A Voice from the Field (16 page)

Tia stood as well and accepted the handshake. She was surprised when Ben pulled her in close and hugged her tight, clapping her on the back, his voice thick with emotion. “Don't make me regret this, Tia.”

 

SEVENTEEN

Kane hunkered low in the seat of the rented sedan, doing his best to conceal his size. The slow-moving westbound afternoon traffic out of Milwaukee ebbed and flowed, heavy enough that if he stayed back a dozen or so cars he could maintain a good visual on his target. Driving the nondescript Chevy Lumina, with a ball cap pulled down over his head, he was confident his target up ahead had no idea the tables had been turned. A humid breeze blew across Kane's face through the open window, a hint that a summer storm wasn't too far in the future.

Settling in for what would probably be a long ride out of the city for who knows where, Kane found himself consumed by equal parts anger, betrayal, and relief. Reflecting, he had to admit to a trace of fear and uncertainty. If things turned out as he suspected, he needed to plan. It might not be too late.

Coming out of prison, Kane knew he had chosen a path fraught with risk. Stepping out from behind the protective cover of the Aryan Brotherhood, Kane had made the bold move of going independent. With his credentials, it would've been easy enough to rejoin the ranks of the HA and pick up a position as a chapter VP or at least a sergeant at arms. There was something to be said for that sort of job security, but Kane had other ideas. He'd spent years kicking money up to the bosses, and what had it gotten him? Women for sure. Plenty of booze and drugs. A new bike every other year and he always had a place to crash. But the time had come for Kane to look out for himself and cash in. The North Aryan Front offered just that opportunity.

Kane had come along just as the NAF was struggling to survive. Most of the ragtag membership thought white America was on the edge of extinction, suffocating under the jackboot of the federal government as it pressed down firmly against their throats. Most had failed to pay property taxes or had engaged in some form of fraudulent farm relief. A few had defaulted on government-subsidized farm loans—resulting in their property and assets being seized. More than a few had ended up on a government watch list. Their associations were monitored. In other words, they were ripe for recruitment into a criminal enterprise. Arriving on the scene, Kane had surveyed the situation and quickly realized he had found his opportunity. Three years later, Kane was finally hitting his stride. Earning serious capital. Now, just when the big payoff was coming, everything seemed to be slipping away.

No denying it. Something wasn't right. The ten-day deal out of Milwaukee was too good to be legit. He should have been looking at a return to Waupun. All the talk about the cop, Suarez, being a head case might have worked in his favor, but ten days? No way. Laying a hand on any cop, regardless of the circumstances, meant prison time. For a convict with a record like his? Kane knew he should have pulled a long stretch of hard time. But for some reason, he was back on the street.

Why?
he wondered.
Who's pulling the strings?
He had a short list of suspects.

The traffic finally cleared and most vehicles sped up. Kane hung back a half mile, keeping the car in view. The miles clicked off, faster now, and his mind continue to wander.
Suarez
.

Kane had no idea what to make of the small-town cop. At best, she could be characterized as unpredictable yet formidable. A worthy adversary. The word in county jail was she was damaged goods. The package that crooks carry on any cop was always a lesson in embellishment, but the one on Suarez had an unusual twist. In the parking lot, Kane had smelled fear coming off her until she got a look at what was in the van. Then she had managed to dig deep and get back in the fight, though she'd still needed her partners to dig her out. When she turned up at the jail, Kane saw that her fear and desperation had returned.

That bitch is in over her head,
he thought.
She's not the issue.
That much he was certain of.

Twenty miles south of Madison his target exited the freeway and Kane followed with a loose tail. The car pulled in to the lot of the roadside Best Western, but Kane passed the upscale extended-stay hotel and parked in a crowded lot across the street. He slipped lower in the seat, maintaining a line of sight to his target. From a good hundred yards away he watched the man step out of his car and start a slow 360. Kane dropped out of sight, lying down across the passenger seat. After counting to thirty, he raised his head to the level of the dashboard and scanned the motel parking lot. He reacquired his target, spotting the man outside a room on the ground floor. The subject tossed a last look over his shoulder—Kane didn't move, knowing that stillness was his best protection at that distance—then knocked on the door. A few seconds later it opened and he slipped quickly inside, but not before Kane glimpsed the slender arm of a woman in the doorway. A woman who no doubt had the answers to all his questions.

