Shock Wave

sixteen

Tasker had driven to work before traffic started to build. Inside the office, he found his reliable criminal-intelligence analyst, Jerry Ristin, staring at his computer screen through the thick, brown-tinted glasses that seemed permanently affixed to his head.

“Got anything for me, Jerry?”

“Hi, Billy, I’m fine.”

Tasker felt embarrassed for not greeting the older man properly. “Sorry, Jerry.”

“There’s more to life than work, Billy.”

“Yes, sir,” Tasker said slowly, like a kid talking to an adult.

“Now, what I have that you’d be interested in is simple-two flags on the license plates for your good friend Mr. Daniel Wells of Dade County.”

“Two hits, no shit?”

“Yes, shit,” said Ristin in a professional monotone. “One was in Homestead. And one was in the city.”

“Miami PD?”

“Yup.”

“That must’ve been Sutter running him for some reason. He’s working the case with me.”

“Regardless of Detective Sutter’s work, I can make a few calls and give you an idea of what you may or may not want to follow up on.”

“Jerry, you’re the best.”

“Please, tell me something I don’t know.” The older man smiled and winked, as Tasker jumped up to see what else he could find out.

After a little work on the computer and a few phone calls, Tasker had headed down to Homestead to speak with Officer Mike Driscoll. The diligent Officer Driscoll had apparently stopped Wells last week and ticketed him for speeding. This was the kind of break that blew a case wide open.

Inside the neat, professional police department, Tasker sat in a conference room with Driscoll. The cop’s blue shirt had every possible insignia in precise rows and perfectly spaced.

“You got some lapel pins there, don’t you?” said Tasker, trying to loosen the mood.

“Why have ’em if you don’t show ’em?” He had a slight Boston accent.

“You look like you know your way around a uniform.”

“Four years in the U.S. Marines and two as a Connecticut state trooper. No room for errors.”

Was this guy for real? Tasker looked at the young man. His broad shoulders filled out the uniform well. “You were a state cop in Connecticut? How’d you end up here?”

“Sir, you ever been to Hartford in February?”

“No, can’t say that I’ve ever been in Connecticut.”

“If you had, you’d know why I’m here.”

Tasker nodded, “I see.” He looked at the officer for any sign of a joke. He decided to get to the point. “You remember writing this man a ticket last week?” He held up a photo of Daniel Wells.

“Sure, got him doing eighty near the speedway. Happens all the time. Straight road, sight of the track. People go crazy.”

“Notice anything unusual about him?”

“Like what?”

“Don’t know. Anything stick out?”

“Just a redneck in a crappy Toyota. We didn’t chat. I had to jump in a chase down the turnpike.”

“He’s the key to an investigation we got goin’ on. Could you keep your eyes open for him or the car?”

“Sure. You want me to grab him if I see him?”

“Could be dangerous. Just try and figure where he lives.”

“I doubt if any of these local good old boys could cause me much harm, but if all you want is his address, I’ll try and get it for you.”

“Thanks,” said Tasker, feeling pretty confident that Daniel Wells was still in the area.

“You think Tasker is on to something?” asked Jimmy Lail, as he placed the thirty-pound dumbbells back on the old iron rack. He used his ratty FUBU T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

Camy Parks looked up from her hamstring stretch. “You heard what he said the day he was here. They did the search warrant but didn’t find anything.”

“You sorry you’re not down with the locals on this caper?”

She looked at him the way she had to do so often. “Yeah, I wish the bosses weren’t so afraid. I think Billy is trying to do what’s right.”

“That dawg’s got some drama playing out in south county. He’s close to a sting sheet.”

Camy stood up, adjusting her tight shorts. “A what?”

“An arrest warrant.”

“Why didn’t you say ‘warrant’? Besides, I haven’t heard that.”

“I got scoop. The FBI makes it their business to know what’s going on.”

“Please, Jimmy, it’s me. The Bureau is no closer to knowing what’s happening than you are to being a black man.”

He ignored the comment. People always resented his effort to know other cultures. He liked hip-hop and rap. He actually ate collards. He identified with the African-American experience. Why did people have to judge him? He made sure he slipped back into his original voice and accent from Laredo and asked, “We may need to decide if we have to take this case back.”

