Tasker raced ahead without hesitation. When the truck bogged down again, he made a wild leap and landed on the tailgate, then tumbled into the bed. He felt his face rub against the rough, rusty floor of the bed, then his head slammed into the cab. He lay there for a second to regain his composure, checked to make sure his belly bag was still secure and then, finally, got up on his knees in the wildly rocking truck. He was about to set himself to kick the rear access window out when the truck hit the paved road with a thump and sent him first into the air, then back against the tailgate, then to one side. By the time the truck was on smooth pavement, Tasker was on his back, looking up at the sky, trying to determine if anything was broken. He was wedged near the cab and didn’t think Wells could see him, so he stayed put for a minute to grab a few breaths of air and devise a plan.
Sutter grabbed the bottled explosive and the pistol as he sprang to his feet. He didn’t give Alicia a second thought when he ran to Tasker’s Cherokee. It wasn’t until she darted out of the bushes, her dress still hiked up, that he remembered he couldn’t leave her.
“In the Jeep. Get in the damn Jeep,” he shouted.
She was inside before him. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Hold these.” He shoved the gun and bottle in her lap as he jerked the seat up where he could reach the gas. “Your husband just showed.” He reached down the steering column, relieved the keys were in place. He cranked the engine and hit the gas, getting much the same effect as Wells, spinning in circles and kicking up dirt. He pushed the Cherokee almost into the bushes, rubbing the thick Brazilian pepper branches hard against the gold paint to stay on firmer ground. It worked, and he darted onto the road at thirty miles an hour, immediately catching sight of the truck up ahead. “Hang on,” he said as he punched the gas.
Alicia, close to tears, said, “Where is Mr. Tasker?”
Sutter looked ahead. “I thought he was in the truck.” His stomach shifted toward his throat as he quickly scanned the sides of the road to see if his partner had been thrown from the truck.
“There he is,” said Alicia, pointing at the truck ahead of them.
Sutter felt a breath of relief come to him as he saw Tasker pop up in the bed of the truck. He had his Beretta in his hand and leaned back, holding on to the side panel as he kicked the small window in the center of the rear glass. Tasker’s foot went into the cab as the window came right off its tracks.
“Oh shit, girl, this could get ugly.”
Tasker felt the blood come back into his brain and reached down for his pistol. The truck’s motion was fairly steady now as they headed west toward Homestead. He thought about waiting until Wells stopped for something, but was afraid there might be innocent bystanders. He took a deep breath. He counted to three, then jumped up on his knees. He wanted Wells to see the gun and know what could happen. Tasker braced himself and brought up his right foot with the hiking boots he’d slipped on instead of tennis shoes. Thank God the heavy, reinforced shoes had been close to the door of his closet. He pulled back his leg, aimed for the rear access window and let fly. The force of his kick sent his foot into the cab and made him lose his balance.
Wells, apparently unnerved by the action, swerved hard one way, then the other, causing Tasker to fall again.
“That’s enough,” he said out loud, sticking his right hand-his gun hand-into the cab and up to Wells’ head. “Stop the truck, Daniel,” he yelled into the cab over the sound of the rushing wind. He then followed his arm through the wrecked rear window. He squeezed his head and shoulders through, just as Wells hit the brakes. His momentum carried him mostly into the cab, but gave Wells the chance to bat away his hand and send the Beretta rattling to the floor. The truck instantly picked up speed as Tasker balled his fist to bash Wells’ brains out. He raised his fist.
Wells said, “Hang on there, slick.”
Tasker froze at the sight of a Ruger.22 auto pointed in his face.
“Now slide on in all the way before you get killed.”
Tasker complied.
“I could just shoot you and be done with it.”
Tasker stayed silent. He’d been on the wrong end of a gun before and never liked the feeling.
“When you sprang me on the Stinger charge, I said I owed you. Remember?”
Tasker nodded.
“Now we’re even.” He tilted his head back to look at the rearview. “You’re buddy is in the Jeep, so I can’t stop.” He looked hard at the mirror. “Son of a bitch, that’s Alicia, isn’t it?”
Tasker didn’t respond. His eyes worked their way down to his gun on the floorboard between the gas pedal and the console.
Wells said, “That’s how you found the hole.” He turned to look at Tasker. “What’d you do to her to make her talk?”
Tasker shrugged.
“I know you cops. You probably told her she’d lose the kids if she went to jail. Didn’t you?” He shoved the pistol closer to Tasker’s head.
“Yeah, Daniel. She just talked to save the kids.”
“You bastards.” He took a couple of breaths. “A deal’s a deal. I’m gonna let you out, but I can’t stop ’cause of your pal.”
Tasker looked at the Beretta again.
Daniel saw the glance and fired his.22 without warning.
Tasker jumped and raised his hand to his face, feeling for the wound. It only took a second to see that Wells had only added a hole to the truck, shooting high, into the roof.
“Don’t even think about going for that gun.” He slowed the truck. “Up here where the swale is grassy by the track, I’m gonna slow to about ten miles an hour. If your buddy tries to bump us, the deal’s off, so signal him if you have to.”
Tasker felt the truck slow.
Wells stepped on the Beretta with his left foot, then slowed the truck some more.
Tasker looked over his left shoulder and saw his Cherokee closing on them. Tasker held up his hand to Sutter, who immediately backed off a few car lengths.
Wells said, “Now, open the door and get out.”
Tasker pulled the handle slowly, opening the door a crack.
“We’re even,” said Wells.
“Daniel-” started Tasker, but Wells poked him with the gun.
Tasker went with the motion and flopped out of the truck, hitting the grass, then rolling head over heels into a slow side tumble as he came to the edge of a gravel lot. He shook his head. “Ow” was all he could say. He watched the truck gain speed, then saw Wells toss out Tasker’s Beretta a few hundred feet ahead as the truck sped away. Wells beeped a little rhythm and took off.
Sutter skidded to a stop a few feet from Tasker.
Jumping out of the Cherokee, he gasped, “Jesus, you all right?”
Tasker didn’t honestly know. “Catch him.” He shoved at his partner. “Go.”
Sutter looked him over and said, “No way. You need some attention. Look at this shit.” He pointed to a puddle of blood gathering around Tasker.
Tasker tried to respond, then just blacked out.
twenty-nine
“Where’s Alicia?” asked Bill Tasker.
“I got a room at a hotel in case Wells tries to look for her.”
Tasker nodded, avoiding words that rattled in his head. He blinked hard at the bright overhead light as the small Latin doctor inspected the last of his stitches.
“Not bad,” said the forty-year-old doctor, with a light accent. “You won’t have much of a scar on your arm, and the two deeper cuts on your left leg will look like a Christmas wreath. Good work if I do say so myself.” He smiled, filling out crow’s-feet that showed he was sincere. “Judging from some of your other scars, these won’t bother you a bit.”