Mother's Milk

by Charles Atkins

  Barrett looked at Jerod; he was shivering and sweating at the same time, and the hairs on the back of his arms were sticking up like porcupine quills. ‘Put two of these under your tongue and leave them there.’

  He reached forward. ‘You got to find Marky,’ he said. ‘He’s the one who collects the money and drops off the dope. But there’s somebody behind him.’ His fingers rested on the top of the bottle.

  ‘Who?’ Hobbs asked.

  ‘Don’t know,’ Jerod said, as he pressed down with a shaky hand on the cap and looked in at the tiny but potent pills. He looked up at Barrett, and then at her mother. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes. ‘How sick will I get if I don’t take nothing?’

  ‘Real sick,’ she said, ‘you know that.’

  ‘Can it kill me?’ he asked.

  ‘No, not as long as you can keep some fluid down.’

  ‘How long will it last?’

  ‘Few days, the first two will be the worst, it’ll be a lot easier with the pills, we can get you off more slowly.’

  He put the cap back on the bottle and pushed them away. His hands covered his face and he leaned forward. ‘I don’t want to be a junkie. I just want this to be over.’ He started to dry heave. ‘I don’t want the pills. Take them away.’

  Barrett put down her tea and settled beside him on the couch. She put an arm around his shoulder, and felt like telling him to just take the damn pills. ‘You sure you want to do this cold turkey? You’re going to be miserable.’

  He nodded and rocked in place his head still in his hands, his rough braids making a curtain in front of his face. ‘I can’t keep doing this shit,’ he said. He bit his lower lip. ‘If I hadn’t shot up she’d still be here.’

  ‘Carly?’ Barrett offered.

  With his head inches from her coffee table he looked at her, his lashes wet, his mouth twisted. ‘It’s my fault. If I hadn’t been nodded out I would have been able to stop them. I could have saved her.’

  ‘Stopped who?’ Hobbs asked, kneeling next to him.

  ‘I thought it was a dope dream,’ Jerod said, ‘now I know it wasn’t. It had to be real. There were two of them, Marky, and some other guy. I hadn’t seen him before.’

  ‘Did you see his face? What did he look like?’

  ‘It was fuzzy, but Marky was into him. He’s gay, and this guy was like telling him what to do. I remember thinking that was weird; people don’t tell Marky what to do. He kind of orders everyone around, but not this guy. Told him to be careful with her, that he couldn’t bruise her. He was talking about Carly, like she was a piece of furniture. They took her.’

  ‘Was there anyone else there?’ Hobbs asked.

  ‘It was the four of us – Bobby, Ashley, Carly … I’m the only one left. That’s why they keep trying to get me. I’m supposed to be dead. That’s why you shouldn’t keep me here with your baby and your mom. It’s too much.’ He sobbed. ‘There’s got to be somewhere else. You shouldn’t do this. I’m just a fucking junkie. Maybe you should put me in a cell.’

  ‘My place,’ Ruth said.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Barrett said, noting the determined line of her mother’s mouth.

  ‘Barrett, I don’t know all that’s going on here. Because Lord knows you keep things from me … your sister too. But I sure as hell know if you brought a patient to your house that something is wrong. I also know that if anyone finds out – like your boss who called here twice this afternoon looking for you – you’re out of a job … Am I wrong?’

  ‘How secure is your place?’ Hobbs asked.

  ‘Please,’ Ruth said, ‘it kept out my ex-bastard-cop of a husband when he thought he’d come and drag us all back to Georgia. And Sophie and Max were no slouches when it came to home security, back in the days when having a store and living on the Bowery meant something; they never once got robbed. We can leave the gates down on the first floor; it’s pretty secure. There’s no easy roof access, and no one knows who the hell I am, unlike my almost famous daughter.’

  ‘It doesn’t suck,’ Hobbs commented.

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ Ruth said, and proceeded to pick up Max’s large Thomas the Train tote bag and then headed toward Barrett’s bedroom.

  ‘He’s going to get very sick,’ Barrett said, ‘you’re not going to be able to leave him alone.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, ‘I have tonight off anyway, it sounds like you and Detective Hobbs are up to your ears, so I’ll take Max and Jerod for the night. We’ll figure out what comes next in the morning.’

