Tasker looked around the incredibly cramped office, quickly noticing the poster saying “Proud to be in the ACLU” and a book on the desk titled Police Totalitarianism. Tasker thought, Oh shit, and gathered his thoughts.
“I’m Bill Shelton with the Southern Poverty Law Center.” He watched the hunched old man quiver at the thought of a representative from the “Southern ACLU” actually here talking to him. The SPLC had actually done some good work against the Klan. Tasker didn’t mind the role.
Mulemann ran a hand over his liver-spotted forehead to smooth out his remaining gray-wire hair. “Oh yes, sir, what can I do for you?”
“First let me say, Professor, that I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”
“Really, where?”
Tasker hesitated. “You know, throughout the circuit. We always appreciate good lawyers with high ideals.”
The small man smiled with satisfaction. Tasker let him glow for a moment as he thought of his next tack.
“I don’t want to bother you, Professor, but we are considering letting one of your former students do some work for us and we wanted an idea of his background. Could you help us in the most confidential way? No one will ever know we talked.”
“Of course, of course. Who is it?”
“Cole Hodges.”
The professor’s small lips dropped into a frown.
“Do you remember him from the mid-eighties?”
“Oh, I remember him, I’m not a doddering old fool. He really doesn’t acknowledge the university for getting him where he is today. In fact, he has been quite rude when I’ve approached him on behalf of the school.”
Tasker noted the hostility in the old man’s voice. “What was he like as a student?”
“Back then we only had two or three minorities in the program.”
“How many do you have now?”
“Two or three.” The old man cleared his throat and continued. “Cole was a nice enough fella his first year.”
“Why just his first year?”
The professor sat silently, obviously trying to gather his words carefully. “Something happened right at the start of his second year and he definitely slowed down. His studies suffered, his demeanor changed, and he withdrew from anyone remotely close to him.”
“Any ideas what happened?”
“Well, it was so dramatic that I went to the dean with it.
That’s why it’s so clear in my memory. I was afraid he might have a drug problem. You know how the blacks can be. They keep their problems locked up and turn to drugs or alcohol.”
Tasker started to doubt this guy’s sanity. Was he a racist member of the ACLU or just an average hypocrite?
The professor kept talking. “Cole gained weight all of a sudden and became quite moody; that’s why I suspected drugs. Later he evened out, and by graduation he seemed straight.”
“Did the dean help him?”
“No, the dean told me to drop the whole thing or we would look like we were picking on him because he was a minority.”
Tasker nodded to buy time, while he considered the ramifications of these facts.
The professor said, “Does any of that help?”
Tasker smiled. “I think so.”
SEVENTEEN
TOM Dooley sat at his desk, playing with the matching evidence keys. What incredible luck. Bema is killed and Dooley had the cash all to himself again. The trick this time was to make sure Hodges didn’t get his hands on it. That son-of-a-prick bastard had more tricks than Penn and Teller. Even after Bema was supposed to have killed him, he kept surprising Dooley. Logically, the money was safest right where it was in temporary evidence. It wasn’t unusual for the cops from the two task forces to keep personal shit in the lockers. Cops being cops, there was always one of them hiding something from a wife or storing naked photos of a girlfriend in them. The problem was that the Bureau could do an unannounced audit of the lockers at any time. This policy was to discourage exactly the kind of behavior that kept half the lockers full at any given time.
DOOLEY hadn’t run straight to the money after Bema’s accident for several reasons, not the least of which was that he had ended up with blood on his shoes and the cuffs of his pants. The warm, sticky sensation had made him squeamish and he figured it might look funny running to the locker while the paramedics worked on his partner in front of the office. He took the night to calm down, checking for Hodges the whole trip home and locking all the doors once he was there. His wife had heard about the accident and even gave him some distance, letting him play some Nintendo 64 with Andy, then watch the Panthers whip up on the Blackhawks. If every night were like that, he wouldn’t be so desperate to leave.
That morning on his way in, he had considered his options, but they were all clouded by the fact that Tasker seemed to have figured out the game. Now the question was what to do about it. Let it be and see if Tasker could get someone to listen to him, or take action and shut the asshole down? If he did talk, and Nmir or some other enterprising agent looked hard enough, they might make the connection between the havoc of the past two weeks and Dooley. This was a question he’d have to consider for a good long time.
Now, at his desk, he let the keys fall back into one outline. The empty office added to his good mood, giving him the time and space to think, not only about his problems but about his plans as well. Some traveling—Boston for family, Atlantic City and Vegas to wash the first fifty grand or so of the cash, then Cancún. He had always liked the resort, and with the old lady at home and the extra money, he could make some serious time with all the Jewish broads from Long Island who loved to soak up the sun down there.
He finally decided he couldn’t wait any longer and slowly wandered toward the evidence room, stopping in the copy room first, then the files room, chatting with the few people working. Once in the evidence area, he took a minute and then headed toward locker 16 in the upper right corner. As he was about to pull the keys from his front pants pocket, he heard a voice.
“You okay, Dooley?”
Dooley jumped and twisted to see Derrick Sutter in a nice blue suit, standing in the doorway. His dark skin tone almost matched the suit and made the collar of his white shirt seem to glow.
