Spilled Milk, no. 1

by Michael J. Scott

  I heard his voice muffled on the other end, as if he’d covered the receiver with his hand and was giving commands to someone else.

  “Don’t worry about your little pet project,” I sneered. “I’ve taken care of his ugly mug. He won’t be needing no plastic surgery after all.” And with that, I slammed down the phone.

  Chapter 22

  What happened next happened fast. I knew Rogan would be on the phone to his cops here at the hospital, telling them to scurry on up to my room and all to “protect” me from, well, from myself, and that gave me little time to move.

  In the cabinet on the wall I found everything I needed to pull this off. Cotton and rubbing alcohol. I pried loose the oxygen cap against the wall, letting the gas pour into the room. I yanked the cord from the back of the phone, exposing the woven strands of thin, copper wire. After breaking off a pair of leads and stripping the insulation from the ends, I sloshed alcohol over the bed and curtain, and set a plastic tray of the alcohol soaked cotton balls on the floor beside an outlet. I took the copper leads and inserted each into an outlet, and struck one end against the other. The spark flashed a brilliant blue white, filling the air with an ozone smell. I did it again, and this time, a spark landed in the cotton. In seconds I had a roaring blue and yellow flame in the dish. I lit the curtain, tossed the rest onto the bed and tore out of the room.

  As I closed the door behind me and slipped across the hall, the fire alarm went off. It blared a shrill, grating noise through the hall, accompanied by a brilliant, pulsating flash of white light from the alarm above my door. I think I heard the spray of the fire sprinklers come on, and I wondered if my makeshift bomb was going to work or not. Nurses and orderlies rushed to the room and pushed open the door.

  The room exploded.

  A ball of fire flashed into the corridor and lapped at the ceiling. People screamed and fell, and I felt the blast of heat wash over me like an orgasm. I pulled away from it and slipped into the room opposite mine.

  An elderly lady lay in bed before me. “Is there a fire?” she croaked.

  “Yes. Get out!”

  I ducked out of her room as she started yelling and tried the next one down. This room held an older man about my size lying immobilized on the bed. He didn’t look like he was going anywhere. I drew the curtain in front of his bed and yanked open the dresser against the wall. Quickly, I grabbed what I needed: a pair of pants and a shirt. In the closet I found a coat, a hat, and a pair of shoes. His feet weren’t anywhere near my size, but there was no time to argue. I threw on the pants and shirt, feeling it stretch across my shoulders almost to the point of tearing, then I slipped my arms into the coat and wrapped it around myself. The shoes pinched my sockless feet, but there was nothing for it. I needed them.

  I grabbed the man’s wallet and headed for the door.

  Chaos reigned in the hallway as doctors and nurses treated the injured and began evacuation procedures for everyone who could move. I joined the herd shuffling toward the stairs and followed them down to the lobby below.

  Fire trucks pulled up to the entrance as I slipped into the parking garage. The ruckus from the hospital echoed off the damp concrete and masked the shuffled clomp of my footsteps.

  I’m not proud of what I did next, but I saw no other way to get out of there. She wasn’t that old. Might’ve still been a teenager, for all I could tell. But she was roughly half my size. Weak. Vulnerable. She had pink hair and a blue jean jacket with a ring in her nose. And she carried a set of keys to a white Honda Civic she’d just climbed out of a few rows down from me. I ducked beside a column and waited. As she passed by, her head down, texting on her cell phone, I reached around and grabbed her from behind. One hand on her mouth, the other around her waist. She screamed into my palm and flailed as I dragged her back against the column.

  “Shut up,” I hissed.

  She kept struggling.

  I moved my other hand to her throat and pressed gently on her windpipe. “Don’t make me kill you.”

  She stopped flailing, and started whimpering.

  “Listen,” I said. “I don’t wanna hurt you. This is a car-jacking. Not a rape. D’you understand? Nod, if you understand.”

  She nodded.

  “Good. First, hand me your phone.”

  She held it up, and I snatched it out of her hand, shoving it into my pocket.

  “Okay. Now, listen to me carefully. I have a gun in one pocket, and a knife in the other. I don’t want to use either one, but I will if I must. I’m going to take my hand away, and you’re going to tell me your name. If you scream or yell or raise an alarm, this conversation’s gonna be over really quick. Nod, if you understand.”

  One nod.

  “Very good. What is your name?”

  I slipped my hand off her mouth and onto her throat. Her hands instinctively reached for mine, but I batted them down again. “Don’t,” I warned.

  Hesitantly, she lowered her arms, sniffling.

  “Your name?”

  “M-Me-Melissa!”

  “Melissa what?”

  “Cooper. Melissa Cooper.”

  “Melissa Cooper. That’s a nice name. You here to see someone, right?”

  “W-work. In the cafeteria.”

  “Okay. That’s good to know. You’re going to be a little late today, but if you follow my instructions, you will make it. You must do exactly as I say. Can you do that?”

  After a moment, she nodded.

