Shock Wave

thirty-six

A week later, Bill Tasker sat on his patio, Derrick Sutter in the lounger next to him. A week of rest had helped him recover only a little. He still wasn’t supposed to drink beer because of the antibiotics and painkillers he was using, but he decided one Icehouse with his partner wouldn’t kill him. Even though he had seen a lot of corpses that looked better than he did right now. He had thirty stitches in different cuts in his legs. Fifteen on his arms. Ten in one gash along his hairline. One wrist was broken, which he hadn’t even realized at the time. Both legs had torn muscles, and his right ankle was sprained. He’d had to have a buzz cut to remove his burnt hair and allow the doctors to examine his head properly, and he had a couple of decent burns on his face and shoulder.

Sutter, on the other hand, had a bandage on his foot near his ankle and a pair of crutches. Dressed in a sharp pair of pants and button-down Oxford shirt, he was casually telling Tasker about his passionate affair with the lovely Camy Parks.

“I’m telling you, Billy, sometimes she’s like a wild animal, and sometimes she really is a princess.”

Tasker held up his hand. “I get the idea.” He looked toward the sliding glass door. “My girls are inside.”

Sutter shrugged. “Sorry.”

Tasker asked, “How long you gonna be out of work?”

“They say I can be back at light duty next week. What about you?”

“Won’t say. Need to be evaluated Friday. I figure two weeks.”

Sutter smiled. “Why? Take some time. Two weeks ain’t shit. You need a couple months, all you been through.”

“How’s Jimmy Lail doing?”

“Camy says he’s obsessed with finding Wells. She says he’s on surveillance every day, looking for him.” Sutter started to laugh. “You heard he had his car stolen, too?”

“Really. The Honda? Where?”

“Off Biscayne. The day we chased Wells. With everything else going on, no one made a big deal about it.” He looked back at Tasker. “Camy says he doesn’t care about the car, or anything but Wells.”

Tasker nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“But he’s got help. Now the FBI knows what one of their snitches tried to do. They’ve got everyone out beating the bushes. Lot of local cops, too. But the FBI is definitely leading the charge.”

“The name Eric Rudolph mean anything to you?”

Sutter smiled and nodded.

Tasker thought about the similarity between the Atlanta Olympics bomber and Wells. Both had gotten away with it for a while. Rudolph had evaded a massive FBI hunt for five years, until some local cop found him digging in a dumpster. Tasker decided he wouldn’t hold his breath until Wells was captured.

Sutter tapped a Miami Herald on the table between them. “You okay with this bullshit?”

Tasker smiled, looking at the headline: FBI AVERTS DISASTER. “Yeah, it’s true. Bolini came through.”

“But you risked your ass.”

“We all did.”

“I just think that’s absolute bullshit.”

Tasker shrugged. He really didn’t care. He’d accomplished what he set out to do. Wells would turn up. Nuts like that always make mistakes. They’d have time to find him. No one had seen or heard from him or Alicia in the seven days since the tanker exploded. Tasker figured they were together.

Sutter looked at Tasker and said, “That reminds me.”

“What?”

“You guaranteed me I wouldn’t get shot by the FBI if I helped on this case.”

Tasker smiled. “I think I said I could almost guarantee it.” He sat up on the lounger. “Besides, what are you bitchin’ about? The wounds are getting less severe every time. Next time it’ll probably just be a graze in the arm.”

Sutter and Tasker sat on his patio in Kendall and laughed together over all the things that had happened in the past few weeks. They laughed so long and so hard that Tasker’s girls came out to make sure everything was all right.

Tasker put his arms around their small shoulders and kissed them each on the forehead.

“Yep, girls. Everything is just fine.”