Shock Wave

by James O. Born

  He knocked on the front door and it flew open almost instantly.

  All he could do was stare and say, “Wow.”

  “Like it?” She laid on her Dixie drawl and smiled.

  He nodded, taking her in his arms. The sheer material of the tiny pink teddy smelled like lilac. She bit him on the neck playfully and took his hand, leading him through the living room to what was normally the guest bedroom downstairs. They had done it in there before, rattling the huge brass bed frame and tilting the mirror on the vanity to watch themselves.

  Once in the room, she turned and whispered in his ear, “Let’s get dirty tonight.”

  “Anything you want, baby.”

  She winked and pulled a matching pink teddy from the dresser near the small bathroom.

  “Really?” This was new.

  She held it up to him and nodded vigorously. Then she pulled out some handcuffs.

  That wasn’t too unusual. He shrugged and started to yank off his shirt.

  Camy turned him toward the bathroom and said, “Come out ready. I wanna be surprised.” Then she gently shoved him toward the open door.

  Inside he flipped the light switch, turning on the bright, clear lights around the mirror. He held the teddy up to the mirror and shook his head. If it made her wild, why not. Even though he’d rather just do it, sleep an hour and do it again. He slipped out of his street clothes and had to survey himself naked for a few moments, then dropped the teddy over his head. It looked miniscule but had amazing stretch capabilities. He pulled it down but was unable to button the crotch over his genitals. What did it matter? He checked himself in the mirror again, then, satisfied, he shut off the lights and made his entrance.

  “Look at you,” said Camy from a sprawled position on the queen-sized bed. She patted the mattress. “C’mon, stud.”

  He bounded into the bed and grabbed her, trying to un-snap the teddy immediately.

  “Hang on there, big fella.” She stroked his rising erection. “Let’s do it right.” She pulled the handcuffs off the small table next to the bed.

  “If that’s what you want.” He obligingly stretched out his arms and allowed Camy to run the cuffs through the brass frame and secure his hands.

  “That’s a little tight, baby.”

  She smiled. “That’s not all that’s tight.”

  He felt his breath get short as she slipped off the bed and made a show of walking around the bed. She went back to the dresser and retrieved two sets of leg chains.

  “Where’d you get those?”

  “Amazing what being nice to the Marshals will get you.” She casually strung one set on each side of the foot of the bed frame, then walked to the bathroom. A couple of seconds later, she walked out with two washcloths. She folded one and placed it inside the metal cuff on the leg chain, then secured his right ankle. The cloth made the tight cuff comfortable. He sighed as she did the same to his left leg.

  “Try it,” she said as she gazed at his toned body, spreadeagled on the bed. The pink teddy stretched to its seams around his chest, the white, puffy frills on the shoulders brushing his nose.

  He pulled his hands, then each leg, and said, “Baby, that’s tight. Now let’s get dirty.”

  She ran a hand down his chest. “You bet, baby,” she purred. Then she walked to the door to the family room and opened it a crack. She walked back toward the bathroom, flicking on the overhead light in the ceiling fan. The room was suddenly lit up like a classroom.

  Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut. “Baby, I know you like to see me, but that’s a little bright.” Behind his closed eyelids, he saw a brighter flash and opened his eyes. Two men in bedsheets with pillowcases over their heads like old-time Klansmen stood at the foot of the bed. One had a camera in his hand. He shot another picture, and the flash blinked.

  Each man had holes cut out of the pillowcases. One man fumbled with the case to get a better view. Camy remained motionless by the bathroom door, still in the see-through teddy. The broader of the two men, the one without the camera, pulled a slender three-foot baseball bat from behind his back. He slapped it in his hand. Jimmy could read the Fish Billy logo on the handle and knew it was used to club hooked game fish. A chill ran down his back and he felt his bowels loosen.

  One man said, “You are so fucked.”

  At which moment Jimmy’s bladder just emptied.

  “Jesus,” said the man.

