by Simon Wood
Milligan rose to his feet, taking his uneaten meal with him.
“Where you going?”
“I’ve lost my appetite.”
He felt the heat of a thousand eyes fall upon him as he trudged over to the trash. The word was out. They knew he was marked. Dead man walking, he thought. He was on a private death row until Friday.
“Something disagreeing with you tonight?” the corrections officer asked as Milligan scraped his meal into the trash can.
This was a subtle approach by the CO, which Milligan could appreciate. He, along with his colleagues, probably knew about Rodriguez’s ultimatum, but there was little they could do to prevent something from happening unless someone came forward. If he were to say something, he could find himself in solitary until this storm blew over, but he didn’t need the help. He could prove to Rodriguez that he’d taken the liquor store’s proprietor hostage when the cops had closed in.
Milligan placed his tray on the rack. “Nothing to worry about, Sorenson. I’ll get over my troubles soon.”
TUESDAY
Milligan slipped into one of the phone booths in his block, having signed up for telephone time with the tier officer. He lifted the receiver and gave the operator Carole’s number. Since she’d lost her job, he didn’t have to worry about whether he’d find her at home. The operator connected him.
“Hey, it’s me.”
He sensed her tense up, and he knew why. He rarely called. He preferred talking face-to-face with her during visiting hours. But he couldn’t allay her fears. They had to be careful about what they said. An officer from the tower or the wall post monitored all calls, listening to several calls at once. The moment they heard any key words relating to killing, drugs, threats, or even cussing, the call would be disconnected and explanations would have to be made. He skirted around the subject, using code words they’d worked out a long time ago, and used the failed appeal as a cover story for the call. He got his point across well enough for Carole to read between the lines and know he was in serious trouble.
“Can I do anything for you?” she asked.
“Can you talk to my mom? I know she followed the case in the newspapers. I need the article with the picture of the woman from the liquor store.”
He would have liked to call his mom himself, but he knew she wouldn’t answer his calls. She loved him, but she couldn’t admit to the embarrassment of her son being a convicted criminal, even to him. Moms were funny sometimes.
“Can you do that?” he asked.
“I’ll go straight over there.”
“Thanks, babe.” A pressure had built in his chest like indigestion, and it had seemed to be on the edge of bursting since Rodriguez had tagged him, but Carole eased that. A lightheaded sensation swept over him, and he leaned against the phone booth to keep him from falling. “So how are you?”
She didn’t feel as euphoric as he did at that moment. She cataloged her prison term on the other side of the bars. Macarthur wanted paying, as did the landlord and everyone else. He did his best to soothe her, but what could he do from here? He couldn’t make amends for another eighteen months, and that was dependent on a lenient parole board. It would be a long eighteen months for Carole. A CO brought the call to an end.
“I gotta go,” he said, “but I’ll call tomorrow. You’ll have the newspaper tomorrow?”
“I’ll get it now.”
WEDNESDAY
“What do you mean she doesn’t have it anymore?” Milligan demanded. He worked hard to keep his tone in check. Shouting on the phone would get him disconnected as quickly as mentioning drugs.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Carole said. “She’s thrown out everything about the case. I guess I can ask the newspaper for a copy.”
How could she? Milligan thought. She hadn’t ever let anything pass by without scrapbooking it. What a time to change her lifetime habit.
From the corner of his eye, Milligan caught sight of Rodriguez staring at him from across the cellblock, and the heat went out of his anger. It wasn’t Carole’s fault, or even his mom’s for throwing out his best chance of staying alive. It was just his bad luck—as usual.
Rodriguez crossed the cellblock, sidestepping the cleaning detail. He put his head inside the phone booth. “Friday,” he said, his threat heavy on the air, and walked out of the block.
“What do you want me to do?” Carole asked.
“Get Macarthur to visit me. I’ll put him on the list for tomorrow.”