  “Very good. You’re a smart girl, Melissa. There’s better things in store for you than cafeteria work. I’m going to put my hand on your arm, like this,” I slipped my hand off her throat down to her bicep, “and you’re going to walk with me back to your car. You’re going to sit in the driver’s seat, and I’m going to sit behind you. Do not look at me. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Melissa led me back to her car. She unlocked the doors, and we both climbed in at the same time. I had her back out and leave the parking garage.

  Once we were on the road, I caught her glancing back at me in the rear view mirror.

  “I told you not to look.”

  “Sorry! I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Her voice was steady, surprising, given the circumstances I’d put her in. I wondered if she hadn’t had some kind of crisis training.

  “That’s right,” I said. “I can’t afford for you to have a description of me. Head for the interstate. Go east.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Not far. You’re taking me to a truck stop outside of town. Once we’re there, you’re free to go. I’ll have to keep your phone, of course.”

  She swore.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” she asked.

  “Swear. Women shouldn’t use profanity.”

  She half-laughed and sniffed. “You’re kidding, right? This is the twenty-first century.”

  “Call me old school.”

  “You don’t think women should swear, but you have no problem car-jacking.”

  Now I could hear a tinge of anger in her voice. “Actually, I have a big problem with it, but I have no other choice.”

  “Of course not.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh no. Why shouldn’t I believe you? You’ve only kidnapped me. Stolen my phone.”

  I pulled the phone out of my pocket and studied the screen.

  “Just paid for it, too,” she muttered.

  “Your friend, Misty08, wants to know WTF Where R U?”

  She shook her head. I started tapping out a reply. “Never could get the hang of texting,” I said as I pressed SEND.

  “What did you say to her?”

  “Tell me if I got this right: Got jacked. CB L8er.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “OMG! 4real?!” I read aloud. I typed a reply. “4 real. Bye.”

  “Terrific,” she said. “That was a private conversation, y’know.”


  “Nothing’s private anymore.”

  After a moment, she said, “D’you mind if I ask you something?”

  “Probably not a good idea. Go ahead.”

  “Why jack a car? Why not just call a cab?”

  “I’m in a hurry.”

  ‘That’s it?”

  “That, and I don’t want to be identified. I’m wanted by the police.”

  “Naturally. What’d you do, rob a bank?”

  I could hear the sarcasm in her voice. “You wouldn’t understand,” I said.

  “Oh yeah? Try me. I bet I can guess what you’re wanted for in three tries.”

  “Not playing.”

  “Drugs.”

  “No.”

  “No. Of course not. You’re old school. You wouldn’t be doing drugs. Or selling. That covers most of the hard core criminals I know. You’re not a psycho-killer, are ya?”

  It depends on who you ask, I thought. I shook my head. “No. I’m not a psycho.”

  “That means it’s probably a custody battle.” She glanced at me in the mirror again, but I chose to let it go. “The way you’re correcting my language, I’m thinking you’re a family man. Probably divorced. And you must’ve lost your kids for some reason and you tried to get them back.”

  “Impressive. You a cop?”

  She snorted. “Naw. I hate cops.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “So did I win?”

  “Pretty close.”

  After a moment, she said, “Aw come on! You can’t just leave me hanging.”

  “I’m not divorced. My wife died. Cancer. The state took my kids ‘cause I wanted to change their diet. My son has allergies. I put him on a diet with raw milk. Organic foods. But that stuff isn’t FDA approved, and the school called in a complaint against me. Said it was abuse. Court took away my kids. Tried to put me in jail.”

  She studied me now. “What did you do?”

  I met her gaze in the mirror, measuring her reaction. “I went to war.”

  Her eyes went wide with recognition. “Omigod! You’re that guy! The one that set off the bombs and everything. Holy crap!”

  I turned away. “Congratulations.” I swore at myself. I shouldn’t have said anything. Now what was I going to do with her?

  “You are legend! My peeps are not gonna believe this.”

  What the—? “Legend?”

  “Hell, yes! A lone father taking on the government. Attacking corporate greed what with that bomb at the mall. In the food court, no less. Hitting the fatties where it hurts! And then when you blew up the school? You became like an instant hero. D’you know how many kids in this town have wanted to do just that? Man, we got outta classes for like a week! They even canceled a whole round of testing ‘cause of the emotional trauma. Gave us all A’s. Can you believe it? It was like Christmas came early.”

  “You’re still in school?”

  “Graduating at the end of the year. And thanks to you I’ve got a stack of A’s to shore up my GPA. And then there was the way you blew past that police barricade? We were having like this party with chips and beer, watching the whole thing on Misty’s fifty-two inch flat screen. I mean like, we’re all home from school. What else were we gonna do? When that police car blew up? You should’ve heard the cheer. A whole bowl of popcorn like, flew into the air. And then when you blew up your truck on the bridge and took out the chopper? It was all like…” She made an explosion sound with her lips and hands.

  “That was an accident,” I said.

  “It was frickin’ awesome! Do you know you’ve got a fan page?”

  “A what?”

  “A fan page. You know: social media?”

  “You mean, like on the internet?”

  “Yah.”

  This is crazy, I thought. “People have died because of what I’ve done.”