Kane leaned back in his seat, fighting the rage that always accompanied the realization he was being played for a fool. But no matter. He'd been in tighter spots and worked himself free. The key was to stay a step ahead. The door shut. Kane spoke to himself in a low voice. “Now there's a little lady I'd like to get to know.”

 

EIGHTEEN

Tia pushed the screen door open, her go bag slung over one shoulder. The cold steel in the small of her back felt odd, but she knew it wouldn't take long to readjust to carrying the weapon. Connor sat on the top step of the porch, his legs straight out in front of him. His back was turned, but she saw his shoulders tighten when the door slammed shut behind her. He didn't move or turn, though, and Tia assumed he was staring at the horizon where the sun would hang for another twenty minutes or so. The day had been hot and muggy, but a breeze now kicked up, offering some relief.

A bank of towering black thunderhead clouds had taken over most of the blue sky and begun to roll toward the farmhouse. The field of tall grass whipped in the light wind, a familiar sound along with the rustling leaves of oaks and hemlocks. The birds had gone silent, having either hunkered down or just up and left. All ominous warnings that gave the impression Mother Nature had thought about whipping up a tornado but instead dialed it back to what promised to be a late-night show of thunder and lightning. Tia dropped her bag and took a seat next to Connor, leaning over to drape one arm around his shoulders.

She put her lips right up to his ear. “I'll just be on perimeter surveillance. I'm sure I won't even be a player. It's no big deal.”

“Until it is. Problem is, it's not like somebody is going to make an announcement: ‘One minute till the shit hits the fan.' When it happens, it'll be on you before you know it.” Connor turned to look her dead in the eye. His tone was humorless, even icy. Tia knew he was in no mood to joke around. “You sure you're ready?”

“It's a surveillance, Connie. We're not talking Taliban. It's a bunch of yahoos at a strip club.”

“So you go from desk duty to U/C field ops,
again
?” Connie shook his head. “Think back, Tia. How did that work out for you last time?”

Tia shook her head, refusing to respond, so Connor went on and she could tell he was doing his best to contain real anger. “It's like you got some damn cowboys running this shit. I thought Sawyer was smarter than that.”

Finally, losing patience and feeling more than a bit patronized, she pushed back. “It's a sheriff's operation, but yeah, Sawyer assigned me. He gets it, Connie. Why don't you?”

“Get what?” There it was. Real anger.

“That I need this.” She stood and looked down on him. “I need to see this thing through.”

“What are you talking about, Tia? What is it you're trying to prove?”

She looked out across the field. “For a week now, everyone's been treating me like damaged goods. Like I'm some kind of nut job. But guess what, Connor?”

Connor shrugged and Tia spoke with vindication. “Turns out I'm not so crazy after all. There
was
a girl in the back of that van. Kane and Tanner need to be dealt with and in a big way.”

“Nobody's arguing about that. And who gives a shit what people think? I told you. Just believe in yourself. That's how you get through stuff like this. Not by worrying about what other people think and not by joining some half-baked operation.”

“Half-baked? I wonder if the victim would agree. Because to tell the truth, what she thinks is all I really care about right now.”

“Come again?”

Tia could hear the frustration in his voice and saw the confusion in his eyes.

“Like I said, I let all these cops”—her voice turned spiteful—“all these
men,
convince me that maybe I was losing it. Got me to doubting myself. And when I did that? What happened to her? While I've been wallowing around here, feeling sorry for my damn self, what has she been going through?”

He stared back and Tia knew she'd given him pause. It was his turn to stop and think about a girl who had been abandoned and left to the likes of Jessup Tanner and Gunther Kane. She went on to paint an even clearer picture.

