“Can we do it quietly? Keep a low profile?”
“Everything I do is low-profile.”
Camy looked at her pissed-off boyfriend and then at Tasker and simply said, “Okay, we’ll help.”
Daniel Wells still chuckled at the thought of the three cops rolling around on his porch that afternoon. But now the realities of life had squeezed out his mild euphoria over confusing the cops so well. Now he stopped the little Honda he had stolen and parked it a block away from the house he was about to visit. It was more a compound than a plain old house, with three separate structures and two full carports. He left the Honda with the broken window right on the street. That way, when the cops found it they would be able to return it to the kid who had parked it at the Wal-Mart in Homestead. Wells had simply broken the window, then cracked the steering column. Nothing fancy, but it got him where he was going.
As he walked up the long driveway to the main house, he noticed an old blue Ford Ranger pickup truck and two Dodge Diplomats. He smiled, remembering that these guys sometimes liked to pretend they were cops.
The compound was operated by the American Aryan Movement, but everyone just called them “the Nazis.” The compound was owned by one of the members’ parents who, Wells was sure, had no clue what was going on at the house. He didn’t really care what was going on, he just needed some cash to help him get a decent vehicle before all his plans had to be scrapped because of something simple like no wheels.
He walked to the front door, amused that the supposedly vigilant master race had not even noticed an intruder walk through their yard. Before he knocked, he felt the handle of the Ruger.22 he had stuffed in his waistband under his loose shirt. Then he pulled out a small clear plastic tube containing six balls. This was a little surprise he’d cooked up with a mixture of TNT he’d gotten from one of his old employers, who’d used it to clear obstructions like tree trunks at construction sites. He slid the tube back into his front pocket. He didn’t want trouble this time. He wanted to fly under the radar, but he needed money to get a car, and these guys owed him. He pounded and waited. Then pounded again until he heard someone inside say, “Okay, okay, hold your horses.”
A thin, blond man about twenty-five named Dell Linley came to the screen door and said, “Hey, Daniel. Where you been?” then opened the door for him.
Walking in, Wells said, “Been busy.”
Dell led him into a living room where four other young men sat watching TV.
On seeing Wells, several of them turned and one said, “Look what the cat dragged in. What’s new, Daniel?”
Wells shrugged. “Oh, nothing. Just came for the thousand bucks you guys owed me for the bomb I made you.”
They all laughed at once. Dell, the blond guy, said, “If we had the thousand, you think we’d be watching Gilligan’s Island on Nick at Nite?”
“I got another idea. What about giving me that old truck in the driveway and we’ll call it even?” Wells smiled to reassure the men.
The oldest and largest of the men stood up from the couch and said, “I got another idea. Why don’t you get lost and forget about the thousand bucks? Joe and Pete got arrested for that thing, and no one noticed, anyway. I think we’re already even.”
Wells backed toward the kitchen, reaching into his pocket as he did. All five men slowly started to follow him. Wells said, calmly, “No, I need some transportation. I want the truck.”
The big man said, “You must be crazy. What makes you think we’re gonna give you a truck?”
Wells pulled his hand from his pocket holding the clear plastic tube the size of a roll of quarters. He let them see the tube with the claylike balls in it. “These make me think you’ll let me take it.” He wanted to keep things quiet, but felt his urge, mixed with anger, start to build in him.
“What’re those?” asked one of the men.
“I like to call them ‘super blast balls.’ Just Silly Putty with a kick.” He let a ball drop into his right hand, then, without hesitation, threw it at the refrigerator. It exploded on contact, blowing a six-inch hole in the refrigerator with a deafening blast. In the ensuing commotion, Wells drew his pistol and blew out the overhead light. At the sound of the shot, everyone froze.
Wells took advantage of the silence to say, “Keys, please.”
Someone tossed him a set of Ford keys. He leaned down and picked them up off the floor and held them, with the explosive balls in his left hand and the gun in his right, still trained on the stunned Nazis.
“Any questions?” He backed out slowly. He knew that no matter what happened, these guys wouldn’t tell the cops anything. The neighbors were used to shots fired over here. Just as he was at the door, however, one of the men charged him. The force of the body block sent the vial flying into the air.
Wells realized he had lost the balls and let the flying man knock him out the door. He could hear the multiple explosions inside just as he and the man came to rest outside in the gravel driveway. Wells didn’t wait, just pumped two.22-caliber rounds into the man’s thigh, then kicked the screaming man off him. He immediately rose to one knee and faced the open rear screen door. He could see the smoke and a small fire caused by the detonation of the balls. He raised his pistol and waited. As the first man emerged from the confusion, Wells shot him in the knee, causing him to tumble to the ground. He repeated the maneuver on the next man, Dell, the blond guy who had greeted him. No one else tried to follow.
Wells stood up, stuck the pistol in his pants under his loose shirt again and calmly walked to the truck. The Nazis in World War Two must’ve been tougher, thought Wells, as he drove away in his new truck. Or at least smarter. He enjoyed his special feeling as he took a last look at the confusion he had just caused. And now he had a truck to drive that no one would be able to trace. He knew these morons would come up with a good story when they had the.22s removed from their legs. They’d be too scared ever to come after him.
Tasker took almost an hour going over everything they had developed on the case. Camy Parks took notes while Jimmy Lail sat back on the couch, looking uninterested. They were both still in bathrobes. Jimmy had hardly moved since Tasker stuck him in the stomach with his ASP. He was so quiet that Tasker worried he might have hurt the confused FBI agent. Finally Tasker decided he didn’t care.
Tasker told Camy about everything, from the explosives-maker to Sutter’s sighting of Alicia Wells.
Camy interrupted, saying, “I knew you guys were interested in her.”
“Only because she might give us a clue as to where Wells might really be hiding.”
“Yeah, right.” Her green eyes rolled at the suggestion. “Is she more or less sexy to you guys now that you know she’s a stripper?”
“Camy, I couldn’t care less.”
“Obviously Sutter does, since he’s the one going to topless bars.”
Tasker stared at her, wondering if she had some problem with topless bars.
She realized she was going off track and said, “Okay, what’s our plan?”
“The first thing I need is for you or Lail to see if there is any real intelligence on Wells. Then I’d like to look at what’s been done on your case that might help us. After that, I’m open to suggestions.”
Camy said, “We could have an FBI profiler look at the case. They might have some ideas.”
“Do they really work? I know we had them look at a murder in Gainesville and the profile was way off. In fact, if we’d have followed it, we never woulda caught the killer.”
Camy nodded. “A profile of the bombing might give us some insight into Wells’ personality.”
“You’re right, it couldn’t hurt.” Tasker looked at Jimmy. “Can you arrange for the profiler to talk to us?”
Camy added, “And keep it quiet so we don’t draw any attention.”