Milk

There wasn’t really a legitimate reason why Andy Franklin decided to let the fat man go other than it was late, he was tired and quite frankly the grossly overweight man sitting in the interrogation chair was beginning to expire his patience.
The coffee machine was as broken as Sergeant Pillsner’s promise to fix it, and knots of hot pain were beginning to flare an inch behind Officer Franklin’s eyes. Outside the station, the rain persisted to blitz the building and droned like the continual sound of television static.

Andy took one more glance at his notepad before snapping it shut then rolled up his sleeve to check the time. The man walked into The Hillken Police station at about 8:00pm with an expression of dazed guilt that most police officers would associate with a possible confession. Unfortunately, the situation that soon unfolded entailed not only a confession, but a series of bizarre statements that raised Franklin’s eye brow on several occasions, all of which he documented on the report pad in a scribbled mess.

Andy massaged his temples with his forefingers and cleared his throat that was still dry with the sour aftertaste of tobacco.

“All right...Mr. Watkins.” He began.

“Wilcons.” The fat man said. His eyes were still darting from side to side like a tennis spectator. “It’s Jeff Wilcons, I’ve told you.”

“Wilcons. Right, sorry. Mr. Wilcons, I have to say that your story is somewhat…extraordinary, to say the least. You understand that you can’t just waltz into the police and conger up some fantasy and expect total belief. It’s an offense, Mr. Wilcons. Lying to the police is illegal.”

Wilcons wiped his forehead that was slippery with sweat and hair product then rubbed his flabby hand across his kaki pants numerous times. Officer Franklin grimaced and coughed under his breath.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what’s at risk here? I’m telling you the truth. Whether you accept it or not is up to your own judgment. I’m doing this for you, Officer. Not me.”

There was a disturbing tone of honesty that surfaced from his trembling voice, but Andy dismissed it and intended to dismiss Mr. Wilcons as just another nut case whom craved attention from authority figures. Christ knows that Hilken had its fair share of odd balls. This guy sitting opposite Andy with a filthy corduroy jacket and wire slick hair just made up the numbers.

However one of the most interesting factors of this man’s absurd tale, the one that postponed his arrest for fictitious information, was his continual mention of The Spilt Milks. In most of his jumbled sentences, Mr. Wilcons would reluctantly discuss the supposed involvement and co-operation between the rogue gang and The Wizard.
According to Mr. Wilcons (who had a gross resemblance to the late John Candy in Andy’s opinion) the Hilken Stalker, dubbed The Wizard by the ever imaginative and tasteful media, had a direct connection to a brutal street gang who called themselves The Spilt Milks. Andy’s knowledge of the “junior mafia” was vague, but what he did know from scattered police files is that The Spilt Milks often carried out certain tasks for high paying clients such as petty robberies with replica hand guns or sometimes a heavy bashing.

As far as the police were aware, the group consisted of four boys in their late teens and one girl whom the data base held no record of. Their specific hideout was undetermined and other details concerning member profiles remained sketchy.
How a gang of presumably uneducated hoodlums could possibly be associated with the well organized and highly premeditated abductions by The Wizard was something that Officer Andy Franklin was having difficulty understanding, along with the majority of Wilcon’s story.

Andy’s lips curled into a smile and he rolled his head in small circles until he heard some subtle cracks.

“You can go home now, Mr. Wilcons. I appreciate your time. Thank you for sharing with me your personal view on the situation, I’ll be sure to put your ideas in the case file.” He pressed his hands along the face of the marble table and began to stand up when Wilcons leaned over and grabbed his arm with viper speed. His grip was like a cold iron clasp, and Andy could feel the inside of his palm soaked with greasy sweat.

“I can’t leave now. He’ll know I’ve told you. There’s no where for me to go!” He cried. It looked as if he were about to break into a tantrum of wet sulks like a five year old girl.
Andy tore away from his grip like someone breaking free of shackles then loosened his tie a considerable amount before crossing his arms tightly to his chest.

“Listen to me, sir, and listen well. I’ve had enough of lunatics like you wandering in here and giving hardworking folks like myself a complete fabrication of the truth. It’s nothing but a waste of time. What you’re telling me is that this so called Wizard is an actual vampire?” Andy tried to force a serious expression but failed as the smile resurfaced across his lips. “A monster, no different to the one in the scary stories I heard when I was a kid that made me look under my bed and check the closet? I’m a grown man, Mr. Wilcons. We both are. What separates us, I’m afraid to say, is our mental status. You need help from a doctor, and I need help from Special Agents, because its quite obvious that no one is this town is willing to come forth with any useful information. Now, kindly leave this station otherwise I’ll be forced to place you under arrest.” Vibrant ripples of frustration flowed through his voice and his teeth were grinding to the point of audibleness.

