Milo Visits Otis
“Well I'm a mushroom-cloud-laying motherfucker, motherfucker!” - Jules Winnfield, Pulp Fiction (1994).
Milo went to see Otis on a Friday. He arrived on his school’s swim team bus, wearing the expected attire of mischief, as planned. A green Swiss hat adorn with a feather capped his head and his jacket covered a tee shirt marked with a large marijuana leaf. On the jacket was a Safeway name card, entitled “Justin.” This was to be his alias if he ran into any trouble, as he had before. The year past he had been caught for entering Otis’ classroom and “disrupting the peace.” He had been thrown out of the school and told never to come back. But the security guard who had caught him the year before had retired now. Milo knew the route was clear, for the old security guard was gone, he had a new alias, and in his pocket he had new material in which to work with.
“Justin Fletchley”, as Milo’s alias entitled him that day, departed from his team’s school bus with a half an hour before Otis’ school ended for the day. 30 minutes to work, he thought, as he entered the 300 building: the building Otis’s class was in. In order to re-memorize the campus grounds, as he had the year before, he circled the high school twice, memorizing every floor and every staircase, every bathroom and every exit.
The intruder encircled the 300 building once more, scoping out the grounds. Presently, though, a blonde girl stopped him on his way to the bathrooms.
“Hey!” she cried. “You’re you!”
Justin looked at her. “Yes, I am me,” he replied with dry sarcasm.
She shook her head, “No, you’re the one who came last year! You’re the one who…” And she leaned in and whispered in Justin’s ear. He nodded his head, and she jumped up and screamed with glee. “I knew it. You’re the one who did it! You’re Otis’ friend! If they banned you, what are you doing here again?”
Justin, knowledgeable of the present danger that this witness represented, shrugged and tried to play it cool. “I’m just here to see the swimming meet with Otis after school.” Which was the truth, but Justin knew if it went any further, he would have a serious witness that could trace his actions today back to Otis. She acknowledged the meet, said okay and bye, and they diverged, she going back to class, and Justin heading for the bathroom.
Walking through the halls, Justin thought, If it were to be done, it would best be done quickly. His beeline was made for the men’s bathroom, and, digging into his pocket, he found what he sought. Popping his head back out, checking that there were none in the area, he scurried into the bathroom. Seeing that it was quite empty, he withdrew from his pocket two small glass vials. Inside lay what looked like sickly yellow-green liquid. He popped his head back out of the bathroom again, and seeing that no one was there in the hall, he took one of the vials, reached as high as he could, and came back down, throwing it into the ground, smashing it into a stall. The reaction was instantaneous. The vial emitted a green mushroom cloud puff and the bathroom immediately began to stink like sulfur. He took the second and threw it down on the ground again, and immediately left. As he walked out, there was still no one that could have witnessed his actions in the hall. Looking back, he wrinkled his nose. The bathroom was finished. He turned the corner and began a fourth circle around the 300 building.
Fifteen minutes to go, thought Justin, looking down at his pocket watch. He paused by a staircase, carefully situating himself the farthest point away from the bathrooms, which now had begun to stink like eggs and sour milk. He smiled to himself.
“Hey you! Kid!” Justin whipped around, and his stomach dropped. It was a large black man with a radio. The security. Justin knew this, because he knew it was peculiar to find a black man on the Isle of Bane; it just wasn’t common. And Otis had mentioned to him about their tough new security guard. The guard approached, and, looking at him with a deep stare, he asked, “You go here, son?”
Justin knew this was no time for games. No bullshit, just give him what he wants. “Yeah, I’m waiting for my friend, Otis. The swim meet, and everything.” He said, pointing outside.
“And why you got that Mary Jane on your shirt?” He said, eyeing Justin’s chest.
The marijuana leaf on his shirt was too large to miss. “Well, you see, its got a positive message, see,” Justin said as he pulled back his jacket, revealing the words “Keep off the grass” in chronic green letters, next to the marijuana leaf. “Positive.” He smiled at the security guard.
The large man peered back at him, trying to see deeper into the intruder’s eyes. Justin felt like a trapped dog. “Alright then, get your ass to class,” he said, and Justin was quite willing to walk away, which he did. Walking quickly up the stairs, he paused to make sure the guard wasn’t following him. No footsteps.
But then he heard it. A high treble voice coming from the guard’s radio down the stairs. It was mentioning a tip from a student. Justin listened in closer, not moving for fear. He heard it… “…we got…student….tipped off…hallway…last year…says…green hat…feather…” Justin froze. He was aware of the green hat resting on his head, and the feather in it. “…still here…building…” The girl. Justin started walking fast up the hallway. The second floor was a long hall with no intersecting hallways. He was in a bad place. The girl had tipped off the office that the person who had terrorized the school last year was back. And still in the building.
Justin walked faster, his heart’s beat starting to keep up with his strides. He couldn’t run, the security guard would hear, and suspect. But the guard was walking up the stairs now: he knew who he had just met. The intruder “Justin” kept walking, quickly. Confidently. A student just going back to class…
“You! Stop right there for a second there, son!” The guard was running down the long hallway now. “Hold on a minute there, son, you’re comin’ with me.”
“Hey, but I’m going back to class like you said,” argued Justin, who kept walking.
“Son, you best be stoppin’ right there.” The authority with which he said this froze Justin in his tracks. Cornered like a dog. How like life, he thought to himself. And he turned to face the security guard.
* * *
The walk to the office was a long one. He had walked this walk before, and his stomach was still limp and his heart was still racing every time he did it. A million different stories were going through his head, and he was planning to elaborate on one of his best unused ones. But in the back of his head, he knew that if the grains of truth weren’t evident in his argument, than he would be done for. They might actually get him this time.
