James Born - Shock Wave

Camy said, “I’m sorry, Billy, but just because this guy Maced you, I can’t rejoin the case.”

“What are you talking about? It’s an ATF case. He is the guy who bombed that cruise ship. I know it. I also think he’s got something else planned.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, but this afternoon in his van I saw he had a big metal tank welded in the back. Unless he’s driving across the Kalahari, I don’t think the tank is good for anything but blowing up.”

Camy considered this.

“Are you gonna let a disagreement get in the way of saving people’s lives?” Tasker looked hard into her eyes.

He jumped when he heard a male voice say, “Letting Wells out wasn’t a disagreement, dawg. It was a double-cross.”

Tasker snapped his head in the direction of the man and was shocked to see Jimmy Lail in a silk, flowered dressing robe standing near the entrance to the bedrooms.

Tasker stared, speechless, then turned to Camy. Without thinking, he blurted, “I thought you were a lesbian.”

She froze, then smiled. “I never said I was. That rumor started and it was no one’s business, so I ignored it.”

Tasker looked back at Jimmy Lail, saying, “Or were you just ashamed of your culturally challenged boyfriend?”

Camy didn’t answer, but Jimmy crossed the room toward Tasker, his bathrobe flapping open slightly. “Listen, dawg. Don’t try an’ dis me.” He moved past the couch and kept coming at Tasker.

In a smooth motion, Tasker wrapped his right hand around the handle of his ASP expandable baton in his back pocket and pulled it, not snapping it open but holding it in his palm like a eight-inch stick. He held up his hand and applied a little forward thrust as Jimmy came to him. The weight of Jimmy’s body running into the point of the closed ASP aimed right at his solar plexus knocked the wind out of his sails and then the man off his feet. He stayed on the ground, gasping for air.

Tasker calmly turned his attention back to Camy like nothing had happened. “So what about it? Help me stop this guy.”

“If I ignore orders, it could be the last case I ever work.”

“Seems like it’s that way with every case for me.” He smiled.

“Can we do it quietly? Keep a low profile?”

“Everything I do is low-profile.”

Camy looked at her pissed-off boyfriend and then at Tasker and simply said, “Okay, we’ll help.”

Daniel Wells still chuckled at the thought of the three cops rolling around on his porch that afternoon. But now the realities of life had squeezed out his mild euphoria over confusing the cops so well. Now he stopped the little Honda he had stolen and parked it a block away from the house he was about to visit. It was more a compound than a plain old house, with three separate structures and two full carports. He left the Honda with the broken window right on the street. That way, when the cops found it they would be able to return it to the kid who had parked it at the Wal-Mart in Homestead. Wells had simply broken the window, then cracked the steering column. Nothing fancy, but it got him where he was going.

As he walked up the long driveway to the main house, he noticed an old blue Ford Ranger pickup truck and two Dodge Diplomats. He smiled, remembering that these guys sometimes liked to pretend they were cops.

The compound was operated by the American Aryan Movement, but everyone just called them “the Nazis.” The compound was owned by one of the members’ parents who, Wells was sure, had no clue what was going on at the house. He didn’t really care what was going on, he just needed some cash to help him get a decent vehicle before all his plans had to be scrapped because of something simple like no wheels.

He walked to the front door, amused that the supposedly vigilant master race had not even noticed an intruder walk through their yard. Before he knocked, he felt the handle of the Ruger.22 he had stuffed in his waistband under his loose shirt. Then he pulled out a small clear plastic tube containing six balls. This was a little surprise he’d cooked up with a mixture of TNT he’d gotten from one of his old employers, who’d used it to clear obstructions like tree trunks at construction sites. He slid the tube back into his front pocket. He didn’t want trouble this time. He wanted to fly under the radar, but he needed money to get a car, and these guys owed him. He pounded and waited. Then pounded again until he heard someone inside say, “Okay, okay, hold your horses.”

A thin, blond man about twenty-five named Dell Linley came to the screen door and said, “Hey, Daniel. Where you been?” then opened the door for him.

Walking in, Wells said, “Been busy.”

Dell led him into a living room where four other young men sat watching TV.

On seeing Wells, several of them turned and one said, “Look what the cat dragged in. What’s new, Daniel?”

Wells shrugged. “Oh, nothing. Just came for the thousand bucks you guys owed me for the bomb I made you.”

They all laughed at once. Dell, the blond guy, said, “If we had the thousand, you think we’d be watching Gilligan’s Island on Nick at Nite?”

“I got another idea. What about giving me that old truck in the driveway and we’ll call it even?” Wells smiled to reassure the men.

The oldest and largest of the men stood up from the couch and said, “I got another idea. Why don’t you get lost and forget about the thousand bucks? Joe and Pete got arrested for that thing, and no one noticed, anyway. I think we’re already even.”

Wells backed toward the kitchen, reaching into his pocket as he did. All five men slowly started to follow him. Wells said, calmly, “No, I need some transportation. I want the truck.”

The big man said, “You must be crazy. What makes you think we’re gonna give you a truck?”

Wells pulled his hand from his pocket holding the clear plastic tube the size of a roll of quarters. He let them see the tube with the claylike balls in it. “ These make me think you’ll let me take it.” He wanted to keep things quiet, but felt his urge, mixed with anger, start to build in him.

“What’re those?” asked one of the men.

“I like to call them ‘super blast balls.’ Just Silly Putty with a kick.” He let a ball drop into his right hand, then, without hesitation, threw it at the refrigerator. It exploded on contact, blowing a six-inch hole in the refrigerator with a deafening blast. In the ensuing commotion, Wells drew his pistol and blew out the overhead light. At the sound of the shot, everyone froze.

Wells took advantage of the silence to say, “Keys, please.”

Someone tossed him a set of Ford keys. He leaned down and picked them up off the floor and held them, with the explosive balls in his left hand and the gun in his right, still trained on the stunned Nazis.

“Any questions?” He backed out slowly. He knew that no matter what happened, these guys wouldn’t tell the cops anything. The neighbors were used to shots fired over here. Just as he was at the door, however, one of the men charged him. The force of the body block sent the vial flying into the air.

Wells realized he had lost the balls and let the flying man knock him out the door. He could hear the multiple explosions inside just as he and the man came to rest outside in the gravel driveway. Wells didn’t wait, just pumped two.22-caliber rounds into the man’s thigh, then kicked the screaming man off him. He immediately rose to one knee and faced the open rear screen door. He could see the smoke and a small fire caused by the detonation of the balls. He raised his pistol and waited. As the first man emerged from the confusion, Wells shot him in the knee, causing him to tumble to the ground. He repeated the maneuver on the next man, Dell, the blond guy who had greeted him. No one else tried to follow.