, I should just kill you both and dump your weighted bodies in the river. This way, you both get to live. Of course, if you find my terms unacceptable…” He motioned to the guard, who took aim with his shotgun.

  “Wait, wait!” I said. Mel was shaking. She’d drawn her legs up to her chest, guarding herself with her knees. I put my arm around her, letting her cry into my chest.

  “Touching,” Gill said. “Are you two lovers?”

  I ignored him. Cupping Mel’s face with my hands, I forced her to look at me. “Listen,” I whispered. “It’s going to be all right. I promise you.”

  “You shouldn’t make promise you can’t keep,” Gill said. I’d grown seriously sick of his condescension.

  “Aren’t you done yet?” I snapped.

  “Actually no.” He frowned. “We still have the matter of my truck.”

  “I told you. It’s parked out front.”

  “But you also told me it’d have a full tank of gas.”

  “Really?” I glared at him, disbelieving. “After all this, you’re worried about a couple of bucks?”

  “I get ahead ‘cause I pay attention to the bottom line. Besides, you made a promise. I want to be sure you’re a man who keeps his word. It’s important, you see.”

  “Well why don’t you just go out and check?” I snarled.

  He smiled and nodded at his guard. “Go check the tank.” The guard handed Gill Grease Pit’s shotgun, and left the room. A moment later, Gill’s phone rang. He hit the speaker button.

  “Speak,” Gill said.

  “It’s locked.”

  Gill rose from his chair and peered out his window. I followed his gaze to where the guard stood beside the Escalade, shrugging his shoulders. Gill turned to me. “Keys?”

  Keys, I thought. I fumbled in my pocket, pulling the truck keys out and tossing them his way. With my other hand, I slipped my phone out of my pocket. Gill aimed the remote starter at the window, unlocking the Cadillac and starting the engine in one move.

  I found the phone number and pressed send. Mel’s eyes widened. I grabbed her and pulled her to the floor. Gill turned, and the window exploded.

  Chapter 37

  Shattered glass showered the room. The force of the explosion shook the building, knocking Gill back onto his desk and sending the contents scattering to the floor. Mel was screaming, but I had no time to console her. I leaped to my feet and grabbed the shotgun from where it had fallen beside the desk. Flicking the safety off with my thumb, I pointed the gun at Gill. He groaned and turned his head, staring at me. His face was a bloody mass of cuts and embedded glass. In his eyes I read utter resignation.

  “Go to hell,” he muttered.

  I blew his head off.

  Mel screamed again, and I threw the gun to one side. I looked around frantically for the folder that held my papers, not finding it anywhere. Then I spied a corner of it lying beneath Gill’s body. Blood poured from the remains of his face, dribbling off the desk and pooling on the floor in a dark stain. I rolled his body off the desk. It landed with a thud. There on the desk, as yet unspoiled by the ribbon of crimson flowing toward it, lay the folder. I ripped it from the desk, quickly verifying its contents, and scooped up the guardianship papers that lay beside the girl.

  “Come on!” I urged.

  Mel didn’t move. I swore and dropped beside her. She didn’t have any apparent injuries, but she didn’t get up when I nudged her, either. She was in shock.

  I rolled the folder and stuffed it in my pocket then grabbed Mel beneath her knees and under her shoulders, lifting her into my arms. In the distance I could hear the sirens of rescue personnel screaming toward us. I pushed myself to my feet and, carrying her in my arms, hurried out the back.

  The screen door slammed shut as I exited the building. I felt Mel tense with the sound. It must’ve sounded like a gunshot to her. “It’s all right,” I cooed to her ear, glancing around hurriedly.

  There! The carport stood behind the building, and tucked within the corner, beneath a canvass cover, I spied a small, white car. It had to be it. I hurried across the street as fast as I could, carrying the girl with me. Grasped the cover with one hand and tugged. The canvass fell away to reveal Mel’s Civic.

