One man said, “You are so fucked.”
At which moment Jimmy’s bladder just emptied.
“Jesus,” said the man.
Daniel Wells looked down from the cab of the Freightliner with great pride. He had walked onto the Big Rig Academy grounds unseen, used the key he had stolen to start and then drive a tractor right off the lot and through traffic with hardly an incident. He had clipped a parked Chevy, then bumped another car near Seventy-second Avenue, just hard enough to knock it onto the median. The man looked dazed and no one else was around this time of night, so Wells wasn’t worried. First he was headed over to Emerson-Picolo Transportation, and then his problems would begin. He had to hook up to a trailer, alone, then get off the lot. He knew no one was there, he’d already driven past. He had used a series of stolen cars during the evening to get from one spot to the next. They had all been Hondas, that being the only car he knew how to hot-wire. Getting into the cars wasn’t pretty, either. He just shattered the side window and opened the doors. He turned on Thirty-sixth Street and slowed almost immediately as he came up on the lot. He stopped the rig with its blinkers on and hustled to the gate. He tried the key he’d kept from the year before and it worked perfectly. Sliding open the double gate, he trotted back to the truck. After a minute of maneuvering, he was in the lot and close to the small tanker opposite the open gate. That solved a couple of problems. First and most important, it was pointed in the right direction. Second, it was fairly small, about two-thirds the size of a full tanker. He’d checked it to make sure it was full. The cargo was avgas. The small warning placard on the side had the numbers 100/130 written on it, confirming that the cargo was, in fact, aviation fuel. It would blow. He had already tested that theory.
He backed the truck, slowly watching the rearview the whole way. This was something they usually used two men to do. He heard a thump, then a click. He threw the tractor out of gear and set the brake. Jumping out, he raced to the rear, only to discover he had missed the “fifth wheel,” the connector for the trailer, by three feet to the left. Now the trailer was hooked on the truck’s supporting beam.
Back in the cab, he gunned the engine to pull free, but ended up dragging the tanker a few feet. The noise and sparks were horrendous, especially considering the tanker’s load. He hopped out and inspected the connection again. Still hooked to the side.
Then he used his problem-solving mind. He let some air out of the rear tires. When they were half empty, he jumped back in the cab, and the tractor pulled out smoothly.
He lined up the tractor again and then inched it back. As soon as he heard metal on metal, he hopped out and inspected the alignment.
“Incredible,” he said out loud to himself. The connection lined up perfectly, the ball of the trailer-tanker directly in the center of the fifth wheel. Just like a pro. He backed the tractor some more until it locked in place, then secured the trailer, brake lines and electrical connections. His first solo. His heart raced with the engine as he headed toward the open gate. He couldn’t resist blasting the horn like a real trucker. No one was around, and if they were, who would expect a thief to announce himself like that? He was on top of the world.
He reached the gate and turned east on Thirty-sixth Street. He turned a little sharply and took out the fence with the tanker-trailer. He shrugged as he dragged a seventy-foot length of chain-link fence a block before it broke free. He looked in the mirrors. The right one was missing. No problem-still no one around.
An hour later, having to drive much more conservatively and even taking the tanker through part of his planned route, Wells parked it on the side of a residential street that had a patch of pine trees and grass on one side. Two other big rigs sat there. If someone cared to check, they’d think he was just another trucker visiting someone on a long trip.
He hopped out and found a Honda a block away. A swat with the blunt edge of his Buck knife and the window cracked. He used his elbow to finish. It made almost no noise. He was inside the small blue Civic, about to rip the steering column to pieces, when he noticed someone already had. He didn’t know why; if the car was locked, someone had a key. He went with it, touched the two already stripped wires, which caused the small engine to hum to life. He pulled out, appreciating the ease of handling compared to a big rig. A block later, he turned onto a small side street and could see the Orange Bowl right in front of him. That was the best landmark for miles around. He’d thought about leaving the tractor-trailer in the Orange Bowl’s parking lot, but this was less conspicuous. After the Big Rig Academy reported the theft, someone might notice it in the parking lot.