THURSDAY
“Good to see you, Phillip.” Macarthur slipped into the seat opposite Milligan.
A corrections officer walked by their table in the general visiting room, and Milligan waited until he’d passed before speaking. “Yeah, I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Yes, the appeal should have gone a lot better.”
The remark made Milligan wonder who Macarthur was feeling bad for—his client or himself. “Did Carole tell you about my problem?”
“Yes.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Obviously, we take this up with the warden and have you or this Rodriguez taken out of general circulation.”
Milligan shook his head. “You know how things work here.”
Macarthur straightened his tie and opened his attaché case. “Yes, I do,” he said, sounding solemn. “How I wish it wasn’t true.”
“Then what can you do to help?” Milligan tried not to sound desperate, but he felt the pressure of time crushing him.
“I can produce my trial notes and other court documents, which will prove that Arlene Lozarda is indeed a sixty-year-old woman.”
“That’s great.”
“I’ll make arrangements with Rodriguez’s lawyer to request a meeting.”
“By tomorrow, right?”
“I have a call in to his office now. Things should be sorted out by tomorrow.”
Macarthur’s confident tone removed the ramrod from Milligan’s spine, and he slouched in his chair. This was what an eleventh-hour reprieve felt like. “Thank you.”
A look of sadness clouded Macarthur’s lean features as he packed up his notes. “You realize this will cost you?” he remarked.
Money wasn’t an issue to Milligan. The value of his life far exceeded Macarthur’s billable hours. “Yes.”
“Your account is mounting up. Actually, it’s overdue, and Carole tells me she won’t be able to send me a payment for several months now that she doesn’t have a job.”
Milligan stiffened in his chair. “You’ll do this, though, won’t you? You’ll square this issue with Rodriguez?” He felt that reprieve slipping away from his grasp like it was coated in grease. “You’ve got to. You can’t walk away now.”
Macarthur raised his hands to placate Milligan. “I’m not coldhearted, Phillip. I realize the magnitude of the problem and, yes, I will do all that I can, but I can’t ignore my fees. I do need payment for my services.”
Milligan reached out and grabbed the plain, Formica-topped table. “If it takes the rest of my life, I will pay you back. I promise.”
“That’s all fine, but that doesn’t help me pay the bills. I need some assurance that you can pay your account.” Macarthur snapped the clasps on his alligator-skin case. “I hate to be this way, but all my cases can’t be pro bono, can they now?”
“No.”
Macarthur rose, picking up his attaché. “When can I expect at least an installment against what you owe me?”
How did Macarthur honestly expect Milligan to pay him when he was locked up in here? His family didn’t have money, and they’d spent every penny they had to hire Macarthur in the first place. He guessed Carole could come up with something that might appease him, but the bulk would have to wait until he got out. Macarthur fixed him with a gaze that demanded an answer.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied.
FRIDAY
Rodriguez jammed his face in Milligan’s as he and Benton left the cafeteria after br
eakfast. “Do you know what day it is, man?”
“I told you, my lawyer will explain everything when he meets with you at ten. He has concrete evidence proving what I’ve been telling you.”
Rodriguez narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust lawyers.”
“You can trust him.”
Rodriguez said nothing for a long moment before storming off like a bad weather front.
“I just hope your lawyer can convince him,” Benton said.
Milligan nodded. That had been his fear too. That Rodriguez wouldn’t believe Macarthur even with a boatload of evidence. But there was nothing he could do now. He’d put the wheels in motion. His life depended on how open-minded Rodriguez could be. With the pain of his daughter’s death blinding the inmate, Milligan didn’t fancy his chances.
Instead of hiding from Rodriguez, Milligan didn’t let him out of his sight. He wanted to make damn sure Macarthur wasn’t late, but the lawyer was true to his word, and precisely at ten o’clock, a guard approached Rodriguez.
“Looks like your lawyer’s here,” Benton said as the guard escorted the Hispanic away. “You’re free and clear, my friend.”
