Escape Clause

by James O. Born

  Tasker said to the secretary, “When will he be back?”

  The tired voice with a Cuban accent on the other end of the phone said, “Same time I tol’ you an hour ago: I don’t know.”

  “Will you tell him I called?”

  “Bill, I tol’ you I’d tell him three calls ago. Now stop bothering me and do some work.” The line went dead.

  Tasker had made his own notes on the message from Luther Williams. What did it mean if it was true? So Norton was in a corporation? Big deal. It had to be some kind of big deal for a wanted fugitive to risk having a call traced.

  Tasker could’ve called any analyst, but aside from being a genius with the computer, Jerry Risto had pulled his ass out of the fire on several occasions. One time, when Tasker had been suspended, he’d done it off the record, under circumstances that could have gotten him fired. Tasker decided it was worth waiting.

  He used the free time to straighten up his apartment for the arrival of the girls. He felt the pressure of being under a time constraint by his boss, but he thought he had it all planned out. The girls had to go home the next day by three. Then he had his date with Renee. Yes, he could now call it a date. Then Sunday would be spent hunkered down in front of the computer, banging out this damn report. That would give him his final five days to tie up loose ends on the report and see what the hell was going on with the professor’s murder investigation.

  He used a broom he had bought at the Piggly Wiggly to herd out the accumulated dirt and then wiped down the counters. Even though he had eaten most of his meals on the go, some dirty dishes had piled up. The kitchen took a few more minutes. Every time he looked at Hamlet’s empty cage, he got pissed off. He couldn’t bring himself to toss it, so he gathered it up and took it into the apartment next door. The place had been unlocked since the crime scene technicians had finished and no one had felt there was anything in there worth stealing. Some UF people had come in and packed up the few things the professor owned, and since then no one had been by. Tasker set the cage on the small coffee table and felt himself choke up a little at the thought of his friend.

  The sound of his cell phone ringing on his own kitchen counter caused him to hustle back into his apartment.

  He grabbed the phone on the fourth ring. “Tasker.”

  “Billy, what’re you crazy? Calling me so late on a Friday.”

  Tasker smiled at Jerry Risto’s gruff voice.

  “Sorry, Jerry.”

  “Let me guess, you need some kind of monumental favor?”

  “Actually, it’s important, but not too hard. A bonus is this is sanctioned by the director.”

  “Has that ever affected me before?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Let Mr. GQ come up here and work the computer for a few days and then I’ll be impressed when he wants something.”

  “C’mon, you gotta like that guy.”

  “I do, but it’s not a good day today.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing that losing twenty years and thirty pounds wouldn’t cure. Now, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  “Got a tip from an unusual source.”

  “Am I allowed to know the source?”

  “Luther Williams, who you know as Cole Hodges.”

  “You’re shittin’ me.”

  Tasker paused. “You’re who I picked that phrase up from.”

  “What phrase? ‘You’re shittin’ me’?”

  “Yeah. It offends a certain young lady I’m interested in.”

  “So blame your old fart friend. Now cut the shit and tell me about this snake Hodges, or Williams. I know he escaped.”

  “And he called me this morning.”

  “You’re shit—You don’t say.”

  “I do. He told me a captain out here at Manatee Correctional is in a corporation.”

  “And?”

  “And you don’t stop to call a cop when you’re on the run unless it’s important.”

  There was a long silence. “You may be right. Give me what you got.”

  Tasker gave him all the identifiers he knew on Norton and the prison.

  Jerry was silent another minute and said, “Tell you what. Give me till Monday morning and I’ll get this stuff, as well as anything else I dig up.”

  Tasker smiled. “Jerry, you’re—”

  “Don’t say, ‘the best.’ ”

  “A big help. How’s that?”

  “And you’re a big pain in the ass.”

  Tasker smiled again.

  Jerry added, “Hey, kid.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Watch your ass out there.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  Donna Tasker pulled out of the Cuban restaurant near her house in a good mood. She liked chatting with nice people like the older, dignified black gentleman who had wished her a safe journey. It turned out to be a safe and pleasant journey. She listened to the audio version of a Randy Wayne White novel while the girls played a game with their Game Boys linked. They hardly made a sound after eating their sandwich.

  After several trips, Donna no longer had problems finding Dead Cow Lane off US 27. She pulled up to the apartment complex right next to her ex-husband’s Monte Carlo.

  The girls raced ahead, and by the time she came to the front door they were wrapped around their father like a mink stole.

  Donna joined the group hug and gave Tasker a kiss on the cheek. She glanced around the living room of the small apartment. He had kept it very tidy. She noticed the notebook computer with some paper around it on the dining room table. Good, she thought, he’s focusing on his report.

  But there was something wrong. He looked tired. She wondered if it was professional or personal.

  He knelt down and looked the girls in the eyes. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, girls.”

  They stared at him.

  “Hamlet passed away the other day.”

