Shock Wave

by James O. Born

  Tasker nodded. He slowed the car when he saw the narrow canal with the lime-green water. The patchwork of canals here were used to cool the power plant. The fresh water was pumped in and out of the plant, keeping this marsh area off-limits to developers. As a result, it was also one of the largest habitats for crocodiles in the Northern Hemisphere. Over the years, Tasker would occasionally see one on a bank or in the water, but never up close. Their reputation for being more aggressive than alligators made him keep his distance. This little dirt road was about as close as you could get without trespassing on Florida Power and Light land.

  Alicia said, “This was his place. He came out here all the time.”

  “Any idea where the box is buried?”

  She shook her head.

  Sutter said, “Can’t be that hard to find. Look for disturbed dirt.”

  The problem was that with the dirt-bike tire tracks and the soft dirt, it was a giant upturned sandbox.

  Tasker said, “Let’s look at it like a crime scene. Figure where he would stand to fish and how far he could see.” He had Alicia point out the tree Wells usually sat under. Tasker took his place and turned to survey the field. Almost immediately, he saw the square patch of upturned dirt near the edge of the brush line where they had entered.

  Tasker said, “Jackpot.”

  Jimmy Lail was frustrated by the way Camy had been acting. The girl’s attitude was downright disrespectful. He could handle a lot but not being disrespected by his bitch.

  He dialed her cell phone again. When her message came on instead of her, he pushed the “off ” button so hard the phone casing cracked.

  Between the way Tasker had treated him and now Camy, he was losing his cool.

  He’d show them. When he got the good spot at the Bureau, they could all kiss his ass.

  …

  It was time for Daniel Wells to gather the last pieces of his plan together. He probably had enough TATP left to do the job, but wanted to get the rest from his box in case he needed it later. A run out there to clean out the box, and then off to borrow one of the Big Rig Academy’s teaching units. He even had a place to stash it for a day until he needed it. He was still a little worried about backing up to a tanker unassisted, but decided that for a one-time shot he could do it.

  He barreled down East Palm until he saw the Homestead speedway, when he remembered the vigilant cop who had stopped him a while back. He backed off the gas and slowed to fifty-five. It was a nice afternoon and he wished he’d had a fishing pole, since he was headed to his favorite spot, but he knew he’d never be able to concentrate on fishing with his plan so close. His body had tingled all over for the last three days as the time drew closer. This would be big, but nothing compared to what he intended next. He already knew his target. He had grabbed a book from the library about how to do it. He would make this feeling last and last.

  He slowed as he approached his turnoff.

  It didn’t take much to uncover the lid to the box, buried about eight inches under the soft sand. Tasker and Sutter focused hard on the box, to give Alicia a few minutes to handle private business. Even though they offered to drive her to a restroom, she said she had used the bushes plenty of times and headed into the thick brush.

  Sutter reached down into the box. “Looky here.” He held up a glass container. “Don’t need no lab tests to tell me what this is.”

  Tasker nodded. “What else is in there?”

  Sutter leaned back down, setting the bottle gently on the soft dirt next to the box. “Let’s see. A box of fuses, some cash.” He sat up again and ran his fingers against the tightly bound twenties. “Bet it’s close to a thousand.”

  Tasker nodded his head.

  Sutter said, “No, really. I bet you. If it’s within fifty bucks off a thousand, I get to keep it. If not, then it’s yours.” He flashed his smile.

  Tasker said, “Funny.” He snatched the money from Sutter’s hand before he could count it and crammed it in his front pocket. He looked at his friend. “Evidence.”

  “Man, you are paranoid.” He leaned back into the box. “Whoa, now here’s some evidence.” He pulled up a small Smith & Wesson.38-caliber revolver, his two fingers holding it by the trigger guard. “What would an engineer need with this?”

  Tasker took the gun, also by the trigger guard, and added, “Why would he hide it out here?”

  Sutter grabbed the last item, examined it briefly and said, “A map of the county.” Then he looked in the box and added, “And a roll of duct tape.”

  Tasker stood up and said, “He’s done if we ever find him.”

  Sutter said, “We’ll find him in time.”

  “But do we have any time?”

