He immediately set to work on his own plan.
Captain Sam Norton, a twenty-two-year veteran of the Florida Department of Corrections, stood next to the dog handler and felt the weight of his shotgun in his hand. He loved this. He’d allow escapes every week if it wouldn’t cost him his job. He’d been at Glades when the six had dug out and it had been the best time of his whole career. This was the third attempt in the past year and only the second to get off the facility. He’d be there when they ran this convict down. He had to be, he was the boss.
“Okay, Lester, you and your boys cover the field behind the prison. Take the sheriff’s dogs out there. Tommy, you start checking all the outbuildings on the grounds.” He knew this sucker wasn’t in any outbuildings. He knew that ice-cold robber had shaken his black ass right toward Gladesville hoping to get a ride or jump on a semi-tractor-trailer. “Cletus, set your dogs toward the town and I’ll go with you.” He looked around at the men. “Now,” he barked, and, as expected, everyone kicked into high gear.
Just as he started to trot with Cletus and the dogs, he saw Renee Chin coming out of the admin building with a service revolver in a holster on her hip. It burned his ass that inspectors were issued handguns and could carry them off the prison grounds. He let his frustration slide with Renee Chin. He liked her being close when things went bad. Not only to impress her, but to protect her, too. This time he thought it’d be better if she was well away from the action.
He stopped to face her and pointed toward the rear fields. “Help Lester in the back field. He’s got a deputy with a sheriff’s dog. The tower guards at the Rock will cover you.”
She nodded and started to move in an easy lope with those wonderful long legs toward the uncut cane field. Norton caught up with the hounds heading toward Gladesville and apparently already on the fleeing man’s scent.
“I’ll be right here with them,” he said as Donna shook her head again.
“No way,” she said from the driver’s seat, the girls crying in the back of the van. “It’s too dangerous until they catch that guy. Besides, you want to get out there and help. I know you.”
“Traditionally, prisons catch escapees in the first ten hours.”
“Maybe we’ll be back tomorrow then,” she said, putting her van in gear and starting to back out.
He stood and watched, almost saying, At least let them take their hamster.
She waved and made an apologetic shrug as they turned for the long road headed to US 27.
He stood watching them when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Billie Towers standing next to him, her full lips in a slight pout. “Sorry they had to go. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Tasker couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across his face. Despite what he wanted to say, he shook his head. “No, thanks, Billie. I gotta get over to the prison and see if they need a hand.” She had a worried look, but Tasker got the feeling he wasn’t the one she was concerned about.
ten
On the short drive from his apartment to the facility, Tasker called the prison admin office but the phone just rang. Then he scrolled down his phone list to the newest entry: R. A. Chin. She answered her cell phone on the first ring.
“Go ahead.” She was all business now.
“Renee, it’s Bill Tasker. I heard the siren. What can I do to help?”
She sounded distracted. “Bill, I’m in a sugarcane field on a wild-goose chase now. Sam Norton was headed toward town with some dogs. See if you can find him.”
“How many are out?”
“Just one. Leroy Baxter. He’s got a violent history, but hasn’t been a problem for us. Looks like he slid a wedge into a side gate and slipped out.”
“I’ll call you after I find Norton.”
“Bill!” She shouted it to keep him from hanging up.
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
He appreciated someone being concerned for him. Billie Towers had said the same thing as he bolted from the apartment complex a few minutes before. She had slipped him her phone number and told him to call when he was done for the night, if for no other reason than to let her know he was okay. He’d smiled and told her he’d probably be right back anyway, that’s how escapes worked. Searching for an escaped convict is the kind of job he was made for. Simple, direct and with an obvious gauge of success. If the convict ends up in custody, the mission is accomplished.
He slowed near Gladesville as he headed east on US 27. Near the prison he turned toward town and immediately saw a DOC pickup truck, one of the trucks usually circling the compound, slowly cruising up one side of the road. Tasker pulled alongside and lowered his window.
He held up his open badge and said, “Bill Tasker, FDLE.”
The middle-aged man just looked at him.
Tasker paused and said, “I’m looking for Captain Norton.”
The man pointed up ahead and toward a line of industrial-type shops with a warehouse complex behind them.
Tasker punched the gas and darted into a parking spot in front of a cabinetmaker’s shop, which had closed for the day. As he stepped out of the Monte Carlo, he could hear the dogs barking behind the building. He went to his trunk and pulled out a FDLE raid jacket so he could be clearly identified. He also took off his belly bag with his small Sig Sauer .380 inside and used his tactical belt with his issued Beretta .40 caliber in a holster on his hip. He checked the automatic and saw there was a round in the chamber. Finally he stuck his ASP in his rear pocket. Not only could it be used as a nightstick, it was handy for searching through piles of debris or other things he didn’t want to stick his hands into. Finally, with all his gear in order, he headed around the line of four shops.
He spotted two men with shotguns as he rounded the building. One man turned quickly and Tasker froze so he could see he was a cop.