“What do you mean, we?”

“I’m only good for certain cases, but not the big ones?”

“Jimmy, you’re not even good on regular cases, but you do what you’re told. That makes you useful.” She shot a blinding smile at him as she walked into the ladies’ locker room.

Jimmy Lail shrugged. He’d heard worse over at his own office. He smiled at the sight of her perfectly formed, firm butt disappearing behind the door. Maybe that was one thing in which he wasn’t down with the African-American community: he liked small butts, and on that he could not lie.

“So how is Nicky?” asked Tasker, looking into the sea-blue eyes of his former wife.

She smiled. “Nicky is fine, why?”

“Just curious how the good counselor is feeling. I’d hate for him to catch a virus like cancer, or maybe Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

“Although we haven’t discussed his last checkup, he looks fine and seems to be getting by all right for a thirty-eight-year-old man.”

“He’s that old? Wow, and it doesn’t embarrass you to be out with him?”

“I hadn’t really thought of five years being that big a deal, but since you asked, I’m not embarrassed to be seen out with him.”

Tasker smiled. “I didn’t mean because of the age difference, I meant because he’s an attorney.”

Donna laughed at that. He knew that she had no more use for attorneys than he did, so he’d already figured out that Nicky Goldman had to be a pretty good guy to overcome that stigma. He also should have backed off, because she was doing him a favor by bringing the girls all the way down to his town house. He’d been hesitant to ask, but he was so tied up trying to find Daniel Wells that he needed the help so he could spend a few days with the girls uninterrupted.

Donna said, “Can you get them back by six on Sunday? Emily needs some time to settle down for school.”

“Whatever you want.” He smiled.

“Billy, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the nice act. What’s going on?”

“No act. I appreciate you bringing them down, and I’ll be happy to get them back when you want.”

Her face straightened. “Okay, what do you want?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Billy, if you don’t tell me, without any bull, in the next ten seconds, I don’t want to hear it.”

Man, did she know him. “Okay, okay. I need you to use your contacts and see if some kids are registered in school anywhere north of here.”

“What kids?”

“Their name is Wells and their dad is a fugitive.”

She frowned. “You really don’t change. It’s always job first, isn’t it?”

“I’d love to debate this with you yet again, but I don’t have time. Donna, please, look for these kids.” He handed her a sheet of paper with all the identifying information on it. “It’s important.”

She took the paper. “I won’t know until Wednesday or so. You know I’m still expected to teach occasionally.”

He hugged her. “You’re a champ. This is such a help to me I’ll let you have sex with me real quick while the girls settle in.”

She giggled. “Believe it or not, that’s tempting. But I gotta go.”

“Your loss.”

“You wish.”

She really was the most exciting girl he’d ever known.

Sutter waited in the lobby of the headquarters of the City of Miami Police Department. He usually worked out of the substation on Sixty-second Street, but he liked coming to the main building. The sense of history and tradition in the department was one of the few things that made him sentimental. He was proud to be a Miami cop because, overall, the Miami cops had done a great job in a tough place. There were a few high-profile incidents, but the day-to-day life of a cop in this city could be pretty satisfying.

He’d told Tasker to meet him here so they could talk to an undercover cop Sutter knew. Johnny Tatum worked the streets like no one else. He got down and dirty and blended in like a building or tree. Sutter didn’t think he’d ever been burned, the way he dressed like a street person and wouldn’t shower for a few days at a time. When the FDLE had found out that Daniel Wells’ car tag had been run by Miami PD, and that the FCIC terminal was in the Street Crimes Unit, Sutter found out that it was Tatum who had run the tag.

Sutter decided this would be a good time to tell Tasker about his sighting of the beautiful, and naked, Alicia Wells. He knew his state partner would say he was wrong and that she wouldn’t do something like that, so he’d have to convince Tasker.

Sutter spoke for a few minutes with the old communications sergeant who ran the front desk, until he saw Tasker coming through the front doors. So many people passed through the doors, it seemed more like a mall than a police department.

Sutter was so comfortable with this FDLE agent he hardly even greeted him anymore. He just cocked his head in a direction and Tasker followed in behind.