“Huh?” asked Dooley.
“Are you handling the Bema thing okay? It had to be rough at the scene.”
Dooley took his hands out of his pockets and smoothed his polo shirt over his big belly. “Yeah, yeah, it was nasty.”
“Why didn’t you take the day off?”
“Had some things to catch up on.” Dooley looked at Sutter again. “Why are you all dressed up? You got court?”
“No, man. Bema’s viewing is this evening. Aren’t you going?”
“I’m not much for funerals.”
“Who is, but the man died on duty. Show some respect.”
“We’ll see. I got to take care of...” He just looked around, his mind a blank.
Then Sutter said, “You got something in evidence?”
“No, why?”
“Just wonderin’ what you’re doing in here. And I thought I saw you and Bema take the keys to one of the lockers.”
Dooley hesitated, racing through the possible answers. “We were thinking of grabbing some court records for background on a case and thought this would be a good place to store them, that’s all.”
Sutter nodded. “I’ll be around for a while if you need anything.”
“Thanks, but I’m all set.” He watched Sutter strut away and then said under his breath, “Pretty much set for life.”
BILL Tasker turned in his bed to look straight up at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but the sun had cleared the sliding glass door and he felt as if he’d come out of one dream into another. He’d never spent a night with a woman so intensely. Tina seemed to appreciate every movement he made and wasn’t shy about expressing it. After the first shock of realizing just how much difference a Wonderbra could make on the shape of a woman, he stil
l thought she could pose for any magazine he would ever buy. Her legs, while visible in street clothes, were still a miracle of nature, and her firm butt and muscular back left no doubt about her feelings on gym memberships. Still, the most amazing thing to Tasker, who’d dated a few times since the end of his seven-year marriage, was that Tina Wiggins trimmed her pubic hair. Not just around the edges but in a tight and symmetrical pattern, and for no other reason but aesthetics. He’d never been with a woman who took the time to shape her pubic hair, and it still caused him to smile, hours after the fact.
He lounged in that dreamy half-sleep state, feeling the weight of the body next to him. For some reason she was on the outside of the covers, but at least she hadn’t fled out the door at dawn. Shit, she did more running from his apartment than Carl Lewis. It was nice just to smell her near. Something was different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he sensed a definite change in her. It had been an odd twenty-four hours, having spent time with Donna, his ex-wife, leading up to a serious kiss and some fond memories, then to make love to Tina after wanting her for over a year. Still it was funny that his thoughts kept drifting back to Donna. She had been a brand-new teacher of twenty-two when he’d met her while on a security detail at a sports bar. Her bright eyes and blond hair had been magnetic and hadn’t lost their attraction in the twelve years since. She’d just seemed to have had enough of his sulking after he’d gotten in trouble, and didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Until yesterday. Tasker lay there, kicking himself for being in bed with the girl of his dreams and thinking about the one that got away.
As he turned to face her, he ran his hand through her hair. It didn’t feel right. Then he realized she smelled entirely different and her hair was thicker, stiffer. He opened his eyes and saw the blond hair fall across the pillow. Before he could lean up to look, that pretty face turned and came into view.
“Whoa!” he yelped, then contained himself, trying to decide if he was still asleep or not.
“Surprise,” Donna said.
Only then did he notice that she was fully clothed and lying on top of the covers.
“Hey. What? Ah, where? Um, was there?”
“The girls and I thought we’d brighten your day.”
He smiled, still trying to clear his head. “The girls are here?”
“Watching Rugrats in the living room. I hope you don’t mind.”
He shook his head, smiling. “Mind, of course not.” His eyes darted around the room uncontrollably, looking for clues to Tina’s whereabouts and evidence that could be used against him.
Donna asked, “Anything wrong?”
“No, no,” he shot back immediately, then noticed the bathroom door closed. This could be a train wreck if he wasn’t careful or lucky. Maybe a bus would pile through his bedroom wall right now, making the problem of his ex-wife finding his girlfriend seem minor by comparison.
He slid out of bed, wrapping a sheet around him as he did. “Excuse me,” he said, backing toward the closed bathroom door. He turned, trying to shield the door with his body. His legs were a little shaky, but holding up well. He steadied himself and tried the knob to the bathroom. Unlocked. That was a good sign. He opened the door and darted in, taking a few seconds to realize Tina wasn’t there. Where had she gone? Would she be back? He took a second to gather his thoughts, relieved himself, then brushed his teeth, emerging from the bathroom slightly more confident, and impatient to see his two daughters.
He said, “You did surprise me. When’d you get here?”
Donna, sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling, said, “Only five minutes ago.”
“How’d you get in?”
“We were going to knock, but the front door was unlocked. Really, Bill, you should be more careful.”
“You’re right, there,” clapping his hands together and letting out a nervous laugh. “Give me a second to get dressed and we’ll join the girls.” He waited for her to leave.
She smiled. “What’s wrong, Bill? You grow something in the last four years?”
“What?” Then, realizing the reference, laughed. “No, just more modest.”
“Too bad, because you still have a killer chest and arms. Only a few new scars.”