He was set in a chair secluded in a large conference room when the security guard and another man came in.
“Hello,” said the new man. “You’re a student here, I assume. We got a call in from security that said you’re the one who set off the stink bombs in the men’s bathroom.”
Justin looked at the ground, and decided he would enmesh himself in the truth this time. That way he would go free. And with just enough deception to prove Otis had nothing to do with it. He looked up and said, “I’m sorry, you have the wrong guy. I came here from Ingraham High School, in Seattle. I don’t go here,” he stated firmly.
The security guard looked up. “That’s not what he told me, Filch,” he said, looking at the interrogator. The man looked back at Justin, withdrew a pen and pad from his coat, and began writing.
Justin, seeing the tools of serious business in use, began speaking again. “I could take off this shirt if you wanted, turn it around if it offends you, Mr. Filch. I could just leave to the swimming pool right now and - ”
“You’ll sit right there and don’t move or we’ll call the police!” snapped Filch, not looking up. His face was reddened. “What’s your name, young man?” Justin spelled out his alias. “Any I.D.?” Justin’s I.D. card burned in his pocket. His pockets were filled with his wallet, his disappearing knife, fake cell phone, tictacs, two unused stink bomb vials, and his accused absence form that also revealed his true name.
“No.”
“Address, phone number, anything?” Justin gave him the number and the address in Ballard, and the interrogator named Filch looked up with a smile. “You live in Ballard, huh?” The intruder nodded, still looking deep into Filch’s eyes. “But you go to Ingraham?”
Justin stammered, “Well, you know, I want to transfer to Ballard. That’s where I want to go,” he said quickly, cursing himself for his awkward reply.
“Interesting. I went to Ballard. What’s around that school, I wonder, Mr. Fletchley?”
But this was where Justin had hoped the conversation would flow. He hung out in Ballard all the time, and he knew the surroundings. So he started naming off churches, taverns, pizza places, restaurants, even the Trout Bay middle school. And all of this fit perfectly in Filch’s mind. The interrogator sat back, impressed by the truthfulness of what Mr. Fletchley was revealing about himself.
“Yes, what an incredible neighborhood you live in, Mr. Fletchley,” he said offhandedly. He turned to the guard and whispered something in his ear. The guard nodded and pointed to Justin. Filch, though, shook his head in disgust. “Get out there and find him,” Filch said.
Joe the security guard left the room, and Filch looked directly at Justin. “ You sure you weren’t the one setting off those stink bombs?”
Justin shook his head emphatically, and reminded Filch that he was here to see Otis swim. An awkward silence followed, which was then followed by the return of the guard. He was holding a sheet of paper in his hand, smiling at Justin maliciously. He handed it to Filch, who sat looking at it for a while. He looked up, finally. “This report,” he said, pointing to the paper, “was filed a year ago by our former security guard. In it is described an individual who committed…” Here he paused, and looked at Joe, and shook his head, resuming where he had left off: “Here he committed…acts…upon this school. He fits your description, Mr. Fletchley. About six feet tall, caucasion, crew cut, thin build, unusual attire…” Justin quickly took off his hat. “…And one of those acts that this juvenile committed was stink bombs, among others,” he said, painfully emphasizing the last two words.
“I can assure you, sir, that I am not the one described,” Justin replied. “First, there are many, many caucasians in the city, and on this island especially. Rich white people live here, sir. Second, ‘unusual attire’ is a matter of opinion, and depending on who filed this report, they may have considered anything ‘unusual attire.’ Thirdly, there is no evidence that I even set off these stink bombs that you’re talking about.” Justin paused and took a breath. “So I could hardly say that the report is accurate to me. I am a visitor, and I’m astounded that I’m being treated like some…”And at this Justin’s eyes sparkled “…common juvenile delinquent!”
There was a pause.
Joe sniffed.
Filch looked annoyed. But finally, he motioned for Joe to leave. As the door closed to the office, he leaned close to Justin, clenching the ends of the table, digging his pupils into the intruder’s, and said, “Get out and never come back here. I know it’s you. I know that you’re the same God-damned person who came to this island. I know you’re the one in this report!” He screamed, slamming his table down on the piece of paper. He stood up. “But I have no evidence. Your parents though, will be receiving my personal telephone call and a letter in the mail.”
Despite this outburst, in the eyes of Filch, Justin still seemed confident of his innocence. On the outside, at least. “Okay,” Justin said calmly.
The interrogator and the intruder now looked at each other for a moment.
“You’re him,” he said calmly. “I can tell. Now get the hell out of this office.”
Justin unglued himself from the seat, his chest thumping like a drum. He was escorted out the office by Joe, the security guard. And as he was leaving, he turned, looked at Joe, and asked in the most polite voice he could muster, “Could I be set in the direction of the pool? I don’t believe I’ve ever been here before.”
* * *
Justin Fletchley smiled to himself. He had slipped through the clenched fist of the island’s high school again. Otis would deny Justin’s existence when asked about the incident, only shortly after the administration found out that the phone number Justin had given was false. And only shortly after that would they receive back the letter they sent to the intruder’s house: it being a non-existent address. Justin Fletchley smiled to himself, but at the same time knew that he would have to exile himself from the high school for a while. This would all have to blow over, and Joe would have to be fired or retire before Justin ever came back to visit again. Otis will work on that, he thought to himself, watching Otis spot up on the block. He sat back in the stands of the sweltering pool house now, and unpinned his Safeway name card, placing it in his pocket. Justin Fletchley must be in a lot of trouble somewhere. How like life… and Milo smiled to himself, and watched Otis begin his 50 Freestyle.