Spilled Milk, no. 1

by Michael J. Scott

  “So all this started over some spilled milk?”

  “More or less.”

  “But isn’t the government supposed to tell you what to do? I mean, I hate cops and all their rules as much as anyone, I suppose, but ain’t that how it works?”

  “No. That’s how it is, but that’s not how it’s supposed to be. Just ‘cause the government makes a law doesn’t make the law right. We’re supposed to be a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. Did they ever teach you that in school?”

  She shrugged. “Probably. It’s not like I pay much attention.”

  “I won’t bore you with the details, but it comes down to this. The government gets its rights from the people. It only has the right to do what we give it the right to do. And we cannot give the government a right to do something unless we ourselves have that right. You following me?”

  “I think so.”

  “Do I have the right to tell you what to eat?”

  “No.”

  “So how can I give that right to someone else, for them to tell you what to eat?”

  “You can’t.”

  “Exactly. Nobody gave the government the right to tell me what I can or cannot feed my son, because nobody has that right except me. So the entire reason they came to my door to execute that search warrant was bogus. Normally, most people just let the government steamroll over them ‘cause they’re bigger and better armed. But this is Matt’s life we’re talking about, and no matter how many so-called experts back them up, they don’t have the right to do what they did. Besides, there’s only one expert on Matt, and that’s me. I know what’s best for my son. Wars have been fought over less.”

  “Okay, okay! Sorry I brought it up.”

  “Nah. I apologize. I get passionate over this.”

  “Don’t. You’re a Dad. You should get passionate over your kid. You’re what Dads should be like. Protective.”

  She pulled the car over to the side of the road and parked it. I frowned, wondering what she was up to. She pointed across the street at a house two doors behind us. “That’s Jeremy’s, and that’s his car on the side.”

  I nodded. “This shouldn’t take long.” I opened the door and grabbed screw driver from the trunk and set about removing her plates first. These in hand, I hurried across the street to the disabled Honda parked by the side of the garage. It took a few minutes to swap out the plates, and by the time I returned to the vehicle, Mel was in a near panic, pointing down the street. I followed her finger and saw a police cruiser coming toward us.

  Chapter 32

  I ducked behind the car when I saw the cop, dropping the screws to the plate, which rolled under the back tire. I lunged for them and scraped my knuckles on the ground. As I came up with the hardware, the cop car glided past. I could hear the dispatcher over his radio giving instructions about something or other, he was so close to me. Without looking back, I shoved the screws into the plate, anchoring it to the car with several quick turns of the screw driver. I moved to the front and saw two things immediately. The first was a look of sheer panic on Melissa’s face, paralyzing her. The second was the cop car putting his brakes on.

  I dropped down and shoved the plate onto the car. With one screw in place and the other finger-tight, I peered around the front bumper. The officer had thrown his lights on and had parked his cruiser directly across the street from Jeremy’s house. I slid out from my hiding spot and ducked into the front seat, pulling the door closed as quietly as possible.

  Mel’s fingers were white on the steering wheel. I craned my head around, studying the officer. He was speaking into his shoulder mic and had his hand on his gun as he crept across the street.

  “Okay,” I said. “As quietly as you can, drive off. Take the first left turn.”

  Mel started the car forward, and then hit the brake almost immediately. I felt the car lurch. I was about to say something when a large truck rumbled past on the right. As soon as it cleared our bumper I said, “Go.”

  She hit the gas and we sailed toward freedom. When I checked the mirror again, the cop was speaking to the truck driver, making hand signals to him. I swore. “It’s not gonna take them long to figure out that we swapped the plates. I figure we’ve bought ourselves a couple of hours at the most. If even that.”

  “What are we gonna do?”

  I shook my head. “This car’s too hot. We’ve got to find something else. Something that will go unnoticed and stay that way.”

  She said, “I’ve got an idea.”

  ***

  I was less than keen on her idea once she shared it with me, but as I couldn’t come up with anything better, I reluctantly agreed. I doubted Gill would be too happy to see us, especially since there was no way my papers were finished yet. But Mel assured me that the best way to snag a ride that wouldn’t get reported to the cops was to take it from someone who wanted to avoid the cops at all costs anyway.

  Besides, Gill had plenty of cars, she informed me.

  We parked outside his complex and made our way to the front step. When the heavy from the day before answered, I smiled cheerfully and said, “Remember me?”

  “What the—?” Grease slammed the door in our face, undid the chain, and flung it open again, ready to lay into me. Except this time I held his shot gun aimed at his head. He came to an abrupt stop and put his hands up.

  I lowered the gun. “You do remember. Thought you might. Gill home?”

  “He’s not in.”

  “‘Kay. We need a favor.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. Think of it as a deposit. My way of making sure he comes through with my papers.”

  He snorted. “What do you want?”

  “A car. Something nondescript, like an SUV with tinted windows.”

  “Yeah? And I want my gun back. Looks like we’re both outta—”

  I spun the gun in my hand and offered it to him, pistol grip first.

