Walking Money

by James O. Born

  LATER, after not seeing any surveillance, Tasker headed over to La Carreta, the gold standard of Cuban restaurants. As soon as he walked in, he noticed Ristin’s square form rooted in a booth. His thick glasses magnified the analyst’s bloodshot eyes as he browsed the three-page menu.

  Tasker slid in across from him. “Hey, Jerry, what d’you got?”

  “Nice to see you, too, kid,” the older man said, looking over his glasses at Tasker.

  “Sorry, Jerry, I’m just turned all around.”

  “Don’t sweat it, kid.”

  The waitress, a dark Latina with braided hair, came up to the table and smiled. “And what today?”

  Ristin looked across to Tasker. “You buyin’?”

  “Of course.”

  Ristin looked up at the pretty waitress. “Palamilla steak, maduros and a Diet Coke. And the same for my friend.”

  Tasker smiled as she walked away.

  Ristin picked up a folder from his side of the booth. “I could lose my job over this.”

  “I know, Jerry, and I appreciate it.”

  “Besides, no one thinks you did it anyway. Not enough ambition.”

  Tasker paused, thinking about it. “So my friends think I’m innocent because I’m lazy?”

  “Roughly, yes.”

  “What do you have, Jerry?”

  Ristin explained how smart he was to tie different lists together, then went into more detail. “You see, Billy, the key is the description. Get a good age, or range of ages, and look at those missing that fit it. Wider the range, the bigger the list of possibles. I took all those missing from 1980 to 1985, when Mr. Hodges graduated from Broward, and then pared it down by changing the ranges. So you have this list.” He handed Tasker a small booklet. “Which is everyone. Something like twenty-two hundred names. Using a smaller range in age, you get this.” He handed Tasker an eight-page list. “Eight hundred names. Then, say the current Hodges is fifty to fifty-five years of age, description as not only a black male but a dark-complexioned black male, and weed out those missing from foreign countries or because of military accidents, and you get this list.” He handed Tasker one page with eight names and brief descriptions. Ristin smiled.

  Tasker glanced over the page. “There were only eight dark-black guys missing from these five years?”

  Ristin shook his head. “Oh, hell no. There are hundreds, I’m sure. Most aren’t reported or are reported to the local police, who don’t pass it on. But these are the ones missing that wouldn’t want to be found. All evading legal problems. Five escaped convicts and three facing trial. It seemed logical to focus.”

  Tasker skimmed over the descriptions. All about the same height, age and complexion, but that was because of the search. Two had tattoos listed, one was missing the end of his index finger. Next to that information was a note that said, “Result of a homemade explosive in the Indiana State Prison.” Tasker wondered about Hodges’s hands. The last name on the list, Luther Williams, had a scar on his elbow, but it didn’t say which arm. The note next to it said, “Result of an attack by a fellow inmate at the Missouri State Penitentiary.” Tasker committed all the information to memory, then looked up at the heavy, older man. “You got photos on any of them?”

  “Working on it, but it’s not that easy. Photos aren’t in the computer and you’re talking about cases at least fifteen years old.”

  Tasker nodded. “I know, I know. But, Jerry, this is incredible. You’re a genius.”

  “That is, if you’re even right in your assumption and if this information is correct, and then there’s luck. What I’m saying, Billy, is that there’s less guesswork on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire than on these lists. I wouldn’t put much faith in them.”

  Tasker looked at him and said, “I have more faith in these than I do in the FBI.”

  SLAYDA Nmir had earned the nickname “Mac” while finishing his engineering degree at Tufts University, and until recently never believed it would be a reason for scorn. Just the way Tom Dooley looked at him when he called him “Mac” indicated the contempt the former Boston cop held for the former student from Massachusetts. Mac had never even mentioned to Dooley that he had lived in the Boston area. Right now, with the red-faced, heavyset, fifty-three-year-old lousy FBI agent staring at him, Mac wished his fraternity brothers hadn’t given him a nickname at all.

  Dooley said, “Okay, Mac, what’s the scoop on your case against that asshole Tasker? I haven’t bothered you on it, but this is ridiculous. You’re killing my task force while this investigation goes on. Why isn’t he indicted yet?”

  Mac kept his usual calm demeanor and said, “Still building the case.”

  “Still building? Shit, your grandparents built the fucking Taj Mahal in less time.”

  “I’m not Indian.”

  “Whatever. What the hell else you need to finish your case against him?” Mac almost enjoyed making him stew by not answering immediately.

  Dooley raised his voice. “You hear me okay? What else do you need? You got witnesses, the cash from the search warrant, motive.”

  Mac shrugged. “Something in my gut says to keep looking.”

  “Your gut! Your gut. You ain’t been on the fucking job long enough to have a gut.”

  Mac suppressed his emotions, as he did on most issues. He disliked Dooley. That was as strong an emotion as he could muster for anyone. Not hate, not rage, just not really liking him. He did realize that by listening to the older man he could pick up not only information but also insights, and perhaps even some of his experience.

  Mac looked at Dooley and said, “There are a few things I wonder about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Tasker doesn’t act like a crook. He lives quietly, seems pissed off he’s a suspect. Not worried about jail, worried about his reputation.”