“Not nearly as many fights as a patrolman.” He fingered the longest scar running down his left shoulder. “And this is from my rotator cuff surgery.” He waited, motionless.
She took the hint and sauntered out of the room. He took the time to throw on some shorts and a T-shirt, then checked the room for signs of Tina. It looked all clear except for the empty condom wrapper on the floor next to the bed. He didn’t think she had noticed it.
After giving the bathroom another once-over, he calmly entered the living room, to be greeted by his two angels and another smile from his wife. He froze, thinking of her as his wife, and then corrected himself. Ex-wife. She had asked for the divorce when the media frenzy and his guilt had consumed their whole life. He’d been the cause, he never doubted that. The alcohol to deaden the pain. Then the alcohol-induced behavior. He couldn’t deny that he’d become an absolutely different man, and now, looking back on it, a man he was ashamed of.
He greeted the girls in front of the TV. The older, Kelly, said, “Ya know what we watched last night?”
He smiled. “No, what?”
“Mom called it your show. The funny old police show.”
Tasker straightened. “If you are referring to Hill Street Blues, it is not a funny old show, it is the basis of all police work done today.”
Kelly looked at him with wide eyes. “Really?”
“No, not really, but it was a good show. Not like the stuff on today. I won’t watch a cop show now.”
“Will you watch Rugrats with us?”
“I’d watch anything with you,” he said, tickling Kelly and flopping next to Emily.
Both girls giggled and their mother smiled broadly, pulling Tasker toward the kitchen to talk and let the girls watch their cartoon. “Daddy will watch in a little bit.” She weathered the protests, then looked into Tasker’s eyes when they got in the kitchen. Donna said, “You look out of it. Anything I can do to help?”
“Nothing at all.” He smiled, but his eyes made a pass over the room just in case, and Donna caught it.
“What are you looking for?”
“Nothing. The place is kinda messy, that’s all.”
She smiled and lifted her hand, displaying a dark red lipstick in a gold case. “I know. This was lying on the couch and I didn’t want the girls to make a mess.”
He froze like a deer caught in the headlights of a tractor trailer.
Then the impossible happened. Donna giggled. The girls were absorbed by a cartoon and his ex-wife was taking great pleasure in this torment.
“Bill, we’ve been apart almost four years. I didn’t think you’d become a monk.” She moved closer to him. “I know you’ve met girls. That doesn’t bother me. It did when we were married, but not now.”
“Donna, that was the booze. I never meant to hurt you. Things got out of control.”
“And I left you. I remember the story. But that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you. Things happen. Don’t add to your guilt now.”
“I have met a few women, but not many.”
“Bill, you’ve got deep blue eyes and perfect teeth. If you weren’t so quiet, you’d be a walking party. I understand, really I’m not mad.” Then she kissed him. Deep and hard and in front of the girls, watching from the living room.
It was like his life had just shifted into the fast lane. As he started to get swept up in the euphoria, he heard a knock on his door.
He unlocked his lips and said quietly, “Don’t move.” Kelly had beaten him to the door and had it open before he left the kitchen. He heard a man say, “Is your daddy home?” and Kelly said, “Sure.” Like she knew the man.
Tasker froze when he reached the entryway and saw his visitor: Slayda “Mac” Nmir.
COLE Hodges sat in the Denny’s on
South Dixie Highway almost to Homestead, twenty miles south of Miami. He picked at his fried catfish and studied the figures on a legal pad in front of him. It was obvious to him he couldn’t resurface as Cole Hodges. Even if the FBI couldn’t prove anything, it would only be a matter of time before they determined his true identity and he’d have to finish his twenty-year sentence for robbery as Luther Williams. He didn’t care much for St. Louis or the damn Missouri State Prison. All this led him to spend a few minutes reviewing his current finances. He had sixty grand in a Charles Schwab account and eleven more in treasury bonds. Seventy-one thousand dollars wouldn’t carry him too far. There was no question he needed to get his cash back from that asshole Dooley. It wouldn’t be easy this time. The man would be on guard and ready for trouble. Hodges might have to be sneaky, because he sure as shit wouldn’t be lucky enough to find it on a car seat again.
He pushed the plate away and adjusted the ball cap he was wearing to hide the bandage that still covered his tender scalp. At least he had handled that Cuban dog who’d smashed his skull with a damn toaster. That was another lucky break. Sitting in the parking lot when that asshole started across Miami Gardens Drive. Then the dipshit had waited on the side of the road like he was daring Hodges to make his move. The sound of that sack of shit bouncing off the grill of the truck was music. Sounded better than any B. B. King song ever recorded. Hodges had seen the new Corvette that son of a bitch had bought with his money. Money he’d earned in his time with the CCR. Now that was justice. Hodges wasn’t as mad at Dooley, he just wanted his cash back. Anything else was just gravy.
EIGHTEEN
TASKER waved good-bye as Donna, holding back her tears, backed the Honda minivan out of the driveway. The girls looked grief-stricken, but Donna was right not to let them see Daddy talk to the nice FBI man.
Tasker turned in the doorway to face the calm Mac Nmir, sitting on the edge of the couch waiting for his chance to chat.
Walking Money Page 15