  Wells whistled a Rush tune, “Free Will,” as his Ford Ranger bumped over the entrance to his fishing hole. He was hardly paying attention until he saw the gold Jeep Cherokee. It took him a second to notice the two men near his box, then another second to recognize the state cop, Bill Tasker, and that Miami cop named Sutter.

  “How on earth did they find this?” he said out loud as he spun the wheel. The Ranger turned slowly in the soft sand. He saw the men spring up from the box and turn his way. For a second, he thought they might not recognize him. Then he heard Tasker yell, “Daniel, wait!”

  Wells hit the gas, spraying dirt back onto the men. The only problem was that the sudden spinning of his wheels sunk them into the soft sand. He heard some pops as his side mirror shattered. Someone was shooting at him. He ducked instinctively and steered for the break in the tree line.

  Tasker was running in his direction just as the wheels finally caught on harder ground. The truck lurched up out of the soft spot, and Wells yelped with relief-until he saw that Tasker had jumped onto the rear of the truck, then tumbled into the bed of the pickup.

  “Oh shit,” said Daniel, as he saw the paved road. He hammered the gas pedal and turned the wheel hard when he hit the pavement, both to get some speed and in hopes of tossing the persistent cop out of the truck.

  As he headed west on 344th, he looked in his rearview and was relieved to see an empty bed.

  Tasker heard the vehicle coming down the dirt path and didn’t give it a second thought. “Fishermen,” he said to Sutter. Neither man recognized the old blue pickup, but it only took a second to recognize the driver. Without thinking, Tasker shouted, “Daniel, wait.” Like he was trying to catch up to an old friend at a ball game.

  Sutter didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his right knee and pulled his backup Beretta.25 from an ankle holster. He brought the tiny, nonregulation semiautomatic pistol up in both hands like it was his full-sized Glock and started to pop away at the truck as it spun wildly and sprayed them with dirt. The small-caliber bullets had little effect, and in a few moments the truck’s tires caught on firmer ground.

  Tasker raced ahead without hesitation. When the truck bogged down again, he made a wild leap and landed on the tailgate, then tumbled into the bed. He felt his face rub against the rough, rusty floor of the bed, then his head slammed into the cab. He lay there for a second to regain his composure, checked to make sure his belly bag was still secure and then, finally, got up on his knees in the wildly rocking truck. He was about to set himself to kick the rear access window out when the truck hit the paved road with a thump and sent him first into the air, then back against the tailgate, then to one side. By the time the truck was on smooth pavement, Tasker was on his back, looking up at the sky, trying to determine if anything was broken. He was wedged near the cab and didn’t think Wells could see him, so he stayed put for a minute to grab a few breaths of air and devise a plan.

  Sutter grabbed the bottled explosive and the pistol as he sprang to his feet. He didn’t give Alicia a second thought when he ran to Tasker’s Cherokee. It wasn’t until she darted out of the bushes, her dress still hiked up, that he remembered he couldn’t leave her.

  “In the Jeep. Get in the damn Jeep,” he shouted.

  She was inside before him. “What’s goin’
on?”

  “Hold these.” He shoved the gun and bottle in her lap as he jerked the seat up where he could reach the gas. “Your husband just showed.” He reached down the steering column, relieved the keys were in place. He cranked the engine and hit the gas, getting much the same effect as Wells, spinning in circles and kicking up dirt. He pushed the Cherokee almost into the bushes, rubbing the thick Brazilian pepper branches hard against the gold paint to stay on firmer ground. It worked, and he darted onto the road at thirty miles an hour, immediately catching sight of the truck up ahead. “Hang on,” he said as he punched the gas.

  Alicia, close to tears, said, “Where is Mr. Tasker?”

  Sutter looked ahead. “I thought he was in the truck.” His stomach shifted toward his throat as he quickly scanned the sides of the road to see if his partner had been thrown from the truck.

  “There he is,” said Alicia, pointing at the truck ahead of them.

  Sutter felt a breath of relief come to him as he saw Tasker pop up in the bed of the truck. He had his Beretta in his hand and leaned back, holding on to the side panel as he kicked the small window in the center of the rear glass. Tasker’s foot went into the cab as the window came right off its tracks.

