[No Justice 01.0] No Justice

by Sean Platt

  Paul watched the old lady struggle to lift the bag and locate the barcode. Then he looked at the thoughtless pig of a woman, wondering how someone could be so cruel as to get into the oldest cashier’s line and pile ten bags, which probably weighed fifty pounds each, onto the conveyor. There were four other lanes open, each with a younger person who could’ve handled the bags without any problem.

  “I only need the one,” the old lady said, after finally scanning the first bag’s code.

  The pig in front of Paul said, “Oh,” then proceeded to put the bags back into her cart, before rummaging through a crap-filled purse. “Hold on. I’ve got a coupon for that.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  She finally found her coupons and handed them to the old lady, who raised it to her eyes, squinting to read the fine print.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but these coupons expired last year.”

  “Oh, come on,” the pig said. “I come in here all the time, and nobody ever gives me a problem.”

  “Sorry. I can’t ring up expired coupons.”

  “I want to see your manager.”

  The old lady sighed, reached behind her register, and flicked a button that turned on the red light to indicate that she needed assistance.

  The pig looked back at Paul, not to apologize for the delay caused by her unreasonable demand, or for her selfishness, but rather to remark, “Can you believe this shit?”

  Everything about this woman disgusted Paul.

  “No,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I can’t.”

  The woman smiled, not sensing his disdain. If she could see through Paul’s shades, there would be no mistaking his eyes. She thought she had a comrade. Hell, she was probably turned on. Paul was used to women flirting, even hogs like this one. He found it amusing that woman approached him. It was as if God were playing some cruel joke, never sending the right ones his way.

  The manager came over, heard the woman’s complaints, as the cashier stood helplessly by, probably wishing she’d saved for retirement.

  The manager also refused the coupon.

  And the woman threw a fit.

  Unable to take any more, Paul said, “Excuse me, how much is the coupon for?”

  “Fifty cents off two bags.”

  All this over five bucks?

  He reached into his pocket, handed the cashier a Five, and said, “Here. Apply this to her bill.”

  Everyone was looking at Paul. He immediately wished he hadn’t done anything. He hated attention, and had surely angered the swine.

  But the pig wasn’t mad. Instead, she was all smiles, as if he’d bought her a drink. “Thank you. It’s good to see that there are still some gentlemen left in this world.”

  She said that as if it was some kind of burn on the Target employees refusing her coupon.

  After the hog was gone, the old lady thanked Paul for his patience.

  “No, it’s you who should be thanked for yours.” And, since the front end manager was still standing by, he added, “I don’t know what this lady makes, but you ought to give her a raise for dealing with people like that.”

  The manager laughed.

  Paul paid for his stuff with cash and then left.

  Outside, the boar came toward him in a big SUV.

  She rolled down her window. “Thanks, honey.”

  “No problem.”

  She looked him up and down. “Wanna get a drink some time?”

  Paul couldn’t stifle his laugh. He was amazed at how badly she was misreading the situation.

  Well, now she wasn’t.

  Her eyebrows arched. “What’s so funny?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. But no thank you.”

  He pushed his cart, eager to put distance between them.

  “Asshole!” she yelled, pulling away.

  Paul laughed.

  **

  He brought his bags inside the house, went to the pantry and grabbed a loaf of bread, then got two slices and set them on a 10-inch pink plate with yellow flowers. He made a PB&J, slicing the sandwich into four diagonals, then folded a paper towel neatly into a fan and placed two lemon cookies onto the plate. He grabbed a tall plastic tumbler from the cabinet and poured cold milk into it.

  He placed the meal and the drink onto a pink tray, grabbed a bright pink Gerbera daisy from a vase and laid it on the tray. He smiled, wondering if Jessi appreciated these little touches in his presentation.

  He opened the door leading down to the basement and carried the tray downstairs. Holding it with one hand, he dug into his pocket, grabbed his keys, unlocked the padlock, then the door itself, and pushed it open.

  “Guess who’s home …” Paul’s voice was a song, entering the bedroom that he’d spent ample resources turning into a little girl’s paradise.

  The walls were pink, lined with posters of familiar characters and adorable animals. The four-poster sleigh bed was something any girl would love, and it had over 1,000 five-star reviews to prove it. The shelf above the bed was lined with stuffed animals looking down with big eyes and giant smiles. There was a toy box across the room, filled with dolls, books, art supplies, and other stuff to keep Jessi busy while Paul was at work. There was also a full bathroom with a tub. Plants hung above concealed one of the room’s many secret cameras.

  Jessi sat on the bed, under the blanket, knees to her chin, not saying a word or looking at Paul.

  “I made you dinner.”

  She continued avoiding him, not saying thanks or showing the slightest bit of gratitude.

  He resisted the urge to get angry, reminding himself that Jessi was still living under the illusion that she would see her father again, and was madder with every day that passed, holding more of Paul’s excuses as to why he couldn’t come get her.

  “I want to see my dad.”

  “Soon. But right now, people are watching him. If he comes now, the police will put him in jail.”

  “But you’re a police officer, aren’t you? Can’t you tell them not to?”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, honey. It’s complicated. You don’t want to get your dad in trouble, do you?”