  Emily gasped. Donna was afraid the cumulative effect of the shooting, the professor’s death and now her hamster’s death might be too much for an eight-year-old.

  Kelly asked, “How’d it happen?” She slung an arm around her younger sister, who had started to sob.

  “I’m not sure, but it could’ve been old age.”

  Emily slowed to a sniffle and asked, “Did he die in his sleep?” Tasker smiled a little, “Yeah, we were watching his favorite show and he dozed off.”

  Emily asked, “What was his favorite show?”

  Donna and Kelly answered together. “Hill Street Blues.” That made them all laugh and even Emily acknowledged it with a brief smile, then returned to sniffles.

  Tasker said, “I gave him a nice funeral in the cane field and we’ll find you another hamster on the way back to Mom’s house tomorrow.”

  Donna shot him a sharp look.

  He added, “But he’ll still live with me.”

  “We have his cage at least,” said Kelly.

  “We’ll buy a whole new setup. And you guys can name him anything you want.”

  Both girls brightened.

  Donna stepped in. “This is all part of life, girls. Hamsters have a short life span, so you have to be ready.”

  Tasker added, “It’s a good reason always to be nice to people and animals. Emily, you’ll remember the last thing you did was kiss Hamlet on the head. What a nice memory.”

  It was one comment too many and the little girl started to wail and fled into the bedroom. Kelly followed for support.

  After a minute, the cries subsided and Tasker sat on the couch with his ex-wife.

  She said, “There’s more than just the mouse.”

  “Hamster.”

  “Billy, I’m not an eight-year-old or an idiot. I know a mouse when I see one.”

  Tasker smiled.

  “And that story about dying of old age is bull. You gonna talk to me?”

  He hesitated, just like he did whenever there was a problem from which he wanted to shield her and the g
irls.

  She ran her fingers through his light hair and said, “C’mon, you can tell me.”

  “Things are kinda tense out here.”

  She looked out the front window at the cane field and thought of the light traffic on the way out. “How?” was all she could ask.

  “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “You mean the escape. I saw on the news that they think he’s long gone. Maybe in Miami.”

  “Luther Williams? Yeah, God knows where he’s at now. He may just want us to think he’s in Miami. He could be in South America by now.”

  “He’s the one that used to go by Cole Hodges, right?”

  He nodded.

  “I thought it was ironic that he was at the same prison you were working at. I mean, considering your history together.”

  “And that’s part of it. But there are things going on that”—he searched for the word—“disturb me.”

  “Billy, you’re scaring me.”

  He took her hand and smiled. “Nothing to worry about. I can take care of myself.”

  “I know, but who’ll take care of Gladesville?”

  Tasker and the girls had their usual Friday night of games and food. It started with a short game of toss in the backyard after Emily had recovered sufficiently from the loss of Hamlet. She liked a small football—she could wrap her tiny hand around part of it and catch it like Jerry Rice. It sometimes frustrated Tasker that her mother wouldn’t let her play peewee football. Then, as the sun set and the mosquitoes came out, they moved into the apartment, where they started an Uno tournament.

  After a few rounds of the card game, near seven o’clock, Tasker asked, “What do you guys want for dinner?”

  Emily shrugged, but Kelly said, “Do they have barbecue here?”

  “Oh, girl, do they.” Although it was against agency policy, he herded them into his state-issued Monte Carlo and headed for Sonny Boy’s, the first place he had eaten upon his arrival in Gladesville.

  Tasker attempted to keep his mind on the present as they settled into an empty booth in the corner and caught up on the week’s events. He never wanted to admit that his ex-wife was right; he did always think of work. But try as he might, he puzzled about the marks on the door in the psych ward, about Luther Williams’ escape, the professor’s murder and Dewalt Construction’s sudden show of community spirit. He snapped back to the conversation in time to hear about how Emily had broken the pull-up record at school and Kelly had started clarinet lessons. Tasker was relieved to hear she had forgotten her new clarinet at home.

  A blond waitress with a bright smile and warm blue eyes brought them some sodas and promised to return. They reviewed the menu and found the right combination of ribs and chicken.

  After a few minutes, Tasker noticed that Emily had grown unaccustomedly quiet.

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  Her blue eyes turned up to him, making him smile as usual.

  “I was going to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “If you like that waitress?”

  He shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess.”

  She started to cry and her sister, somewhat taken aback, slid closer to her on their side of the booth.

  “What is it, Em?” asked Kelly, throwing an arm around her smaller sister.

  Tasker thought he knew, but his youngest daughter answered.

  “Last time I asked Daddy about liking a woman, it was the bank lady that got killed.”

  “Nothing like that will happen again, sweetheart,” said Tasker, reaching across the table to take his daughter’s hand.

  “I know, Daddy. Not to me. But what about you? It’s your job and Mama says you never give up on your job. What happens if someone shoots you?”

  Like most cops, he didn’t have a good answer for that. He patted her hand and told the same lie he’d heard other cops tell their kids. “Don’t worry. I don’t do that stuff much anymore. I mostly handle paperwork now.”

