Shock Wave

by James O. Born

“An hour before we got there.”

  “So he’s still in the area.”

  Tasker said, “That’s what bothers me. If he didn’t have some kind of plan, wouldn’t it be smart to leave Florida?”

  Jimmy Lail chimed in, “That’s whack, my man. You guys love jumping to wild conclusions. We don’t even got any four-one-one this cracker even bombed the cruise ship. So far, all we got him for is running from you.” He gave a hard look at Tasker.

  Sutter said, “Then why’s he running? As a cop, that always raises my suspicions.” Sutter doubted the FBI man would catch the inference that he wasn’t a real cop.

  “That’s off the hook, my brother. I think we might be running on a wild-goose chase.” Jimmy moved his hands like an L.A. gang member making a point with different fingers pointing down.

  Sutter said, “You get anything from your intelligence index, J. Edgar?”

  Jimmy opened his notepad. “We got this dawg all over the script. He hangs with the original ragheads all the time.”

  Tasker, swallowing his annoyance, asked, “Who are the ‘original ragheads’?”

  “The nightriders, homeboy. You’re from Florida, you don’t know them?”

  Sutter said, “Who the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

  “The Ku Klux Klan, my brother. The KKK. Our dawg Wells is one of their butt-boys. He’s been seen at the KKK crib off Krome, west of Tamiami Airport.”

  Tasker said, “You sure? He’d didn’t strike me as that kind of nut. I mean, it was bad FBI intel that helped get him locked up for the wrong crime.”

  “You tell me to check the intel base, and when I find something, you don’t want to hear it. Don’t be dissin’ my work product.” He slid the chair out like he was prepared to fight anyone who challenged his credibility.

  Sutter said, “Sit your white ass down. He was just asking a question.”

  Camy jumped in: “We could keep a little watch on the house. We don’t have too much else to check.”

  Tasker turned toward his analyst. “What about it, Jerry? You got anything else for us to work on?”

  Sutter knew that Tasker revered the heavy older man with the funny dark-tinted, Coke-bottle-thick glasses. He could see the deference the FDLE agent showed the analyst with his every move.

  Ristin started slowly. “I have a couple of odd numbers in the personal phone books taken in the search warrant at Wells’ house.” He cut his eyes hard to Jimmy Lail. “I want to get the subpoena information back before I make any comment on the numbers. Right now I only have a hunch I don’t want to throw on the table yet.”

  Jimmy spoke up, virtually ignoring Ristin. “Camy’s right. We need to drop a five-O cover on the Klan house. That’s better than wasting our time on all these useless leads.”

  Tasker asked, “What’s a ‘five-O cover’? Surveillance? You need to cut that shit out.”

  Sutter stepped in to ask Jimmy directly, “Who says the leads are useless? I’ve found that in police work you don’t know what’s important until all the pieces are in place.” Sutter couldn’t believe he’d gotten two shots in on the witless FBI man in one conversation.

  Jimmy fired back. “Okay, what do we do, then?”

  At once everyone looked to Tasker. He shrugged and said, “If that’s what we have, that’s what we have. All we need is one eye on the house, and it doesn’t have to be round-the-clock. That way we save a little manpower.”

  Camy agreed. “Three six-hour shifts shouldn’t tax us too much.”

  Tasker nodded. “Seven to one, one to seven, and the last guy goes till midnight or so unless the place is dark before that. But no one try and grab him alone. He gave us the slip too many times and proved he’s smart enough to be dangerous.”

  Everyone nodded. That was all there was to do. Sutter liked the way Tasker could articulate a decision and jump right in.

  Camy said, “I’ll take this afternoon.”

  Sutter said, “I’ll take tonight. It’s all OT for me.”

  Tasker turned to Jimmy and added, “If you take tomorrow morning, I’ll take both shifts in the afternoon. My daughters are here today, but I’m free tomorrow.”

  Jimmy Lail nodded, obviously not happy to be giving up a Saturday. None of the federal agents got extra pay to work weekends.

  Camy looked at Tasker. “I’ll get ahold of you when I’m done today. Let you know what it looks like.”

