Shock Wave

by James O. Born

  Tasker shrugged, sliding his hand under the unfolded Miami Herald. “I don’t know. All I got is this submachine gun.” He pulled the MP5 up from under the newspaper. “You want some of it?”

  The young man stumbled back, saying, “No sir, I’m sorry to bother you.” By the time he was on his feet, his friends were in the car, throwing it into drive.

  Tasker chuckled as they burned rubber out of the lot. His temporary good mood faded quickly as he felt the frustration rising in his mind again.

  Derrick Sutter had never been obsessed with anything or anybody, except maybe himself. He acknowledged this character trait and attributed it to his mother, who used to tell him, “No one will ever love you like your mom or yourself.” He’d found it to be true. Both his mom and he tended to focus on one subject: his happiness.

  Now he had to admit that he was very nearly obsessed with this crazy case, or at least with Alicia Wells. Not ’cause she was a knockout, which she definitely was, but because she was the only person who had ever successfully escaped from him in the city. It was bad enough he had trouble finding her, but to have his hands on her then have to cry like a little girl for the second time in two days. He had to find her. Luckily, hanging out at topless bars wasn’t the worst form of police work.

  He didn’t mind working on a Saturday night late when he thought about poor, obsessed Bill Tasker. That boy was gonna work himself into an early grave. When Sutter had called him, about an hour ago, the FDLE agent was still on post, watching the damn KKK house. He was a better man than most. Even Sutter admitted to himself that if he was out there alone on a Saturday night, he’d risk missing Wells and head out to have some fun. Tasker took things too seriously to have much fun.

  Sutter leaned back in his tall chair at the Harem Club and surveyed the line of stages as he took a swig of his Bombay and tonic. A blond on the last stage might be Alicia. He couldn’t tell, and he damn sure wasn’t going to get too close this time.

  It was near dawn, and Alicia Wells had broken her rule of not drinking while working, but the young lawyer who had helped Daniel had showed up and was so nice. A public defender for the federal court. Whatever that was. He was nice, cute and had some cash. The next thing Alicia knew she was a little drunk, giving him a lap dance in the back room. One lap dance turned into another and another, until they were just making out in the small room with two couches. No one even checked on her. She lost interest when he ran out of money, and nice and cute just didn’t cut it. Besides, she was a married woman, though that seemed less and less real every day. In fact, the longer she was away from Daniel’s hellion boys, the better she liked it. She did miss little Lettye. She was just a sweet little Barbie doll. But the boys never stopped, and Daniel encouraged them all the time. He talked about how he liked to “disturb the natural flow of the universe.” Whatever that meant, she just wished the boys weren’t one of the ways to do it. Daniel would watch the news about the riots or some explosion like it was one of her soaps. Like General Hospital without a plot. She knew he had some weird ties to different people and believed he might have helped them do some crazy things from time to time but never let on. He thought she was a little stupid because he had three years of college, but she wasn’t. She had her GED, and a month and a half of beauty school besides. She may not have known the capital of Florida for sure, she figured it had to be Orlando ’cause of where it was built, but she was smart in other ways. Like he didn’t have ten dollars to his name. He’d work and work and charge people for only the hours he put in. She made four hundred, sometimes six hundred, a night after expenses, and untaxed. Unlike the other girls, she didn’t use drugs or drive fancy cars. She had almost nine thousand dollars stashed away. That made her smart as far as she was concerned.

  All this ran through her head as she stumbled down the long path that led to the small apartment she rented from the nice Cuban family in North Miami. The bungalow-type building sat way off the road and no one ever bothered her.

  As she stuck the key in the lock and started to turn it, she heard a man’s voice say, “Found you finally.”

  Tasker was a little drowsy at the wheel of the Cherokee on the way home and then fell into a deep sleep on his couch ten minutes after turning on the TV to unwind. He caught a little of Saturday Night Live-the “Weekend Update” bit with the really hot babe in glasses-before he was off dreaming of water skiing with the girls in the Keys while Donna drove the boat. The phone snapped him awake at eight in the morning.