  Daniel Wells looked down from the cab of the Freightliner with great pride. He had walked onto the Big Rig Academy grounds unseen, used the key he had stolen to start and then drive a tractor right off the lot and through traffic with hardly an incident. He had clipped a parked Chevy, then bumped another car near Seventy-second Avenue, just hard enough to knock it onto the median. The man looked dazed and no one else was around this time of night, so Wells wasn’t worried. First he was headed over to Emerson-Picolo Transportation, and then his problems would begin. He had to hook up to a trailer, alone, then get off the lot. He knew no one was there, he’d already driven past. He had used a series of stolen cars during the evening to get from one spot to the next. They had all been Hondas, that being the only car he knew how to hot-wire. Getting into the cars wasn’t pretty, either. He just shattered the side window and opened the doors. He turned on Thirty-sixth Street and slowed almost immediately as he came up on the lot. He stopped the rig with its blinkers on and hustled to the gate. He tried the key he’d kept from the year before and it worked perfectly. Sliding open the double gate, he trotted back to the truck. After a minute of maneuvering, he was in the lot and close to the small tanker opposite the open gate. That solved a couple of problems. First and most important, it was pointed in the right direction. Second, it was fairly small, about two-thirds the size of a full tanker. He’d checked it to make sure it was full. The cargo was avgas. The small warning placard on the side had the numbers 100/130 written on it, confirming that the cargo was, in fact, aviation fuel. It would blow. He had already tested that theory.

  He backed the truck, slowly watching the rearview the whole way. This was something they usually used two men to do. He heard a thump, then a click. He threw the tractor out of gear and set the brake. Jumping out, he raced to the rear, only to discover he had missed the “fifth wheel,” the connector for the trailer, by three feet to the left. Now the trailer was hooked on the truck’s supporting beam.

  Back in the cab, he gunned the engine to pull free, but ended up dragging the tanker a few feet. The noise and sparks were horrendous, especially considering the tanker’s load. He hopped out and inspected the connection again. Still hooked to the side.

  Then he used his problem-solving mind. He let some air out of the rear tires. When they were half empty, he jumped back in the cab, and the tractor pulled out smoothly.

  He lined up the tractor again and then inched it back. As soon as he heard metal on metal, he hopped out and inspected the alignment.

  “Incredible,” he said out loud to himself. The connection lined up perfectly, the ball of the trailer-tanker directly in the center of the fifth wheel. Just like a pro. He backed the tractor some more until it locked in place, then secured the trailer, brake lines and electrical connections. His first solo. His heart raced with the engine as he headed toward the open gate. He couldn’t resist blasting the horn like a real trucker. No one was around, and if they were, who would expect a thief to announce himself like that? He was on top of the world.

  He reached the gate and turned east on Thirty-sixth Street. He turned a little sharply and took out the fence with the tanker-trailer. He shrugged as he dragged a seventy-foot length of chain-link fence a block before it broke free. He looked in the mirrors. The right one was missing. No problem-still no one around.

  An hour later, having to drive much more conservatively and even taking the tanker through part of his planned route, Wells parked it on the side of a residential street that had a patch of pine trees and grass on one side. Two other big rigs sat there. If someone cared to check, they
’d think he was just another trucker visiting someone on a long trip.

  He hopped out and found a Honda a block away. A swat with the blunt edge of his Buck knife and the window cracked. He used his elbow to finish. It made almost no noise. He was inside the small blue Civic, about to rip the steering column to pieces, when he noticed someone already had. He didn’t know why; if the car was locked, someone had a key. He went with it, touched the two already stripped wires, which caused the small engine to hum to life. He pulled out, appreciating the ease of handling compared to a big rig. A block later, he turned onto a small side street and could see the Orange Bowl right in front of him. That was the best landmark for miles around. He’d thought about leaving the tractor-trailer in the Orange Bowl’s parking lot, but this was less conspicuous. After the Big Rig Academy reported the theft, someone might notice it in the parking lot.