  Sutter wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw something in Camy’s eyes that had nothing to do with being a lesbian or being hooked up with Jimmy Lail.

  Daniel Wells slowly cruised past Emerson-Picolo Transportation in Miami, near the Miami International Airport. He’d welded some of their perimeter fence a few years back and knew the layout of the big yard. Most nights they stored three or four big tanker-trailers. Some even held aviation gas. That was some of the most flammable material an artist like him could work with. He picked up speed so he wouldn’t be obvious as he passed the main office that faced Thirty-sixth Street. He still had a key to the gate. He doubted they had changed it in the past year or so, and they liked that he worked at night and didn’t interfere with business. They trusted him with the key, and they were right. He had never stolen anything from an employer and never overcharged on a job. His dad had always insisted that he give a fair day’s work for a fair day’s wage. Even as a kid, when he was a bag boy at Winn-Dixie in Ocala, he’d never taken long breaks or left early. He’d bag groceries and be polite to the customers because that was his job. He would flirt with the cashiers occasionally. That was something he couldn’t help. A pretty girl was a pretty girl. But he didn’t mind working.

  Today he could see three long trailers and three shorter ones. He couldn’t risk going in to say hello because he had already heard that the cops had been talking to his former employers. The woman from the ATF, the cute one with big boobies, had gone by several of his old jobs. He had friends everywhere. That was one of the reasons he could stay ahead of the cops. Friends in key places.

  twenty-two

  Tasker had raced home from the office to do something with the girls. He didn’t want to know what Donna did with a free Thursday night. She had seemed in a good mood and had even said she’d pick the girls up right from his town house. If Emily hadn’t had gymnastics and practice for some play, they could’ve stayed another night. He’d made use of the afternoon. He had learned the intricacies of the board game Cranium and learned about the interesting lives of a pair of young black twins separated at birth and now living on Nickelodeon.

  By late afternoon, he stood in his small front yard, throwing a junior-size football to Kelly, who would toss it a few feet to her little sister, who could wing it back to Tasker like an NFL quarterback. At least like a Baltimore Ravens quarterback.

  He stopped one pass in front of his face, just before it took his head off, as Emily said, “Let’s run some patterns.”

  Tasker smiled as she hustled over to him to line up. Kelly, avoiding the discomfort of sweat, casually strolled up to Tasker. “I’ll hike the ball. She can run any pattern she wants.”

  Tasker smiled at his ten-year-old’s attitude, obviously borrowed from his ex-wife. She had her mother’s looks and mannerisms. Tasker wasn’t sure if some young man would be lucky to meet her in twelve years, or doomed. To him it didn’t matter, because she was perfect.

  Emily said, “Hit me past your car by the tree.” She took off like a small blond rocket.

  Tasker let a high floater sail and watched as his youngest daughter plucked it right out of the air, never breaking stride. She tucked the ball under her arm and darted across the yard, dodging imaginary tacklers all the way back to him.

  “What do ya think, Daddy? Can I play in the league at home?” Her high, doll-like voice made her seem younger than eight years old.

  “Sweetheart, you can do anything you put your mind to.” He leaned down to kiss her, when he saw a Ford Crown Vic rolling down the residential street. As it crept along slower, he realized it was
Camy Parks. The fading sunlight reflected off her light-orange hair. He said to his daughters, “You guys go in and play on the PlayStation for a few minutes. I’ll be right in.”

  The girls didn’t need coaxing. They raced into the house from the front door. Tasker stood near the patio courtyard as Camy parked in his driveway. She smiled, strolling up to the surprised Tasker.

  “Didn’t mean to chase off your girls.”

  “No problem. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothin’. Just thought I’d give you a rundown on the surveillance. Sutter relieved me a little early and I wasn’t up to his efforts to get in my pants, so I decided to drop by and fill you in.” She smiled, obviously pausing to see what he’d say about getting in her pants.

  He avoided the whole issue. “I appreciate it, but a call would’ve been fine.”

