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

squint.
    “Can I ask you something off the record?” Sylvia bent in. She held up her cuff to show its lack of life.
    “You can ask,” Emily said. “I can’t promise an answer.”
    “Why is this film moving forward?”
    “I’m sure I don’t know.”
    “Who gains?”
    “No one I know?”
    Sylvia turned. She wanted to face Emily square. “This film will make money, but not gobs. Docues never do. It’ll be an underground hit, lingering for years and generating tiny deposits. Who gains?”
    Emily smiled again. This time, Sylvia thought it different. More real around the corners of the mouth and under the eyes.
    “You are asking the wrong question,” Emily said. “Or should I say, the right question in the wrong way. It’s not who gains. It’s who loses.”
    * * *
    “I don’t want to call him,” McCallum said out loud. His cuff picked up his voice, cleared away some of the ambient noise and sent it over the airways to his assigned economist.
    “Not your call,” Clement returned.
    “Then I won’t.”
    “You know what I mean. It’s not your call not to call him.”
    “Couldn’t you hold out for, I don’t know, hold off? Drag your feet?” McCallum sat in the pursuit vehicle, pulled to the side of the road, watching the cars go by. They got slower and slower the longer he sat there. The flat black vehicle always had that effect on drivers. They were all doing something wrong.
    “We’ve been hitting the pause button for more than a month. You don’t think this guy’s good for the Vasquez murder,” Clement said.
    “I think this is someone who buys those mouse mazes for his garage because be can’t stand the thought of the spring loaded steel bar breaking a little varmint’s neck. I bet he catches flies in his hands and lets them out the door.”
    “Wow. So the whole multiple stab thing is—”
    “It ain’t right.”
    “I wish I could help. Fact is Leveski’s worth 90 grand a year at his current post. The chain-gang stint is a 50 grand pull. If the company stops paying salary, drops his medical to basics and cuts his cuff, it’s a net gain. The company will save about ten thousand dollars a year for every year the poor schmuck’s in detention.”
    “Fine.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Not your fault. I just hate calling HA. I’ll talk to you later.”
    McCallum shook his cuff. He clicked it on the steering wheel and brought a workscreen up on the vehicle’s monitor. It glowed blue between the driver and passenger seats. He flipped through Emory Leveski’s case file, found his Human Assets manager and put through a voice call.
    “Whelen,” a voice answered.
    “Walter Whelen, this is Detective Eddie McCallum, Ambyr Systems Security.”
    “Yes, Mr. McCallum, I’ve been expecting your call.”
    “How do feel about transferring Emory Leveski to a restrictive position.”
    “I’ve got just the opening for scum like that. I’m happy to do anything I can to get a killer off the streets.”
    “Well, he hasn’t been convicted of anything yet.”
    “Yes. I’m sure you’ll get that part worked out. Pick him up as soon as possible. We’ve got an opening.”
    “Thank you.”
    McCallum gave his left arm a wide, vicious shake. He sat for a moment. The trees near the car held one leaf for every hundred they had last month. He could see the coldness in the air, the hazy light, the growing grayness. The holiday seasons would start in a few weeks. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Eve. He was about to ensure Emory Leveski didn’t share any of that with his family.
    He poked his screen and requested Emory’s whereabouts. A map appeared, with a small red dot inching next to a road. He’s moving too slowly , McCallum thought. He asked the computer for the signatures within two meters. ‘Lillian Leveski’ and ‘Elizabeth Leveski’ appeared, next to dots alongside Emory’s.
    “Taking the baby out for a walk. Great.”
    He put the flat black, six-wheeled armored car in drive and pulled out into