Escape Clause

by James O. Born

  “Everything. Mostly how far along you were and when you were going to leave.”

  “Did he kill the professor?”

  “I swear he said no.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I’m afraid not to.”

  “Do you know what’s going on with the site for the prison?”

  She shrugged.

  “Can you keep this conversation from Norton?”

  “Not if he asks me.”

  At least she was being honest now. Tasker said, “Fuck it. He knows I’m looking. Tell him I’m ready for him now.”

  forty-one

  Billie Towers took more than an hour to regain her composure after Bill Tasker left her ratty little apartment. She felt ashamed for her actions and embarrassed that the good-looking cop had caught on so easily. Did money mean that much to her? Maybe she did it all for love? Was Sam Norton who she wanted to spend her life with? She liked Professor Kling, and the thought that he’d died so they could all get rich was becoming more and more difficult for her to swallow. Maybe it was a good thing it was coming out into the open. She hadn’t really done anything wrong. She had done what her older lover had told her to do. Any judge would look at her and feel sorry for the little Seminole girl caught up in something over her head. Suddenly she started to feel better.

  As she got up from the couch to wash her face there was a knock at her front door. She hesitated but turned and took a few steps toward the door. She stopped and checked herself in the mildewed mirror that hung on the wall next to the wooden door.

  The knock came again.

  Billie asked, “Who is it?”

  “Me.”

  She cracked the door to peek outside, then, recognizing her visitor, opened the door wide to let him in.

  He said, “You been crying?”

  “Some.”

  “You tell Tasker anything?”

  “Nothing he didn’t already know.”

  “What’d he know?”

  “’Bout the site. Maybe some other details.”

  “Where’s he headed?”

  She shrugged, growing tired of the questioning and starting to feel like she’d been used.

  “He coming back?”

  “Doubt it.” She backed into the living room a few steps, feeling uneasy about her visitor.

  “You fuck him or is that for a later visit?” He reached out and grabbed her wrist.

  She tried to twist away, but his grip felt like a handcuff. “Let go.”

  “Now you’re offended by having to fuck all the time?”

  She struggled harder until a big left hand smacked her across the temple, knocking her senseless but leaving her on her feet.

  Her visitor said, “I got an idea how to keep you from fucking or talking to Tasker.”

  He let go of her wrist, but she was still too dazed to try to run. Besides, there was no place to go in the tiny apartment. She felt his hands link together around her small throat and then tighten. Not suddenly, but slow and steady like he wanted her to realize what was happening. And she did. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought that this would be a good time for the dashing Bill Tasker to burst through the door and rescue her.

  As he tightened his hands, her visitor said, “Keep your eyes open as long as you can. You owe me that.”

  Bill Tasker avoided the prison and stopped to get something to eat. It was late in the afternoon and he ran through his options in his head. Should he call to get help? But who? If the director had called and told Norton about Tasker leaving on Friday, then he was part of it. He had friends inside FDLE he could ask for help. They’d come like the cavalry. He figured, with his guard up, he had a couple more days. Then an idea hit him. Maybe one of the more unpalatable ideas he had had in a long while. The FBI. They would have jurisdiction over the corruption aspect of the case. If his director was involved, they would be about the only ones who could do anything about it. But did he really want to involve them? He hadn’t had much luck in the past with them. Would they even listen to him, given his history with the Bureau?

  He had hoped Jerry Risto might have some more info for him by now. Tasker never knew what the intelligence analyst would come up with. He didn’t want to call because that only slowed him down. He was the most reliable guy Tasker knew. If he found something, he’d call.

  Tasker drove his Monte Carlo west out US 27, past the turnoff for Manatee Correctional. A trooper’s cruiser was on the side of the road. As he passed the police car, he could see it was his old friend Trooper Miko, who “owned the road” and knew it was his duty to keep people safe. Tasker smiled at the trooper’s insinuation that Tasker wasn’t a “real cop.” He drove on to Dead Cow Lane and turned left down the long road bordered by cane fields. He kept his eyes ahead because he didn’t want to be surprised. There had been a few new residents in the state housing who came and went over the last week, but he wasn’t taking any chances. When he thought like a crook and tried to figure out tactics, he decided if he wanted to ambush someone, this isolated apartment complex would be perfect.