  Wells headed south to his duplex to finish the step van, because that was all he’d drive from now on.

  thirty

  “Now, this is embarrassing,” said Derrick Sutter, pulling off his makeshift Klan hood. Tasker followed his lead, waving it in front of his face to dissipate the odor.

  Camy, still standing in the room, quietly slipped into the bathroom, but not before both Tasker and Sutter got a good eyeful. Tasker believed that was a calculated move. He wasn’t sure to what purpose, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

  Sutter said, “See, I told you I knew a way to tie up the FBI loose ends.” He smiled, showing his gold tooth on the side of his mouth. “I just wish his end was a little more tied up. I think he shit the bed.”

  Tasker shook his head. “Nope, just had his bladder let go. Happens to the best of us.” He winced at the pain his own voice brought to his banged-up head.

  Sutter snapped two more digital photos while Jimmy Lail thrashed in the bed.

  “You guys are in such deep shit! This is kidnapping.”

  The bathroom door opened and Camy, now covered by a thick terrycloth robe, said to Jimmy, “I think they call this kinky sex. I don’t recall you objecting.”

  Jimmy’s face flared red as he yanked his legs again. “Now, tell me, what the fuck is going on?”

  Tasker kept his voice calm and even. “Blackmail. Simple and direct.” He looked over to Sutter, who snapped another photo. “You talk and we erase the photos. Tell us everything and you can have the camera. Hold out and you’re an Internet star before you get to work in the morning.”

  Jimmy stared at him. “I never thought you’d stoop this low.”

  “You should be more optimistic.” Tasker waited for Jimmy to calm down and said, “Now tell me about Sal Bolini’s connection to Wells.”

  “Kiss my ass.”

  Sutter smiled, handed the camera to Tasker, and said, “Maybe if I snuggle up close and bury my face in the covers. That’d make a good photo. At least it’d look like he has some taste.”

  “Fuck you both!”

  Sutter started to unbutton his shirt.

  Jimmy immediately said, “Okay, okay, okay. What do you want to know?”

  Tasker asked, “Is Bolini protecting Wells?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Did he tip him about the search warrant at his house?”

  Jimmy hesitated.

  Sutter unfastened another button on his shirt, and Tasker raised the camera.

  Jimmy nodded with some passion. They had definitely found his weak spot.

  Tasker continued in a good interrogation voice. “Has he told him to lay low?”

  Another nod.

  “Why?”

  Jimmy shrugged. Sutter started to open his shirt.

  “Okay, okay, stop doing that.” He cleared his throat. “Wells has been giving us info for years. He’s saved a lot of lives.”

  “According to who?”

  “Bolini.”

  Sutter stepped in. “What about the Klan surveillance? That was all bullshit, wasn’t it?”

  Jimmy nodded. “It was designed to buy time for Wells to clear up some personal business so he could leave the area.”

  “What personal business?” asked Tasker.

  “Dunno.”

  Sutter slid one shoulder out of his shirt.

  Jimmy kept an even voice. “You can come down here and give me a blowjob, but I really don’t know. Now, have I earned that camera?”

  “Did Bolini know he bombed the cruise ship?”

  “Yeah. After. Wells said he wouldn’t do it again.”

  Tasker was speechless. Too bad this moron wasn’t the responsible party.

  Jimmy said again, “Do I get the camera?”

  “One more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We need you to call Bolini and set up a breakfast meeting.”

  “Where?”

  Tasker said, “Denny’s over off Thirty-sixth.”

  Jimmy thought about it, then nodded.

  Tasker looked at him. “And after I meet with him, you’ll get the camera to see the photos erased. I don’t want him warned.”

  Jimmy said, “That’s bullshit. I want that camera or there’s no deal.”

  Tasker looked at Camy. “All right, leave his ass locked up till morning.”

  Jimmy said, “Shit, get me a phone.”