  The doors were locked.

  I set Melissa down on the pavement and tried to meet her eyes. She stared away, like she wasn’t in there. “Mel?” I said. “Mel!” No response.

  I slapped her cheek. A loud smack on the side of her face. Mel gasped and looked at me. Her eyes registered confusion.

  “Ger? How… did we get here?”

  I swore. There was no time for this!

  “Listen to me. Do you have the keys?”

  “Keys?”

  “To your car. Your Honda.”

  “My car. Keys. Umm… th-they’re in my purse.” She nodded, her lip trembling.

  “Where’s your purse?”

  “At the motel. I left it there.”

  I swore again. “What about a spare? Do you have a spare?”

  She licked her lips, and then nodded. “Yeah.” She pulled away from me, reached into the driver’s side wheel well, and removed a magnetic key holder. Sliding it open, she held up a single car key.

  “Genius,” I muttered, and unlocked the doors. “Come on. Hurry. We got to go.”

  Mel scrambled around the car as I slipped into the driver’s seat and started the car. Before she’d even closed the door I shifted into gear and tore out of the carport. The rescue personnel and cops rushed toward the front of the building, where a crowd had gathered outside their front doors to watch the excitement or complain about their broken windows. I veered around the back side of the complex, jumped the curb onto the grass, and tore across the side lawn of one of the buildings. I took out a small tree and a child’s tricycle in the process. The car skidded onto the street, leaving black tire marks across the curb where we crossed the sidewalk. I hit the accelerator, blowing the next two stop signs until we were far away from there. Only then did I swerve into an alley and stop.

  The car lurched when I hit the brakes and died. I sat there a moment, gripping the steering wheel, staring across the windshield at the empty alleyway that stretched out before us, and then again in the rear view mirror at what lay behind us. I couldn’t see anything either way.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  Weakly, she muttered, “No.”

  “Are you injured?”

  She shook her head. I nodded, grateful. She put her hand on her forehead, leaned against the window, and started sobbing. “I wanna go home.”

  I gritted my teeth. She had no home to go to. Neither did I. The best I could manage was an empty motel room. It would have to suffice.

  I turned the key and restarted the car, and then slowly drove the rest of the way down the alley and out onto the street.

  ***

  Mel didn’t say anything when we got back to the motel room. She grabbed Princess Pepper and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door. I knocked once on the door after fifteen minutes, but there was no response. I thought it best to leave her alone. Instead, I slipped over to the diner and picked up some take out before hurrying back to the motel.

  When I got back to the room, Mel was packing her stuff.

  “What are you doing?”

  She looked at me stricken, as if she hadn’t wanted to see me there. Finally, she put her backpack over her shoulder. “I’m leaving.”

  “Leaving?”

  She nodded. “I have to. I gotta get away from you, Gerrold. People are dying. The more time I spend with you the more—” A fount of emotion burst
from her mouth in a sob, overwhelming her words. She collapsed onto the bed, searching the walls as if looking for answers.

  I closed the door and leaned against it. “You’re right. You should go. Get far away from me. You should be in school, wearing poodle skirts and ribbons in your hair—enjoying the best years of your life. I never shouldda kidnapped you from that hospital, and I am so sorry that I did.”

  “No,” she said.

  I shook my head. “It’s true. I’m no good for you. I am bad news. Gill was right. I’m a frickin’ bull in a china shop. It’s like I’m on some kind of rampage, and I just can’t stop. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  She closed her eyes, her lips forming a tortured smile. “Damn, Old School. This is hard enough. Why you gotta go and be so noble for?”

  I shrugged.

  She waved a hand at the air. “You even got dinner.”

  “Thought you’d be hungry.”

  “Probably should be.”