  He loosened the string on his belly pack, pulling the zipper open three inches. The hammer of his Sig Sauer P-230 was visible. He wished he had his Beretta with him. Now was a good time to start carrying two weapons. Issued and backup.

  He slowed the Monte Carlo as he came to the end of the road that opened up into the parking lot of the complex. There were no cars in the front. To the far right, the opposite side from his apartment, Tasker noticed an unoccupied Ford Bronco with the driver’s-side door open. The door to the apartment in front of it was open like a new tenant was moving in. Great, innocent bystanders.

  Tasker parked next to the Bronco, out of view of his end of the building. He got out but pushed his door closed to keep from making any noise. He realized he might just be paranoid, but he didn’t want to take any chances. In fact, he had decided to grab his stuff and stay at a hotel in Belle Glade the rest of the week to be on the safe side.

  Tasker looked through the open door to the apartment, but didn’t see any movement. He moved around to the rear of the building and decided to approach his quarters from the back.

  He eased past the row of vacant apartments until he could clearly see the windows to his. Everything looked in order. No movement. No lights. He crept up the rear porch stairs, looking in through the small window in his back door. Still nothing. His hand rested on the drawstring to his pack. He was conscious of every creak the porch made as he inched closer to the door.

  He froze when he noticed that the door was open an inch. He always locked it on his way out. He jerked the string and opened his bag, revealing his compact Sig. He drew the small .380 and carefully grasped the doorknob. He eased the door open and immediately saw the figure of a man crouched down looking out the front window, like he was expecting Tasker.

  Tasker let a smile ease across his face as he realized he had the drop on this asshole. He silently slipped into the kitchen, leaving the rear door ajar. He pointed the pistol at the man by his front window and started to advance slowly.

  As he was about to say, “Don’t move,” he felt movement behind him and then something stuck behind his left ear.

  A man’s voice, coming from right behind him, said, “Drop the gun.”

  Luther Williams slept soundly in the old Holiday Inn on Tennessee Street in Tallahassee. He had always found the Florida capital city to be refreshingly simple and pleasant. Confident no police officer had a clue where he was, he had slept as soundly as he had in a year. A comfortable, cool room with a color TV. He never thought he’d appreciate the simple things like this.

  After breakfast at a diner on Monroe Street, he headed toward the main campus of Florida A & M University, southeast of the capitol, a few miles from Tallahassee’s larger university, Florida State. He took a few minutes cruising through the neighborhood near the school looking for the address he had written on the back of a napkin.

  He found the small, gray stone house w
ith a wooden porch wrapped around it on a steep hill about three blocks from the school. It reminded him of his grandmother’s house back in east St. Louis.

  He pulled the Buick up in front and then climbed the three steps from the road into the yard. Not wanting to startle anyone, he called from the front yard.

  “Hello.”

  A female’s voice came back. “May I help you?” Then a young woman, maybe twenty, with dark skin and a beautiful face, poked her head out the front screen door.

  “Teresa Powers?”

  “I’m Teresa.”

  “You have grown up.” He smiled. “I haven’t seen you since you were nine or ten.”

  She smiled back and came out onto the porch. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you.”

  “I’m . . .” He paused, not sure what to tell her. “Cole. I was a friend of your mother’s.”

  She came to the edge of the porch.

  Luther said, “I was sorry to hear she passed.”

  “Thank you. Would you like to come in?”

  “I don’t want to impose, I just wanted to pay my respects.” He stepped up onto the porch. As she came closer, he realized how much she looked like her mother and he felt a new emotion. He thought it was regret, but he’d have to think about it.