  Camy added, “I’ll keep an eye on him tonight.” She winked at Jimmy, who brightened slightly.

  Tasker saw the look Sutter gave the chained FBI man and thought it was best to get him out of there fast. Besides, if Tasker didn’t get off his feet and give his aching head, back, shoulder and hip a rest, he might faint.

  Tasker watched Sal Bolini park his Bureau-issued Ford and walk into the Denny’s without a glance around the lot. A minute later, Tasker strolled in the front door and then right to Bolini’s table just as the waitress brought his coffee.

  Bolini said, “What’re you doing here?”

  “Filling in for Lail.”

  Bolini took a second and then said, “Vanilla Ice spill his guts?”

  Tasker just smiled. “He had reason to.”

  “You didn’t hurt the little shit, did you?”

  “I didn’t think you’d care about things like that.”

  Bolini shrugged. “You got me all wrong. In fact, all I care about is the public good. Did you hurt Lail?”

  “Not physically.” Tasker remembered the look on Camy’s face as they left her house and added, “He was all right when I last saw him.”

  Bolini took a sip of his coffee and waved away the waitress when she wandered over. He looked at Tasker silently.

  Finally, Tasker asked, “Why?”

  “You wouldn’t understand. Cops never do.”

  “Try me.”

  “He was a good source. He knew how to keep his mouth shut.”

  “But he bombed a ship. He killed a guy.”

  “What? The baggage handler? He wasn’t even an American.”

  Tasker stared at him with his mouth open.

  “That’s what I’m saying. If it was up to cops, you guys would just arrest him without thinking of all the good he could do. He saved a lot of lives. He kept Turkey Point from getting blown up by Al-Soud and Jourdi.”

  Tasker shook his head in frustration. “But they couldn’t have done it without Wells. He tricked them. The device Al-Soud described to me wouldn’t have worked.”

  “Then they would’ve picked another target. The point is we stopped them.”

  “I thought the point was to enforce the law.”

  “I have enforced a lot more than you.” Bolini’s voice became sharper.

  “Why’d he do the cruise ship?”

  “I have no idea. We had a gentleman’s agreement not to discuss it.”

  Tasker felt like drawing his Beretta and sticking it in the FBI agent’s face to bring him back to reality.

  Bolini said, “If I had been there the day you morons arrested him, I could’ve put a stop to it right then. Thank God you’re persistent.”

  “What’s that mean?”
r />   “I saw you were trying to help him after you realized your mistake. Who do you think sent you that little intel photo?”

  “You were in it from the beginning.” Tasker felt like a little kid.

  “I’m tellin’ you, Tasker, he’s a great source. Look at me. He put me on top. You back off and we can work something out. Make you a star over there at FDLE.”

  Tasker balled his fist but took a deep breath instead of throwing the punch.

  “What about his next little act?”

  “What next act?”

  “Whatever he has planned for this afternoon. He told his wife to steer clear of downtown.”

  “That whore. She’s not smart enough to know a warning if it bit her on that luscious ass of hers.”

  “Can you contact him?”

  “Not unless he calls me. I’m not worried.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s on your dime now.”

  Sal Bolini was a little shaken by his breakfast meeting with the serious state cop. He’d known about the cruise ship and let it slide. He had no idea why Wells had done it but knew the guy had a screw loose. He loved to see the shit stirred. It was obvious, the way he wanted to be at arrests as the undercover when he didn’t have to be. He once told Bolini how the only excitement he felt was in watching people run scared. And it seemed to have gotten worse in the past two years. Every time they had an arrest or search warrant, Wells had to be there. Still, Bolini had no idea he had anything else planned. He’d told the FBI agent he had to clear up some family matters. Bolini figured it was with that kooky wife of his, or some money issues. Not some kind of stunt to scare people.

  Bolini dug in his inside suit pocket to find his secret address book. He had Wells’ pager, which only he was allowed to call. After all, the FBI had paid for it. He dialed the Miami number.