  He reached for the portable handset, unable to focus on where it could be. Finally he grabbed it and mashed the talk button. “Hello.”

  “Billy, it’s Jerry. Did I wake you?”

  “Yeah, I was on the damn Klan house until almost midnight.”

  “Sorry, Billy, I thought you had it this morning and the only number I had handy was home. I was trying to get you before you left.”

  “No problem, Jerry. Camy has some ATF guys covering the surveillance for us today. What’s up?”

  “Hey, I didn’t want to say anything in front of the Feds, but there is something weird about one number in Wells’ phone book. I was in the office yesterday, cleaning up some stuff, and noticed a subpoena to Bell South had come back.”

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  “There’s a North Miami number that according to Bell South is an un-assigned number. The problem with it is that it rings. Unassigned numbers have a phone-company recording. This unassigned number rings, but no one answers when I call.”

  “You think it’s a police UC line?”

  “Not even a UC line. When I call another number close to it with the same exchange, guess who answers?”

  “No idea.”

  “The FBI.”

  Tasker was silent while he thought about what that might mean.

  It took Alicia Wells five minutes to calm down after being surprised at her front door. She sat on her couch, looking at the source of her surprise next to her.

  “How’d you find me?”

  Daniel Wells smiled. “Your mama told me where you were. Why would you hide from me?”

  “I knew you didn’t like me dancing, and I needed a break from the boys.”

  “They doin’ okay?”

  “If starting fires all over your uncle’s neighborhood and blowing up a little bridge across the canal is okay, then they’re fine.”

  “I miss those boys. But I had to see you to let you know what was gonna happen.”

  “What?”

  “You need to go collect the kids and wait at Uncle Tom’s for me to call. End of the week I’ll ride over to Tampa and we’re all heading for Louisiana.”

  “New Orleans?” she asked hopefully.

  “No, way further west. West of Baton Rouge. Little compound there run by some mighty serious boys. Boys that hate the government and need my help.”

  “I don’t want to live in Louisiana.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll be moving on to Montana after a couple of weeks.”

  She put her hand on Daniel’s arm. “No, Daniel, you don’t understand. I want to stay.”

  “Can’t stay.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll see. You won’t wanna stay after Thursday.”

  “What happens Thursday?” She was getting frustrated. She hated it when he treated her like she was an idiot.

  “Gonna stir some things up. Nothing you should worry your beautiful little mind about. Just gonna cause a little pandemonium.”

  She looked at his handsome face with a sideways glance. “You ain’t gonna hurt anyone, are you?”

  “That’s not the point. It may happen, but it’s not intentional.” He put his arm around her. “You’re the only person in the world I’ve said anything to about this. I just need you to pack up and go get the kids. Then we’ll go back to bein’ a family.”

  Alicia pulled away and stood up. “You know the cops are looking for you.”

  “Yeah, I know. How do you know that?”

&nbs
p; “That black cop, the one that came with Bill Tasker, tried to question me.”

  Now Wells stood. “What’d you tell him?”

  “Nothing. I used the pepper spray you gave me. And ran.”

  He hugged her, laughing. “That’s my girl.” He held her at arm’s length and said, “Don’t look so worried, baby. I got an ace up my sleeve with the cops. They won’t touch me.”

  She smiled at him but felt a wave of uneasiness. He’d changed since she’d last seen him. He had a wild look in his eyes. She didn’t know what he had planned, but she didn’t want to see anyone hurt, and definitely didn’t want to ever see Montana, let alone live there.

  twenty-five

  “It’s as hot as Pamela Anderson’s ass out here,” said Derrick Sutter to Bill Tasker.

  Tasker looked at the empty lot and tall sawgrass along the unkempt edges of Manny’s abandoned market and had to agree. He’d brought his partner lunch at the surveillance post and thought he’d break up Sutter’s day with a visit.