  I reached into my wallet and pulled out a pair of hundreds. There wasn’t much money left, but I figured she needed it more than me. “Take this. Just take this and get somewhere safe.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Guess I’m gonna eat this burger alone. And tomorrow, I’m gonna call Rogan, and meet at the zoo like we planned. I’m gonna try to get my kids back. And I probably won’t make it that far. But it’s worth a try. I got to get the evidence into his hands. Get him to take those people down. Maybe taking down a child trafficking ring will win me some good will.”

  She rose from the bed and came over to stand in front of me. “I hope you succeed.”

  “Thanks.”

  Then she put both hands on the side of my face, leaned up, and after the slightest hesitation, kissed me full on the lips. The kiss was soft, innocent, almost virginal. When we parted she bit her lower lip and said, “Thanks for saving my life. I love you, Gerrold Smith.”

  I smiled and caressed her cheek. “You’ve saved mine as well. I love you, too, Melissa Cooper.” She let go, and walked out the door.

  And just like that, she was gone.

  Chapter 38

  Sleep evaded me most of the night. I never ate the burgers I’d picked up, and in the morning, I just dumped them in the trash. I made coffee and took a shower, and then packed up the rest of my stuff—including the five remaining incendiary “keys,” Mel and I had built.

  I debated whether or not to use them, since I didn’t expect to be getting away. In the end, I decided to go for it anyway. It was something I wanted to do for Mel. Something she alone might understand.

  When I left the motel room, I was startled to see that Mel’s Civic still waited in the parking lot. The doors were unlocked, and the keys lay under the front seat. Anybody could have taken the car. I wondered why she hadn’t driven off. I hoped everything was all right.

  I sat down in the driver’s seat and pulled out my cell phone, prepared to start making calls. I had a lot to get done today and a short time to do it. Instead, I found a text waiting.

  Mel247: Good luck 2day.

  With a grin, I typed up a quick reply and pressed SEND. A moment later, the phone chimed.

  Mel247: I’m fine. Staying w M. Thnx 4 asking.

  I snorted and wrote, “Did U mean 2 leave UR car here?”

  Mel247: Thought U’d need a ride. Didn’t want U 2 jack some1 else.

  I laughed. “No worries. Gotta go now.”

  Mel247: CU L8er.

  “Bye.”

  I hung up and stared out the window, thinking of her. She’d only been gone a few hours, but already I missed her company. I started the car and drove away.

  ***

  The first stop I made was at the local DMV office. After an hour of waiting I applied for a license and scheduled a road test, explaining that I’d recently come out of a coma from a fire, and pretty much had to relearn everything. One look at my face, and the counter clerk asked no further questions.

  Naturally, I passed the road test with flying colors. I told the tester that my muscles must’ve had better memory than my mind. He chuckled and signed off on the test, and after another long line, I received a provisional license.

  I was now officially Hollis DeMann, former deceased toddler.

  Next, I headed for the zoo. The drive took less time than I thought, and afforded me plenty of time to plan my operation. As I wandered the grounds, it occurred to me that there was no real way to control for all possible outcomes. Without Mel to get my kids out through the gift shop or to pick me up on the other side, I was out of luck. The best I could hope for would be a clean getaway.

  It was a frail hope at that.

  Nevertheless, I made preparations whenever I was alone—the zoo didn’t have that many visitors today—and once I finished, I sat down on a bench by the lion paddock and made the first of three phone calls.

  “I’d like to speak Bill Jefferson, please.”

  “Are you a client?” The voice on the other end was Bill’s receptionist, Vanessa. I always liked her. She was cool and professional. Friendly, but she knew what questions not to ask, like who was calling.

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Hold please.” A moment later, Bill answered the phone.

  “Jefferson and Davis, attorneys at law. Bill Jefferson speaking.”

  Being a southerner, I always liked the name of the law firm. It’s why I picked them. If only Bill had practiced law as well as he picked his firm’s name.

  “Bill, it’s Gerrold.”

  There was a long pause on the other line, then a heavy sigh, then, “Gerrold Smith. You, sir, are in a heap of trouble.”