  “No,” she said, her bottom lip jutting out.

  Paul hated to see Jessi upset and hoped she wouldn’t stay mad once she realized the truth. He wanted to win her over.

  Paul found himself looking at her big blue eyes, her long blonde hair, and her bright pink lips. She was beautiful, could easily have been a child model.

  He wished he could freeze her in this moment forever.

  Wished he could keep her from growing up. Keep her in this room as a pretty little princess forever, his pretty little princess.

  But that wasn’t an option. You couldn’t stop time, and all girls, no matter how sweet and innocent, grew into women — lying evil bitches, every one of them.

  But maybe, Paul thought, he might keep this one past her tenth birthday. They could have so much fun.

  As she continued to sulk, Paul wished that he’d bought the other card, the one with the dog and the frosting.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 7 - MALLORY BLACK

  Mallory sat at the table in the back of McKinley’s Pub staring at her whiskey shot, trying to remember how many she’d had.

  She’d lost count after seven.

  Whatever the number, it wasn’t enough to forget.

  Tomorrow Ashley would have been twelve.

  But instead of celebrating her birthday, Mal was drinking alone to the looming two year anniversary of her death.

  They found her body a week after she would have turned ten. Time of death estimated was right around her birthday.

  Killed on the anniversary of her birth.

  What kind of sick fuck does something like that?

  She downed the shot, then raised her glass to signal the waitress, a redhead in her thirties named Judy who’d been working at McKinley’s for at least the year and a half that Mal had been drowning her sorrows.

  Judy came over
and grabbed the glass. “You want anything else to eat?”

  Mal looked at her phone — 10:15 PM — then at the bowl of pretzels she’d been more or less ignoring since getting there two hours ago. “No thanks.”

  Judy looked like she might try and convince her, but then simply smiled and left.

  Mal had been coming here long enough that Judy, as well as the other people employees, knew who she was: The Ex-Deputy Who Lost Her Kid Then Won the Lottery the Following Year.

  To the staff’s credit, they didn’t pester Mal about her daughter, nor did they ever hit her up for money. That was the mark of a good establishment — filled with people who were perfectly happy to leave you the fuck alone. And if you happened to get in a fight with an aggressive asshole every once in a while, they’d look the other way. Provided you paid for whatever you broke.

  McKinley’s was a faux-Irish sports bar, catering to working class stiffs, college sports fans, and, if you came late enough, desperate people looking to score. It was loud and reeked of fried foods and alcohol. The perfect place to lose yourself in a drink or ten.

  It was also the sort of place she wasn’t likely to run into anyone she used to know. Most cops hung out at real bars on the other side of town, or in the trendier sports bars along the beachside in Pine Harbour. McKinley’s was in Butler, the county’s oldest city — a small burg with a rich historic district replete with boutique shops, bed and breakfasts, and some of the county’s best inland restaurants.

  But the bar was on the wrong side of the tracks, literally, in a ten square mile blight full of federal housing, high unemployment, and one of Florida’s highest crime rates.

  Mal could easily have moved to a new house untainted by terrible memories, in a town where she wasn’t known. But for reasons she didn’t understand, leaving felt like abandoning her daughter. Mal had even left Ashley’s room exactly as it was the day she vanished, just in case.

  As if she might someday walk through the door.

  As if they’d never found her body naked in a drainage ditch.

  As if the dental records hadn’t matched.

  As if she didn’t bury her daughter in the pouring rain.

  As if the past could ever be different.

  Leaving was like cowardice to Mal, even though she had legitimate reasons to go. She was a multi-millionaire. She should move to a proper gated community, or at least to a place where people didn’t know who she was. Where people might not think to rob her. It hadn’t happened yet, but these were desperate times and people got robbed for less than a Benjamin.

  But instead of leaving, Mal bought a new state-of-the-art security system and dyed her blonde hair a dark brown.

  And she was always packing.

  Let a fucker try and rob her.

  Mal refused to run.

  Judy set another shot on the table, then said, “Want some company?”

  Mal looked at her, uncertain if Judy was asking out of kindness or flirting with her. It didn’t seem like flirting, but Mal was so drunk, she couldn’t be certain of anything. And she supposed Judy had seen Mal leave with enough men and women to know she was plenty promiscuous.

  “No thanks. Just doing some thinking.”

  “Okay. Lemme know if you change your mind, about either the company or the food.”

  Mal nodded, said, “Thanks,” then took her shot with a swallow.

  Mal wasn’t gay, nor even bisexual, though maybe the dabbling meant that she was. Who knew? Judy was attractive, and would surely be pleasant company to leave with.

  Mal wanted to be alone, but she didn’t want to be lonely. Which was why she’d come here. If she got drunk enough, she could leave with someone, and maybe forget her pain for at least a little while.

  But sleeping with staff that she’d have to see again seemed like a certain mistake.

  Her phone buzzed.

  A phone call from her old partner, Mike.

  She let her voicemail answer, same as for every other call today: her ex-boss, her sister, her ex-husband, Ray.

  She couldn’t listen to them.

