James Born - Burn Zone

Ike just looked at them, hoping they'd take the hint and go to their newly stolen pickup and disappear.

Charlie said, "You been pullin' our chain since you met us."

"How you figure?" Ike didn't like being called a liar.

"You ain't on no big-time mission. You're probably moving some furniture or paper. You're full of shit."

Ike flinched slightly. He didn't like these rednecks thinking they were better than him. It really bothered him that they thought he was lying. He was hesitant to show them the package in the truck, then he thought he knew what would do the trick and also give him a reason to show off to a big dog like President Jessup.

Ike smiled and said, "I'll tell you what."

"What?"

"You know who Forrest Jessup is, right?"

"Oh hell, yeah. He's the dang president of the National Army of White Americans."

"Would you know his voice?"

"Maybe. I'd definitely know a fake from what he says."

Ike smiled wider. "I can call him."

"Bullshit."

"I'll prove it. I need a pay phone."

"Use your cell."

"Nope. Don't want my cell traced to his phone. Can't trace a pay phone."

He spotted one across the street under the front cover of a small convenience store called Santa Anna's Pit Stop. He marched across the street with the three errant racists in line behind him. He could hear Charlie telling his buddies that Ike was full of shit. He'd show them.

He dug his small sheet with phone numbers on it from his wallet. He looked at Charlie and said, "I need a couple more quarters."

Between the three other men, they had nine more quarters, and Ike realized they had been panhandling at some point. They looked less and less like the examples he wanted white people to set.

He dialed the number, then started feeding in quarters like the electronic operator instructed. After three rings he heard an answering machine pick up. "You have reached Forrest Jessup's house. Leave a message." He started to leave his name, then hung up. He had wanted to give the head man an update so he would be proud of the work Ike had done. He also wanted to show these idiots that he really did know Mr. Jessup.

Charlie said, "What about it?"

"Not home."

"That's handy."

Ike nodded. "It doesn't matter. I don't need your help anymore."

Charlie said, "But this big ole Ryder truck is gonna attract a lot of attention. You might need someone to watch it. Because if someone is watching it, they won't fuck with it."

Ike understood the threat. He was even a little surprised this guy could phrase it so well. Then he realized his biggest problem. It was too visible. Everyone knew that a Ryder truck carried the bomb in Oklahoma City. Maybe he did need a lower-profile vehicle.

As he looked across the street, he could just see the top of the camper from the stolen F-150 pickup truck. Ford always advertised that it was the best-selling vehicle in the country. That meant there was a shitload of them around. Not very obvious. He wondered how big the bed of the truck really was, then a plan clicked in his brain.

He looked at the sorry-looking men. "Okay. I'll tell you what. Let's drive out somewhere away from the prying eyes, and I'll show you what's in the truck."

Charlie brightened, his missing teeth reminding Ike of a jack-o'-lantern. "Really?" said the man.

"Yeah, I think I could find a use for you guys. But we won't all fit in the Ryder. Follow me in the F-150." He smiled, but knew they had no idea what had tickled him so much.

ALONE IN HIS HOTEL ROOM, DUARTE STARED AT ALL THE NOTES on the case. He knew they'd be useless now. The FBI agent and her NEST team from the FBI and the Department of Energy would run with this now.

Duarte hadn't argued with the Department of Energy man or Agent Ruley. They were right. He had screwed up. Now they had to scramble to clean up his mess. No one liked to see something like that. He should have recognized that something bigger than a load of pot was in play when his witnesses started dying.

Now Duarte realized that Ortíz, or one of his employees, had used the load as a cover for something else. The theory now was a dirty bomb of some kind. The DOE guy said they had identified the radioactive isotope as U-235, but wasn't willing to tell Duarte anything else.

On the other hand, Duarte had told them everything he knew, including how he had tried to talk to several people but they had all been killed. Nothing the cops didn't already know.

The FBI had asked him about Jessup, who they obviously knew was dead. Duarte answered honestly, saying he didn't know who had killed him. Which was true.

They were looking for someone related to Jessup, and that had to be William Floyd. It all came back to the racist from Omaha.

He looked down at the notes he had made with the initials of everyone involved. He had not shown it to the FBI agent, but he told her the suspicions he harbored.

As he looked at the page, he remembered Félix's comments about William Floyd's initials W.F. standing for "white female" in every police station in the U.S.

Duarte wished he had the resources to continue on the case. With Lina's access to the FBI data banks and to her source, they could continue to search for Floyd. He just wished he had access to her source, Pale Girl.

Then he froze.

Pale Girl. White female. William Floyd. Could it be? Would they use such an obvious code name? Was William Floyd a source for the FBI?

He had to find Lina right now.

Five minutes later, he was surprised to find Félix Baez with Lina in her hotel room. But by the look on their faces, they had been doing nothing too intimate.

When Lina opened the door, her first comment was, "Looks like you've been visited by the new kids on the block, too."

He stepped into the room and sat at the small table with Félix.

Lina said, "You off the case, too?"

Duarte nodded.

"Don't worry. Right now there are teams of FBI and DOE people swarming over the docks and in Lafayette."

"Why aren't you with them?"

"They consider me a fuckup."

"Why? You didn't do anything wrong."

"I lost the source, Pale Girl."

Duarte knew it was time. "We know Pale Girl was driving the package in New Orleans."

Lina looked up at him as she slowly sat on the unmade bed. "And how do we know this?"

"Cal Linley told me he gave it to William Floyd. Then I found the truck in Lafayette."

She held her FBI-neutral expression the whole time.

"And William Floyd is Pale Girl."

Lina was careful. "How do you figure that?"

"Look, Lina, you need to drop this FBI bullshit. If we want to contribute at all, we need to be straight with each other."

"How'd you know Floyd was my source?"

He just smiled. He didn't want to let her think he had just made an educated guess.

Lina said, "What can we contribute? The bureau is all over this."

Félix let out a big enough laugh for both of them. "You're kidding, right? If we depend on the FBI, we could be in a nuclear winter by the weekend."

Duarte nodded. "We can do things unencumbered by administration. Anything we turn up could be a bonus. It doesn't matter who finds Floyd, but someone needs to and fast."

Lina said, "We do have some information we could check. But what do we do with it?"

Duarte smiled. "That's easy. We kick some ass."

William "Ike" Floyd wasn't certain of where he was headed, but on the small access road that started right next to the Jacinto Arms he thought he would end up somewhere that would be private. The simple blacktop asphalt road seemed to go nowhere but also appeared to be quite long with nothing but acres of vacant land on each side. He was proud of himself for coming up with such a good plan and what he would tell Mr. Ortíz about the Ryder truck when he saw him.