Emory picked up the cuff and snapped it on. He stood and unzipped his yellow coveralls. Underneath, he wore a gray suit, with a pressed white shirt.
“This is why you wanted me to wear my Sunday best, huh?”
“Sorry I couldn’t fill you in,” McCallum returned. “Didn’t know if you could swim, so throwing you in seemed best. Give him the coveralls.”
“I’ll be back in hour,” Whelen spat. “I’ll kill you first, Milkman. Then your dog.”
“I don’t have any pets,” Emory replied. “Or do I? Do I have any pets now, Emory?”
“I think he was referring to me.” McCallum clamped the ceramic cuff on Whelen’s wrist. “Emory Leveski you are hereby transferred to alternative work detail indefinitely.”
“You think this is a valid plan? You honestly think you can just swap people? Like parts?!” Spittle sprayed from Whelen’s mouth.
McCallum motioned for him to don the yellows. “This is what I think. I think the Milkman’s a nice guy. I’m betting you’re such an asshole anyone who knows you is going to be thrilled with your replacement.”
Whelen stepped into the coverall and zipped it up. He pressed his lips together so hard it looked to McCallum like he’d squeezed the color out, forcing it into the rest of his wet face. McCallum rounded the desk and opened the door. Conner and Eddy stood in front of the woman’s desk. She sat, doing her best to ignore their leering.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “Mr. Leveski is ready to return to the detail.” He waved Whelen out of his office and put his hand on his shoulder. “You remember Emory, right? Here he is.” He pushed Whelen forward.
Conner and Teddy exchanged glances, shrugged their shoulders and led the man down the hall.
“Sherri!” he yelled. “Tell upstairs what’s happening. I’ve—”
Teddy knocked him in the small of the back, pushing him farther down the corridor.
“Sherri,” Emory said. “That man is confused. I’m Walter Whelend.”
She ran her eyes over Emory, then McCallum. She bit her lip. She glanced down the hall, briefly, then back to Emory.
This was, McCallum knew, the moment. He wasn’t about to muscle anyone else into his scam. Not this young lady, not the people ‘upstairs’, not anyone back on the chain gang. He’d put his hatchet away for the day.
He believed what he’d told Whelen. He knew corrupt, self-centered, arrogant man-shaped shits capable of killing a girl because it might advance their careers. He knew it wasn’t one thing, with them. It was everything. They didn’t make friends, they made accomplices, some willing, some not. The difference being, friends stayed with you. Accomplices might just as well accompany somebody else.
“Whelen,” the young woman said. “There’s no ‘D’.”
Emory smiled. “We’re going to get along famously.” He turned to McCallum. “After I throw up.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Emory was right,” Emory said. “You are crazy. I can’t do this job.”
“Ask Sherri here how it’s done. It’s got to be easier than digging sewers, right?”
Emory blew a ball of air out his mouth. “I don’t know…”
“No one ever does. I do know Lillian Leveski separated from her husband. You should ask her out.”
“I will. I will… this will never work.”
McCallum said, “It will work as well as most things.”
Epilogue
McCallum gave the bartender a small print by Richard Copley. It depicted a thick group of men each carrying a sign that read “I am a man.” The man scanned it with his cuff, waited a moment for his service to tell him what the item’s current value was, and then held up four fingers. The photo was irreproducible. It should’ve bought six, but he wasn’t going to drink that many anyway. He nodded once and turned on his stool to watch the guitar player in the back of the room.
Pain is the kin that knows us
Pain is the wind that blows us
Down from the mountains, in from the sea
All ye, all ye out come free
Out from the allies, up from your knees
All ye, all ye out come free
Come out, come out wherever you be
All ye, all ye out come free
“He’s got a solid voice,” Rosalie slid in next to him, bending an elbow to the bar.
“That why you picked this place?” McCallum half-turned and wagged two fingers at the bartender.
“Just knew it to be noisy, is all.”
“A loud pub in which neither of us can buy a drink.”
The bartender brought over two long neck brown bottles. McCallum didn’t know the brand or style, but accepted them just the same.
“You seem to be doing all right.” Rosalie smiled in a tight, thoughtful line. The majority of the patrons started singing along. They leaned closer.
“Should the hairs on my neck be standing up?”
“Tell ‘em to stand down. We’re fine.” Rosalie took a sip from her beer. “It’s your friend.”
McCallum watched Rosalie’s face. He knew her well enough, deep enough, to see the slight changes in muscles around her eyes, and nose. Inside, she softened and didn’t like it to show.
“Pretty girl, Ed.”
“You think?”
“That footage was loopy. Did it come from some kind of ollie camp?”
“Some kind.”
“I don’t blame you for the two word answers. You may want to get it down to one where this lady’s concerned. I got a hit on her. Then I got hit.”
Now McCallum’s facial muscles let his inner workings out. He knew he wasn’t hiding his concern. Maybe from a trained interrogator, but not from Rosalie.
“She’s one of ours. A tier 12 out of Ecuador City. Off line for the last 22 months. I don’t know all the details for reasons I’ll get to in a moment. It’s looking like she bit some old low-rider’s dick almost clean off and transferred herself elsewhere. I dipped into the story when I noticed a trace on my search. I shut down and the next morning I get called upstairs to meet with some suit I’ve never seen before. He wants to know where I might have seen your friend and when and what I had for breakfast and how many times I pee per day.”
“I’m sorry,” McCallum said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No.” She patted his forearm. “Goes with the job.”
“What did you tell them?”
Rosalie smiled again, thin and long. “I told them it was an error. The image-rec nonsense gave me a false positive. Whether they bought it or not is unknown at this time.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“I’m a sweetheart. You know that.”
“Did you catch her real name?”
“She’s gone,” Roslie said. “I’ll bet you anything she’s even farther up north now. She must think the colder the clime, the safer she is.”
“Under a blanket of snow,” McCallum said over Roslie’s shoulder, out through the pub window, into the night.
“What an artsy thing to say. You should let that side of you out more often.”
“Or not at all,” he replied. “Can’t seem to find a proper balance.”
“There isn’t one.” Rosalie put her arm around McCallum. “There’s just swaying. Back and forth.”
They moved side-to-side to the music.
Details
The Milkman: A Free World Novel
Copyright © 2014 by Michael J. Martineck
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Edge Science Fiction
and Fantasy Publishing
An Imprint of
HADES PUBLICATIONS, INC.
P.O. Box 1714,
Calgary, Alberta, T2P 2L7,
Canada
Cover illustration by Jack Kasprzak
e Book ISBN: 978-1-77053-061-4
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EDGE Science Fiction and Fantasy Publishing and Hades Publications, Inc. acknowledges the ongoing support of the Alberta Foundation for the Arts and the Canada Council for the Arts.
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