  He took a seat on an old wicker chair on the porch and she followed his lead, sitting next to him.

  forty-two

  Tasker sat at his crappy kitchen table with his hands flat on the surface just like he’d been instructed. Across from him, Henry Janzig leaned on the table with a Smith & Wesson model 10 revolver pointing at Tasker’s face. Captain Sam Norton sat at the table to the side, calmly drinking one of Tasker’s Powerades he’d taken from the refrigerator.

  Janzig let out a hoot and said, “Told ya parking my Bronco at the end would fool him.” He narrowed his gaze to Tasker. “You thought you just had a new neighbor, didn’t you? Some kinda state weenie.”

  Tasker nodded slowly. “You got me.”

  “And you with that fancy Sig auto and all your damn training. I got the drop on you with this old revolver. Hell, the Department of Corrections don’t even use these no more.” He lifted the old revolver.

  “It would’ve killed me just like an auto.”

  “That is the gospel truth, it is.” Janzig leaned back in his chair, satisfied with himself. “Thought you FDLE agents were used to sneaking around. You ain’t very sharp, boy.”

  Tasker let him see a small smile even though he was scared out of his wits. He wasn’t sure what these two rednecks had in mind, but it had already gone too far. At least Renee wasn’t here to remind him that he’d been duped by a woman. Again. He addressed Janzig. “It’s called tunnel vision. Very common in stressful police operations. Once I saw Norton up by the front window, I focused on him instead of looking around. What can I say, I fucked up.”

  “Boy, you sure as hell did.” Janzig started to cackle. What a ball-breaker.

  Norton decided to chime in now. “Look here, Tasker. We can still work something out. We just gotta get something on you so you can’t rat on us.”

  Tasker looked him in the eye. He had read somewhere that it’s harder to kill a hostage when they look their captors in the eye. He also realized they were probably planning to kill him, but giving him a ray of hope so he wouldn’t resist. It had worked for the Nazis in World War II, but he knew he’d have to make a move soon.

  Norton continued. “You just didn’t know when to quit and mind your own damn business.”

  Tasker wanted to know a few things, no matter what happened. “How’d you know I’m leaving on Friday?”

  Norton said, “Still got friends.”

  “Thought I did, too.”

  “Mine in Tallahassee have a vested interest in what goes on down here.”

  Tasker tried to determine if this guy was lying. Was it someone from out of town? Could it be that the director didn’t betray him?

  “Someone in Tallahassee wouldn’t know shit like that.”

  “There’s always someone who knows all kinds of shit. You just need to recognize who that is.”

  Then it hit Tasker. His director had been responding to some kind of big-time pressure. A director at FDLE didn’t take shit from too many people. He’d just told them to lay off until Tasker left town Friday. Just to buy time. The director never even realized he was giving info to one of the crooks. Tasker had a pretty good idea who had applied the pressure.

  Tasker smiled and said, “Hope Ardan Gann stands up for you when this shit all hits the fan.” He could tell from Norton’s expression he’d made a good guess. Norton was at a complete loss for words. He had to be wondering how much Tasker had figured out and who he had told. Tasker had to stifle a laugh, he was so satisfied with himself. He would’ve been more satisfied if he hadn’t been so stupid as to walk into this trap, but at least he had solved part of the puzzle.

  Norton looked at Janzig and said, “You’re wrong, Henry. This boy is sharp.” Then he glared at Tasker. “Maybe too sharp. And you definitely don’t know when to quit.”

  Tasker kept his hands flat on the table. “So I was a patsy from the beginning. Just look at the Dewalt’s kid’s death and get out. No one cared if I found out who killed him.”

  Norton said, “Dewalt’s folks went to the governor. Something had to happen. Gann just figured you were ripe for the assignment when he read about your shooting in the bank.”

  Tasker thought about it and said, “I know who killed Dewalt.”

  Now Janzig was interested. He leaned forward. “Who?”