The other man, Captain Norton, waved him over. “What’re you doin’ here?”
“Just here to help.”
“I think we can handle this.”
“I’m out, an extra man never hurts.”
Norton shrugged, apparently not awed by FDLE’s reputation or position in law enforcement. Tasker stood next to the DOC officers and watched the dog handler work a section of the warehouse.
Norton turned to Tasker. “Okay, Mr. Special Agent, why don’t you stay with Cletus and the dogs and we’ll run ’round back. We think he’s in them warehouses and if you guys go in you’ll likely flush him out to us.”
Tasker nodded and walked toward the man holding the leashes of the three dogs. He was heavy, with all of his extra weight in his belly. His red T-shirt didn’t cover the mound of flesh above his belt line.
“Cletus, I’m Bill. Captain Norton told me to go with you and try to flush the guy toward him in the back.”
Cletus turned his head to one side and spit out a giant dark chunk of chewing tobacco. The brown juice dribbled down his chin. He looked at Tasker and nodded, turning toward the opening to the rear warehouses. The dogs continued to bark and strain at their leashes.
Tasker drew his pistol and started scanning each area carefully. The dogs seemed intent on the warehouse farther back, and Cletus let them pull him that way at a pretty good pace. They cleared two rows of warehouse units in less than a minute and could see the rear exit. Then they heard a quick shout and a shotgun blast. Tasker recognized the hollow sound of a double-ought buckshot round.
Leroy Baxter had been inside Manatee for two years and knew he wouldn’t see freedom for at least eighteen more. He’d pleaded guilty to a series of armed robberies in Daytona, where he would rob check-cashing stores and biker bars on a rotating basis. He always wore a blue mask at the check-cashing stores and a bright red mask at the biker bars, thinking everyone would figure there were two separate robbers. His plan might have succeeded if the police hadn’t found both masks when he was arrested after a short car chase from a biker bar.
Leroy was actually relieved when he was only charged with
the robberies because he had also killed two separate couples in the same month he had been robbing the stores. One couple was a Canadian husband and wife on their honeymoon. The man had been a smart-ass and the woman a piece of ass and when he’d tried to show the woman the benefits of some Florida lovin’, the man had gotten froggy and Leroy had had to shoot him in the face. He hadn’t meant to shoot him in the face, but he’d moved so fast it just happened. The woman started screaming and wouldn’t stop, so Leroy had shot her in the face, too. Then he’d put them in the trunk of their rented Ford Taurus and dropped them in one of the deep lakes out near Apopka. A few days later, he started seeing reports on the TV about how the couple was missing from Orlando. The Daytona trip was just a day trip and no one even knew they had come to the coast. What luck.
The second couple Leroy killed was on purpose. He had walked into a check-cashing store and seen this old dude and a young woman cash a couple of checks and walk out with a load of cash. Leroy just followed them back to one of the cheesy motels on the north end of the beach and watched their room. After an hour, he slipped up to the second-story outside room and knocked on the door. The man had called out without opening the door. “Who is it?” Kinda pissed off.
Leroy said, “Your bathroom is leaking into the first-floor room. I need to check it real quick.”
When the man opened the door a crack, Leroy had the pistol waiting at face level. The man didn’t hesitate to raise his arms and step away from the door. Leroy stepped inside and closed the door. The old, fat man stood with his hands up and a small towel wrapped around his waist. The woman was frozen in the bed with the covers up to her neck. As Leroy stared at them, the man’s towel dropped to the floor.
Leroy motioned toward the bed with his .38 revolver. “Get in the bed with her.”
“Just don’t shoot,” the man said, his eyes focused only on the gun barrel.
“Do what I say and no one’ll get hurt.” He watched the man lie down, then said to him, “Take the covers off her.”
The man complied without any hesitation, exposing the much younger woman, who was naked under the covers. She had a tight body with big, fake tits that stuck straight up even though she was on her back. Leroy immediately felt his interest in her.
“Where’s the cash?”
The man just stared at the gun.
Leroy repeated, “Where is the cash?” This time he spoke slower.
The man knew there was no use. He nodded at his pants hanging on a chair by a small old desk.
Leroy backed up to it with his gun still pointed at the naked couple and felt the pockets with his free hand. He found the wad of hundred-dollar bills and stuck the three-inch stack in his pocket. Now that business was over, he thought he might have a little fun. He stepped to the woman’s side of the bed and looked down at her. She didn’t look nearly as scared as the man. He smiled and used his free hand to unzip his loose pants.
Then the woman spoke. She had a thick New York accent and he wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or to the naked white man next to her.
She said, “I ain’t gonna fuck no nigger.”
Leroy didn’t need that kind of shit. At the time, it was the start of a new century and he thought that kind of attitude had been left in the old century. Besides, he had a gun. He didn’t hesitate. He just pointed the barrel to within three inches of the woman’s good-looking nose and pulled the trigger. The pop drowned out the man’s yelp. Then Leroy just pointed the gun at the man’s temple and jerked the trigger again. Now he had the cash and no witnesses. He had also showed this fine-looking bitch how certain words could hurt. He had stepped outside and casually walked to his car and no one had ever asked him a single question about the double murder.