Wilcons slumped back into the chair and slapped his hand across his forehead again as if testing his own temperature. The downpour outside continued to hum monotonously but was slightly thicker than earlier.
The noise seemed to isolate their position somehow. It felt to Andy as if he and Mr. Wilcons were the only people left in the station. This was not far from the truth.

“It’s not like that. It drinks blood, yes, but it’s not really a vampire. Certainly not like the ones you describe. I’m telling you this because I know a member of The Spilt Milks. He’s tough as steel nails I can promise you, but when he came over to visit me a fortnight ago it looked like he had just had tea and cake with the devil himself. He looked old, even though he’s just entering adulthood.” Wilcons swallowed hard and Andy saw a bulging lump protrude his wide neck then disappear. “He told me it’s gotten out of control, that they’re not helping anymore because –“

“Gotten out of control?” Andy barked suddenly. His fists had tightened and his knuckles turned pearl white. “Five girls are missing. Five girls in three weeks have seemed to disappear off the planet. That’s why they call him The Wizard, Mr. Wilcons. Because he just makes things vanish without a trace. Sick, isn’t it? In my books, the whole situation is as out of control as it can possibly get.”

In the duration of the last month when the case first opened and Andy was assigned, a mental floodgate was constructed in his mind to avoid showing the public and journalists his frantic desperation and bewilderment as to who the suspect may be. As he stood in the interrogation room 4D face to face with a man who seemed to be nothing more than a bloated maniac, that floodgate was rapidly collapsing.

He snatched up the notepad that sat half over the edge of the table and started flicking the pages carelessly. “Look at this. What you’re trying to tell me is that The Spilt Milks are taking photographs of little girls on their way to preschool and giving them to an unknown client in return of large quantities of cash, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“And now, after discussing the issue with a certain member of the gang, you think that their client is The Wizard, who is actually an ancient monster. Is that also correct?”

“I don’t think, officer. I know for a fact. I also know that it’s extremely hard to understand, but given the gray area you’re in I would suggest you could use anything you can get. Just sit down and let me finish.”

Andy Franklin scratched his scalp viciously even though it didn’t itch. His fingers worked around his tie to loosen it further but instead just yanked it off completely.

“Mr. Wilcons, you can tell me what you know, but I want names and addresses. I want reliable leads, got me?”

Wilcons face was drained with exhaustion and his billowing tone was depleted.

“I get you. Please sit down.”

Andy did as he was asked and produced a pen from his shirt pocket, clicked the butt, then opened his note pad again.
***



The time is took Mr. Jeffery Wilcons to recall the basic details of his encounters with Johnny Lexter and Mitch Hardgrove would have been better spent discussing the precise location of the killer at large, in Andy’s opinion. Wilcons however insisted that his conversations with the supposed ring leaders of The Spilt Milks would serve as a more valuable piece of information.

“At one point I was a client for that group of troubled kids. It pains me to say, but I had a problem, a financial problem as a result of gambling addiction. A friend of mine knew of them and suggested I ask them for a favour or two, which, at the time, seemed like the only option.” Wilcons hacked an embarrassed grunt and licked his chubby lips. “It was just a corner store, some Asian ran the joint. I got them to clean out the till and I’d promise them half the stash. It worked, nice and clean. They were good at what they did, you know. Johnny and Mitch led their team well, professionally even.”

Andy nodded and sat stoned faced with his pen skipping and jumping all across the note pad.

“Eventually, The Spilt Milks and I were quite close business partners. I never ordered them to hurt anyone, but every month or so they would pull of a small seven eleven job or something of the sort. It was good money, quick and easy. Sooner or later I was back on my feet again, concerning the dosh anyway, and me and boys were on good terms. Things were looking bright.” Wilcons took a long thoughtful pause. “Then, eight weeks ago, everything changed. A stranger arrived in town. Your boy, The Wizard.”

Wilcons had a smug look on his face which Andy didn’t like one bit but managed to keep himself composed.

“So how did you hear about him? Through Mitch and Johnny?” Andy asked.

“I’m getting to that. Three weeks ago I was in the middle of supper when I hear Johnny Lexter banging on my front door like a man possessed. My first thought was that someone had ratted him out to the cops and he wanted my help. God knows I owed it to him. I let him inside and tried to calm him down but this guy was a wreck, believe me. He was bumbling and mumbling his words, something about a cult and a cannibal and other pagan garbage. After a while he became more coherent and blurted that a new client had hypnotized the rest of the gang. He said that he was the only one who hadn’t actually seen the new guy, only heard about him, therefore hadn’t succumbed to his spell. Even Mitch was acting all weird. Apparently the group had performed some kind of ritual with this strange fellow but Johnny wasn’t around to witness it.
‘It was soon obvious that it wasn’t only the unusual behaviour of his buddies that was bothering Johnny. It took me a while to get it out of him, but he soon told me that their latest client had macabre requests.”

