The Milkman: A Freeworld Novel (24 page)

He believed what he’d told Whelen. He knew corrupt, self-centered, arrogant man-shaped shits capable of killing a girl because it might advance their careers. He knew it wasn’t one thing, with them. It was everything. They didn’t make friends, they made accomplices, some willing, some not. The difference being, friends stayed with you. Accomplices might just as well accompany somebody else.

“Whelen,” the young woman said. “There’s no ‘D’.”

Emory smiled. “We’re going to get along famously.” He turned to McCallum. “After I throw up.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Emory was right,” Emory said. “You are crazy. I can’t do this job.”

“Ask Sherri here how it’s done. It’s got to be easier than digging sewers, right?”

Emory blew a ball of air out his mouth. “I don’t know…”

“No one ever does. I do know Lillian Leveski separated from her husband. You should ask her out.”

“I will. I will… this will never work.”

McCallum said, “It will work as well as most things.”

Epilogue

McCallum gave the bartender a small print by Richard Copley. It depicted a thick group of men each carrying a sign that read “I am a man.” The man scanned it with his cuff, waited a moment for his service to tell him what the item’s current value was, and then held up four fingers. The photo was irreproducible. It should’ve bought six, but he wasn’t going to drink that many anyway. He nodded once and turned on his stool to watch the guitar player in the back of the room.

Pain is the kin that knows us

Pain is the wind that blows us

Down from the mountains, in from the sea

All ye, all ye out come free

Out from the allies, up from your knees

All ye, all ye out come free

Come out, come out wherever you be

All ye, all ye out come free

“He’s got a solid voice,” Rosalie slid in next to him, bending an elbow to the bar.

“That why you picked this place?” McCallum half-turned and wagged two fingers at the bartender.

“Just knew it to be noisy, is all.”

“A loud pub in which neither of us can buy a drink.”

The bartender brought over two long neck brown bottles. McCallum didn’t know the brand or style, but accepted them just the same.

“You seem to be doing all right.” Rosalie smiled in a tight, thoughtful line. The majority of the patrons started singing along. They leaned closer.

“Should the hairs on my neck be standing up?”

“Tell ‘em to stand down. We’re fine.” Rosalie took a sip from her beer. “It’s your friend.”

McCallum watched Rosalie’s face. He knew her well enough, deep enough, to see the slight changes in muscles around her eyes, and nose. Inside, she softened and didn’t like it to show.

“Pretty girl, Ed.”

“You think?”

“That footage was loopy. Did it come from some kind of ollie camp?”

“Some kind.”

“I don’t blame you for the two word answers. You may want to get it down to one where this lady’s concerned. I got a hit on her. Then I got hit.”

Now McCallum’s facial muscles let his inner workings out. He knew he wasn’t hiding his concern. Maybe from a trained interrogator, but not from Rosalie.

“She’s one of ours. A tier 12 out of Ecuador City. Off line for the last 22 months. I don’t know all the details for reasons I’ll get to in a moment. It’s looking like she bit some old low-rider’s dick almost clean off and transferred herself elsewhere. I dipped into the story when I noticed a trace on my search. I shut down and the next morning I get called upstairs to meet with some suit I’ve never seen before. He wants to know where I might have seen your friend and when and what I had for breakfast and how many times I pee per day.”

“I’m sorry,” McCallum said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No.” She patted his forearm. “Goes with the job.”

“What did you tell them?”

Rosalie smiled again, thin and long. “I told them it was an error. The image-rec nonsense gave me a false positive. Whether they bought it or not is unknown at this time.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“I’m a sweetheart. You know that.”

“Did you catch her real name?”

“She’s gone,” Roslie said. “I’ll bet you anything she’s even farther up north now. She must think the colder the clime, the safer she is.”

“Under a blanket of snow,” McCallum said over Roslie’s shoulder, out through the pub window, into the night.

“What an artsy thing to say. You should let that side of you out more often.”

“Or not at all,” he replied. “Can’t seem to find a proper balance.”

“There isn’t one.” Rosalie put her arm around McCallum. “There’s just swaying. Back and forth.”

They moved side-to-side to the music.

Details

The Milkman: A Free World Novel

Copyright © 2014 by Michael J. Martineck

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by

Edge Science Fiction
and Fantasy Publishing

An Imprint of

HADES PUBLICATIONS, INC.

P.O. Box 1714,
Calgary, Alberta, T2P 2L7,
Canada

In-House editing by Anita Hades

Cover illustration by Jack Kasprzak

e Book ISBN: 978-1-77053-061-4

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All rights reserved. Under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

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EDGE Science Fiction and Fantasy Publishing and Hades Publications, Inc. acknowledges the ongoing support of the Alberta Foundation for the Arts and the Canada Council for the Arts.

(I-20140124)

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