James Born - Shock Wave

Wells stood up, stuck the pistol in his pants under his loose shirt again and calmly walked to the truck. The Nazis in World War Two must’ve been tougher, thought Wells, as he drove away in his new truck. Or at least smarter. He enjoyed his special feeling as he took a last look at the confusion he had just caused. And now he had a truck to drive that no one would be able to trace. He knew these morons would come up with a good story when they had the.22s removed from their legs. They’d be too scared ever to come after him.

Tasker took almost an hour going over everything they had developed on the case. Camy Parks took notes while Jimmy Lail sat back on the couch, looking uninterested. They were both still in bathrobes. Jimmy had hardly moved since Tasker stuck him in the stomach with his ASP. He was so quiet that Tasker worried he might have hurt the confused FBI agent. Finally Tasker decided he didn’t care.

Tasker told Camy about everything, from the explosives-maker to Sutter’s sighting of Alicia Wells.

Camy interrupted, saying, “I knew you guys were interested in her.”

“Only because she might give us a clue as to where Wells might really be hiding.”

“Yeah, right.” Her green eyes rolled at the suggestion. “Is she more or less sexy to you guys now that you know she’s a stripper?”

“Camy, I couldn’t care less.”

“Obviously Sutter does, since he’s the one going to topless bars.”

Tasker stared at her, wondering if she had some problem with topless bars.

She realized she was going off track and said, “Okay, what’s our plan?”

“The first thing I need is for you or Lail to see if there is any real intelligence on Wells. Then I’d like to look at what’s been done on your case that might help us. After that, I’m open to suggestions.”

Camy said, “We could have an FBI profiler look at the case. They might have some ideas.”

“Do they really work? I know we had them look at a murder in Gainesville and the profile was way off. In fact, if we’d have followed it, we never woulda caught the killer.”

Camy nodded. “A profile of the bombing might give us some insight into Wells’ personality.”

“You’re right, it couldn’t hurt.” Tasker looked at Jimmy. “Can you arrange for the profiler to talk to us?”

Camy added, “And keep it quiet so we don’t draw any attention.”

Making it look like he didn’t care, Jimmy said, “Alice Quills? She’s not a real profiler. I mean she didn’t do the full-year training at Quantico. She just went to some in-service classes and then the thing where she rode with the Metro homicide guys. If you want, I’ll call her. And going to her won’t raise any eyebrows.”

Tasker noticed the loss of accent. Maybe too tired to keep up the façade? “Will you check your intel, too?”

“Technically, we’re not supposed to have intelligence files on groups like that.”

“Hey, I don’t know if he’s in any organized group. It was your intelligence files that said he was. I’m just asking you to look.”

Jimmy just nodded.

Camy asked, “Is Sutter still involved?”

“We’re all equal partners in this thing now.”

No one said anything, so Tasker took it as agreement.

Daniel Wells backed his newly acquired Ford pickup next to the small drab building. He’d already found a duplex in Florida City that had a carport in the back to hide the van. He’d settled into his new place with just the clothes on his back and a few things he’d picked up at Wal-Mart. At least now he knew exactly where he stood. These cops were serious and he was obviously wanted. He doubted if even his friend could help him anymore. It definitely meant he had to move on his plan as soon as possible. Since it didn’t revolve around a festival or concert, he could do it any time. He had already decided that a weekday was best, but other than that he had no restrictions, other than gathering all the necessary equipment and putting it in place. The only tricky thing was the big rig. First he had to get one, then he had to drive it. A few more lessons and he’d be good to go.

He hadn’t bothered to booby-trap this place. Usually, tricks like the Mace bomb only work once before someone is careful approaching a house. He also realized that no one knew he was here. He figured the call by the fire department had given him away at the trailer. That wouldn’t happen again.

He tried to watch the little color TV that came with the duplex rental and then tried to read a W. E. B. Griffin novel about marines setting up a weather station in China during World War Two, but he couldn’t concentrate. His urge was starting to consume him. He had to pull this off, and fairly soon, or he felt he might fade away, unrecognized and useless. What scared him was not the thought of his plan for downtown Miami, which he hoped might end his need for chaos, but the fact that he was already thinking of a bigger plan. One involving a pedestrian crowd, like at a mall or a music festival.

He got up and milled around the small rented house. Unable to concentrate on anything but his plan, he sat down at the rickety kitchen table and started to sketch out some diagrams for his escape. He was worried. His special feeling had changed, and changed in a big way. He’d always been able to do other things while looking forward to his little stunts, but this was different. Like entering a long tunnel and not knowing which way to walk to get out. He missed his kids, but even that feeling was muted by his need to go through with his plans. A night with Alicia would help. He didn’t even know where she was. He looked at his sketch and realized that he had drawn bodies on the sides of the streets. He hadn’t meant to, but his hand had a will of its own.

Derrick Sutter had covered most of the obvious topless clubs in the city without finding the lovely Alicia Wells. Not that it was unpleasant duty, but he was getting tired. All he could figure was that the doorman at the Tittie Shack had tipped her off and she was long gone.

He pulled his Buick Century, the one issued to him from the now-closed robbery task force, into a spot near the Club Orion off Biscayne near I-395. He still had use of the car until the lease ran out in two months. He was the only guy from the task force left with one. Not that Dooley needed one in jail. As he thought about his former partner, he realized what a crazy few months this had been.

He straightened his tie in his reflection in the car’s window, checked to see if his eyes showed any lingering signs of the Mace attack from yesterday and moved his Glock from his hip to his waist so one of the girls brushing up against him wouldn’t notice it. He stopped in front of the simple entrance to the strip bar, looking up and down the street, trying to figure where the employees might park their cars. Every time someone walked in or out of the bar, a blast of loud music pounded in his ears. The dance club across the street had two uniformed cops at the door. He couldn’t see who they were, only that they were in uniform. Sutter figured he was far enough away that they wouldn’t recognize him.

Just as he was about to walk inside, the door opened and a woman walked out and immediately started up the side street. Sutter wasn’t paying attention but realized it was one of the dancers and saw she was blond. As he started after her, he realized the small lot behind the building held the employee vehicles.

“Alicia,” he called as he closed the gap on the fast-walking woman.

She gave no response.

When he was a few feet behind her, he said, “Alicia Wells,” and reached out for her arm.

She spun toward his touch, and before he could react he had a small canister of OC pepper spray pointed at him.