  Sutter looked at the FDLE agent and said, “What’s bothering you now? You got everyone to agree with you, Wells is a bad guy. You got the FBI to work on a Saturday. You’ve performed miracles, and you still don’t look happy.”

  Tasker smiled at that. “Something’s not right with this.”

  “The case?”

  “This surveillance. You think Wells would be here?”

  “No, not really. He does seem too smart to be mixed up with them. He’s got a job, or at least did have a job, which most of the Klan jerk-offs don’t, and he seemed too normal. But that doesn’t mean shit, because apparently he’s not if he likes blowing things up.”

  “This seems like a huge waste of time.”

  “Almost everything you investigative agencies do seems like a waste of time. I’m a street cop. Hit fast and hit hard-that’s what I like.”

  “But this specific surveillance used all our manpower and brought the rest of the case to a dead halt.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. But I’m a black man watching the Klan. I can’t complain. Told my dad and even he was impressed.”

  Tasker smiled at Sutter’s positive outlook, then caught sight of a pickup truck coming out of the street. It was the third time in twenty minutes it had come up Krome Avenue and driven past them. He let his eyes follow it. The big F-250 had three men in the bed and two up in the quad cab.

  Sutter said, “What is it?”

  “Just nervous.”

  “About the truck that’s filling up with rednecks?”

  Tasker nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Now you were about to tell me why you were worried about the case.”

  “Jerry Ristin called me yesterday.”

  “On a Sunday? Our analysts aren’t quite that dedicated.”

  “It was a sensitive matter. He didn’t want to talk in front of the whole group.”

  “That include me?”

  “I’m tellin’ you, aren’t I?” Tasker looked outside to see the F-250 slowly pass again, headed toward the house, this time with another man in the back. “Jerry said one of the numbers in Wells’ personal phone book comes back to the FBI.”

  “No shit! What’d you suppose he was doing with that?”

  “We’re gonna find out.” Before he could add to his comment, Tasker saw several men at the corner of the yard looking back toward Manny’s Market. “I got an idea.”

  Sutter cut his eyes to Tasker. “This doesn’t sound like a smart idea, but go ahead. What’s your plan?”

  “I pull away, maybe down the road, and see if they hassle one guy sitting alone.”

  “So I’m bait?”

  “Yeah. You could be better bait if you rolled down the window.”

  “So they could see I’m a black man?”

  “They are supposed to be the KKK.”

  “All you want is a pretext to question them and maybe get in the house.”

  “And end this fucking surveillance.”

  “Go hide like a baby.” Sutter smiled.

  Tasker said, “Let me call for reinforcements.”

  Camy Parks was uneasy herself. She had just searched all the ATF intelligence files available and found pages and pages on Ed Conners, but not one sentence about the house off Krome being a meeting place. It was true the FBI had different sources, but usually not that different, and with the limited flow of information there was often something that overlapped. She couldn’t figure out why there was no overlap, unless Jimmy Lail was lying about the connection. Then she couldn’t figure out why he would lie. She looked over at Jimmy, who was sitting at her desk, bobbing his head to some beat only he could hear. Because he had such a good body and acted so goofy, she always thought of him as kind of stupid. Was he smart enough to mislead a group of veteran cops? Why?

  Before she could ask him, her Nextel chirped and she heard Bill Tasker’s voice. “Camy, you out there?”

  She keyed the radio button. “Go ahead.”

  “We’re at Manny’s and need some help right now.”

  “On the way.” She jumped up and hustled past Lail, tapping him on the shoulder. “We gotta go.”

  “Whazz up?” asked Jimmy.

  “Billy and Sutter need help at the house.”

  “The Klan house?”

  “Where else?”

  “What the hell could be going…”

  She looked at him as she grabbed some gear by the desk and headed out the door.

  Jimmy followed at a trot.

