James Born - Shock Wave

Tasker asked, “None of ’em had any idea where he might be hiding out?”

“Nope. One place, South Florida Metal Works, said he worked on some welding and even hauled away bags of metal scraps that had been lying around for a year. Just little corners and shavings from making shelves and things like that. They loved the guy. Kept turning them down for a permanent job.”

Sutter gazed at her while she delivered her professional report. He nonchalantly let his hand drop off his lap and brush her leg. He got no response.

Sutter said, “Bill and I covered all the truck-driving schools in Dade and found out Wells used the name Westerly at the Big Rig Academy, but didn’t graduate. In fact, they booted his ass ’cause he couldn’t get the hang of it.”

Camy asked, “When was his last lesson?”

“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.

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.