by Mike Slavin
“I said I’m sorry and—”
“What do you mean, they were after you? What does that mean?”
“I saw something I shouldn’t have and these guys came for me.”
“You knew someone was trying to kill you and you asked my husband over for supper? Are you crazy?”
“I didn’t know for sure they were coming after me.”
“Obviously, you thought they might. Did you tell Larry?”
“Yeah, he knew. But we both really didn’t think they’d come to my house and try to kill me.”
“So, Larry is dead because of you? Do you know who did this?”
“Don’t ask me, please. I’ll tell you everything later, but I can’t now.”
“You know the police are looking for you? They told me to call them if you contacted me. They said Larry was shot and killed in your house and you left him.”
“I just finished talking to the police. No charges. You know that Larry died instantly when he was shot. He didn’t suffer. I couldn’t have helped him. I took off after the people who did it.”
Sandy didn’t answer right away. Then she repeated Case’s words slowly. He sensed she was trying not to lose control. “He didn’t suffer.”
Case was unsure of what to say. He didn’t know what he expected—maybe they’d both shed a few tears over Larry. But Sandy was sounding angry.
Then there was no doubt as she screamed at Case, “Is that supposed to make me feel any better?”
“No, of course not—”
“Don’t call me ever again. You killed my husband. I’m serious. Don’t call me—ever. Oh, and don’t come to the funeral. I don’t want to see you ever again.” She hung up.
I didn’t expect that.
Case felt horribly unsettled. It felt like a fight with your wife just before you went to work. This would screw up the whole day, maybe the rest of his life with Sandy. He’d never expected her to react like that.
Sandy blames me for Larry’s death. It was my fault. Shit!
Case tipped down his head and shut his eyes.
Then he brought up his head and screamed at the ceiling. After the scream, he felt better, but the house still felt too empty. He didn’t want to go to bed. He checked the computer. He could still get on a 9:35 p.m. flight and arrive in Vegas at 11:00 p.m.
Case packed a small bag, his Escalade was still at work, so he jumped in his car, and headed to the airport. He arrived in plenty of time, so he sat on the roof parking over Terminal C. It was a clear sky with only a few stars. There were a lot of lights around Houston, which kept it in a perpetual haze at night.
Sitting in his Porsche, Case called Trish on the burner phone. “Thank you for moving my car. And thank Bobby, too. It’s a long story, but there are no bad consequences to last night. You don’t need to be looking over your shoulder or anything. You can relax.”
“It was all kind of James Bond-ish,” Trish said. “I’m glad everything is okay. Did you find your car?”
“I’m in it right now. I’m at Bush Intercontinental, looking at the Houston skyline in the distance.”
“Going somewhere?”
“I just couldn’t stay in the house. Did you find out anything about Tony Testa?”
“Not much. He’s pretty private, and no police record. I was waiting to see if I could find a little more before I sent you a report. Do you want me to send what I’ve got? Email it?”
“Better yet, bring it to me.”
“Bring it to you? At the airport?” Her voice held a note of trepidation.
“Come to Vegas. Bring everything you have. I’ll reserve a room for you at Caesars.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. You’ll love it.”
“Okay. I’ll book a flight,” she replied.
“Good. See you tomorrow.” Case hung up and started to call Larry, but stopped himself. Case held his phone in both hands and stared at it blankly. He involuntarily shook his head from side to side, taking a deep breath. So much had happened, and it was overwhelming. He looked up at the blackness of the dark sky and screamed and screamed as loud and long as he could until he ran out of breath. “Shit!”
That felt good.
32
Bobby had been on Krusty for about four days. When Trish and Case put him on the surveillance, he’d been excited to start. He’d always loved working with Trish, plus, this Case guy might lead to more work. He was ready to get all over this bum named Krusty.
What a bozo name—now that’s funny.
He wasn’t sure what Case was up to, but it didn’t take a big imagination to guess what he might be thinking about doing. Of course, that didn’t mean he’d do anything. Bobby knew all he was doing was a surveillance job anyway. Case appeared to be covering their tracks. He had been explicit in his instructions—only use the burner phone, only use cash, and no paper trails. Case was paying him in cash, and he’d already gotten an advance, plus the money for moving a hot car. Not bad, Bobby thought, and Case had even tossed in a throwaway computer to boot. Whoever heard of that? Case seemed like a rich guy throwing around money.
Bobby was okay with that. No trail to Case meant no trail to him either.
Nothing exciting happened as Bobby watched Krusty. He’d forgotten how boring surveillance could be, but at least reading romances helped pass the time.
Krusty wasn’t in a hurry to get a job, apparently. His parents left for work in the morning and returned at about five or six, but he got up late every day. Bobby looked in the window a few times to find Krusty playing video games. He also shot hoops at his parents’ house and drove to Galveston often, both alone and with his friends. It didn’t take long for Bobby to determine that Krusty had a favorite place.