  Tasker smiled and said, “First, I got a question or two.”

  The two correctional officers looked at each other. Then Janzig said, “What?”

  “Why was your print on Dewalt’s pendant that Renee found in Baxter’s stuff?”

  “Don’t matter if you already know who killed him. Now, who was it?”

  Tasker shrugged. He didn’t care anymore about the details, he just needed time. “Renee Chin killed him.”

  Both men were interested now.

  Norton said, “Bullshit.”

  “Is it? She hates to be dissed, and Dewalt dissed her bad.” Now Norton was agitated.

  Tasker said, “I know all about you guys and the GM Corporation.” He looked at Janzig to make sure he wasn’t about to be shot, then asked, “What’s GM stand for anyway?”

  The older man grinned and said, “Green Mile, what else.”

  Looking at the two correctional officers, trying to reason out his options, Tasker remembered his Beretta in the nightstand. If he could get into the bedroom, he might have a chance.

  He looked at his captors. “Look, I have proof in my room about Renee.”

  Norton paused. “What’s that?”

  “A medical examiner’s report.” He wasn’t good at lying on the fly, but he found the threat of death a great motivator.

  Norton asked, “Where is it?”

  “Bedroom somewhere.”

  “I’ll take a look.” Norton started to stand.

  “I’m not sure where. I’ll look, too.”

  His captors just stared at him.

  “Janzig can keep the gun on me and you’ll both be in there with me.”

  They looked at each other and Norton said, “Yeah, but Henry, you keep back from him so he can’t get at your gun.”

  They all stood and headed toward the bedroom across the small living room. Norton stayed right behind Tasker with Janzig a few paces back. Tasker’s heart rate started to pick up as his eyes fell on the small nightstand with the drawer already open a crack.

  Norton gave him a slight shove. “Okay, where do you think it is?”

  “Check those papers on the dresser. Might be in those.”

  He let Norton step around him to go to the old, veneer dresser with some magazines and other papers Tasker had intended to recycle. Tasker eased, ever so slightly, toward the bed and nightstand. He stole a quick glance over his left shoulder at Janzig. He was st
ill in the doorway with his gun pointed at Tasker, but his eyes were following Norton as he sifted through the papers.

  Tasker casually leaned down toward the drawer, hoping not to spook Janzig. He said, “Maybe I left them in here,” as he grasped the knob. His heart beat so fast he was afraid he might pass out. He visualized his plan to calmly grab the gun, then, as he turned, start shooting at Janzig. He’d worry about Norton once the threat of a .38 round in the back had been neutralized. He took one more deep breath and started to pull the drawer open.

  Luther Williams settled into the comfortable seat of his Buick LeSabre as he headed west on I-10 from Tallahassee. He wasn’t sure, because it was all new to him, but he felt as if this had been the most satisfying afternoon of his life. He didn’t know if he did or didn’t have anything to do with contributing DNA to Miss Teresa Powers, but she was still a delightful young woman. She had captured his attention from the start with her practical plan to become a pharmacist. She had a decent job lined up with Walgreens already and was doing well in the program at Florida A & M. He envied her simple, realistic goals. Maybe he could’ve had a life like that if he had been raised in a different environment. It was too late to worry about that now. He had spent a life in pursuit of excess. Excess wealth, excess women, excess violence and finally excess confinement. Now he was on a different path. All the money and women he had used up didn’t seem to matter anymore. What had it gotten him? On the run and driving a cheap Buick.

  As he passed the sign saying Pensacola 199 miles he picked up his prepaid cell phone and punched in the number to one of his few trustworthy business associates.

  He heard someone say, “Hello.”

  “Tulley?”

  “Speaking.”

  “It’s Cole Hodges.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Hodges. What can I do for you?”

  “I need you to move some money from one of my old business accounts. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, sir, not a problem. Where do you want it sent?”

  “To an account for Miss Teresa Powers in Tallahassee. You may have to poke around to find it.”