“You talk to this guy yet?” asked Tasker.

“Nope. Just confirmed he ran the tag. I do have some other info to go over with you.”

“What’s that?” Tasker said, quickening his step to keep up with the long-legged Sutter.

“I think I located Alicia Wells.”

Tasker stopped, holding the slightly taller Sutter by the shoulder. “No shit? Where? With the kids?”

“I saw her in South Miami, but I think she might be in the city some nights. She definitely didn’t have the kids with her.”

“That’s weird. I thought she was with the kids.”

Sutter shrugged.

“Well, where’d you see her?”

“In a bar.”

“Which bar?”

“The Tittie Shack.”

“What? Why would she go in there?”

“For cash, it looked like.”

“Alicia Wells was dancing? She wouldn’t do that.”

“I knew you’d say that. Sometimes you’re clueless.”

“She just didn’t strike me as the type, that’s all. Why didn’t you snatch her up so we could talk to her?”

“It didn’t hit who she was until a few days later. I went back and spoke to the doorman.” He looked down at his cut knuckles on his right hand. “He told me she danced in the city, too. Give me a few days and we’ll find her.”

Tasker seemed to accept that as they headed back down the hallway and turned into the little squad bay that housed the Street Crimes Unit. Tatum was stretched out, leaning back on a hard wooden chair. He was so dark-complected that his nickname was the “Black Hole.” He laughed at the name and played it up in crowds. His long dreadlocks hung loose around his face, which looked every bit of his fifty-one years. The gray streaks through his eyebrows and hair made him look more like a street person than the ratty T-shirt that said “Salvation Army” or his shredded jean shorts. His smell was unique. Sutter thought he had the same smell as a raccoon he’d once seen after it had been run over by a four-wheeler near the beach where his parents lived.

Sutter extended his hand as Tatum stood up. “Johnny, I’d like you to meet Bill Tasker from FDLE.”

Tatum took Tasker’s hand and smiled, revealing two gold teeth on either side of his front teeth. “You’re a folk hero around here.”

Tasker blushed. “Why’s that?”

“Sticking it to those FBI pricks. I swear those guys have tried to make more cases on cops here than on crime lords.”

Tasker just nodded.

Sutter said, “Billy is working on the guy I talked to you about. The one you ran last week.”

Tatum nodded. “I was north of here about eight blocks. I remember ’cause I’d just walked from here. Been trying to find these creeps been hassling the homeless people. You know, smacking them around and taking their change they beg off the corners.”

Tasker asked, “Wells bother you?”

“No, but he said something funny. That’s why I remember him.”

“What’s that?”

“When I held up my begging cup, to see if he might try and take it, he said, ‘No, thanks, I’m not thirsty.’ ”

They all chuckled at that. Then Tasker asked if Tatum had seen anything unusual about him.

Tatum shook his head. “Nope, he was in a little old Toyota and just looking around. At first I thought he was just looking for pussy, but there was enough around he woulda stopped for it. He just drove up and down the block.”

“Would you mind taking me down to where you saw him?”

“Sure, but you gotta put me in the back of a car so it looks like you and Sutter just arrested me.”

Sutter liked his style and dedication to stay in character. That’s why he said, “Johnny, would you mind walking down there? You smell like you got a dead cat in your shirt.”

Tatum gave a good hoot at that. “Close, my slim, well-dressed friend. A possum.”

“A what?”

“I found a dead possum this morning and had to carry him a few blocks till I found a dumpster.”

“You carried a dead possum to a dumpster?”

“I didn’t want it scaring any kids that saw it. It was right near that little day care.”

Ten minutes later, Tatum was in the back of Tasker’s car, since Sutter refused to transport him, showing them how and where Wells was driving when he saw him.

Tasker stopped the car a couple of times and looked around. This was a little business district. Narrow streets, windowless buildings.

Tasker asked, “What am I missing? Why would he come down here?” He stopped the car and stood as Sutter joined him from the passenger side of the car.

Sutter shook his head. “I don’t see it either. Ninety-five is close. So is Biscayne Boulevard, but that’s it.”

Sutter watched Tasker scan the area, and for the first time realized just how hard and personally Tasker was taking this whole thing.