  Daniel Wells had it all mapped out. Alicia would get the kids. Wednesday night he’d grab the truck. He’d park it and get everything ready. Thursday afternoon, maybe two-thirty, or a little later, at the start of rush hour, he’d make his move. A move that would make him part of history as well as create a scene of anarchy never seen before in Miami. By five, he’s a legend and his itch would be scratched. At least for now. There’d be plenty of opportunity in Montana to plan for travel, if necessary. He settled down for his noontime nap with a smile on his face.

  Tasker had pulled his Cherokee straight back into the tall grass when the pickup was parked at the house. Sutter had told him over the Nextel that there was no way he could be seen from the road. Sutter knew where he’d pulled in, and he could see the grill of the Cherokee, but someone off the road wouldn’t pick him up. Tasker had pulled his MP5 from the back of the Cherokee and checked his Beretta. If they could get these rednecks to do something stupid they might catch a break.

  Over the Nextel, Sutter said, “The F-250 just rolled by real slow with five guys in the back, and none of them hid that they were staring at me.”

  “Just give me the word and I’ll roll out.” He quickly raised Camy on the Nextel. “What’s your twenty?”

  “Five minutes.” There was a strain in Camy’s voice.

  Tasker waited. The wind would blow the sawgrass to one side or the other occasionally, giving him a glimpse of the parking lot and Sutter still safe in his car.

  During a period when his vision was blocked, Sutter came over the Nextel. “Bill, they’re in the lot. I’ll beep when I need you.”

  Tasker acknowledged him and then raised Camy. “How far?”

  She came right back. “We’re on Krome, thirty seconds.”

  Tasker said, “Just come in the lot. The truck is here and we need to-” Tasker heard Sutter beep the horn. He let the phone drop and hit the gas. The gold Cherokee roared out of the field like a charging rhino and rolled into the lot over potholes and garbage and obviously surprised the rednecks, who were now in a ring around Sutter’s door. One of them had a shotgun and two had ax handles.

  Tasker brought the Cherokee to a screeching halt right next to the surprised men. He popped out of the Cherokee with his MP5 already up. At almost the same time, Camy rolled into the lot and secured the two guys standing near the F-250. Jimmy Lail had his gun up sideways and started yapping, “Five-O, five-O, nobody move.” He looked at the young man closest to him and added, “That mean you, be-autch.” />
  Tasker focused on the man with the shotgun and said, “Police. Drop the gun.”

  The man looked at him with scared eyes.

  Tasker yelled, “Now!”

  The shotgun clattered to the ground.

  Tasker turned his machine gun on the others. “Now the ax handles.”

  The two men in their thirties let them fall to the ground with hollow clunks. Their hands wavered and shook in the air. Tasker felt the anger flash through him when he thought about what they had intended to do to his friend with those handles. He checked his emotion before he did something stupid like whack one of them in the face with the butt of his machine gun.

  Sutter moved from his car to collect the shotgun and kick the ax handles out of reach. “Damn, this is the new millennium. Who uses ax handles anymore?”

  No one answered.

  Jimmy Lail moved closer, shoving one of the men. “On the ground, crackers.”

  Tasker looked over to Camy, not surprised she had both her subjects already sitting next to the truck with their hands on their heads.

  After a minute of surveying the situation, Tasker had all the men together near the truck and his MP5 slung over his shoulder.

  “Now, what’s this all about?”

  One of the younger men, about twenty-five, said, “We was worried when we saw y’all hanging out down here. We didn’t know what was goin’ on.”

  An older man, near fifty, barked, “Dale, shut up. We ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

  Tasker smiled. “Mr. Conners?”

  The man nodded reluctantly.

  “You’re wrong. Looks like you assaulted Officer Sutter here.”

  The man didn’t acknowledge him.

  Tasker said, “Get up and come over here.” He waited until the man had stood and walked to him, then led him away from the group, now under the watchful eye of Sutter, Jimmy and Camy.

  At Sutter’s car, Tasker stopped, turned and said, “This can all go away with a little information.”

  The man had a sour look, then said, “What kind of information?”