  “—luck.” He stared at the gun, dumbfounded. “Thanks.”

  I grinned. “All you had to do was ask.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “I’ve blown up a mall, a school, a cop car, a hospital wing and a mobile home. And I’ve burned down a court house. What do you think?”

  “What makes you think I won’t just turn this on you?”

  “Because it doesn’t work without the shells. Mel?”

  She breezed past Grease into the apartment.

  “Hey!” he called after her. “You can’t—”

  “Yes she can,” I said. “Tell Gill we’ll bring his ride back tomorrow. Have him call this number when my papers are ready, and we’ll make the exchange.” I handed him a slip of paper with my latest cell number on it, followed by Mel’s keys. “The Honda’s parked out front. Cops are looking for it, so you should probably put it in the garage.”

  Melissa came back from the kitchen, dangling a set of keys from her hand. The heavy’s jaw dropped when he saw what she held.

  “Not the Caddy,” he whined.

  “Gotta go in style,” she answered, passing us by.

  “One more thing,” I said. “You know a guy named Parker?”

  “Mikey? Yeah, I know him. Why?”

  “He like a regular customer?”

  “More or less.”

  “What was his business with Gill?”

  “That’s his business. Look, why you asking about Mikey?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Tragic accident. Killed in an explosion. Probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Kinda like you.”

  He paled.

  “We don’t want to have any more accidents. Maybe if you tell me what Gill was doing for him, we can avoid that.”

  “You got it wrong. Gill didn’t work for him. He worked for Gill. Ran like errands and such.”

  “He worked for Gill?”

  “Yeah. He’d send him to do deliveries.”

  “Deliveries of what?”r />
  He shrugged. “Don’t know. He never left with nothing. Just came back with cash. Sometimes drugs.”

  A picture was forming in my mind, and it wasn’t pleasant.

  “How about the Fosters? You ever hear of them?”

  He shook his head.

  “Okay. Thanks. You’ve been a big help, Grease. Is your name really Grease?”

  “Naw. It’s Mikos. Everyone just calls me Grease Pit. ‘Cause my family comes from Greece. Grease Pit. Kinda stuck. What can I say? I like barbecue.”

  I offered him my hand. “Good to meet you, Mikos. Oh, wait.” I reached in my jacket pocket and pulled out his shells, handing them to him.

  “Oh, thanks!”

  “Nice piece.”

  “Yeah. It’s kinda my signature. I felt lost without it.”

  “I can imagine. See ya around.”

  He went back inside and I hurried up the walk, my mind spinning with what he’d told me. Melissa met me at the front in a Cadillac Escalade. I slid into the passenger seat and shut the door.

  “This is more like it,” I said.

  “Don’t be raggin’ on my ride,” she said. “That’s my baby.”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with your car. It’s just a little cramped for a guy my size.”

  “Where to?”

  “Breakfast. I’m starving.”

  ***

  We drove to a McDonald’s and ordered from the drive-thru, and then sat in the parking lot with our breakfast, logged into the restaurant’s WiFi from the truck. That’s when I dropped the bomb on her.

  “Gill’s in on it.”

  “What do you mean, ‘In on it?’”

  “Something Grease told me. He said Gill would send Parker out on errands. Parker would leave with nothing, and come back with wads of cash and sometimes drugs.”

  “So Gill is SmoothTalker?”

  “Makes sense, doesn’t it? Way he’s going after underage girls?”

  She put her breakfast down and folded her arms over her chest, looking repulsed. “I’m not hungry anymore,” she said. I took a sip of coffee, relieved that she was beginning to see the truth of her associates.

  “Here’s the thing,” I added. “I just gave my best evidence to that guy.”

  “What?”

  “Judge Rawles had a fake driver’s license and passport. I offered it to Gill as part payment on my own papers. Rawles was dirty, and we know from Robert’s email that she was a concern for them, like maybe someone would look too closely at it and make the connections.”

  “So what was her connection?”

  I shook my head and pulled the laptop over. “I don’t know. She might’ve been in on it. Or maybe the whole thing had her rattled enough that she thought she might need to disappear. Maybe it was drugs. I’m just not sure. We need more information.” I opened the computer’s web browser and brought up the history, grimacing. “We need to look at some porn.”

  ***

  The acts were despicable. Unspeakable. In seconds after opening the first clip, Melissa said, “I’m gonna be sick. For real.” I paused the video and turned the screen down so she wouldn’t have to see. She opened the door and vomited breakfast onto the pavement.

  “You okay?” I asked when she closed the door.

  She shook her head, tears rimming her eyes. She shook out her hands in front of her face. “It’s just, you know?”

  “Too much.”

  She nodded. “I did that. I went through that. I-I—!”

  I put my hand on her shoulder, but she thrust it away.

  “I’m so mad. I want to just scream!”

  “Maybe you should.”

  She screamed and beat her fists against the steering wheel until finally sagging against the window, tears streaming down her face. I didn’t have any answers for her, and I felt helpless for that. I wanted to make it better for her, except there was no way to do that.