  ‘You want a ride?’ Hobbs asked.

  Ruth stopped packing and looked at Hobbs and then Barrett. ‘No, we’ll get a cab. I think you two have things to work on; we’ll be fine.’

  Five minutes later Ruth had packed up the baby. She passed Jerod the tote and walker and they were out the door and into a cab.

  ‘What are we missing?’ Barrett asked as she watched the taxi from the window.

  ‘Marky,’ Hobbs said. ‘He’s the link to whoever is behind this. Although whenever you talk dope, it’s a chain, and it can be a long one. That’s why narcotic’s operations take forever; you’re always trying to work your way back as high up as possible. This Marky guy and whoever’s bossing him around are just two links, the dead kids are the final link.’

  ‘Here’s the part that’s gnawing at me,’ she said, ‘and it’s so way out you’re going to think I’m certifiable.’

  ‘As opposed to your normally sane behavior of running into crack houses and getting abducted by sociopaths?’

  ‘Cute … Here’s the deal. All these kids were products of the DFYS system.’

  ‘So, them and tens of thousands more?’

  ‘What if someone within the department gets it into their head that these kids have real value … as dealers, maybe even as fodder for the sex trade or even white slavery? They’re disposable, don’t have families that care …’

  ‘We’ve been here,’ Hobbs said, ‘what’s the leap to our perp or perps?’

  ‘I think they made a mistake when they broke into my office, because it was a big tip of their hand. It had to be someone high enough up who would know that I’d been Jerod’s doctor, who would have access to a key card, know where my office was, and … Call me paranoid, but the person that leaps to my mind is my boss.’

  ‘The commissioner? That is a leap.’

  ‘She used to be the Commissioner of DFYS, and years back she set up a string of drop-in centers that did good work with the kids on the street. So maybe not her directly, but someone close to her … like Hugh Osborn. Or …’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘I go to this conference … I have no choice, Janice lets me know if I don’t show it’ll be considered insubordination and finally give her the grounds she needs to get rid of me. So I show up and this ridiculously handsome young guy sits next to me in the auditorium. Turns out he’s something of a golden child for the DFYS, and … was also one of Janice’s patients when he was a kid growing up in foster care.’

  ‘OK, connections, but still not off the chart.’

  ‘Yeah, but something happened when she saw the two of us together. Almost a complete personality shift, and this is the weird thing, after making such a big deal about my being there, she was fine with me taking off in a cab … with this Chase guy.’

  ‘Really? And what exactly were you doing getting in a cab with him?’

  ‘He said he had some kind of emergency back at his office and offered to split the cab … course he knew that I worked uptown …’

  ‘It’s still weak, but maybe there is something. Much as I hate dealing with these top agency types, it’s time for a chat with your boss … It might be good for you to be there, kind of keep it informal, less of an investigation and more of a, “By the way do you think anyone in your old department might be preying on their clients?”’

  Barrett glanced at her watch. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Because …’

  ‘I sort of have din
ner plans.’

  ‘The ridiculously handsome guy you think might be a white slaver and drug lord?’

  ‘Yuh.’

  ‘You are a piece of work, Barrett.’ Hobbs did not sound happy and he shook his head. ‘I guess this gives you your chance to see if he’s all that he seems.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she said, unable to shake the intimacy of Chase’s smile, his amber eyes, and the way those eyes seemed to drink her in. Her gut told her he was bad news, but another piece of her was flattered and knew how easy it could be to fall for such an attractive man. She glanced at Hobbs; he was looking out her living-room window, the scarred side of his face turned from her. Why was he suddenly so cold? She had to change the subject. ‘You never told me who you were dating.’

  ‘You don’t know her; she works in IS … What time’s your date?’

  ‘I wouldn’t call it that, but eight.’

  ‘You better get ready,’ he said briskly. ‘If you think there might be a connection with these murders, see if he knew Bobby, Ashley, or that Carly girl. I’ll let you know if I find out anything from your boss … Have fun.’