  “Oh shit, girl, this could get ugly.”

  Tasker felt the blood come back into his brain and reached down for his pistol. The truck’s motion was fairly steady now as they headed west toward Homestead. He thought about waiting until Wells stopped for something, but was afraid there might be innocent bystanders. He took a deep breath. He counted to three, then jumped up on his knees. He wanted Wells to see the gun and know what could happen. Tasker braced himself and brought up his right foot with the hiking boots he’d slipped on instead of tennis shoes. Thank God the heavy, reinforced shoes had been close to the door of his closet. He pulled back his leg, aimed for the rear access window and let fly. The force of his kick sent his foot into the cab and made him lose his balance.

  Wells, apparently unnerved by the action, swerved hard one way, then the other, causing Tasker to fall again.

  “That’s enough,” he said out loud, sticking his right hand-his gun hand-into the cab and up to Wells’ head. “Stop the truck, Daniel,” he yelled into the cab over the sound of the rushing wind. He then followed his arm through the wrecked rear window. He squeezed his head and shoulders through, just as Wells hit the brakes. His momentum carried him mostly into the cab, but gave Wells the chance to bat away his hand and send the Beretta rattling to the floor. The truck instantly picked up speed as Tasker balled his fist to bash Wells’ brains out. He raised his fist.

  Wells said, “Hang on there, slick.”

  Tasker froze at the sight of a Ruger.22 auto pointed in his face.

  “Now slide on in all the way before you get killed.”

  Tasker complied.

  “I could just shoot you and be done with it.”

  Tasker stayed silent. He’d been on the wrong end of a gun before and never liked the feeling.

  “When you sprang me on the Stinger charge, I said I owed you. Remember?”

  Tasker nodded.

  “Now we’re even.” He tilted his head back to look at the rearview. “You’re buddy is in the Jeep, so I can’t stop.” He looked hard at the mirror. “Son of a bitch, that’s Alicia, isn’t it?”

  Tasker didn’t respond. His eyes worked their way down to his gun on the floorboard between the gas pedal and the console.

  Wells said, “That’s how you found the hole.” He turned to look at Tasker. “What’d you do to her to make her talk?”

  Tasker shrugged.

  “I know you cops. You probably told her she’d lose the kids if she went to jail. Didn’t you?” He shoved the pistol closer to Tasker’s head.

  “Yeah, Daniel. She just talked to save the kids.”

  “You bastards.” He took a couple of breaths. “A deal’s a deal. I’m gonna let you out, but I can’t stop ’cause of your pal.”

  Tasker looked at the Beretta again.

  Daniel saw the glance and fired his.22 without warning.

  Tasker jumped and raised his hand to his face, feeling for the wound. It only took a second to see that Wells had only added a hole to the truck, shooting high, into the roof.

  “Don’t even think about going for that gun.” He slowed the truck. “Up here where the swale is grassy by the track, I’m gonna slow to about ten miles an hour. If your buddy tries to bump us, the deal’s off, so signal him if you have to.”

  Tasker felt the truck slow.

  Wells stepped on the Beretta with his left foot, then slowed the truck some more.

  Tasker looked over his left shoulder and saw his Cherokee closing on them. Tasker held up his hand to Sutter, who immediately backed off a few car lengths.

  Wells said, “Now, open the door and get out.”

  Tasker pulled the handle slowly, opening the door a crack.

  “We’re even,” said Wells.

  “Daniel-” started Tasker, but Wells poked him with the gun.

  Tasker went with the motion and flopped out of the truck, hitting the grass, then rolling head over heels into a slow side tumble as he came to the edge of a gravel lot. He shook his head. “Ow” was all he could say. He watched the truck gain speed, then saw Wells toss out Tasker’s Beretta a few hundred feet ahead as the truck sped away. Wells beeped a little rhythm and took off.

  Sutter skidded to a stop a few feet from Tasker.

  Jumping out of the Cherokee, he gasped, “Jesus, you all right?”

  Tasker didn’t honestly know. “Catch him.” He shoved at his partner. “Go.”

  Sutter looked him over and said, “No way. You need some attention. Look at this shit.” He pointed to a puddle of blood gathering around Tasker.