“Such as the photographs.” Andy said. He felt comfort in hearing his own voice throughout the proceedings. It made him feel sane.

“That was one, yeah. The others were a lot worse though. Johnny told me that they were asked to get rid of a body one night. It was in a park, lodged half way up a tree. After they tore it free, Johnny almost choked on his own puke at the site of it. He told me it was all…mangled.”

Andy’s right hand began to hurt but he kept writing. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He thought grimly. Wilcons cleared his throat before he continued.

“The Spilt Milks were wired that night, they weren’t thinking straight. They ended up ditching the poor girl in some creek down the road from Newmarket Park. Johnny stayed after the rest had left and put the body into his back seat. The rest of the gang was fuzzed out, you know? Their minds were clouded. Like I said, under hypnosis of some kind.
Johnny drove over to my house that night and told me the whole story. I didn’t believe a word of it at first, but then he bought me out to his car. The trunk.” Wilcons voice was soft and wavered, like he was recounting a disturbing child hood experience. “He opened the hatch and the smell hit me like a ton of bricks. It was dark at first, then I took a closer look and saw the full picture. It was grizzly beyond anything I have witnessed. It was a girl, that part I could make out, but the rest was…let me say…partially consumed.’
‘There were teeth marks, no question about that. Around her neck, around her thigh, and around her rib cage. Her fingers had been bitten off and her hands were just ragged stumps of flesh. She was fully clothed but they were in filthy tatters, as if attacked by a large animal. ” Wilcons cupped his hand over his mouth and belched. “It looked like the crows had gotten to her eyes.”

“Where is she? Tell me.” Andy could feel the vessels surrounding his heart thump loudly.

“Johnny was flipping out about having the body of a dead girl in his back seat. He had heard about the serial murderer from the news and knew they’d pin it on him if he got pulled over. We wrapped the girl in some sheets and he gave her to me to bring to you. He wouldn’t dare show up here by himself.”

“The victim is here now? In the boot of your car?”

“Yes, officer. What’s left of her. I knew you wouldn’t believe a word I say so I thought it would be better if I bring some physical proof that you’re not dealing with a regular misfit.”

“Show me the body, Mr. Wilcons.” Andy said firmly. Images of his name printed on the front page of the National News flashed in his mind: LOCAL OFFICER FINDS VITAL LEAD IN HILKEN STALKER CASE. A sensation of excitement bubbled through his veins as he followed Jeff Wilcons outside through the foyer and towards the door marked EXIT in large green letters. In the car park lying amidst a tangle of sheets was Andy Franklin’s big break on the case, and he just couldn’t help grinning.

***

The piece of wood that Katie held tightly in both hands had a large white nail protruding from its frame like a broken bone puncturing skin. A single street light burned through the saturated darkness of the early hours, and Katie was beginning to think she would have to wait until morning before she could make her strike.

She knew he couldn’t be trusted. She knew from the start that Johnny would stray from the gang as soon as things became tough, and the new client was tough all right. And smart. He knew that Johnny had snitched, he even knew who too. Katie wasn’t at all surprised when she found out though; Jeff Wilcons and Johnny Lexter were pretty close buddies for reasons unbeknown to the rest of The Spilt Milks.
It didn’t matter though. Johnny snitched and he paid for it, and now it was Jeff’s turn.

A light came on and slightly illuminated a small portion of the bush that Katie crouched behind. Her breath stopped briefly as she squinted her eyes to focus on the door of the police station. There was talking then movement; shadows sliding across the walls.
The door opened and revealed two silhouettes: one fat and one thin. Katie squeezed the club and braced herself as the two men lifted their jackets over their heads and quickly approached a car. She knew her attack must be swift and accurate as one of the men would surely have a gun.
The trunk of the car popped open and the two men stood gazing into the hatch.

He’ll be so pleased. So proud. She thought as she hobbled over to them with the harsh patter of rain covering the sound of her footsteps. As she raised the lethal plank of wood, the thin man made a gagging sound and spat a lump of vomit on the ground. It trickled away with the flow of water.

“Believe me now?” Asked Jeff.

Andy shook his head in disbelief and fought the rush of another spew that gurgled behind his throat. Katie was behind them now. They were both unaware of her presence.

“Weird town.” He said, barley able to hear his own voice.

Soon after, the girl with the long piece of wood proved his statement by delivering fatal blows.