  Not tonight.

  Not when she wanted to wallow.

  Mal also ignored a call from a reporter, no doubt wanting a quote on the missing child, Jessi Price. Whenever a kid went missing in the tri-county area, some reporter wanted a quote about the effectiveness of parenting, laws, or whoever was currently being blamed for bad shit happening to good people.

  An obnoxious braying laughter yanked Mal from her misery.

  The guffaw was coming from one of two men in their late twenties or early thirties, playing pool with a pair of girls. Maybe college freshmen. One man was tall and handsome. He looked like a former football player, wearing a red cap backward. The other was a seedy-looking dude, too skinny, resembling every low rent drug dealer Mal had ever arrested during her years in violent crimes.

  The girls, a blonde and a brunette, were pretty. Mal could tell they came from money. The only question was whether they were slumming it tonight, or if these men were their usual type. If so, they wouldn’t maintain their youthful looks or their parents’ money for long. These guys were vampires and would suck up both, getting the girls addicted to drugs until their parents buried or disowned them.

  Mal shook her head, watching the girls giggling at every stupid thing the assholes said.

  Whenever Mal saw girls like this, she wondered if she could’ve ensured her daughter didn’t wind up the same way. Ashley was pretty, creative, and whip-smart. But even at nine, her need for attention would’ve put her in the crosshairs of men like this.

  Mal liked to tell herself that Ashley would’ve been too smart to fall in with such a crowd. But as a product of a broken marriage and — if Mal was honest with herself — a shitty mom who spent more time working than being present, it was a practical recipe for creating a needy girl with a lack of confidence, the exact kind of girl that assholes preyed on.

  Mal liked to think that things would have been different, particularly after she won the lottery. But she didn’t play the lottery back when she was still working, so she might never have won if Ashley had lived. She might still have been working long hours, missing important things, and never being there for Ashley in the way a more present mother would have been.

  The alcohol wasn’t enough. Mal needed something more.

  She stood, went to the restroom, dug into her purse, and found the small plastic pouch with two pills tucked inside.

  She popped them in her mouth, washed them down with a handful of water from the sink, then closed her eyes, waiting for the opiates to kick in.

  She’d started taking pain pills after hurting her back a half-year ago. But they had the unexpected side of making her happy.

  Mal had worked as a detective long enough to know the dangers of drugs. Not only from people she busted but from fellow cops. And opiates were among the scariest — they got their hooks in you, then they owned your ass.

  But Mal never realized how intoxicating they could be, until her first.

  It was as if she’d never known true bliss. Someone had put a dampener on her pleasure receptors, and the pills ripped it off to inject pure, unfiltered joy into her brain.

  Finding that kind of happiness after her life had been anything but, was life-altering.

  Soon Mal was taking the pills several times a day, even though she never again reached the same high.

  Now, she needed them just to get through the day.

  They made her stable more than happy. Sure, the euphoria was still there, and incredible before it faded. But the feeling never lasted long.

  Mal left the restroom and returned to her table.

  A new drink was waiting.

  She sat, swallowed, and enjoyed her buzz.

  Leaned back, closed her eyes, and fell into the moment.

  One of the young girls stumbled past Mal, leaving the restroom looking obliterated, before making her way back to the pool table.

  She told her friend that
they needed to go. The brunette thanked the guys for a fun night, then started to help the blonde toward the exit.

  Jock and Dealer traded a glance then started laughing hysterically. Dealer said something to Jock that Mal couldn’t hear. Then Jock said, “Hells yeah!”

  They followed the girls into the parking lot.

  Mal sighed. She knew exactly what was going to happen.

  The guys would try to talk the girls into going back to their place for some date rape. Mal was feeling a nice buzz and didn’t want to fuck that up.

  But nobody else seemed to give a shit about the drunk girls leaving the bar with a matching set of losers.

  She stood, grabbed her purse, and headed outside.

  McKinley’s lot was small, meaning that at busy times you had to take your chances parking on the residential streets behind the bar. For the first few blocks, you were fine. People in those homes mostly took care of them, and crime wasn’t too bad. But a few streets further back, in the asshole of Butler as the deputies called it, the reality was much worse. You only wanted to park that far from the bar if you felt like having your rims stolen or your car broken into, or maybe if you enjoyed harassment from people with nothing better to do than start shit in the streets.

  The guys were laughing, following the girls down one of the side streets.

  Jock was trying to sway the girls to his pad.

  Mal laughed. She hadn’t heard anyone call their place a “pad” in years. These guys were total douchebags.

  The blonde giggled as Jock grabbed her, pushed her up against a car, and kissed her.

  The brunette whined in a voice that said that this wasn’t how she wanted to spend the night. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s go.”

  Jock raised his finger to silence her, while sloppily making out with the blonde.

  Dealer started chatting up the brunette, but she clearly wasn’t into him.

  “Come on,” the brunette pleaded again.

  Sammy pulled away from Jock and hugged her friend. “I love you so much, Evie.”

  She started to walk with Evie.

  But Jock yanked Sammy back.

  Evie tugged at her friend and yelled, “We’ve got to go home!”