Cherry Bomb

CHAPTER 12

THE JORDAN HISTORICAL SOCIETY, located only a mile from the beach, has closed for the day. It’s dark and quiet.

Alex drives past the empty parking lot, over the grass, and pulls to a stop behind some fir trees. She kills the engine, grabs her army surplus duffel bag, and leaves the Honda, walking back toward the main building. The night has cooled off to the mid-forties. She tucks her hair under the hood and pulls the cords tight around her face. It’s doubtful anyone is watching, but it never hurts to be careful.

The M4 Sherman tank sits in front of the building on a dais of concrete, just like in the Web site pictures. Alex walks up to it, touches the cold green steel. It’s smaller than she expects, several yards shorter and half the weight of the MI Abrams. The 60mm gun on the turret is pointed east, poised to protect the shoreline from approaching enemy armadas. Metaphorically, of course, because the barrel is filled with concrete.

Alex rests the duffel bag on the front tread fender and sticks a mini Maglite in her teeth. Pointing downward, she tears the paper off a brick of PENO. The plastic explosive is gray, without odor, heavy for its size. Alex pulls off a fist-sized hunk and rolls it between her palms. It’s stickier, and slightly stiffer, than modeling clay. She forms it into a pyramid shape, then places the base against the frontal hull of the tank, which the Internet says is sixty-one millimeters thick.

Returning to the duffel bag, she removes a bridgewire detonator and loops the bag’s strap over her shoulder. The blasting cap is pushed into the tip of the pyramid, and Alex attaches a shock tube to that and plays line out of the spool until she’s fifty yards away, behind the side of the building. She crimps the detonation cord into an electric sparker and smiles her half smile.

“Fire in the hole.”

The explosion shakes the ground and momentarily deafens her. She remembers to open her mouth like she was taught, which equalizes the pressure on both sides of her ear drums. It still hurts, almost like getting struck in the head. The ringing continues as she approaches the tank, winding the now empty shock tube around her arm as she goes. There’s no fire, and the smoke has almost dissipated. Alex points her flashlight at the hull and sees a jagged twenty-inch hole where armor used to be. It smells like hot coals and melted iron.

“Perfect,” she says, but can’t hear herself say it. She stuffs the used tubing back into her duffel bag and heads for the car.

Phase one of the plan is finished. Time to start phase two.

CHAPTER 13

“YOU SHOULD TURN THE PHONE IN, Jack.”

Herb Benedict. We’d been partners for over a de cade, and often played conscience for each other. But right now I needed an enabler.

“I have to see this through, Herb. Start with Milwaukee PD. See if anyone on their Bomb Squad is named Lance.”

“How do you expect to find her? Track her cell phone?”

“It can’t be tracked. Not directly. Long story.”

“Then how? She could be anywhere. You’re just going to sit around and wait for her to send you clues?”

“That’s all I can do right now. That and prepare for when I’ll have a shot at her. Does your cell accept pictures and text?”

“You’ve seen my cell. I think it’s the very first one. It uses rotary.”

I sat on Harry’s sofa, shivering, and switched the phone to my other ear. The leather under my butt was cold.

“I want to send you what Alex is sending me. I know you’re off the case too, but I’m hoping you can be my ears while I’m gone.”

I could picture Herb thinking, probably rubbing his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Bernice has one of those new Motorola phones, the kind that does everything except make you a sandwich. Send it to her.”

He gave me the number.

“Thanks, Herb. I owe you so many I’ll never pay them all back.”

“There’s this mail order steak place. Grade-A prime-cut Angus beef. Ships them to you frozen. Their number is 1-800-MEATS4U. The 4 is a number and the U is the letter U. ”

“Consider it done.”

“I like rib-eyes. And T-bones. And New York strips. And filets. Basically I like everything. They also sell Turduckinlux. That’s a turkey breast, stuffed with a duck breast, stuffed with a chicken breast, stuffed with bacon-wrapped hamburger patties.”

“I’ll call them as soon as we get off the phone.” I swallowed, hating to say what came next. “Look, Herb, I know you’re being cautious, but Alex might take a shot at you. Or your wife.”

“I could have Bernice stay with her mother, come and help you out.”

“No way.”

“My leg’s not that bad, Jack. I can move fast if I have to.”

Herb was loyal, smart, and tough. But he could never be called fast. And with his injury, all he’d be doing was putting himself in danger.

“Stay with your wife and heal. That’s an order.”

“What if I had some psycho killer after me? Would you stay out of it?”

“My psycho killer, my rules. I need you to stay close to the investigation, Herb. Keep me in the loop. Besides, I have some help.”

“That idiot McGlade? He’s a card-carry ing asshole. I’m serious. He once showed me the card.”

I eyed Harry, who was squinting at porn on the computer screen.

“He’s not that bad,” I said.

“Please don’t tell me you’re with him in that stupid RV.”

“It has really good air-conditioning.”

“Want me to turn it up?” Harry asked, never taking his eyes off the screen. A gorilla had joined the party. No-just a guy in a gorilla suit. What ever happened to normal, old-fashioned porn?

“Jesus, Jack. How am I supposed to sleep knowing that bonehead has your back?”

“I’m getting more help.”

“Who? The criminal guy? Phineas something?”

“Troutt.”

“What makes you think he’ll help you?”

I got an image in my mind, of the last time I saw Phin. He had hugged me, holding it longer than our friendship warranted.

“He’ll help.”

Herb sighed, loud and dramatic.

“I want you to call me. Every eve ning at seven. If you don’t call, I’m coming after you.”

“Thanks, Herb. We’ll talk soon.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow. At seven. Sooner if I hear anything. And tell that asshole McGlade to sit on his mechanical thumb and spin.”

Herb hung up, and I tucked the phone back into my purse.

“How’s the partner?” Harry asked. “Still fat?”

“He says hi. Can you send the picture and texts to him?”

I handed Bernice’s cell number to Harry.

“Sure. I got a program that can do it from the computer.”

“We also need to go to Wrigleyville. Joe’s Pool Hall, to see if Phin is there.”

“Check and roger.”

“And turn off the porn.”

Harry batted his eyelashes. “Anything else I can do for you, Your Highness?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of Alex. “Take me to the nearest gun shop. I need to exercise my second amendment rights to bear arms.”