James Born - Shock Wave

Tasker smiled. “Mr. Conners?”

The man nodded reluctantly.

“You’re wrong. Looks like you assaulted Officer Sutter here.”

The man didn’t acknowledge him.

Tasker said, “Get up and come over here.” He waited until the man had stood and walked to him, then led him away from the group, now under the watchful eye of Sutter, Jimmy and Camy.

At Sutter’s car, Tasker stopped, turned and said, “This can all go away with a little information.”

The man had a sour look, then said, “What kind of information?”

“I need to find someone.”

“Who?”

“Daniel Wells.”

Conners looked at him, then asked, “Who?”

“Daniel Wells, from Naranja.”

“The handyman?”

“Yeah, I guess you could call him that.”

“Why would I know where he is? I only took my lawn mower to him once to get fixed.”

“He hasn’t been staying at your house?”

“Not unless he’s screwing my wife behind my back.”

“You’re Ed Conners. You’re with the Ku Klux Klan, right?”

“That ain’t against the law. I’m proud to be Ed Conners and to be the head of our klavern.”

“Your what?”

“Local Klan group.”

“These fellas other members?”

“These boys work the different farms up and down my street. They was worried you fellas was crack dealers. We been having a problem. All they wanted to do was scare you off. They ain’t no Klan members. Hell, two of ’ em is Mexican. They couldn’t join if they wanted to.”

Tasker could have kept questioning the man, but there was no point. He wasn’t holding back, and Tasker had someone he wanted to question more. He felt his frustration level rise and took a deep breath to control it.

He started back to the F-250 with Conners. “Okay, you guys can go. Why not just call the cops next time you think someone is dealing dope?”

Conners said, “Yeah, they come right out. Why don’t you go find some real criminals?”

Tasker said, “That’s a good idea.” He stood and watched the men hop into the back of the truck, then waited as the truck rumbled out of the lot back toward the house.

Jimmy Lail said, “What was that all about? I should’ve busted a cap into the air to get those be-autches talkin’.” He pulled out his automatic and, holding it sideways again, pointed into the sawgrass, showing his partners the motion he’d use to fire it. “That woulda made ’ em shit.” He looked at Sutter. “Ain’t that right, my brother?”

Tasker couldn’t take it anymore. He sprang toward Jimmy, knocking his pistol out of his hand, then kneeing him in the leg, and finished by throwing the stunned FBI man to the ground and landing on top of him. He had Jimmy by the shirt, his face two inches from Jimmy’s.

“The word is bitch. B-I-T-C-H. One fucking syllable. Never hold your gun any way except perpendicular to the ground. That’s how they’re intended to be held. I don’t care how many movies you’ve seen, your pistol is not supposed to be held at an angle. Never sideways. You got it?” Spittle flew from his mouth into Jimmy’s face.

Sutter stood up and calmly tried to move Tasker. “C’mon, Bill.”

He stood and looked down at Jimmy Lail, who said, “Bolini is right. You’re an asshole.”

“Bolini? You been talkin’ to him?”

He hesitated, then said, “Yeah, sort of. I mean, I work with him, dipshit.”

Now Sutter stepped in. “Now that sounds like you. Why you trying to talk like a street kid all the time?”

Jimmy didn’t answer.

“Now I’m not on as short a fuse as my man Tasker here, but if you ever use that fake urban bullshit accent around me again, I’m gonna whip your ass.”

Tasker added, “Me too.” He took a step back and looked at Camy, who didn’t seem to mind having her boyfriend set straight. Tasker added, “And I don’t know what this idiotic surveillance was all about, but if you lied, you’ll be in for another ass-whippin’.”

They watched Jimmy silently slink back to Camy’s car.

Camy said, “If the counseling session is over, I better get him cleaned up.”

Tasker took a deep breath as he realized they were all the way back at square one.

Alicia Wells blew her nose like her mama had taught her, mouth open and with full force. The honking sound was not very ladylike, but it cleared her clogged nose.

Ever since Daniel had told her of his plans, she had been sinking lower and lower into a funk. She wasn’t sure if it was the idea of moving to Montana that upset her so much as the idea of moving to Montana with Daniel’s two boys.

The other thing that was bothering her was Daniel’s comment that he was going to do something in Miami. She didn’t want Daniel doing something he’d get in a lot of trouble for, and she didn’t want anyone getting hurt.

She sat on her couch and started to sob again as the rush of ideas flooded her mind again. She had some money and could just take off. Daniel wouldn’t find her if she didn’t want him to, and he wasn’t the kind of man who’d bother her mother to find her, or even look that hard. But it didn’t seem right somehow. She couldn’t just walk away. She wouldn’t ever see him again, or little Lettye. She could live without seeing the boys, but even the thought of losing them forever had a sobering effect.

She looked out her window at the backyard of the main house. Mrs. Garcia’s granddaughter was kicking a ball in her pretty white dress. The squat Cuban lady held her two-year-old granddaughter’s hand to steady her from time to time. That was all Alicia wanted: a normal life, and to watch her kids grow up. Was that too much to ask? She started to cry again.

Tasker concentrated so hard on the computer screen that Sutter’s voice made him jump in the chair.

“What’s with you?” asked Sutter, as he sat in an empty chair. In fact, the whole FDLE squad bay was deserted. He had followed Tasker over after their run-in with the Krome Avenue farmers.

Tasker returned to the computer screen, saying, “Something about this case stinks.”

“Everything about this case stinks. Be more specific.”

“You ever wonder why the FBI has been no help at all?”

“Actually, that’s the only thing that isn’t a surprise. I can’t remember them being much help on anything.”

“But think about it. Sal Bolini won’t even acknowledge the case, but he talks to Lail about it. Jimmy Lail’s only suggestion wastes our time for four days. Something doesn’t add up, and I’m gonna find out what.”

Sutter spun in the chair once. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why find out? You could always walk away. You could pretend that none of this fiasco ever occurred and no one would blame you or say another word.”

“You serious?”

“Would FDLE discipline you if you dropped this and moved on to something else?”

“No, of course not.”

“Would your supervisor think you’re less of an investigator if you worked on something else?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then why not drop the whole thing? You’ve had enough trouble with the FBI to last a lifetime. Move on.”

Tasker considered this. Logically, it was a sound argument. Tasker prided himself on his logical reasoning and rational thought, whatever the subject, and this was both logical and rational. He looked over to his partner, now learning the intricacies of the adjustable office chair by spinning it up, then lowering it.

Tasker said, “That’s a good idea.”

“Glad you agree.”

“I can’t do it, but I recognize the good sense of it.”

“Why can’t you walk away?”

“Because it’s not right. This guy killed someone with a bomb and may do it again. The FBI is involved with him, and someone has got to stop him.”