  Before she could say anything else, he’d crossed her living room, retrieved his gun from the coffee table, and was out the door.

  ‘Crap,’ she muttered, and listened as the door shut behind him. It didn’t slam, but she felt an accusation in it. She watched from behind the linen curtains as he got into his Crown Vic and drove off. She hated the way her relationship with Hobbs had turned into a landmine of bad feelings, his … hers. She felt the impulse to run after him, to call him. But what would she say? ‘He’s seeing someone else. Let it go.’

  But he had given her an idea. She booted up her laptop and with her security clearance as a facility director had access into the databases of all the state’s social-service agencies, including DFYS. Sitting cross-legged on her couch with the computer in her lap, she logged onto their website and then into their client files. She typed in ‘Carly Sloan’ and was confronted with hundreds of electronic encounter records, essentially a history of all services provided to the girl who’d left the agency’s custody less than a year ago. The information was limited, just what service was provided and by whom. But one name snagged her attention, Chase Strand, dozens and dozens of counseling sessions that stretched back over two years. She then typed in ‘Bobby Dix’ and scrolled through his history. No sign of Chase being connected. Then she typed in Jerod’s name, and because he’d left the department a few years back, and the computer system was relatively new, there was minimal information and no sign of Chase. Again, the connection to Carly Sloan could just be another coincidence, but there were too many.

  She glanced at her watch, nearly seven. She pictured Chase and wondered what she was stepping into. She caught her reflection in the TV screen, she was still in her clothes from the morning minus her suit jacket, and between running down Jerod and feeding Max she looked crumpled and filthy. She glanced around her condo, and saw a bright orange stuffed duck on the floor. It felt horribly empty. But now, without the baby around, she had an odd thought. She was free tonight, and funky coincidences or not, she couldn’t help but think of Chase. She closed her laptop and went into the bedroom, opened her sliding closet doors, and looked in. She tried to remember the last time she’d been on an actual date, and was stunned to realize it had been before she was married. Although there had been the ongoing weirdness with Hobbs, and that horrible day he’d told her how he felt about her, that he loved her. ‘Stop it!’ she told herself, trying to figure out what she was supposed to wear, and wondering if she had a single bra that fit.

  Her eye caught on something silvery gray hanging in a dry-cleaner’s bag. ‘Right,’ and thinking of some of the outfits her sister Justine might wear, she prepared for dinner with Chase, and hoped he was the smart decent guy he appeared and not the handsome sociopath that she suspected.

  TWENTY

  Marky found the envelope with the letter K, pulled it off the bulletin board by the mailboxes, and slit it open. It was eight and all he could think about was hooking up with Chase at midnight. Seeing him at the Night Shade earlier had made his heart race, and filled him with intense longing. It was hard being around him, knowing that everyone in the room was looking at him, wanting him.

  Chase had told him that he wasn’t mad about Jerod. He could still feel Chase’s hand on the side of his neck; he’d wanted him to kiss him, but he hadn’t. ‘Later,’ he’d said. ‘Take care of this and we can have the whole night.’ He’d given him the bag of house dope, said the regular stuff would come later in the week. He’d said it wasn’t as strong as usual and everyone would have to double their doses.

  He’d decided not to tell him about the raid on the 4th Street apartment. He hadn’t been there, but Dan and Kat had given him the details. But shit like that happens, the six remaining members of the family – not counting him – were used to unexpected changes in venue. No need to bother Chase with day-to-day stuff that might upset him.

  He followed Chase’s instructions and walked past the elevator to the stairwell, climbed to the sixth floor, and got out. There was a small hallway and a single door. Whoever lived here had money; each floor in the narrow building had a single condo, it had to be worth millions.

  From down the hall he heard high-pitched barks. Chase had said to ignore the dogs, that they were locked in the kitchen and wouldn’t bother him. All he needed was to go to the big closet in the bedroom and take out all the gold coins and jewelry he could carry.

  He turned the knob, unlocked just like Chase had said. He moved fast, barely taking in the surroundings, the fussy feminine living room, the bedroom with its massive canopy bed and silk pillows. He put on gloves … should have done it before … and went into the closet. As he went straight to the safe, he noted how all of the clothing was women’s. Dozens of pairs of shoes, each in a clear plastic box. Handbags arranged in cubbies, and racks and racks of suits and dresses.