  Tasker tried to respond, then just blacked out.

  twenty-nine

  “Where’s Alicia?” asked Bill Tasker.

  “I got a room at a hotel in case Wells tries to look for her.”

  Tasker nodded, avoiding words that rattled in his head. He blinked hard at the bright overhead light as the small Latin doctor inspected the last of his stitches.

  “Not bad,” said the forty-year-old doctor, with a light accent. “You won’t have much of a scar on your arm, and the two deeper cuts on your left leg will look like a Christmas wreath. Good work if I do say so myself.” He smiled, filling out crow’s-feet that showed he was sincere. “Judging from some of your other scars, these won’t bother you a bit.”

  Tasker timed the throbbing in his head and let out a quick “Thanks.”

  “You’ll be sore for a week. That was some tumble you took. Next time you two are fishing, you should ride in the truck’s cab.”

  “Will do,” managed Tasker.

  “Nothing’s broken, but I want you in bed for at least five days. Understood?”

  Tasker nodded.

  “Why don’t I believe you?” The doctor looked at Sutter, standing silently in the corner of the small walk-in clinic’s main exam room. “Like I don’t believe the fishing story. But my job is to patch up, not lecture.”

  Sutter said, “Good plan.” He handed the man a stack of twenties. “We gotta boogie.”

  “Let me get his prescriptions and give this to the cashier,” the doctor said, as he ambled out of the room.

  Sutter quickly turned to his partner. “Tell me again why we didn’t go to Jackson and you claim worker’s comp?”

  “No time. They’d have me on my back for a week.”

  “Like this guy wants.”

  “And I will. After we find out what the fuck is going on and grab Daniel Wells.” Tasker looked at him. “And these twenties came from where?”

  “Your front pocket.”

  “Derrick, that was evidence.”

  Sutter nodded his head. “So, when you bend the rules and don’t use worker’s comp and lie to a doctor, it’s to save time. When I do something like that, it’s ‘destroying evidence.’ ”

  Tasker’s e
yes bulged of their own will. “It is destroying evidence.” They sat in silence a few seconds. Tasker realized these were extraordinary times. “Okay, what do you think we should do next?”

  “Let’s go talk to Bolini and figure out what the damn FBI is up to.”

  “Not if we’re just fishing. We need some proof.”

  “This feels too damn close to the business with Dooley. Fuckin’ Bureau causing shit, and we got our thumbs up our ass.”

  Tasker winced as he pulled his shirt up to look at his bruised ribs. Along with the twenty-seven stitches he’d just received in three different places, his legs had a few good patches of road rash, his left arm was turning blue with bruises and he thought one of his teeth felt funny. “We’ve gotta tie up the loose ends.” He slid off the examining table.

  Sutter put his hand on Tasker’s tender shoulder. “I know exactly how to tie up the FBI loose ends.”

  Jimmy Lail snatched his phone off the front seat on the first ring. “Yo,” he almost shouted. He’d been in a foul mood since Camy had stopped answering her phone. That’s why he was shocked to hear her voice.

  “Hey, baby. Sorry I was such a bitch earlier.”

  Jimmy smiled. “You da bomb, baby.”

  “You wanna come over?”

  “When?”

  “I’ll be home in an hour. Don’t work out, you’ll need your strength.”

  The smile spread across his face. “You got it, baby. I gotta swing by my crib and shower.”

  “You may want to wait on that, too.” Her voice had none of the defiance she’d shown the past few weeks.

  Now his erection swelled as fast as his smile. “Whatever you say.” He vaguely heard her say goodbye, then tossed the phone back on the front seat. He’d show her what goin’ all night really meant. Some good lovin’ would go a long way to straightening out that attitude she’d had for a few weeks. She’d beg him not to leave. He reached down and cranked NWA until his windows shook.

  Just after nightfall, he rolled down Camy’s street in the way-too-white-bread development she lived in. The upstairs was dark and a few lights were on in the rear of the downstairs. Jimmy parked in the driveway, something she normally didn’t approve of. In fact, she usually liked him to park a house or two down. She said it was her old-fashioned streak. She didn’t want the neighbors to think she allowed men to spend the night.