Wells headed south to his duplex to finish the step van, because that was all he’d drive from now on.
thirty
“Now, this is embarrassing,” said Derrick Sutter, pulling off his makeshift Klan hood. Tasker followed his lead, waving it in front of his face to dissipate the odor.
Camy, still standing in the room, quietly slipped into the bathroom, but not before both Tasker and Sutter got a good eyeful. Tasker believed that was a calculated move. He wasn’t sure to what purpose, but he appreciated it nonetheless.
Sutter said, “See, I told you I knew a way to tie up the FBI loose ends.” He smiled, showing his gold tooth on the side of his mouth. “I just wish his end was a little more tied up. I think he shit the bed.”
Tasker shook his head. “Nope, just had his bladder let go. Happens to the best of us.” He winced at the pain his own voice brought to his banged-up head.
Sutter snapped two more digital photos while Jimmy Lail thrashed in the bed.
“You guys are in such deep shit! This is kidnapping.”
The bathroom door opened and Camy, now covered by a thick terrycloth robe, said to Jimmy, “I think they call this kinky sex. I don’t recall you objecting.”
Jimmy’s face flared red as he yanked his legs again. “Now, tell me, what the fuck is going on?”
Tasker kept his voice calm and even. “Blackmail. Simple and direct.” He looked over to Sutter, who snapped another photo. “You talk and we erase the photos. Tell us everything and you can have the camera. Hold out and you’re an Internet star before you get to work in the morning.”
Jimmy stared at him. “I never thought you’d stoop this low.”
“You should be more optimistic.” Tasker waited for Jimmy to calm down and said, “Now tell me about Sal Bolini’s connection to Wells.”
“Kiss my ass.”
Sutter smiled, handed the camera to Tasker, and said, “Maybe if I snuggle up close and bury my face in the covers. That’d make a good photo. At least it’d look like he has some taste.”
“Fuck you both!”
Sutter started to unbutton his shirt.
Jimmy immediately said, “Okay, okay, okay. What do you want to know?”
Tasker asked, “Is Bolini protecting Wells?”
“Sort of.”
“Did he tip him about the search warrant at his house?”
Jimmy hesitated.
Sutter unfastened another button on his shirt, and Tasker raised the camera.
Jimmy nodded with some passion. They had definitely found his weak spot.
Tasker continued in a good interrogation voice. “Has he told him to lay low?”
Another nod.
“Why?”
Jimmy shrugged. Sutter started to open his shirt.
“Okay, okay, stop doing that.” He cleared his throat. “Wells has been giving us info for years. He’s saved a lot of lives.”
“According to who?”
“Bolini.”
Sutter stepped in. “What about the Klan surveillance? That was all bullshit, wasn’t it?”
Jimmy nodded. “It was designed to buy time for Wells to clear up some personal business so he could leave the area.”
“What personal business?” asked Tasker.
“Dunno.”
Sutter slid one shoulder out of his shirt.
Jimmy kept an even voice. “You can come down here and give me a blowjob, but I really don’t know. Now, have I earned that camera?”
“Did Bolini know he bombed the cruise ship?”
“Yeah. After. Wells said he wouldn’t do it again.”
Tasker was speechless. Too bad this moron wasn’t the responsible party.
Jimmy said again, “Do I get the camera?”
“One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“We need you to call Bolini and set up a breakfast meeting.”
“Where?”
Tasker said, “Denny’s over off Thirty-sixth.”
Jimmy thought about it, then nodded.
Tasker looked at him. “And after I meet with him, you’ll get the camera to see the photos erased. I don’t want him warned.”
Jimmy said, “That’s bullshit. I want that camera or there’s no deal.”
Tasker looked at Camy. “All right, leave his ass locked up till morning.”
Jimmy said, “Shit, get me a phone.”
Camy added, “I’ll keep an eye on him tonight.” She winked at Jimmy, who brightened slightly.
Tasker saw the look Sutter gave the chained FBI man and thought it was best to get him out of there fast. Besides, if Tasker didn’t get off his feet and give his aching head, back, shoulder and hip a rest, he might faint.