The Milkman: A Freeworld Novel Read Free Page A

slow.”
    “Oh, sweetie,” Lillian said. “Are you all right?”
    “I don’t know. I mean, nothing happened to me. Nothing physical.”
    “Did you get a good look at the killer? Did you tell the ops? Did they give you any trouble?”
    “None,” Emory said. “I didn’t stay.”
    Lillian reached over and took his hands. She tried to press the shaking out of them. “It’s OK. I’m sure they’ll do what they do.”
    “No, it’s not OK. I wanted to help, but then, I kept thinking… I wanted to stay and tell the ops everything, but, in the back of my head, I kept thinking, ‘Shit, Emory. You’re insubordinate yourself.’”
    “You are not insubordinate. Not that kind.”
    “Yeah, see what you just did? Not that kind.”
    “What you do is not murder. It’s the antithesis.”
    “To the company?”
    Lillian gave his hands another squeeze. “There are policies and there are policies.”
    “I agree,” Emory said. “But what if someone else understood that too? What if they decided to mix things up? No… together.”
    “Calm down,” Lillian said. “I’ll make you some tea or something.”
    “No. Listen. What if this wasn’t a wrong place, wrong time thing? What if this wasn’t a coincidence? What if somebody out there decided the best way to get the Milkman was framing him for a murder?”

Chapter Three
     
    “This place got liquor approval?” McCallum said. “Seriously. The IG give it out like candy or did you all dispense with the charade altogether?”
    “Hey.” Effchek put up her palm. “Don’t make it like that. One busted camera is negligence. Two busted cameras and a murder?”
    McCallum pressed his lips together. Rosalie was right. She was always right, though he’d figured that out too late.
    “Who’s next door?” McCallum shouted to the Ambyr Systems Security operative in uniform.
    “A Kong place, sir.”
    McCallum bowed his head. The only other cameras that might have collected footage of this girl’s murder belonged to a BCCA/Hong Kong Holdings business. As the girl didn’t work for them or fall on their doorstep, the company had no stake in the matter. They’d never release any feed. Another dead end. Each one raised the cost of the investigation.
    “You want to come in?” Effchek poked a thumb at the entrance to the pub. “It’s a stupid kind of cold out.”
    He thought about it. Going inside, with her, grabbing a beer, warming up. They could hunch over the oak, shoulder to shoulder. Talk about asshole insubordinates and asshole bosses and everything in between. She’d have to lean in to listen to him, put her lips against his ear to talk back. And all the while the clock would be ticking. His timesheet filling itself in.
    “Thanks,” he said. “I’ve gotta check in at the egg. Make some calls.”
    “You know where to find me.”
    * * *
    Sylvia stood outside the restaurant, by the valet’s stand. She told the kid to hold off getting her car for a moment. She needed to dash off a few messages.
    To her friend Shirley, at Moshi Pictures, she sent, “Gavin Stoll. Who is he connected to? How can he raise a million dollars minimum?”
    To her friend Han the film editor, “Gavin Stoll. My file says you worked with him. Need to play fuck or duck. Can’t say my trust-o-meter ticked too high.”
    To her best friend ever Marshall St. Claire she recorded and sent, “Face-to-face soon. Private as possible.”
    “Your car, Miss?” the boy asked.
    Such a pretty face , she thought. They all have such pretty faces out here. He looked so official in his short jacket with the stripes on the sleeves. Which helped, as she would’ve put his age at about 15.
    “How old are you?” she asked.
    “17, miss.” His eyes darted right and back. His left nostril flared, but not his right one.
    “Really. If I tell you I’m a big movie director and I need your file because I’ve got a part that’s perfect for you, your bio’s going to say 17?”
    His upper lip rippled.