  “You’re on my way home, and I was curious what your house looked like. I knew it wouldn’t be a bachelor pad.” She looked the house over. “This is very nice. Cozy.”

  Tasker smiled. “You should see my other house. It’s beautiful.”

  “The one your ex-wife has?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Your girls are cute as can be. Their mother must be a knockout.”

  “She is,” he said as a casual statement of fact. Tasker couldn’t take his eyes off her. In simple jeans and a T-shirt after a full day of work, she looked like a miniature model from Victoria’s Secret.

  After a few seconds of awkward silence, Camy said, “You wanna talk out here or can we go inside?”

  “It’s nice out. Let’s sit on the patio.” He led her through the wooden gate that stood in front of the open patio. “Wanna beer?”

  “Sounds good,” she said, sprawling into a lounge chair.

  Tasker hustled inside, checking on the girls, who were playing one of the Super Mario Brothers games, and then grabbed a couple of Icehouse beers from the fridge. He had already decided that he didn’t want to introduce Camy to them. She was just a coworker and he didn’t want to confuse them. Besides, if they saw Camy, they might slip up and tell their mother about the sleek, beautiful red-haired woman Daddy was talking to. He didn’t need that.

  He checked his watch and noticed that his ex-wife Donna would be by to pick up the girls soon. He might need to hurry this up a little bit.

  “Here you go,” he said, setting the beer on the small table next to her.

  She sprang up and spun to face him as he sat on the lounge chair next to her. “I’m not sure this surveillance is a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “I watched that place for a little over five hours, and in all that time only one car came and went. A black F-250 owned by an E. Conners. He’s the listed owner of the crappy little house, and it just looked like he was doing errands.”

  “Is he in the KKK?”

  “Yeah, all that checks out. The house belongs to Conners. ATF knows that much. Something’s not right. It’s not the kind of place that they just hang out at. Conners is probably the only one of those morons who owns a house, so he’s the leader. The house has an orange grove around it, and Conners owns the twelve-acre pepper farm on the same street. Daniel Wells doesn’t even show in our intel base.”

  Tasker thought about it. He also thought about the hand that Camy had placed on his knee and left there. This lead might be thin, but it was all they had to go on for now. “Let’s do this: we sit on it over the weekend. If there’s no movement, next week we’ll get together and talk about it again.”

  “That’s fine.” She leaned into him a little. “Now that you’ve got me in this thing, I want to go all the way.” She cut her green eyes up to his.

  He could feel her breath across his face. His body tightened. “I’m glad you’re here. I mean on the case.” No, he meant he was glad she was here.

  “I’m glad of both.” She smiled.

  As he was thinking of something intelligent and profound to say, he heard a voice from the fence.

  “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  Tasker jumped at the woman’s voice and jerked his head toward the open gate. His ex-wife, Donna, stood at the opening, looking right at him. He couldn’t get a sense of her feelings. Was she pissed? Surprised? She was smiling, but she didn’t exactly look happy.

  Tasker stood up, causing Camy’s hand to flop back in her lap. “Hey, Donna.” He glanced at his watch. “Didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “Apparently not,” Donna said, looking over at Camy.

  Tasker cut in. “Donna, this is Camy Parks. Camy, this is my ex-wife, Donna.”

  They smiled and nodded at each other.

  Donna asked, “Do you work with Billy?”

  “I’m an ATF agent. We’re involved”-she waited a second-“in a joint investigation right now.”

  Donna looked at Tasker. “I’ll get out of your way. Are the girls ready?”

  Tasker gulped a little air and nodded.

  Then Camy said, “I was just leaving.” She was moving toward the gate before Tasker could say anything. After she was past Donna, she said, “Call if anything happens tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing,” was all Tasker could say.

  Camy said, “Nice meeting you,” to Donna and turned toward her car.

  “She’s cute,” said Donna, as she watched her hips sway away.

  “That she is.” Tasker felt like he was having the same conversation twice in twenty minutes. He added, “She’s an ATF agent working on a case with me.”

  “So I gathered,” Donna said. “I saw what she was working on.”

  “It’s not like that. She has a boyfriend.”