  “It’s like he’s still here,” she finally said. “I can feel him touching me. God, the stink of him!”

  Suddenly, she tore into the back seat, grabbing her pack. Clothes flew onto the seat until she emerged triumphantly with the stuffed leopard she’d rescued from her bedroom. She crushed it to her cheek, holding it like it was her only friend in the world.

  After a moment, she caught me watching her. She lowered the animal and covered her eyes. “I know it’s just a stupid toy,” she said. “God, what you must think of me. I can’t explain it. I just need it.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything. What’s your cat’s name?”

  She pressed her lips into a thin line, regarding the animal. “Princess Pepper.” She stroked the toy’s head. Most of the fur around its ears was worn to threads and patchy.

  “I imagine Princess Pepper got you through a lot of long nights.”

  “My Dad gave her to me. My real Dad. Not Robert. She came in the mail for Christmas, the first year after he left. I used to think it meant he was coming back for me. How stupid is that?”

  “Not stupid at all.”

  “I tried to run away once.” She gave a sad laugh. “I must’ve been like seven. I asked Princess Pepper to take me to my Daddy. But she didn’t know the way.” A fresh round of tears rimmed her eyes. “That’s ‘cause she was stuck in that stupid box and couldn’t see how she got here.” A sob broke free, startling her. “God, I need to grow up. Get a grip.” She wiped snot onto the back of her hand and onto the driver’s seat. I grimaced and handed her a napkin. “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “Mel, look at me. You’re not weak. You just survived hell. You took on the Devil and beat him. You won. The bastard is dead and soon buried, and he can never hurt you again. Your scars will heal, but you will always have them. Nobody fights the darkness like that and comes away without a scratch. I mean, look at me.” I pointed out my scars. “I got my face all torn up and I ain’t faced half what you been through. I can’t begin to imagine what it was like. And if you don’t want to do this, if you just want to walk away, I’m cool with that. You already took out a couple of bad guys preying on children. That’s more than can be asked of anyone.”

  I put my hand on the laptop, hesitating. Then I said, “You know what? We don’t need to do this. Not at all. I say we make some phone calls, and we just drop this off with the cops. Let them handle it.”

  She snorted. “Cops.”

  “They ain’t all bad. I know one who’s real keen on doing his job. Bastard’s been after me for almost two months and won’t let up for nothing. Let’s just give it to him and let him run with it, okay? I mean, what else are we paying them for?”

  She shook her head. “Your call, Old School.”

  I smiled and stroked her shoulder. “Lemme just shut this down.” I opened the laptop and moved the cursor over the close program button. Then I froze, staring at the screen.

  Melissa backhanded my shoulder. “What gives?”

  “The girl,” I said, my eyes transfixed on the grotesque image before me. “I know her.”

  Chapter 33

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but I was sure of it. The longer I stared at her face, the more certain I became. She was even wearing the same pink dress and pig tails as in the photograph behind the cracked glass and broken frame where I’d first seen her.

  Judge Rawles’ daughter.

  What the hell was she doing in a porn video like this?

  “Who is it?” Mel asked.

  I closed the program and shut the lid on the laptop. She didn’t need to see this. She’d seen enough pain already. When I turned to answer her, my tone had a harsh rasp in it. “It’s the judge’s daughter.” I cleared my throat, trying to find my voice. “I recognize her from a picture in the judge’s office.”

  “You remember her from a picture?”

  I pressed my lips into a thin line. “She looks just like her mom. Once you shoot somebody, you never forget their face. I’d know her anywhere. I could pick her out from a football stadium. Swear to God.”

>   “I don’t understand. How did the judge’s daughter end up in some kiddie porn?”

  “That’s a very good question. In fact, it’s the question. Put it with the judge’s fake passport and the money I found—well, it doesn’t paint a very pleasant picture of the judge’s home life.”

  “But her own daughter? That is so messed up!”

  “You’re telling me. If she was involved, then it’s probable that her husband is in collusion with this, too. That kid is still being exploited.”

  “What do we do?”

  I chewed my lip, but then resolutely shut the laptop. “We do as planned. We give this to Rogan. It’s his problem. Let him deal with it. We can’t save every kid, even if we tried. Besides, I gotta get my own kids back.” I turned and looked at her, almost pleading. “And I could really use some help with that.”

  ***

  The first thing we had to do involved a trip to the department store. I didn’t relish the thought of going someplace quite so public, but Mel insisted. “We need to get you some clothes,” she said. “You can’t keep wearing the same thing day after day.

  “Fine. Let’s just make it quick.”

  I had something specific in mind for the zoo, something I thought Mel would appreciate, and I decided now was the time to improve on her education.

  “How’d you like to learn some science?” I asked as we wandered through the clothing aisle. She’d already filled our cart with two pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, socks, sneakers, and a six pack of underwear.

  She looked up at me and furrowed her brow. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Ever hear of thermite?”

  She shook her head. “Lemme guess. It’s some kind of explosive, right?”