Milk Run

I'm diving in again. Nothing to say, except that life took over and I lost my zeal for writing a few years back. A computer crashed with all of my finished work on it...but I'm back. I have read the criticism from commenters and agree that there is definitely more work to be done. I plan on finishing the other incomplete stories I have already submitted in the past.

Milk Run?

I was minding my own business, like always. I wasn't bothering anyone; my work week was completed, and it wasn't even 2:00 PM. I guess I need to introduce myself before I get carried away with this tale.

My name is Pierre LaFontaine and I'm a 43-year-old military vet. My current job is to deliver furniture across a four-state area. Most times, I get home at least 4 of 5 nights a week. I deliver to stores from the main factory in North Carolina and often get overtime. Every now and then I would have to drive further out of the area if it was absolutely needed. The semi that I was driving was empty and I only had to drop it off and head to my house. I've been driving for the company since I got out of the military 3 years ago. I was taking business classes online and the flexible setup worked for me. I wasn't anything fancy in the military, just in charge of the motor pool, but I remembered my training and tried to keep in shape.

The way we were set up, if a driver was empty, he simply had to drop it off back at the factory, do a checkout sheet and turn the keys in. If there were loads to be delivered, overtime was the case. The company prided itself on prompt delivery, even if it meant longer hours.

I backed the Peterbilt tractor trailer into a spot and slid out of the seat. I was tired and just wanted to go home. The next three days were mine to relax and do as I pleased. I had banked a total of 48 hours in 4 days, a feat that wasn't unheard of. The extra hours were considered overtime, which helped my bank account greatly. My checkout sheet went fine, other than a flat tire over in Alabama, everything was ok. I had paid for it and would generally get reimbursed the day after I turned my form in. In total, I had spent nearly $ 500 on that repair.

As the sun drifted behind a row of cotton like clouds, I walked over to the main office and twirled the keys in my left hand. With my right, I unlocked my pickup truck and piled my bags inside. I had an older F-150 that served me well but didn't have all the newer luxury items. When I delivered, I generally packed light. I carried a military rucksack with my clothing and toiletries. My laptop bag was a briefcase style, holding all the necessary cords and other hardware. Checking the tires, I let my pickup run for a few minutes while I opened the office door. It was cold, but it hadn't started snowing yet. The temperature was around 30 degrees, but a heavy snow was forecast for later today.

Kathy, the receptionist, was busy filing forms, so I just dropped my sheet on her desk and hung the keys up on the wall hook. I turned around and heard my boss calling my name.

"Pierre, can you come here for a second? I need to talk to you.", said Benny Sims. Benny was old-school and a man of his word. He initially hired me to move trucks around at the back of the factory 3 years ago and I progressed to where I am now.

He was sitting behind his desk with his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. It was understood that Benny dressed like this after lunch. He liked to walk the floor after lunch and even eat with some of the crews. He pulled a folder out and gestured to an easy chair with a view that overlooked the factory floor.

I sat down and he joined me in the opposing chair. He seemed beat down and tired to me. I knew that the economy was headed downward in our area, so I was kinda worried. I was hoping this wouldn't be a bad conversation.

"Benny, I need you to do me a favor. You can say no if you want, but I need help from someone I can trust. I know you just got back but I need you to go back out and do a favor for me. This one is a personal one and I will pay you for the entire trip. No mileage, just a flat rate. This will be cash and off the books."

I let out a sigh of relief once I realized my job wasn't in danger. There were still some particulars to go over. This sounded a little too good to be true. I guess my facial expression must have given me away, since he handed me the folder.

"Here are the particulars. It's my granddaughter, Theresa. She lives in Miami, but she has to leave town quickly and I need you to go get her. I'll pay you $ 10,000 if you can leave right away. Long story short, she saw something she shouldn't have and she's gotta get outta there quick. It's a milk run."

The money sounded good, but Miami wasn't right down the road. That was a long ride, so I did some quick figuring and gambled.

"Benny, I'll do it, but I can't leave now. Give me 4 hours to get some rest and I'll leave before midnight. Will that be okay for you? I don't want to run the risk of falling asleep driving one of the trucks."

"Pierre, she's just leaving with what's on her back. All she has are a couple of bags, no furniture. She was down there in a rented loft as part of an internship."

I did some figuring really quick and came up with a plan. It was risky, but I knew I could make it work out. Just a few hours down the road and I could turn around and at least be in GA before dawn. Anybody but Benny...

"Benny, I'll do it. Call her and tell her to catch a train headed to Orlando. Are the police involved?"

I thumbed through the folder waiting for his answer. She wasn't a bad looking girl, either. Originally from California, she came to Miami by way of UCLA. It seemed she was finishing her design school coursework. I had never heard Benny mention her or any other grandchildren. Come to think of it, he hadn't mentioned any kids for that matter.