  “You still my lawyer?”

  “Yes. But don’t expect a lot. I can’t work miracles.”

  “I noticed.” Truthfully, I couldn’t resist the dig. I felt sure Bill thought he did his best handling my defense the first time around, but what do I know? Only that I still got screwed.

  “What do you want?” Bill said. “I hope you’re planning on turning yourself in, because there’s not a whole helluva lot I can do otherwise. If we’re lucky, I might get you paroled after twenty.”

  “Relax. I’m not asking you to mount a defense.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “Relax? You’re not turning yourself in, and you want me to relax. Nobody’s gonna relax while you’re still out there, my friend.”

  “I’m disappearing. I just need you to do something.”

  “No way. I am not doing anything illegal—”

  “Shut up! I’m not asking you to. I need to do something about my house.”

  “Your house?”

  “I want you to transfer ownership to somebody.”

  “Am I a real estate attorney? I don’t think so. The words beneath the name on my door clearly say ‘Defense Counsel.’ And my counsel is: turn yourself in!”

  I gripped the phone. “Damn it, Bill, you owe me one after the way you handled my case. And you’re the only person who can probably pull this off. You have the authority to legally act on my behalf. It’s not like I’m gonna show up somewhere to sign anything.”

  “You’d have to.”

  “Well we can make that happen. You’re still the only one I can arrange to meet without putting them at risk or winding up in handcuffs myself. I really need your help on this.”

  “Does this somebody really exist?”

  “Yes. Her name is Melissa Cooper. She’s a seventeen year old kid. She just lost her parents and her guardian.”

  “You want to give your house to a seventeen year old girl?”

  “She turns eighteen in a month.”

  “Never mind. Forget I asked. I don’t even want to know what your relationship with her is.”

  “Good call. But just between us? It’s clear. There’s nothing going on. I just owe her a favor. A big one, and this is the best I can do.”

  After a moment he said, “All right. Fine. I’ll give you a hand. I know a property guy that can help out. Call me tomorrow a
nd we’ll set it up. You still have to pay for it, though.”

  “I’ll have cash for you when we meet to sign.”

  “You’d better. And Gerrold? Try to stay out of any more trouble. You’re giving me an ulcer.”

  I hung up. Next, I dialed Mark Durand, the reporter from KTPY News. He was less happy to hear from me than my attorney had been.

  “Hey Mark, long time.”

  “Not long enough. What the hell do you want?”

  “Well, I feel bad about how things went down between us before, and I want to make up for it. I’ve got a story for you.”

  “I don’t want your story! I don’t want a damn thing to do with—”

  “It’s not my story I’m offering. That’s still yours if you want it, but I understand if it might be a little too hot to handle. This is something different, and you don’t have to meet me at all. Let me just toss these words out to you, and if you’re not interested, fine. I’ll never contact you again.”

  In a low growl he said, “Okay.”

  “Child sex trafficking and pornography ring, court system, and foster care.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’ve got hard proof. Names. Dates. Emails. Pictures. And videos.”

  “And how would you know about it?”

  “Because Judge Rawles’s daughter is in one of the videos. I recognized her from the judge’s office. Not only that, but you know that explosion yesterday at the Bleeker street apartments? Inside, the cops found a passport with Rawles’s photograph, and a fake name. I know ‘cause I was there. Judge Rawles was in on it. The ringleader was a man named Gill Warner, recently deceased. Talk to the cops. They’re still trying to piece it together, but I’m about to give them the evidence that’ll blow the lid off the whole thing.”

  “So why tell me?”

  “I told you. Members of the court are involved, as are players in the foster system. I have no idea how deep the rabbit hole goes, and I don’t know who I can trust. I’m giving the stuff to Detective Rogan, ‘cause I think he’s honest. But if I’m wrong, I need someone who’s gonna hold his feet to the fire and make sure this thing doesn’t get swept under the carpet.”