  Dooley jumped on that one. “It’s an act. What about his past?”

  “The allegation was he killed a former partner to hide his role in a shakedown scheme.”

  “That is some serious shit.”

  “He was completely cleared. Except by the media.

  That’s why FDLE moved him down to Miami. Basically for his own good.”

  “Doesn’t this sound a little like that incident? He killed the bank manager and maybe even the Reverend Watson to hide his tracks.”

  Mac considered that. He didn’t want to admit it, but that was a possibility. Mac had set up a rapport with Tasker and been alone with him and he still couldn’t say where the guy was coming from. He just had an odd way about him. Mac had given him chance after chance to fess up in a non-threatening environment. Just like they taught in the academy. Mac liked using his technical training and applying it to human interaction. He knew the environment was right for talking with Tasker, so if the guy hadn’t talked he might not be hiding anything.

  Mac was knocked out of his thoughts by Dooley’s voice. “So when do we grab him?”

  “I don’t see the hurry. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “Neither is the task force till this case is closed. Shit, with Bema in the deep freeze and the FDLE not filling Tasker’s position till this is resolved, all I got is that fucking hump from the city, and he’s missing half the time.”

  “Sutter? I noticed on our surveillances that he spends a lot of time out of the office.”

  Dooley froze for a moment. Just long enough for Mac to catch the sudden shift of gears.

  Then Dooley asked, “You ever follow him?”

  “This is not your case, Dooley.”

  He smiled and lowered his tone. “I’m sorry, pal, I just wanted to know if I’m working with one thief or in a den of thieves. I’m curious where the guy spends so much time. He’s not around the task force. It may be a reliability issue.” Dooley smiled like he was letting Mac in on an Internal Affairs case.

  Mac eased up, knowing that many of the local cops took advantage once they were assigned to a federal task force. “You can’t follow him the way he drives in the city. W
e did happen to pick him up on an incidental surveillance the other night.”

  “Where was that?”

  “You know Tasker’s girlfriend, Tina?”

  “I’ve heard of her.”

  “Over at her apartment in the north end.”

  “Sutter cutting in on his partner’s action, huh?”

  “No, she left right after he got there. He was with the other girl that lives there.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Don’t know. The team was following Tasker’s girlfriend because they kept losing him.”

  “She lead you to Tasker?”

  “Why?”

  “Curious, that’s all.”

  Mac smiled. “You ever see Tasker’s girlfriend?”

  Dooley thought about it a moment and said, “I’ve only seen her from a distance, and she’s a looker.”

  TASKER agreed to meet Tina back at Chili’s after he lost surveillance. Tasker saw no problem with that, but when he left, just after dark, there was still no team on him. At least none he could see, which meant no team at all. He cruised the couple of miles to Eighty-eighth Street, the central road in Kendall, and then to Chili’s a few blocks west, making some unnecessary turns and stops just in case.

  Tina rose with a smile as he walked in and then avoided his kiss on the lips with an offered cheek. Her eyes darted around the restaurant as the Cuban hostess led them to their seat. She kept a quick pace, slightly ahead of Tasker all the way to the booth.

  By now he’d gotten the message and slid in across from her and didn’t reach for a hand or push her too hard for a touch.

  “Everything all right?” he asked quietly.

  “This whole mess has started to get to me.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “No, I mean it, Billy. Every part of my life seems like it’s touched by your robbery task force.”

  “How’s that?”

  “At work everyone knows I’m involved with you and no one is sure what’s happening. I see how it’s affected you when I’m not at work, and now that Miami cop Derrick is hitting on my sister.”

  “Sutter? Really? Where’d he see her?”

  “She gave him her number the other day at lunch and he went by and saw her dance at Pure Platinum. He’s at our apartment right now.”

  Tasker kept his mouth shut, but still let a small smile escape.

  “Is he trustworthy?” Tina asked.

  “The guy has helped me out.”

  “He’s not married, is he?”

  “Nope.” He looked at her. “It’s not a black thing with you, is it?”

  “Not at all. It’s a snake thing. Jeanie never dates and he had her number without either you or me realizing it.” She looked into his face. “What’re you smiling about?”

  “I knew he was smooth, but your sister is quite a prize.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, nothing, except I don’t know many men who’d be brave enough to go after a woman as beautiful as your sister.”

  “Oh, so I guess I’m easy to obtain?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He paused, realizing that conversations like this never turned better. He said, “I’m sorry. I withhold any other comments.”

  She smiled at his surrender. Then she took his hand and looked him in the eyes. “Billy, I’m serious, this whole thing is getting to be too much.”

  “I know. I hope it’ll be over soon.”

  “Then maybe we can pick back up when it is.”

  There it was, laid out on the table with no punches pulled. Of all the shit that had happened in the past three weeks, this may have cut the deepest. He didn’t protest. He felt as if he’d screwed up something special, and as soon as he got out from under his current problems he’d make sure he had another shot with this wild, unpredictable girl.

  He sucked in a breath and said, “Let’s eat.”