“She heard the sirens. The voices. There were cops all over the place. She knew that. And we didn't do anything. I'm ready to own that, but I'll be goddamned if I'm going to sit here, get drunk, and write her off as a lost cause.”

Connor tried to reason with her. “Look, Tia, I understand all that. You were right all along. But you're talking about interstate travel. Kidnapping. You said yourself, they've gone all the way to the West Coast. Jesus. What are a handful of local cops going to do if these guys hit the road?”

Tia regretted filling him in on the details. She knew the information was safe, but she also knew that with his tactical knowledge Connor had figured out real quick the cops were in over their heads. She couldn't offer a good answer because she didn't have one, so instead she made excuses.

“It's surveillance. There's no reason to think anything will happen tonight. We just need to start figuring out who the players are. Get the layout of the organization. Once we establish that, we can call in some more help.”

“Yeah? Well, when is Sheriff Jack-Off going to call Uncle Sam? This case needs federal resources. You know it and so does he.”

Tia knew better than to try to argue with a guy who had a thousand hours of real-world experience in urban surveillance. “We won't trip, Connie. I promise. If they hit the highway, I'll make sure we put the op down. All we're hoping for tonight is to ID some players. If we get really lucky, they might even lead us to where the girl is.”

Connie stared at her, then shook his head and looked away. She knew he was done talking about it. Tia looked at her watch. Briefing was coming up soon.

“I gotta go, Connie. I'm meeting two sheriff dicks for the briefing. Like I said, I'll get parking lot duty. I mean, come on. Can you see me trying to blend in at a strip club? How's that going to work?”

Connie kept his head turned away, so she knelt on the step in front of him and pulled on his chin until he was forced to look at her. Looking into his eyes, she sensed his anger warring with his affection for her. Maybe he was right—was she really ready to get back in this fight? She hadn't been sober for even twenty-four hours yet.

“You're working tonight, right?” she asked, her voice soft. “I'll text you every hour or so, okay?”

Connor's voice was cold, dispassionate. “We got two trucks coming in and both have to be unloaded by end of shift. The boss catches me looking at a phone and I'm done.” She saw shame rising on his face. “Sorry. Life of a working stiff, you know?”

Tia pushed off on his shoulder and stood. She could tell there was no way he was buying her line of bullshit. “Well, I'll text you anyway. Read 'em when you can. I'll meet you back here in the morning and we'll do the whole country breakfast thing.”

Connie reached up and patted the small of her back where her forty cal rested inside the waist of her jeans. “I'm pissed at you, Suarez, don't forget. But be careful. Stay sharp.”

Lightning flashed in the distance and Tia counted the seconds to thunder. Less than five; a strong but still-distant crack rumbled across the open land.

“See?” she said, heading for her GTO. She tossed her go bag through the open window. “It's going to be coming down like crazy in an hour. Probably put the whole op down. I'll meet you back here in the morning.”

Yanking on the door, Tia gave Connor one last look, feeling the pull of affection. “Forget breakfast,” she said, sliding into the seat. “With this weather, it's going to be a great day to just lie around in bed and do what comes natural.”

Connie managed a half smile. “Be careful out there, Suarez. Even if you ain't looney tunes, it don't mean you all of a sudden turned into Superwoman.”

Pulling out of the driveway, Tia gave one last look into the rearview mirror. Connor's smile was gone and the expression on his face was unfamiliar. How odd it was to see that man look afraid.

 

NINETEEN

The steady thump of bass music bounced off thin office walls and Kane looked at his watch.
Almost five. Right on time,
he thought to himself.
The joint's heating up.

Kane stood in the doorway of his office, surveying the main floor of the Roadhouse Score. The lights had been dimmed and the past-their-prime girls, who took the less lucrative early-evening dance shifts, were onstage, working the moderate crowd. Kane was glad to see just about every barstool was occupied by the usual dinnertime clientele: mostly bankers, lawyers, and accountants headed home to the suburbs from downtown Milwaukee. The men sat at the bar in their eight-hundred-dollar suits, munching on burgers and fries that would end up written off on a company expense account, while the girls danced at eye level just a few feet away.