James Born - Shock Wave

An hour later, having to drive much more conservatively and even taking the tanker through part of his planned route, Wells parked it on the side of a residential street that had a patch of pine trees and grass on one side. Two other big rigs sat there. If someone cared to check, they’d think he was just another trucker visiting someone on a long trip.

He hopped out and found a Honda a block away. A swat with the blunt edge of his Buck knife and the window cracked. He used his elbow to finish. It made almost no noise. He was inside the small blue Civic, about to rip the steering column to pieces, when he noticed someone already had. He didn’t know why; if the car was locked, someone had a key. He went with it, touched the two already stripped wires, which caused the small engine to hum to life. He pulled out, appreciating the ease of handling compared to a big rig. A block later, he turned onto a small side street and could see the Orange Bowl right in front of him. That was the best landmark for miles around. He’d thought about leaving the tractor-trailer in the Orange Bowl’s parking lot, but this was less conspicuous. After the Big Rig Academy reported the theft, someone might notice it in the parking lot.

Wells headed south to his duplex to finish the step van, because that was all he’d drive from now on.

“Now, this is embarrassing,” said Derrick Sutter, pulling off his makeshift Klan hood. Tasker followed his lead, waving it in front of his face to dissipate the odor.

Camy, still standing in the room, quietly slipped into the bathroom, but not before both Tasker and Sutter got a good eyeful. Tasker believed that was a calculated move. He wasn’t sure to what purpose, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

Sutter said, “See, I told you I knew a way to tie up the FBI loose ends.” He smiled, showing his gold tooth on the side of his mouth. “I just wish his end was a little more tied up. I think he shit the bed.”

Tasker shook his head. “Nope, just had his bladder let go. Happens to the best of us.” He winced at the pain his own voice brought to his banged-up head.

Sutter snapped two more digital photos while Jimmy Lail thrashed in the bed.

“You guys are in such deep shit! This is kidnapping.”

The bathroom door opened and Camy, now covered by a thick terrycloth robe, said to Jimmy, “I think they call this kinky sex. I don’t recall you objecting.”

Jimmy’s face flared red as he yanked his legs again. “Now, tell me, what the fuck is going on?”

Tasker kept his voice calm and even. “Blackmail. Simple and direct.” He looked over to Sutter, who snapped another photo. “You talk and we erase the photos. Tell us everything and you can have the camera. Hold out and you’re an Internet star before you get to work in the morning.”

Jimmy stared at him. “I never thought you’d stoop this low.”

“You should be more optimistic.” Tasker waited for Jimmy to calm down and said, “Now tell me about Sal Bolini’s connection to Wells.”

“Kiss my ass.”

Sutter smiled, handed the camera to Tasker, and said, “Maybe if I snuggle up close and bury my face in the covers. That’d make a good photo. At least it’d look like he has some taste.”

“Fuck you both!”

Sutter started to unbutton his shirt.

Jimmy immediately said, “Okay, okay, okay. What do you want to know?”

Tasker asked, “Is Bolini protecting Wells?”

“Sort of.”

“Did he tip him about the search warrant at his house?”

Jimmy hesitated.

Sutter unfastened another button on his shirt, and Tasker raised the camera.

Jimmy nodded with some passion. They had definitely found his weak spot.

Tasker continued in a good interrogation voice. “Has he told him to lay low?”

Another nod.

“Why?”

Jimmy shrugged. Sutter started to open his shirt.

“Okay, okay, stop doing that.” He cleared his throat. “Wells has been giving us info for years. He’s saved a lot of lives.”

“According to who?”

“Bolini.”

Sutter stepped in. “What about the Klan surveillance? That was all bullshit, wasn’t it?”

Jimmy nodded. “It was designed to buy time for Wells to clear up some personal business so he could leave the area.”

“What personal business?” asked Tasker.

“Dunno.”

Sutter slid one shoulder out of his shirt.

Jimmy kept an even voice. “You can come down here and give me a blowjob, but I really don’t know. Now, have I earned that camera?”

“Did Bolini know he bombed the cruise ship?”

“Yeah. After. Wells said he wouldn’t do it again.”

Tasker was speechless. Too bad this moron wasn’t the responsible party.

Jimmy said again, “Do I get the camera?”

“One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“We need you to call Bolini and set up a breakfast meeting.”

“Where?”

Tasker said, “Denny’s over off Thirty-sixth.”

Jimmy thought about it, then nodded.

Tasker looked at him. “And after I meet with him, you’ll get the camera to see the photos erased. I don’t want him warned.”

Jimmy said, “That’s bullshit. I want that camera or there’s no deal.”

Tasker looked at Camy. “All right, leave his ass locked up till morning.”

Jimmy said, “Shit, get me a phone.”

Camy added, “I’ll keep an eye on him tonight.” She winked at Jimmy, who brightened slightly.

Tasker saw the look Sutter gave the chained FBI man and thought it was best to get him out of there fast. Besides, if Tasker didn’t get off his feet and give his aching head, back, shoulder and hip a rest, he might faint.

Tasker watched Sal Bolini park his Bureau-issued Ford and walk into the Denny’s without a glance around the lot. A minute later, Tasker strolled in the front door and then right to Bolini’s table just as the waitress brought his coffee.

Bolini said, “What’re you doing here?”

“Filling in for Lail.”

Bolini took a second and then said, “Vanilla Ice spill his guts?”

Tasker just smiled. “He had reason to.”

“You didn’t hurt the little shit, did you?”

“I didn’t think you’d care about things like that.”

Bolini shrugged. “You got me all wrong. In fact, all I care about is the public good. Did you hurt Lail?”

“Not physically.” Tasker remembered the look on Camy’s face as they left her house and added, “He was all right when I last saw him.”

Bolini took a sip of his coffee and waved away the waitress when she wandered over. He looked at Tasker silently.

Finally, Tasker asked, “Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand. Cops never do.”

“Try me.”

“He was a good source. He knew how to keep his mouth shut.”

“But he bombed a ship. He killed a guy.”

“What? The baggage handler? He wasn’t even an American.”

Tasker stared at him with his mouth open.

“That’s what I’m saying. If it was up to cops, you guys would just arrest him without thinking of all the good he could do. He saved a lot of lives. He kept Turkey Point from getting blown up by Al-Soud and Jourdi.”

Tasker shook his head in frustration. “But they couldn’t have done it without Wells. He tricked them. The device Al-Soud described to me wouldn’t have worked.”

“Then they would’ve picked another target. The point is we stopped them.”

“I thought the point was to enforce the law.”

“I have enforced a lot more than you.” Bolini’s voice became sharper.

“Why’d he do the cruise ship?”

“I have no idea. We had a gentleman’s agreement not to discuss it.”

Tasker felt like drawing his Beretta and sticking it in the FBI agent’s face to bring him back to reality.