Molotov Cocktail
Dad is a celebrity of sorts. For months, New Jersey women have been sending him fan mail in jail while he's awaited trial. They gush over what he did for me. They call him a hero. They wish he were THEIR father. He receives letters from men whose own daughters were raped. They congratulate him, saying they wish they had his guts. But all that admiration doesn't mean a damn thing to Jack Milan without the woman he loves. That's the thought that claws at my mind as I sit behind him in court. Where is Mom now?
"Those savages tried to rip Deborah's body to shreds," he tells Judge Gallo. "That's why I blew up their car with them in it. I was killing four birds with one stone."
"Why did you kill Deborah's attorney Manny Sharp?" Gallo asks.
"Because he was lazy. The rapists' friend Conner Harmon lied on the stand and said they were with him that night. Manny didn't bother to ask him a damn thing. He was a rookie. Deborah and I couldn't afford a big-shot lawyer. She was a salesgirl and I was a cab driver. That's why I'm acting as my own lawyer now. We still hoped whoever we got would bust his ass to nail those four, but Manny didn't do jackshit."
"Mr. Milan, please refrain from cursing in my courtroom." Gallo clears his throat. "I've just been notified that the police found Mr. Harmon's body under the boardwalk near Caesars Hotel and Casino at 3:30 a.m. yesterday, April 3, 2014. They ruled his death a suicide. He died from a gunshot wound through the head. They identified the bullet as coming from a .22-caliber revolver, which was found in Mr. Harmon's hand and is registered in his name. The police found a note at the scene, which I have with me now. It reads:
"'If I knew lying would get Cole and the others killed, I wouldn't have done it. We hung out together since we were kids. They wanted to know I had their backs. I'm no Holy Joe, but God's gotta forgive me.' The note is signed, 'Conner.'"
Gallo adjusts his eyeglasses as he continues. "A forensic document examiner compared the writing on the note to Mr. Harmon's writing. He concluded that the writing matches."
Dad's eyes glimmer like luminous toxin as he peers over his shoulder at me and mumbles, "I went to his place packing a .45, and he offs himself with a girly .22. Go figure."
"What did you say, Mr. Milan?"
"I went to Mr. Harmon's place the night I killed the others, your honor. I rang the bell ten times. No answer. I was gonna plug him after I shot Manny. After Cole and his friends got off, Deborah was scared they'd come after her again. She had a heart attack in court right after the trial ended."
"Cardiomyopathy attack, Dad. The symptoms were similar, that's all."
"And then those bastards smiled when they saw her on the floor, passed out. I saw them, your honor. They wanted her to die! They thought they were finally going to get their wish."
"Dad," I hiss, "what do you think you're doing?"
"That was it, your honor. That was the straw that broke the camel's back." He smacks the desk so hard that my shoulders pop up in shock. "That's why I went out that night--"
"Calm down, Mr. Milan," Gallo orders as he bangs his gavel.
"--and I blew up Cole's car with all four of those scumbags in it. They were asking for it!"
"Dad, stop it."
He finally simmers down as he rubs his temples. I rest my hand on his right shoulder. He stretches his left arm across his chest and lays his hand atop mine. I glance at the gold wedding band he still wears even though Mom left twelve years ago. I think of all the sad love songs I can't listen to anymore without crying. The sad movies I can't watch, the ones where guy meets girl and loses girl, but eventually he gets her back. Dad never got his girl back.
"Mr. Milan, with this confession about your intention to kill Conner Harmon, I'm adding twenty more years to your sentence, which is already life with no possibility of parole."
I clutch my chest, feeling like I'm about to have another cardiomyopathy attack, or broken heart syndrome. It's triggered by an emotional shock, not clogged arteries, like heart attacks are.
"Your honor," I stammer as I stand up, "may I please say something?"
"Of course, Miss Milan. Are you all right?"
I take a deep breath as I wipe my sweaty forehead. "Yes, your honor, thank you. I ask you to please reconsider the life sentence. My father is not a threat to society at large. I don't want him to spend the rest of his life in prison for crimes he committed out of love for me."
"Mr. Milan, if you had it to do over again, would you?"
"Hell yes! Screw you for even asking me that, mother fu--"
"Dad, please. Your honor, he doesn't mean that. He's just upset."
"Don't speak for me, Deborah. Your honor, before my daughter had the attack, they gave her a freezing cold look. Eyes like two daggers. They were planning to go after her again."
"Threatening looks aside, Mr. Milan, you had no right to kill them."
"I did it to save my daughter. I didn't even do it the way I really wanted to do it."
"What do you mean?"
"I wanted to tear them limb from limb and watch them all bleed dry. The cocktail was too good for them. Cole tried to shove a dead rat down her throat. He rammed a lit cigarette up her female parts. She can't remember what happened before the attacks, because they bashed her head in. So I played God and I got all four of them. You got a problem with that? Too damn bad."
I whisper in his ear, "You're digging your own grave, and he's going to throw you in it."
"He doesn't care about any of this, sweets. He doesn't have a daughter, I bet."
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Milan, I have three."
Dad wheels around in his chair and looks at Gallo. Apparently he didn't realize he was whispering so loud. "I'm sorry, your honor. How would you like to see your girls get raped so bad, they can't stop shaking and crying? Can't stop asking their doctor if they'll be able to carry a baby to term? Can't get out of bed to do everyday things, because they're so torn up inside?" Tears twist his voice so vilely that I barely recognize it. "They beat her to a bloody pulp. They threw up on her while they stabbed her in the gut over and over. They whipped her with their belts. Forced battery acid down her throat so she couldn't scream for help. Then they threw her out of a five-story window. She was lucky she landed on a beat-up mattress in an alley. She didn't know who she was when she came to in the hospital."