  “She may have a boyfriend, but she was interested in you. A woman can tell these things.” She walked over and sat on a lounger. “Billy, is it smart to have the girls around women?”

  “Aren’t they around men?”

  “No.”

  “What about Nicky? He is considered a man, isn’t he?”

  She let it go and said, “I mean, women the girls don’t know.”

  “How would they meet them?”

  She shrugged.

  “What’s the story on Nicky Goldman? Is he divorced?”

  She nodded.

  “How does his ex-wife feel about you seeing him?”

  “They didn’t have kids, but she’s fine with it. You know her.”

  “I do? Who is it?”

  “Laura, the woman who builds the websites and helps at the girls’ school.”

  Tasker stared at her. “Nicky was married to Laura Parker?”

  “That’s her maiden name. She changed it back after the divorce. Why’s it so surprising they were married?”

  “She’s a little out of his league, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, and I’m not? Thanks a lot.”

  This chat wasn’t going to get any better. “Sweetheart, you’re outta my league.”

  She smiled and said, “Don’t you forget it.”

  “You know you’re outta Nicky’s league. What do ya see in him?”

  She gathered her thoughts. “He’s sweet, and very neat.”

  Tasker laughed. “That’s the new criteria? Sweet and neat? According to that, Richard Simmons would be a great catch.”

  “He’s very nice.”

  “Is he a boyfriend or a girlfriend?”

  She frowned at that, as she let out a short snicker but didn’t scold him.

  “What happened to the girl who loved excitement and thrills?”

  She looked into his eyes. “Excitement shut me out and thrills moved to Miami.”

  That hurt enough for Tasker just to keep his mouth shut.

  …

  Daniel Wells pulled out his phone card and settled into the phone booth at the Denny’s in Cutler Ridge. He only had two people to call, but these might be long conversations. It seemed like he only ever called two people. He sat on the stool between the two phones and thought about who to call first and what to talk about. As he sat there, an elderly lady walked
up to use the other phone. Wells immediately sprang from the stool and pushed it closer to the other phone.

  “Thank you, young man,” said the woman.

  “My pleasure, ma’am.” He waited until she was finished with her short call and settled onto the stool again. He dialed Alicia’s cell phone. No answer. He dialed the other number and immediately heard a male voice.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s me, Daniel.”

  “Where the fuck you been?”

  “Everywhere.”

  “So I heard.”

  Daniel leaned back to hear what was new in the world.

  twenty-three

  Bill Tasker pulled onto Krome Avenue and headed north. The road was most famous for the huge INS holding facility through which it seemed like half the population of Dade County had come at some point. He picked up speed in the Gold Cherokee he was still using for work. His friend at the dealership said his Monte Carlo was being rehabbed. It no longer made the technicians at the Chevy dealer cry or vomit. The residue of the CS with which Daniel Wells had booby-trapped the car was slowly being eliminated.

  In the distance, Tasker could see the parking lot of the empty convenience store that served as the surveillance post. It was two blocks from the small farming road where the house they were watching sat. From the store they could see the side yard and driveway. On the bright side, no one coming or going from the house would be likely to see them. As he came closer to the vacant store, he saw Jimmy Lail’s tricked-out Honda parked next to the shabby white building. Tasker had to admit that, although the car was an embarrassment to look at, no one would ever make it as a police vehicle.

  He pulled in behind the Honda, expecting Jimmy either to call him on his Nextel or come out and greet him. After a minute of no response, Tasker climbed out of the Cherokee and eased up to the Honda’s driver’s window. Through the tint, Tasker could see Jimmy’s head resting against the glass. He was asleep. Not just dozing, but all-out dead asleep.

  This was not an uncommon event on long surveillances. The hard hours and boredom contributed to cops just drifting off. That was why, when there was enough manpower, you traded off the eye every hour or so. Tasker wasn’t angry, but he didn’t think he could let this slide without some sort of practical joke. He knew Jimmy Lail didn’t like him and that you shouldn’t play jokes on people you don’t like or who don’t like you, but Tasker couldn’t help himself.