  TWENTY ONE

  DERRICK Sutter strutted into the robbery task force office right at nine o’clock, the first time he’d ever made it to the office on time in the five months the task force had been up and running. He’d been out a little late after taking Jeanie Wiggins to Mezza Notte for dinner. That girl could be an expensive habit, except for two things: he didn’t expect to see her again, and the CCR’s satchel he’d found hidden in Tina’s bathroom cabinet. It’d been a little tricky looking through the house, but Jeanie didn’t have the smarts to match her looks and couldn’t hold her wine very well. Luckily, he’d split with the cash before her sister came in and before Jeanie sobered up. He had a good idea where he could stash the satchel and know it’d be safe.

  Now he had to deal with Dooley. It could be tricky to make sure the crazy FBI agent didn’t try anything stupid like telling Mac Nmir or just shooting him. Sutter liked this kind of thing. When he worked in narcotics he’d juked with dealers all the time and scammed the scammers investigating fraud. Dooley would be easy. Then he’d pay a visit to a buddy in Internal Affairs. He needed some info on the bank case and IA would have the inside track even though it was an FBI case. Those types always kept up on each other’s cases, thinking every cop could be corrupted. Sutter had to make sure things went the way he needed them to go, because he wasn’t following many rules for a while.

  Tom Dooley, standing at the entrance to their squad bay, broke his concentration.

  Dooley smirked. “Look who dragged himself in on time. What’s next? The Second Coming?”

  “I’d say you feel more like Job about now.”

  “Why?”

  “God’s been testing you with bad luck. Everybody’s been cutting in on your action.”

  “So you admit you got my money.”

  “Nope, but I know what happened to it.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a cop, or at least an FBI agent. I’ll give you a lead.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I thought you were mostly fat, but I’ll tell you anyway.” He paused, enjoying Dooley’s reddening face. “The girl that asked directions from you the other day...”

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  “She’s Tasker’s girlfriend’s sister.” No emphasis, just fact.

  Dooley kept quiet. Sutter could see the gears of his mind churning.

  “That son-of-a-bitch cock-sucking prick-loving donkey-fucker took what he’s accused of taking. I can’t believe it.”

  “That was a good curse, even for you.” Sutter let him stew for a moment. “I don’t think Bill knows a thing about it.”

  “You’re shitting me. She took it on her own? How’d she know where it was?”

  “I might have let Tasker in on my suspicions and he told her. She’s sharper than you, that’s all. What’ll be interesting is: how can you get it back?”

  “What’re you coming clean for? What’s in this for you?”

  “We’ll talk about my fee later.”

  Dooley nodded. “You got it, pal. I got work to do now.” He turned and started away at a good pace.

  Sutter called out to him, “Dooley, one thing or all bets are off.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You can’t hurt anyone. Not the girl, not Tasker. No one.”

  “Or?”

  “Like you said to me, I could make it hard to spend that cash.”

  “Understood,” Dooley said, resuming his trek out the door.

  Sutter smiled, thinking, That should keep him and the Wiggins sisters busy till I do what I got to do.

  TASKER hurried down the stairs to answer the door, knowing it wasn’t anyone he wanted to see. Both Tina and Donna had already declared their distance from his apartment, at least until his troubles were over. Was this the knock that ended his freedom? Was it Mac Nmir and some FBI guys? The news media? Maybe Dooley to put a bullet in his head? At this point he didn’t care and didn’t check first, he just threw open the door to a smiling Derrick Sutter.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “Hello to you, to
o,” Sutter said, slipping past him and heading into the living room. “It took me a good twenty minutes to make sure you didn’t have surveillance on the house.”

  “They’re on a staggered schedule. Sometimes they’re here, sometimes not.”

  “Like most FBI agents. When they’re around, they don’t do much, and when they’re not, they don’t do much.”

  Tasker laughed, then asked again, “What brings you by?” “You know, in the neighborhood.” Sutter shrugged.

  “In Kendall? At eight-thirty at night? Give me a break.” Sutter just smiled. “Wanted to see how you are.”

  “Not as good as you.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Tina told me about you and her sister. Very impressive.”

  “Nice girl, nice girl.” He kept smiling, patting his belly like he’d just finished a good meal.

  Tasker said, “Have a seat while I sign off my computer upstairs. Only take a minute.”

  Tasker hustled back upstairs and shut down his online connection. As he hit the keys, he thought he heard the front door open.

  “Derrick?” he yelled down, but got no answer.

  A minute later, he headed back down to an empty living room. Then he noticed Sutter reclining in a lounger on the patio.

  Tasker opened the sliding glass door. “What’re you doing out here?”

  Sutter, still smiling, said, “Man, you are just a suspicious type. Why am I in Kendall? Why am I on the patio? It’s nice out. Like the air. Harder for the FBI to plant a listening device.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly that it took Tasker a second to realize what his concern was. “Oh. Oh yeah.” He quickly sat in the lounger next to Sutter, facing his chair.

  “I’m telling you, Derrick. Something’s not right about Hodges.”

  “Yeah, like he’s a thief.”

  “But there’s something else. I think it’s an alias.”

  “Like half the people in Miami. Big deal.”

  “I’m thinking of giving this information over to Nmir.”