Free The Milkman: A Freeworld Novel by Michael Martineck Page A

cameras. Most people didn’t. This one would be shrewder than her typical victim and the glasses might create a barrier she didn’t need. She slipped them into her pocket.
    Samjahnee extended another telescoping pole and unclipped three legs hinged at one end. Sylvia watched. One could tell a great deal about a person by the way they treated equipment. Samjahnee took his time, moved with precision, and seemed to follow a floorplan in his head. The workmanship impressed her. Serial killers needed the same skill set, but, whatever. He placed a globe-shaped camera on the tripod. He set another on the floor beneath it. Sylvia wanted a second video source angled up at the subject, as if she were perched high in a tower, looking down on the audience.
    Emily Durante entered the dark room and stopped just outside the growing circle of cameras and lights perched on aluminum stalks. Mid-fifties, gym-trim, Autumnal brown suit with bright yellow blouse. Sylvia approved. A work costume, with just enough ‘hey look at me’.
    Sylvia rose from her stool and held out her hand. “Very nice to meet you in person.”
    Emily shook her hand and looked around. “Likewise. I’m a big fan. Love — I mean LOVE — Tobacco Road.”
    “Thank you. Always nice to be appreciated.”
    “This is a bit of a departure for you.”
    “It’s good to stay fresh. I’d hate to keep doing the same thing over and over, you know?”
    “Oh yes. One of the reasons I enjoy my job.”
    “Please.” Sylvia motioned to the other stool. “You’re Vice President of Corporate Response?”
    “For Great Lakes Dairy and Dairy Derivatives.”
    “This is a departure for you, too.”
    “I’ve never done a documentary film, no. Lots of interviews, though.”
    “Good. This should be easy, then.” Sylvia glanced at Samjahnee, who nodded once. “What can you tell me about the Milkman?”
    Emily exaggerated a startle. She gave off an ersatz chuckle, pressing four fingers to her lips, as if trying to hold back what had to be her well rehearsed and vetted statement.
    “A myth,” she said.
    “So you’ve heard of him or her?”
    “Sure, like any good myth, the story has made the rounds. I’ve heard of the Loch Ness Monster, as well.”
    “But the Milkman actually posts, to a site anyone can see, if they know the address.”
    “We’re sure the findings are fabricated. And in many ways, that makes matters worse. This poor soul is presenting false data to the public.”
    “Why do you think he does it, then.”
    “I couldn’t say. Attention, perhaps?”
    “But he’s remained anonymous.”
    “Like I said, I don’t understand him. He’s troubled.”
    “And yet you let him continue.”
    “We live in a free society,” Emily said, maintaining a tight, practiced smile.
    The real myth , Sylvia said to herself. “If this Milkman is doing harm, though…”
    “The dairy products of the Great Lakes region are thoroughly checked and tested. We don’t put out anything that would harm any of our fellow employees. We drink it, too. We serve the same milk, butter and ice cream that you get from our fine retailers to our families.”
    “So there’s nothing wrong with the milk.”
    “Not at all.”
    “The Milkman posted a high bacteria count from two dairies this past August.”
    “Unsubstantiated.”
    “You tested the claim? To make sure there was no substance?” Sylvia watched Emily’s eyes. Would she admit it? That they monitor the Milkman and react?
    “We test continuously,” Emily said. “There is no need for this so-called Milkman.”
    “Perfect.” Sylvia clapped her hands. “You were awesome, Emily. Dead on perfect.”
    “Thank you,” Emily replied, this time genuinely startled. “Did you get what you needed?”
    “Plenty.” Sylvia rose. Emily followed.
    “You are very quick.”
    “I wish.” Sylvia pointed the best way through the field of electronics and trailed Emily out the door. The brightness of the hallway made them both