James Born - Shock Wave

“You boys getting along okay?”

Tasker cleared his throat and Nicky turned his flushed face. Both mumbled, “Yes.”

She kissed Tasker on the cheek, again saying, “We have to move on. At some point we have to meet each other’s new friends.”

Then Tasker realized that his ex-wife’s change in attitude in the last month may have been prompted by something other than fear of commitment. Maybe she was just afraid to recommit to him. He froze, wanting to apologize to the still-silent lawyer. He didn’t need this now.

After Derrick Sutter’s little adventure, he realized just how much he missed working on the bigger cases with FDLE, and missed his partner, Bill Tasker. They had fun together, and even though Tasker wasn’t the most cheerful guy, considering what had happened to him the past few years he seemed to maintain pretty well.

The Vice unit was finishing the sweep. They hardly made anything of Sutter’s efforts to run down the dope dealer earlier. Pretty common stuff for these tough veteran cops.

Sutter had placed the guy he had chased in line with all the other suspects, sitting on a curb, waiting to be processed. He had given the gray plastic package he’d recovered to the sergeant, who had opened it to find a load of cash.

Sutter liked helping out, even though he was still assigned to robbery. This gave him a chance to roam Liberty City and help clear out some of the dickheads that made it hard for the ordinary residents of the area to live and raise families. It also felt good to run after someone once in a while. At least the brothers here didn’t throw little sticks of dynamite at him or cook up all kinds of nasty explosives in their bathtubs. He decided that he preferred to have chicken thrown at him anytime.

Now, as his shift started to wind down, he was filling out an arrest form on one of the dozens of prisoners. With the other cops in a straight line, sitting at long, portable tables with folding chairs, it looked like a recruiting drive, with people filling out employment applications.

Sutter looked across at the young black woman, her hands secured behind her back with plastic flex cuffs. He recognized her from the neighborhood over the years but had never spoken to her. She was pretty, with a full-framed gold front tooth and funky, slicked-down hair. He didn’t like it when they just swept up everyone in a big net like this, but he knew it had to be done. Crack sales were killing neighborhoods all over the country. The regular people who lived here had to put up with it every day, and that was definitely not right.

As Sutter filled out the top part of the form, the woman said, “I gettin’ out tonight?”

“Doubt it. You’ll see a judge tomorrow.”

“He just let us out then. Why bother with this tonight?” She wasn’t nasty, just exasperated.

“ ’Cause this is my job.” Now he really started to miss Tasker and the big cases. He came to the prisoner-information section on the form. Looking up at the woman, he asked, “Last name?”

“Williams.”

Sutter wrote in block letters and asked, “First?”

“Sha-theed.”

He started to write, then said, “Spell it.”

“S-H-I-T-H-E-A-D.”

Sutter wrote it in, then stared at the name until it made sense. “Funny. Now what’s your first name?”

“That is my first name. Look at my ID.” She nodded toward the small plastic evidence bag containing her personal property.

Sutter retrieved the official Florida identification card, usually issued if you couldn’t get a license for some reason, and found that the young woman’s name was, in fact, Shithead Williams. Sutter let a smile slide across his face and said, “I bet you have a nickname.” He was about to write “Shitty” before she even answered.

The woman said, “Yeah, my brothers call me Anita.”

Sutter stopped writing and looked up at her again. “Anita, where’s that come from?”

She shrugged.

“Is that what you use everywhere?”

“No, I likes to be called Sha-theed. It’s prettier.”

Sutter was about to explain the mean joke her parents had played on her when a big sergeant walked over, rotated his head on his massive shoulders and said, “Sutter, can you run down to the Gables and see if that guy is staying at the address he just gave us?” He pointed to the small, dark, Latin-looking man at the end of the row who Sutter had caught earlier. His head drooped down and shoulders hunched.

Sutter said, “No problem, Sarge.”

The big man said, “That package you found had eight grand cash in it and we need to know who he is for sure. He may be a good link to something else. Figured you caught him, you’d want to do the follow-up. I know you been kicking around in south county with your FDLE buddy. I send one of my guys out of the city, he’s liable to end up in Tampa.”

Sutter laughed. “I hear ya. I’ll call when I find anything out.”

“If it looks like he lives there, see if we need to get a search warrant for the house.”

“How do you want me to do that?” Sutter asked.

The sergeant just looked at him. “You’ll know what to do.”

Sutter nodded and handed the lovely Shithead, or Sha-theed, off to another cop and found his issued Buick parked around the corner. There was a good-sized crowd on the street watching the cops complete the search and haul away the prisoners.

Half an hour later, Sutter had determined that the address provided by the suspect was a Publix shopping center. He cruised the lot and asked a few questions about the man in case he was homeless and really did live here. The Publix produce manager explained that Coral Gables didn’t have any homeless people and assured Sutter that he had never heard of the suspect.

After Sutter reported this info back to the Vice sergeant and was told to head home for the night, he found himself driving south on US 1. Since his adventures in the southern Dade area, he’d found he liked the idea of there being such a diverse and different place only a few miles from the city that he loved. He would’ve liked to have Tasker with him now, but his friend had agreed to watch his girls so his wife could get away for the weekend. That made Tasker either one of the greatest guys he’d ever met or a sucker. He’d seen the FDLE agent’s ex-wife and figured she could’ve turned him into a sucker, too, if she wanted to.

Sutter noticed a bar attached to the end of a little strip mall in what Sutter believed was South Miami, a separate little town just south of the Gables. He was about to pass it when he saw it was a nude bar. His favorite kind.

The bar had no visible name until he entered and saw it was called the Tittie Shack. Probably not a name the landlord of the shopping center wanted outside the club. He paused, looking past the sign, and the doorman demanded a ten-dollar cover. The vibe the big man threw Sutter’s way wasn’t positive, but Sutter ignored him. The small façade hid a good-sized place with two stages. He thought, What the hell, and handed the giant bouncer a ten-dollar bill. There were only five customers and at least ten girls, most sitting around in skimpy outfits, looking bored. A pretty Latin girl with too much makeup smiled and patted the empty space next to her on a bench by the rear wall. No one else seemed interested, so he strutted over, letting the girls look him over, and took a seat on the padded bench. As he sat, he realized that the table had hidden the girl’s substantial lower body, but to Sutter that was a plus. She introduced herself as “Diamond,” and Sutter said his name was “Gold.” She accepted it just as he had accepted her stage name. Half an hour and two drinks later, Sutter felt his groove coming on. He thought this girl might be good for a party. As he worked his mind around how to ask if she’d like to see his South Beach apartment, he noticed the blond dancer on the far stage. She had a body but not many moves. Still there was something familiar about her. He stared at the light-skinned dancer until his Latina flicked his ear. The rest of the night was a blur.