The news had said it was a drug deal gone bad and covered it for three or four days, but that was all. So Leroy always thought he’d gotten off pretty easy for four murders and six robberies all in one month. Too bad his little vacation from prison hadn’t lasted any longer.
He had heard the dogs and scampered out the rear when he saw Captain Norton and Sergeant Janzig standing there with shotguns like they were waiting for him.
Leroy raised his hands slowly and froze. Neither man pointed a gun at him. Captain Norton just raised his hand and motioned him to come to him like they were in the cafeteria and the captain needed to talk to him.
Leroy relaxed and started to stroll over to the notoriously surly man. He saw the captain say something to the sergeant and then smile slightly.
Leroy smiled as he came closer, relieved neither man looked nervous and hadn’t even bothered to threaten him with their black shotguns. He put his hands on his head because his arms were a little tired and said, “I guess you got me,” as he stopped a few feet away from the armed DOC officers.
The captain said, “Leroy, I thought you were tougher,” and then tossed something on the ground at his feet.
Leroy looked down at a crude shiv made from a straight piece of metal about ten inches long with a swath of cloth wrapped around it.
Captain Sam Norton looked at Sergeant Henry Janzig. Norton remembered when his friend had passed his test to enter the little club of trusted officers by keeping his mouth shut about a fucked-up inspection for which Norton had changed some crucial findings before the report had gone to Tallahassee. Now his friend saw the inmate. He shook his knotty head and looked at the captain with that constant scowl. Janzig actually had a good disposition if you were one of the three percent of the population that didn’t annoy him.
Norton said, “Told you so.”
The sergeant nodded and pulled out a five-dollar bill from his front pocket. “Shit, that’s fifteen bucks I lost the last two weeks.”
“You’ll make it back up.”
“I thought he’d go out the front.”
“Henry, you spend too much time with them white power shitheads. Other people do other things.”
“You sayin’ a white man woulda gone out the front?”
“I’m sayin’ you got to get inside people’s minds. Think how they think, not think how they look.”
“You been readin’ one of your crazy textbooks again?”
“Reading ain’t a sin, Henry.”
The tubby man shrugged his rounded shoulders.
Now Norton changed his tone. “You know, Henry, we could kill two birds with one stone.”
“How’s that?”
“What if this boy here killed Rick Dewalt?”
Janzig gave a little smile. “Get that FDLE agent outta here faster.”
“No shit. The longer he’s around, the more chance he has to screw things up.”
“We’re gonna need to know what he thinks about the Dewalt thing and when he’s leaving.”
Janzig turned to Norton and said, “How we going to find that out?”
Norton smiled. “I got an idea.”
They turned their full attention back to the inmate.
Norton said, “What d’you think, pipe or shiv?”
The sergeant looked at the surprised prisoner in the gray uniform, who was now stopped and raising his hands. “I’d say shiv. Looks more threatening.”
Norton nodded and signaled the escapee to come toward them. The man complied easily and casually walked right to them.
Norton was disappointed the second he saw that Leroy Baxter wasn’t even going to run. At least he’d won the bet that he’d come out this way.
As Leroy stopped in front of them, Captain Norton said, “Leroy, I thought you were tougher.” Then he tossed a shiv he’d taken from some inmate over the years onto the ground next to Leroy. Calmly he watched the black man look at the discarded weapon, and with one hand he leaned the shotgun down at an angle and discharged a round into Leroy’s face from less than a foot away.
Tasker ran from the front when he heard the shotgun. He raced through the last exit to see Norton and a short, tubby sergeant standing over the prone body of the escapee. Tasker slowed to a walk as he saw the two DOC men were
unharmed.
“What happened?” asked Tasker.
“That official?” asked Norton.
“What?”
“That question.”
Tasker was confused. “Why?”
“’Cause if FDLE is investigating this shooting, I need my PBA attorney.”
“Why?”
“Just the way it is.”
Tasker stared, wondering what had happened. He had a pretty good idea—that is, if he didn’t jump to any conclusions. There was a dead guy on the ground with his face now just a mass of blood and flesh. Tasker could see several of his teeth still intact in a mouth rimmed with torn and bleeding lips. There was a homemade knife to the side. Norton and the sergeant stood calmly a few feet away with shotguns. Tasker didn’t have to be Stephen Hawking to add up the pieces.
Tasker said, “Guess he really didn’t want to go back.”
Norton nodded. “Or he really wanted to see me stuck like a pig.”
“He charged you with a knife?”
“We was looking over that way and he surprised us.” Norton looked out over the complex of storage units and said, “That’s all I’ll answer right now.”
eleven
It was nearly midnight, about six hours since Tasker had stood over the dead body of the escaped inmate, and Captain Sam Norton had essentially said, “I don’t feel like talking about it.”
Escape Clause Page 8