"Pierre, I had one son and he was a major disappointment to me. He left and struck out on his own decades ago. He was so ashamed of his country upbringing that he changed his last name to Frederickson as soon as he hit L.A. The only time I heard from him was when he needed money for some startup. His wife, Camille, sent me photos of her growing up because she wanted us to reconnect. Remember when I left for about a month 4 years ago? That was to go to his funeral. A drunk driver killed him and his mistress coming from some real estate conference."

I looked at him in amazement. That was a rough month for us since he was the rudder for the whole company. Originally, we had been told that he was taking some time off to get his health together. None of us thought anything of it because Benny put in 16-hour days back then and he honestly needed that break.

His wife, Linda, was our connection back then, calling or emailing with directions for staff. Linda was a lifesaver for him, and we thought she was the reason he cut back dramatically on his work hours. Now he worked a strict 8-hour day and called it quits at 5 sharp.

"Son, Camille couldn't handle the stress of dealing with the failed businesses and lawsuits. She worked herself to the bone and hid a lot of it from me. We stepped in and tried to do what we could, but she lost their house. Camille moved back to Toronto and is working as an event planner."

I noticed that he didn't directly answer the question about the police, so I asked him again. When his eyes met mine, I knew there was more to the story.

"Pierre, the police are looking for her because they think she's involved in some smuggling and a couple of murders. She told me that she has records and video that will clear her name, but the cartel has detectives on their payroll assigned to the case. She's wanted for questioning. Will you still do it?"

My mind raced as I looked out at the factory floor. Guys were finishing up some pieces and prepping them for shipment. Benny had always stood by us whenever we had family problems. What kind of man was I if I couldn't return the favor?

"I'll leave right away. What do we do when I bring her back? Can we trust the local police here?"

Benny stood up and shook my hand. "Sonny, I've got an ace up my sleeve. A friend of the family works for the DEA in DC. If we can get her there, she's safe. I don't want to bring the locals in on this."

I told him to make sure she made it to the train. She called him just as I was walking out of the office. He put the call on speakerphone.

"Theresa, I'm sending somebody down to you ASAP. Listen to what he has to say. I trust him like a son."

I answered in as calm a voice as I could muster. "Theresa, my name is Pierre. Do you have a cell phone that will receive pictures?"

"Pierre, I bought a couple of throwaway phones an hour ago. One for my mom's house and one for grandad. That way no one can track my calls. I never called them from anything other than a payphone in a mall every other time I called. I called during my lunch break and I spent those in malls looking at designs."

I was able to smile a little at her resourcefulness. We might be able to pull this off after all. I tried to think of everything we would need to plan for.

Benny reminded us that they would be looking at all of the hotels in the area. They were definitely out of the question.

Then her voice sang sweetly through the speakers. "What about a museum? There's one in Orlando near the train station and I can wait for you there. What do you think?"

I did the math in my head. I would have to push it, but I could make it. Writing a note for Benny, I explained what we were going to do. Not wanting to risk being seen in Orlando meeting her, I asked her to get off in Stuart FL. When she got off, she was to call me. I would fill her in later. I gave her my cell number and she sent her picture. I returned the favor and hustled out of the office.

Grabbing the folder, I left the office and drove to the airport. I called in a favor from a fellow veteran that was perfectly placed in a situation to help. Traffic was starting to build up that afternoon, but I had time.

The phone rang and rang but was answered on the 4th ring. "Howell here. Whaddya need Frenchie? I just finished lunch."

It was my old Army buddy First Sgt. Michelle Howell. Nobody could snatch a transmission quicker than she could and I swear she had diesel fuel running through her veins. We had bonded over axle grease, cordite, and whiskey. Our unit was always called on to handle the roughest vehicle repairs wherever we were stationed, whether it was in this country or not. I was a pretty good mechanic myself, but she could get the most out of the least. After we both got out, she came back to Stuart and opened a repair shop. Howie didn't roll out after hours unless she got $200 an hour. I made it a point to visit her family at least two or three times a year.

The last time I was there visiting, I had left a truck there. I wanted her to fix the transmission on a truck I had and get the most out of it. It was a 2018 Ford F-250 with a double cab. I needed something to pull loads across the mountains if need be. Part of my retirement plan was to stop driving soon and to open my own furniture shop. It had been in an accident when I bought it, but I had fixed the bodywork. The engine had been pulled and replaced with a newer, upgraded diesel powerplant.

"Sarge, I need you to meet someone in Stuart at the train station. I'll be there in a few hours."

"For you, anything. I still owe you for Tikrit. Whaddya need?"

"Howie, I need to pick her up and make sure they aren't being tailed. I am flying down in a few hours and I'll meet you there. My flight should be landing at 6:30 tonight in Orlando. I'll meet you at the house. Her picture is coming to you now."

"She's in trouble, ain't she?'

I had to be honest with Howie. I told her that she was on the run from a cartel and I was trying to get her to safety.

"In that case, I better bring some of my things from the locker. I would rather have them and not need them than need them and not have, you know? I'll bring you some too." After I outlined the plan for the evening, I hung up and got ready to board the plane.