He must have found this secluded beach, hidden from the road, some time ago. There, he’d smoke weed, drink, and spend time in and out of the water. He had a string of girlfriends, too. Bobby wondered if any of them were accomplices, but none seemed steady enough. He doubted Krusty was the kind of guy to trust a woman with something so dangerous.
One night, after everyone in the Krusty house had gone to bed, a light came back on. Someone walked into the garage and turned on another light. Bobby jumped out of his car, crept up to the property, and looked through the garage window. The kid had a whole lot of cash he was dividing into two stacks. He put one stack back into a box and hid it again. He took the other pile and put it into a paper bag, which he hid under his clothes. Krusty went back inside and turned off the light.
Bobby called Trish. She told him to watch Krusty closely to find out if he had an accomplice.
The next day, Bobby checked the tracker on Krusty’s car. He had gone nowhere after Bobby left. Good. The day started out as usual. An hour after Mom and Dad left for work, Krusty emerged. He never went anywhere before 9:00 a.m. Under his arm, Krusty had a brown paper package that looked like where he’d stored the money from the previous night. It looked ready to mail. Krusty got into his car—an old, rusted-out, paint-peeling, red 1966 Mustang.
Bobby, hands full of his morning eats, was relaxed. He figured Krusty would drive off the way he always did. Today, he turned in the opposite direction.
Damn! Bobby spilled coffee in his lap as he swung his car around to follow Krusty. He threw a half-eaten doughnut on the passenger’s seat as he tried to dial Trish’s burner phone with one hand.
“What is it?” Trish answered.
“I think Krusty is going to mail some of that money he was counting last night.” Bobby was talking as he drove and he finally got the car turned around, racing to catch up to the old Mustang.
“You need to get the name and address on the package. If you can, take a picture. Do anything you have to do, but do not let him drop it in a mailbox without getting a look at who that package is addressed to! If he does, break the mailbox. I’m serious. You have to get the name and address on that package.”
“No problem,” Bobby said, even though he was uncomfortable, with a crotc
h soaked in coffee.
“As a last resort, steal that package. This might be our only chance to find his accomplice.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.”
“No shit—maybe too many rodeos?” Trish said with a tinge of exasperation.
“Hey, not dead yet,” said Bobby before he hung up.
Even if he stole the package and Krusty saw him, so what? It had to be the stolen cash he was mailing to a partner. They might get nervous, but it wouldn’t change anything. Bobby had to get the address or snatch the package.
He was so juiced he felt giddy. The adrenaline was rushing, and he couldn’t help smiling. It felt good. He was nervous, but this was finally an assignment with some excitement. Too bad he looked like he’d pissed his pants. He prayed Krusty would stop somewhere before the post office. It would get trickier if he didn’t.
Krusty pulled into a gas station, one of those big new ones with a minimart and fourteen pumps. Many cars were getting gas, but Bobby managed to pull up to the opposite side of the pump where Krusty stopped. Bobby walked to the back of his car, out of sight of Krusty, and put the nozzle in his gas tank, but didn’t try to pump gas. He wanted to be ready to take off quickly.
Krusty walked toward the minimart, fumbling with his wallet.
This is good. Looks like he has to pay with cash.
Bobby darted around the gas pump to Krusty’s car. The window was open and Bobby reached in, looking under some clothes in the back. Nothing. Krusty must have taken the package with him.
Bobby grabbed a baseball hat out of his car and pulled it over his eyes as he started toward the minimart. He grabbed a jacket, which he dangled in front of his wet pants. In the minimart, Krusty stood last in line, holding a twenty-dollar bill and a Pepsi. Three people stood ahead of him. Bobby grabbed the first thing he saw, a bottle of water, and stood behind Krusty. Krusty was holding his money in his right hand and the package in his left. It was going to Kansas City, Missouri, but Bobby couldn’t see the name or the rest of the address. Krusty shifted and hugged the package into his midsection, above his waist. There was no way to get it now.
“Shit,” Bobby mumbled under his breath. A guy walking by Bobby gave him a dirty look.
Cameras everywhere, lots of people. He couldn’t get it here, so Bobby put down the water bottle and went to his car. Krusty had never even turned around, clueless. Standing by his car, Bobby wondered what he should do. If he grabbed the package and the gas station surveillance camera got his license plate, they could track him down. Would Krusty even tell them? Who knows, but it was a huge risk.
Bobby knew that in front of the post office was a wooded, undeveloped spot with no street cameras anywhere. Bobby had a fake badge, a gun if needed, and a plan.
Krusty pulled out of the gas station and Bobby followed, but not too close. They’d be at the stretch of road in a few minutes. As they approached the street, Bobby pulled up beside Krusty and flashed his badge.
