Tasker added, “Me too.” He took a step back and looked at Camy, who didn’t seem to mind having her boyfriend set straight. Tasker added, “And I don’t know what this idiotic surveillance was all about, but if you lied, you’ll be in for another ass-whippin’.”
They watched Jimmy silently slink back to Camy’s car.
Camy said, “If the counseling session is over, I better get him cleaned up.”
Tasker took a deep breath as he realized they were all the way back at square one.
twenty-six
Alicia Wells blew her nose like her mama had taught her, mouth open and with full force. The honking sound was not very ladylike, but it cleared her clogged nose.
Ever since Daniel had told her of his plans, she had been sinking lower and lower into a funk. She wasn’t sure if it was the idea of moving to Montana that upset her so much as the idea of moving to Montana with Daniel’s two boys.
The other thing that was bothering her was Daniel’s comment that he was going to do something in Miami. She didn’t want Daniel doing something he’d get in a lot of trouble for, and she didn’t want anyone getting hurt.
She sat on her couch and started to sob again as the rush of ideas flooded her mind again. She had some money and could just take off. Daniel wouldn’t find her if she didn’t want him to, and he wasn’t the kind of man who’d bother her mother to find her, or even look that hard. But it didn’t seem right somehow. She couldn’t just walk away. She wouldn’t ever see him again, or little Lettye. She could live without seeing the boys, but even the thought of losing them forever had a sobering effect.
She looked out her window at the backyard of the main house. Mrs. Garcia’s granddaughter was kicking a ball in her pretty white dress. The squat Cuban lady held her two-year-old granddaughter’s hand to steady her from time to time. That was all Alicia wanted: a normal life, and to watch her kids grow up. Was that too much to ask? She started to cry again.
Tasker concentrated so hard on the computer screen that Sutter’s voice made him jump in the chair.
“What’s with you?” asked Sutter, as he sat in an empty chair. In fact, the whole FDLE squad bay was deserted. He had followed Tasker over after their run-in with the Krome Avenue farmers.
Tasker returned to the computer screen, saying, “Something about this case stinks.”
“Everything about this case stinks. Be more specific.”
“You ever wonder why the FBI has been no help at all?”
“Actually, that’s the only thing that isn’t a surprise. I can’t remember them being much help on anything.”
“But think about it. Sal Bolini won’t even acknowledge the case, but he talks to Lail about it. Jimmy Lail’s only suggestion wastes our time for four days. Something doesn’t add up, and I’m gonna find out what.”
Sutter spun in the chair once. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why find out? You could always walk away. You could pretend that none of this fiasco ever occurred and no one would blame you or say another word.”
“You serious?”
“Would FDLE discipline you if you dropped this and moved on to something else?”
“No, of course not.”
“Would your supervisor think you’re less of an investigator if you worked on something else?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then why not drop the whole thing? You’ve had enough trouble with the FBI to last a lifetime. Move on.”
Tasker considered this. Logically, it was a sound argument. Tasker prided himself on his logical reasoning and rational thought, whatever the subject, and this was both logical and rational. He looked over to his partner, now learning the intricacies of the adjustable office chair by spinning it up, then lowering it.
Tasker said, “That’s a good idea.”
“Glad you agree.”
“I can’t do it, but I recognize the good sense of it.”
“Why can’t you walk away?”
“Because it’s not right. This guy killed someone with a bomb and may do it again. The FBI is involved with him, and someone has got to stop him.”
“And you’re the only one in the world who can stop him?”
“Yes. Me and you.”
“Good answer. I just wanted to make sure this was as important to you as I thought it was. What’s our next move?”
Tasker leaned to one side so Sutter could see the computer screen. It showed a Miami Herald news-archive article on two Jordanian nationals the FBI had arrested for attempting to attack the Turkey Point nuclear power plant.
Tasker said, “First stop, MCC.”
Sutter just stared at him.
“To interview either Samir Al-Soud or Kaz Jourdi. The article doesn’t specify which agent arrested them, but Lail said it was Bolini. Maybe they can tell us something.”
“You think the Bureau would be pissed if they found out we were talkin’ to their prisoners?”
“Do you care?”
“Nope.”
Without another word, they were off.
Jimmy Lail would never admit that he’d hurt his back when Tasker threw him on the ground. He sat at the lat machine at the Bally’s in western Dade, just staring at the bar. He realized he was zoning out and looked around to make sure no one thought he was acting strange. He rubbed his head where the nylon sock cap irritated his skin, then reached for the bar and pulled it down with no real enthusiasm. This sucked. He couldn’t even concentrate, because that state cop had disrespected him so bad in front of his woman. And that Miami cop didn’t hide what he thought of Camy. It was a lot easier when everyone had thought she was a lesbian. It’d explained why she never wanted to go out of the house with him. It kept other men away. And the thought of it kept Jimmy in a general state of arousal.
After finishing up with some lackluster squats, Jimmy headed over to the ATF office. Camy might be able to keep him from coming by her house, but she couldn’t keep him from a federal law enforcement office.
Forty minutes later, he strutted through the main door and waved to the older receptionist, who was so used to his face she buzzed him in without calling Camy. He bounded up the stairs to her squad and was able to sneak within five feet of her desk before she even noticed him.
She looked up from her report, but didn’t smile. “How’d you get in here?”
“Walked, baby. How you think?”
“I think you’re supposed to call first.”
“I never used to have to call.”
Camy leveled her stare at him. “Jimmy, this is work. You’re supposed to be professional at work. Act like a professional.”
Jimmy didn’t reply. He decided he needed his space, anyway, and sulked back out of the building. This case had ruined his life. His woman wasn’t giving him his props, the other cops disrespected him and he was starting to think people didn’t like him.
The thing that bothered him most was that an FDLE agent, a damn state cop, thought he was better than him. That wasn’t right and it wasn’t true.
Jimmy always excelled at anything he did. He’d been teacher of the month at Prairie Middle School in Laredo two different times before he joined the FBI. The multicultural class he’d taught had been talked about all over the county. It was the first time the other culture considered hadn’t been Mexican. If they wanted that, they could cross the Rio Grande on the west side of town. He had brought Kwanzaa to South Texas. He didn’t need any of this shit.
They could complain about the Klan surveillance all they wanted. They still did it. And Jimmy felt satisfied on a number of different levels. The cops had done what he’d told them to do. He’d impressed some people who mattered at the Bureau. And most important, he had harassed the Klan a little, and that would burn up his racist father back on LBJ Lane in Laredo more than anything Jimmy could do. The Klan had never changed its out-of-date views, but Jimmy could still strike a blow for the peeps wherever he worked.