I loved Howie a little sister and she treated me like she was my over-protective big sister. Weird relationship, I know. Nothing physical but she was the best person in the world to watch your back. Something told me this wasn't going to be a milk run. Far from it, I felt like this might be a trip I would never forget.

I left Benny a voicemail and told him to come pick my truck up from the short-term parking and leave it at the factory. The spare key was inside the tailgate groove. I hustled over to the ticket counter and dropped a little over $300 cash on a one-way ticket to Orlando. Hopefully, I wouldn't get any extra scrutiny from the TSA agents or the floating DEA task force agents in the area. A cash ticket purchase right before takeoff set red flags off. I would be honest if asked about my trip. Well, almost honest.

Sure enough, the girl at the counter gave a little hand signal to someone behind me. I grabbed my ticket and walked over towards the boarding area about an hour before they started accepting passengers. After about 6 steps, I saw someone mirroring me in one of the windows. I moved over to the right and slowed my walk.

"Excuse me sir. Can I have a word with you?"

I turned to see a redhead female with a gorgeous tan. The curves were in all of the right places too. She was obviously carrying a pistol in a shoulder holster, but I didn't feel threatened. Wearing khaki pants and a golf pullover, she screamed "AGENT, AGENT!" as soon as you looked at her. It was confirmed by the all-terrain cross-trainers and field jacket she wore.

"And you are?", I replied with a smile on my face. May as well make this cordial, I figured.

"Agent Samantha Martin, Charlotte PD" she stated.

"Do you mind answering some questions? It'll only take a minute."

I figured as long as I didn't miss my flight, I could talk.

"What are we talking about, Agent Martin?"

She led me over to a side hallway and I noticed there was a male about 10 feet away. He looked like a stereotypical college student, but he wasn't. His clothes looked a little large for him, but the heavy-duty pants belt and dive watch gave him away. That must be her partner, I thought.

We walked up to a doorway and she punched a code into the keypad. She motioned for me to enter first and I walked over to a table. There was a chair behind it, so I sat down.

"What's your name. sir?" she asked.

"My name is Pierre LaFontaine and I have a flight to catch in an hour."

"We know that!" blurted her male partner. "Why did you pay cash for a plane ticket just before the flight takes off?"

I decided to spin the tale somewhat, but I wanted to address her and not him. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

"Agent Martin, right? I'm headed to Florida to visit an old Army buddy. My job keeps me on the road, and I wasn't sure if I would be able to make this flight. We haven't been able to see each other for quite a while and there's a medical procedure scheduled for tomorrow. I want to be there for support."

"Thank you for your service, sir. Do you mind if we check your luggage, sir?" asked Agent Martin.

"I really do but if I say no and wait for the inevitable warrant, I'll miss my flight. There's nothing there so knock yourself out."

I never did get the name of the partner and he didn't throw it. I placed both bags on the table. He checked my laptop bag and she looked through my rucksack. Having found nothing, she said that I was free to go and she apologized for the inconvenience.

Agent Buttnugget (I had given him that nickname) was still looking into my laptop bag and asked me to turn it on so he could inspect it.

That's when I had to draw the line. "Define inspect. I'll turn it on so that you can see it's operational, but you aren't looking at any files without a search warrant. I'm not waiting for one and you will get sued if I miss my flight because you're fishing for something that isn't there."

"AGENT MORRIS! THIS MAN IS FREE TO GO!"

I could see who was senior in this partnership. The steel in her voice left no doubt as to what would happen next.

"Place all of his belongings back into his bag and we are done here. I will escort him to the plane."

Agent Buttnugget looked like a little kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He didn't make eye contact as he closed up my bag. I picked up both bags and followed Agent Martin out of the small room. We turned in another direction when we reached the hallway and walked down a service corridor. Cameras were positioned in the corner of the ceiling, so we were being monitored. After about 15 minutes we reached another door and she punched numbers into another keypad.

We walked into a wider corridor and there was a slight downward slope to the floor. I turned and saw Agent Buttnugget about twenty feet back. Good operational security for some but if I wanted to hurt her, he was too far away to stop it.

"You know, not for nothing, but he should be closer to me if he's security. Anything could happen to you before he got here."

"That might be the case but I'm not totally harmless. There's a snub-nosed.357 pointed at your stomach."

I glanced over and saw her hand was inside of her jacket. Seems she was more than a pretty face. I never noticed that hand and remembered that she kept an arm's length from me.

"Very good tactic. Don't be so hard on your partner. I'm sure he means well. Just needs some more seasoning."

As we walked, I noticed the floor starting to slope upwards. When we reached the end of the hallway, she punched another set of numbers into a keypad and we walked into an area just before the departure gate. No TSA checkpoint for me.

"Have a nice trip and I hope your buddy makes out okay."

"I'll relay that sentiment. Goodbye Agent Martin."

I crossed the threshold and took care of the boarding procedures. Settling into my seat, I sent Howie a text before the doors closed.

--Taking off soon. See you in a few--