“We’ll see.”
Rodriguez didn’t emerge for an hour, and when he did, he ignored Milligan. He simply rejoined his homeboys and went about his life, never once sending a glance Milligan’s way. This wasn’t how Milligan had expected him to end things. He’d expected some sort of closure, even if it was laced with a threat along the lines of, “You’re cool, but don’t let me ever hear of you going near a child. You got me?”
But nothing. That left him on edge. Maybe this was how Rodriguez did things.
“Looks like a deal has been struck,” Benton commented and patted Milligan on the back.
Milligan went to his shop class and let his fears bleed away as he crafted gifts for the prison gift shop. It always seemed like cruel and unusual punishment to make trinkets for the tourists who came to the prison for kicks. He crossed the yard back to his cellblock.
He didn’t notice one of Rodriguez’s wingmen creeping up on him until something sharp pressed against his kidneys. He didn’t have to be told that Rodriguez hadn’t believed Macarthur. He had to hand it to Rodriguez. The dude was cold. Milligan hadn’t seen this move coming, and neither had the guards, which was probably the reason why Rodriguez hadn’t shown any interest in him. Let everyone think the beef was settled.
Milligan let the prisoner guide him to the abandoned guard box between death row and a cellblock. The guard box provided a blind spot the surveillance cameras couldn’t penetrate. Rodriguez was waiting. He snatched Milligan when he was within arm’s reach and slammed him against the wall.
“You shouldn’t have lied to me, man.”
“I didn’t. My lawyer proved to you that I was telling the truth.”
Rodriguez’s features boiled with anger. He reached a hand into his pocket and produced a sheet of paper and smacked it against Milligan’s chest. Milligan took the paper and opened it up. He scanned the words and couldn’t believe what he read.
“She was six,” Rodriguez said.
And that was exactly what it said on the sheet torn from a legal pad in Milligan’s hands. “That’s a lie.”
“Don’t lie. My lawyer told me everything.”
“Your lawyer? You should have spoken to my lawyer, Charles Macarthur.”
“Charles Macarthur is my lawyer.”
The pieces fell into place. Milligan knew who had fed Rodriguez the lies—Macarthur. The lawyer wanted paying, and there was only one way Milligan could pay—with his life. His life insurance company would write the check.
“Macarthur told me to tell you something.” Rodriguez produced a shiv. “This is payback. Account paid in full.”
PROTECTING THE INNOCENT
“See you later.” Nick kissed Melanie good-bye and watched her walk away. The lunchtime throng on Market Street swallowed her up, but the crowd parted at different times to expose glimpses of an arm, a leg, a shoulder.
He couldn’t get enough of her. The last couple of months had been a whirlwind. It was more than just an infatuation—he felt a connection with her on every level possible. For the first time in his life, he was thinking about marriage, though he didn’t want to share that with her until he was sure she felt the same way. If things carried on the way they were going, he’d test the waters, maybe whisk her off to somewhere romantic and let the moment sweep both of them away.
A friendly voice called his name. Instinctively, he turned.
The man looked familiar and at the same time, not. He was tall, blond, and well attired. His suit certainly hadn’t come off the rack.
“Nick Forbes, yes?” The man put out a hand.
“Yes.” Nick took it and shook. “Do I know you?”
“Sort of. I’m Melanie’s brother, Jamie.”
Now Nick saw the resemblance. Melanie had mentioned a brother, but they’d never met.
“If you’re looking for Mel, she’s just gone.” He pointed in the direction of the Wells Fargo building.
“I came to see you, not Melanie.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I understand you and Melanie have become close.”
“There’s no ‘become’ about it. We are close.”
“Please let me finish.”
People brushed by them, so eager to get on with their own lives that they paid scant regard to this encounter. It was as if the two men had fallen off the edge of the world.
“Your relationship with my sister is a problem.” The smile went out of Jamie’s eyes. A frost replaced the warmth.