  “Yeah, but nobody thinks you meant to hurt anybody. I mean, we all know how the bombs were set just to destroy stuff. And the rest of it is just—I don’t know—casualties of war.”

  What the hell kind of kids were we raising these days?

  “So where’ve you been, anyway?” she asked.

  “Hospital. Got hurt in that last explosion.”

  “Bad?”

  “Bad enough.”

  “How come they didn’t like, arrest you?”

  “Couldn’t ID me. Fire burned off half my face.”

  She swore again. “You’re not like all gross and such, are you?”

  “Skin grafts. They say I need plastic surgery. But it’ll have to wait.”

  “So what are you gonna do now?”

  “I’m gonna get my kids back.”

  “OMG. You should totally let us help you.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You think you’re the only one who wants to stick it to the man? My friends would die if we miss this chance.”

  I stared out the window, watching the barren concrete of the highway streak past, the landscape beyond peeled slowly by my field of vision.

  “Oh come on, Old School! Give the kids a chance.”

  Even from the back seat I could see her grin. “I said ‘No.’ And that’s final.”

  I should’ve known better.

  Chapter 23

  She continued to pester me for the rest of the ride to the truck stop. I continued to refuse, even telling her to get lost once she dropped me off. I retrieved the money, Judge Rawles’ fake driver’s license and passport from my hiding spot, and sat there on the toilet for a while, trying to figure out how to forge a passable ID, and then wracking my brain trying to figure out how to find someone who knew what they were doing when I realized I didn’t. After a while, I came back out.

  Melissa had waited for me, leaning back against the hood of her car, hands shoved in her pockets.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I asked.

  She shook her head, flashing me a toothy grin. “Didn’t you hear? I got kidnapped.”

  “Congratulations. Now go home.”

  “Maybe I should scream for help.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Let me help you.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  She opened her mouth to scream, and I lunged forward, putting my palm against her lips. She gave me puppy dog eyes.

  “Look. You’ve done enough. You got me here. I’m very grateful.”

  She mumbled something against my hand. I took my hand away. “—promise not to be too much trouble.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I’d be your getaway driver, and I promise not to be too—”

  “Yeah,” I cut her off. “I heard that part. Look, I said no. Don’t make me get my gun.”

  “You don’t have a gun. You don’t have a knife, either.”

  “How do you know?”

  “‘Cause you came out of the hospital, and they wouldn’t have let you keep either one.”

  “Clever girl.” I pressed my lips into a thin line. “But you’re too clever for your own good, and you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

  “Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  “You could get yourself killed! Aren’t you listening?”

  She bit her lip and pressed her palms together. “You need me. You do,” she insisted when I opened my mouth to argue. “You can’t even call a cab without fear of getting recognized. And I doubt you know anything about stealing a car, ‘cause otherwise you’d have just helped yourself instead of jacking me. Come on, let me help you. I can totally hook you up.”

  I fingered the passport. “You said you knew some criminals. How many?”

  “A few. Few more are criminally minded. They just ain’t done nothing, yet.” She put “criminally minded” in quotes for me.

  “What kind of crimes?”

  “Drugs mostly. Some B and E. Shoplifting. My cousin got caught tagging buildings. Did six months in juvie.”

  “This is way beyond any of that. You help me, not o
nly are you aiding and abetting a fugitive, you also become an accessory to multiple homicides. That is hard time.”

  “No, it ain’t. You kidnapped me, remember? I’m suffering from Stockholm syndrome, your Honor. Few sessions with a head doctor and I’m right as rain with a book deal to boot. Maybe they could get Allison Scagliotti to play me in the movie.’

  I had no idea who that was. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’tcha?”

  “You said I was too smart for cafeteria work.”

  Who knew? “Any of your friends know how to forge a document?”

  “Maybe. I’ll have to make some calls.”

  I stared at her a moment, suddenly conscious of the foot traffic around us as people moved in and out of the truck stop. So far, no one had paid us any attention. Finally, I said, “All right. But we’re gonna have to set some ground rules.”

  “Cool!”

  “No. Not cool. Dangerous. Extremely dangerous.”

  She held her palms up. “Dangerous. Got it.”

  “All right. Rule number one. It stops when I say it stops. No questions asked.”

  “No questions.”

  “All right. Rule two. We get caught, you’re my prisoner. Along with anybody you rope into this. I’m not gonna have a bunch of kids taking the fall for me. You got your whole life ahead of you. I’m not about to take that from you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Rule three: we do this quiet. I don’t want you texting or twittering about it, or posting comments on that My Face page or whatever it’s called.”

  She raised a finger. “Do you think maybe we could do like an interview thing when this is all over and post that on there? Maybe a little video action? Or maybe one of them sound recording type things with the lights all turned off?” She caught my glare and shook it off. “Never mind. Bad idea.”

  “Get in the car,” I said.

  ***

  We drove to her friend Misty’s house first. I returned her phone to her, having picked up a new disposable model from the truck stop. I sat in the front seat of the Civic now, charging my new phone in her cigarette lighter, while she went inside to talk to her friend. A knot twisted my gut when she closed the door, and for a moment I thought seriously of taking her car and just leaving her behind.