  He peered into the large wall safe. ‘Awesome!’ he muttered, opening the first of the black coin boxes. It weighed a ton, each of the shiny coins sealed inside clear plastic. Chase had told him to grab as much as he could carry; he wasn’t kidding. He’d said that gold was over $800 an ounce and that this was a major score that they’d split fifty–fifty. He loosened his black knapsack and tilted in the first box of coins. He wondered how much he’d be able to carry and maybe he could leave quick and come back a second time.

  As he worked, hurriedly opening boxes and wondering which were worth more, things started to bug him. Something familiar, it was the smells, perfume, and the hint of something like burned hair and … orange, but maybe that was just left over from meeting Chase at the bar. He heard the dogs from the other room, and something else. Someone knocking at the door … the door he hadn’t bothered to lock behind him.

  ‘Dr. Fleet?’ A man’s deep voice came from the hallway. The buzzer sounded and the barks grew in pitch and frenzy.

  Marky threw his knapsack over his back, the weight and the momentum made his knees almost buckle. He ran out of the closet and frantically looked around the bedroom, three windows, all facing 18th Street, two with bars. So no going back to the front door. He either had to hide, not a great option, or get the fuck out of there.

  ‘Dr. Fleet, it’s Detective Hobbs with the NYPD, please open the door, I’d like to speak with you.’

  He heard the door open, and then the cop coming in. ‘Dr. Fleet? Commissioner Fleet?’

  He padded silently back to the bedroom door and closed it, hopefully buying him a few seconds. He heard the cop go to the kitchen and the barking dogs.

  He ran to the fire-escape window. Scared shitless he opened the latch and using his legs for support pushed it open. It made a horrible screeching sound, as cool evening air rushed in. He heard the dogs race out of the kitchen and feared he had seconds before they came after him. No longer caring about any noise he made, he fumbled at the latch on the steel gate, got it open, and yan
ked it back. The coins weighed him down as he wiggled through the opening; he thought of abandoning them. They were worth a fortune, but more than that, Chase wanted him to do this and he wouldn’t let him down. He hauled himself onto the fire escape and looked down at the street six floors below. He turned and banged his knee painfully against one of the iron railings. ‘Shit!’ He grabbed the banister and hobbled down, going as fast as he could, the iron slats rattling and squeaking with every step.

  One flight from the bottom, he heard the cop shout out the window. ‘Stop! Police! Stop, or I’ll shoot.’

  Yeah, he thought, like that’s going to do it. Don’t turn around, just keep going. He hit the bottom flight and looked down at the street; a twelve-foot drop and he was carrying eighty pounds on his back, not to mention the brick of house dope. He saw the hanging ladder, but how the hell did it work? There was a latch, but it was old, rusty, and his fingers couldn’t get it to move.

  ‘Marky!’ the cop shouted.

  He whipped his head around. How the hell does he know my name? He shucked off his knapsack and dropped it to the ground. It landed hard and he followed, dangling off the edge to lessen the fall. He let go, dropped, and rolled on the sidewalk. His knee shot red-hot pain where he’d scraped it. He got to his feet, and wondered if he’d broken anything, but his legs seemed to work. He spotted the pack; it would hold him back. But Chase would be so disappointed. He’d be angry. ‘Fuck it!’ He hoisted it into his arms and then over one shoulder. He heard the cop coming fast, the steps rattling overhead. Pushing as fast as he could, he hauled ass across the street, around the corner, and into the subway.

  Hobbs rushed to catch the blond-haired kid before he dropped to the street. But he had too much of a head start. There was no clear shot at him, and even if there were, without knowing what was going on, Hobbs could never shoot a man in the back. More than that, and why he didn’t give chase, was there was something very wrong in Janice Fleet’s condo. The dogs locked in the kitchen, a burglary going on, and the front door open with no sign of its having been forced. Where was Janice Fleet? He’d called out Marky as a hunch, and while it was hard to see, the kid had turned around. ‘Made you look,’ he whispered.