Who does this son of bitch think he is? Nick thought. “A problem?”
“Yes, a problem. You have to stop seeing her.”
“Look, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but you have no right to tell me or Melanie how to live our lives.”
“Yes, I do.” Jamie pressed his fingers into Nick’s chest. “Stay away from her or there will be trouble.”
Nick knocked Jamie’s hand aside. “Is that a threat?”
“Don’t get all knightly on me. Save your shining armor for another day. Just do as I tell you and you won’t get hurt.”
“Now that is a threat.”
Jamie shrugged the response away like he’d heard it all before. “I’m not going to argue with you anymore. Just do as I say. It’s not a threat. It’s a warning. Break it off with Melanie before it’s too late.” Jamie walked by Nick and let the current of people sweep him away. “I’ll be watching.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nick called out to Jamie’s retreating form.
People gawked, but Jamie didn’t answer.
***
Nick picked up Melanie at her condo the next night. He wanted to mention Jamie’s reprehensible scene but couldn’t do it. From what she’d mentioned about him, they were close. Very close. Telling her about what had happened yesterday might force her to choose sides.
While he waited for Melanie to finish changing, Nick tried to make sense of what had happened. The guy was just trying to protect his sister. That was understandable. His outburst would have been almost admirable if it hadn’t been excessive and totally uncalled for. There was no way Nick could tell Melanie about it. She took his arm and led him to the elevator.
Nick had reservations at her favorite restaurant in the city, a French place called The Fifth Floor. He had planned on taking her to a Greek place he liked on Battery, but he’d switched at the last minute. The reason—privacy. The Fifth Floor was secluded and somewhat exclusive. If Jamie wanted to create a scene, he’d have a hard job doing it.
During the drive, Nick’s animal instincts kicked in. He sensed a car was tailing him. He looked in the rearview. An Acura was behind him. This wasn’t the first time he’d had this feeling. For the past couple of weeks, he would have sworn he’d seen the same car outside his home, at the gym, and parked across from his job. If it wasn’t a car, it was someone followin
g him on foot. He’d put it down to paranoia, but after Jamie’s warning, he wasn’t so sure.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Melanie said.
He dragged his gaze away from the Acura. “Just a little distracted is all. Sorry.”
She smiled at him. “Well, don’t be. You’re with me tonight. I demand attention.”
He laughed. “Yes, my queen.”
“That’s more like it.”
He looked back in his rearview. The Acura was gone.
***
The hostess showed them to a corner table. Nick took the seat that gave him the best view of the bar leading into the dining area. If Jamie planned any sort of confrontation, Nick would see him coming.
They ordered. Melanie chatted and Nick struggled to concentrate on what she said. She called him on it a couple of times, and he apologized, promising to do better. He expected Jamie to appear at any moment, but he didn’t show. By the time the entrées were served, Nick felt this wasn’t the night Jamie would choose to make his scene. When the tension lifted clarity seeped in.
How did he know he’d really been accosted by Melanie’s brother and not by some jealous ex-boyfriend? Melanie had mentioned she hadn’t had much luck in the relationship department over the years. The men she bared her soul to always ran out on her. Was it possible these men might not have run out, but have been helped on their way?
“You’ve mentioned your brother, Jamie, but you’ve never told me much about him.”
“He’s a great guy. I’m sure you two would really like each other. He’s older than me by a couple of years and of course that makes him my protector. He’s always looking out for me. I don’t know what he wouldn’t do for me,” she enthused.
This description matched the guy Nick had met yesterday, but that still didn’t mean anything.
“Have you got a picture of him?”
“Of course. I’m surprised I haven’t shown it to you before now.”
Melanie fished in her purse and removed a photo from her pocketbook. Nick took the picture and examined it, and his theory went up in smoke. The Jamie in the picture was the Jamie on Market Street. Nick squeezed out a polite smile and handed the picture back.