  She quieted down until the waitress returned and she started to cry again. Tasker had to ask himself what he had done to his little girl.

  Donna Tasker looked at the clock and bolted out of bed. She jumped into the shower without waiting for the water to heat up. As she walked back into the bedroom, fastening a bra as she headed for her panty drawer, she looked at the lump in her bed.

  Nicky Goldman rolled over and she could see only his face and the white belly with black hair growing like an orange grove into one thick line down to his navel. A single sheet twisted around his stubby legs.

  He opened his eyes. “What’s the rush, baby? Thought a nap was supposed to relax you.”

  “I want to be ready in case Bill and the girls get here early.”

  “They’re not supposed to show for another hour, and your ex never cuts things short with the girls.”

  “Just in case,” she said, pulling up some black, conservative panties.

  “I think I’m gonna slip back into peace and quiet for a few minutes.”

  “Think again,” she said, swatting him on his wide butt. “Get dressed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you need to be on your way before Bill gets here.”

  “I thought we weren’t hiding anything from Bill anymore.”

  “We’re not.”

  “Then why am I hustling out of here?”

  She finished dressing by pulling a blouse down over her head and looked at her boyfriend. “Fine, then you have to answer the door when he gets here.”

  She saw him consider the chore, then he sprang up and was in shorts and his god-awful Hawaiian shirt in a flash.

  Donna Tasker actually had over an hour alone before her ex-husband walked through the door with their daughters.

  She gave him a kiss, this time on the lips. “Wanna stay for dinner?” She had already started marinating some extra flank steak.

  “Sorry, I gotta get back.”

  She frowned and said, “C’mon, Billy, it can’t always be work, work, work.”

  He hesitated and said, “It’s not.”

  Somehow that was worse than saying he had to work.

  thirty-six

  Tasker stopped at a florist in Belle Glade and bought a bouquet of flowers to give to Renee at dinner. He wasn’t taking any chances. He knew he felt something strong for this girl and wanted to impress her. Too bad there wasn’t a nicer place to eat in Gladesville. He’d offered to take her into West Palm, anywhere, but she had picked the Green Mile. She liked it and that was good enough for him.

  He pulled into his apartment complex near four in the afternoon and started an unusual primping routine. He rarely did more than shower and shave, but today he found himself trimming his nails, using some nice aftershave and brushing his teeth like he was restoring an historic building.

  He cleaned out the car, pulling out two old Taco Bell soda cups, a Subway wrapper and enough old fugitive info sheets to make a medium-sized book. He had two sets of handcuffs he moved to his gear bag in the trunk, then swept crumbs from the passenger seat before retrieving the four dollars and eighty-two cents stuffed between the cushions. He had told Renee he’d pick her up at her place around seven and planned to be on time. At least she couldn’t stand him up in public.

  As he went about his tasks, his chores, as his mom used to call them, he couldn’t stop thinking about Luther Williams’ call. Here he was about to go out with a bright, beautiful, exotic woman and he was thinking about a clue to something that could, in all likelihood, not really be his business. At least officially.

  Then there was the business with Henry Janzig. Why was his print on the pendant? Renee had checked the paperwork and Janzig wouldn’t have handled it. Had Leroy Baxter killed the land surveyor or was there another, obvious answer he was missing?

  Then there were the subtle threats he had received. He took stock of his defenses. Basically he had his MP-5 in the Special Operations locker in Miami, his shotgun locked in his town house in Kendall and
his two pistols with him. He had his Sig Sauer P-230, which he carried most places he went. The little gun had proven effective in the bank six weeks ago. He also had his department-issued Beretta 92F, .40 caliber. The bigger, heavier pistol stayed in the trunk of his car most of the time in Miami. Except for his work looking for the escapees from Manatee, he had kept the gun in his nightstand here. He knew it was safe behind the thick W.E.B. Griffin novel. Tasker smiled to himself, wondering if Griffin had ever written a book smaller than a large-frame automatic. He doubted it.

  Sam Norton sat at his desk clearing the last of the paperwork he hadn’t gotten to during the week off the wide surface. He reached across and turned off his banker’s light, which he had bought with his own money to improve his vision in the large office. A voice at his door startled him.

  “You closing down the command center?” It was Renee Chin.

  “Yep. Old Luther is long gone. We turned everything over to FDLE. It’s their problem now.” He stood, taking a second to enjoy the full-body view of Renee standing in his doorway. “What’re you doing here on a Saturday?”

  “I had to catch up on paper. Spent so much time working on the murder and then looking for Luther that I ignored everything else.”

  “You’re a good inspector, Renee. We’re lucky to have you.”

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  “Hope the FDLE keeps us updated on their search for Luther.”

  “I’ll make sure and ask Bill Tasker later.”

  “Later tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where will you see him?”

  “We’re having dinner.”

  “To go over info on his case?”

  “Not really.” She smiled from ear to ear. “More like a date.”