His breath is coming out in quick spurts, as though his life is winding down like a clock with a dying battery. I'm starting to worry that HE may suffer a cardiomyopathy attack.
"Your honor," he sputters, "do you know what it feels like to see your child lying in a hospital bed, bloodied so bad you barely recognize her? Like they put her through a meat grinder. Then seeing the look on her face after she comes to, like she's wondering, 'Why me?' All because of what four assholes did to her for kicks. You know right then, she'll never be the same again. Do you know what all that does to a father? All you want to do is take that pain away and make the world a safer place." His voice is ragged and raspy. Now HE'S the one who can't stop shaking and crying. "You ask me if I regret what I did?" He violently clears his throat. "Would YOU?"
I want to rest my hand on his shoulder, if I could only move. I call it emotional paralysis. I feel ashamed for trying to shut him up. Sure, he's chosen the worst possible time to let it all out. But sometimes you have to wonder whether there's any worse lot in life than being the father of a girl. All the worry and pain it can bring down on the poor guy. Pain that can drag him down the darkest road imaginable and make him do things no sane man would ever do.
"If you feel no remorse, Mr. Milan, then why did you confess to the crimes?"
"Because I wanted to show Deborah I was owning up to what I did. Taking my lumps."
Gallo nods. "Very well. You are to receive psychiatric treatment during your incarceration. I think you've been suffering just as much as your daughter has. Dare I say maybe even more."
"Dad, stop it."
He finally simmers down as he rubs his temples. I rest my hand on his right shoulder. He stretches his left arm across his chest and lays his hand atop mine. I glance at the gold wedding band he still wears even though Mom left twelve years ago. I think of all the sad love songs I can't listen to anymore without crying. The sad movies I can't watch, the ones where guy meets girl and loses girl, but eventually he gets her back. Dad never got his girl back.
"Mr. Milan, with this confession about your intention to kill Conner Harmon, I'm adding twenty more years to your sentence, which is already life with no possibility of parole."
I clutch my chest, feeling like I'm about to have another cardiomyopathy attack, or broken heart syndrome. It's triggered by an emotional shock, not clogged arteries, like heart attacks are.
"Your honor," I stammer as I stand up, "may I please say something?"
"Of course, Miss Milan. Are you all right?"
I take a deep breath as I wipe my sweaty forehead. "Yes, your honor, thank you. I ask you to please reconsider the life sentence. My father is not a threat to society at large. I don't want him to spend the rest of his life in prison for crimes he committed out of love for me."
"Mr. Milan, if you had it to do over again, would you?"
"Hell yes! Screw you for even asking me that, mother fu--"
"Dad, please. Your honor, he doesn't mean that. He's just upset."
"Don't speak for me, Deborah. Your honor, before my daughter had the attack, they gave her a freezing cold look. Eyes like two daggers. They were planning to go after her again."
"Threatening looks aside, Mr. Milan, you had no right to kill them."
"I did it to save my daughter. I didn't even do it the way I really wanted to do it."
"What do you mean?"
"I wanted to tear them limb from limb and watch them all bleed dry. The cocktail was too good for them. Cole tried to shove a dead rat down her throat. He rammed a lit cigarette up her female parts. She can't remember what happened before the attacks, because they bashed her head in. So I played God and I got all four of them. You got a problem with that? Too damn bad."
I whisper in his ear, "You're digging your own grave, and he's going to throw you in it."
"He doesn't care about any of this, sweets. He doesn't have a daughter, I bet."
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Milan, I have three."
Dad wheels around in his chair and looks at Gallo. Apparently he didn't realize he was whispering so loud. "I'm sorry, your honor. How would you like to see your girls get raped so bad, they can't stop shaking and crying? Can't stop asking their doctor if they'll be able to carry a baby to term? Can't get out of bed to do everyday things, because they're so torn up inside?" Tears twist his voice so vilely that I barely recognize it. "They beat her to a bloody pulp. They threw up on her while they stabbed her in the gut over and over. They whipped her with their belts. Forced battery acid down her throat so she couldn't scream for help. Then they threw her out of a five-story window. She was lucky she landed on a beat-up mattress in an alley. She didn't know who she was when she came to in the hospital."
His breath is coming out in quick spurts, as though his life is winding down like a clock with a dying battery. I'm starting to worry that HE may suffer a cardiomyopathy attack.
"Your honor," he sputters, "do you know what it feels like to see your child lying in a hospital bed, bloodied so bad you barely recognize her? Like they put her through a meat grinder. Then seeing the look on her face after she comes to, like she's wondering, 'Why me?' All because of what four assholes did to her for kicks. You know right then, she'll never be the same again. Do you know what all that does to a father? All you want to do is take that pain away and make the world a safer place." His voice is ragged and raspy. Now HE'S the one who can't stop shaking and crying. "You ask me if I regret what I did?" He violently clears his throat. "Would YOU?"
I want to rest my hand on his shoulder, if I could only move. I call it emotional paralysis. I feel ashamed for trying to shut him up. Sure, he's chosen the worst possible time to let it all out. But sometimes you have to wonder whether there's any worse lot in life than being the father of a girl. All the worry and pain it can bring down on the poor guy. Pain that can drag him down the darkest road imaginable and make him do things no sane man would ever do.
"If you feel no remorse, Mr. Milan, then why did you confess to the crimes?"
"Because I wanted to show Deborah I was owning up to what I did. Taking my lumps."
Gallo nods. "Very well. You are to receive psychiatric treatment during your incarceration. I think you've been suffering just as much as your daughter has. Dare I say maybe even more."
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