He yelled, “Pull over!”
Krusty stepped on the gas.
“Goddamn it!” He floored it to catch up.
Bobby was following Krusty too closely and too quickly on a small, winding, two-lane road. The kid blew by the post office and never slowed down. Krusty hadn’t gone very far before one tire slipped off the road on the right, causing him to lose control of his car. He overcompensated and his car careened toward the opposite side of the road, sliding off into a deep ditch. With water and mud in the ditch from rain the night before, it made for a hell of a mess and the car ground to a stop. The vehicle was slanted at a forty-five-degree angle with the passenger’s window easily accessible from the road.
Bobby pulled up beside the wreck. He could see inside the tilted car. Krusty was dazed but not unconscious or hurt. Bobby grabbed his ski mask.
There was no traffic. He put on the mask, jumped out of his car, and ran up to Krusty’s open passenger window. The package was on the floor of the passenger’s side, right in front of him. Bobby reached through the window and grabbed it.
Krusty grabbed his arm. “What the fuck?”
Bobby pulled out his revolver and stuck it in Krusty’s face. “Let go, asshole!”
“Who are you? What do you want?” Krusty asked, sounding surprised and disoriented.
“Let go of my arm and you won’t get hurt.” Bobby jerked the package free and jumped back into his own car. He backed up onto a side road so Krusty couldn’t see his license plate. Krusty’s back windshield was covered in mud. There was no movement that Bobby could see, and it didn’t look like Krusty was getting out of his car. Bobby quickly turned around and took off in the opposite direction.
That hadn’t been very smooth, but no one should be able to tell who he was. He looked at the package. It was addressed to Ronnie Jackson on Maple Tree Road, Kansas City, Missouri.
33
Trish met with Bobby and got the whole story—and the package. As odd as it sounded, it didn’t look like there were any links back to him.
“I don’t want you to do anything else until you hear from me,” Trish said. “No surveillance or anything. You understand?”
“Yes, ma'am,” he answered with a smile. “Pretty good, though, don’t you think? I still got it.”
“You got lucky,” she said.
Soon after, Trish called Case and told him everything. It was almost noon.
“Call Bobby and see if he can get to Krusty’s house and get the rest of the money,” Case said.
“I don’t think—” Trish began.
“Now!” Case cut her off—very out of character. “Time is critical. Krusty’s parents are at work, Krusty is in a ditch with his car, and Bobby knows where the money is. I need Bobby to get that money now. If there’s a mask, gloves, a gun or anything to do with the robbery, get it, too. Hang up, call him now, then call me right back. Oh, and tell Bobby that if Krusty shows up or is already there, he still needs to get the money and everything else that might be there. Krusty will never report it.”
Bobby pulled up on the side of the street by Krusty’s house and one house down. He was sure the parents weren’t home. They never were this time of the day. His only real concern was that Krusty might come back. It could get messy. Then there were the neighbors. Bobby pulled a Houston Astros hat down over his face and put on a pair of gloves. He opened the door and started to get out of the car but then reached back in, got his gun out of the glove box, and stuck it in his belt in the small of his back.
With confidence, Bobby walked around the side of the house to the garage. The door had a padlock, but he picked it easily. The garage was dark and had only one window, which was partially covered. The smell of motor oil hung thick in the air.
Bobby turned on the light and scanned the cluttered garage. He went to where Krusty had stored the box and then rummaged around until he found it. He pulled it down and opened it up.
Damn, that’s a lot of money. And a gun, two masks, and two pairs of gloves.
He had that intense, panicky feeling of needing to get out of somewhere before someone showed up. He heard a noise behind him and quickly turned.
Bobby felt the whoosh of air as Krusty's swinging wrench just missed his head.
He instinctively ducked and reached behind his back, pulling out his pistol, but he was still off-balance. He dropped the box and stumbled backward.
Krusty saw his gun fall out of the box and went for it. Bobby kicked Krusty in the face, and Krusty fell back onto the floor. This gave Bobby time to steady and get a good grip on his gun.
“Don’t try anything, kid, or you’ll regret it,” he said.
Krusty stared up at Bobby, motionless. Bobby had seen this look many times when he was a cop. Krusty was thinking about going for his gun. Bobby knew he had to break Krusty’s concentration.
“Goddammit, kid, just relax,” Bobby said. “No one has to get hurt. We can all leave happy.”
“What do you mean?” Krusty asked. “How can we all leave happy?”
“I mean you don’t have to get killed today. I’m not a cop. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know or care what you did,” Bobby said. Bobby was just trying to get control of the situation and snag Krusty’s gun, which was within Krusty’s reach on the floor of the garage.
Bobby kept his gun on Krusty, slowly straightened, and moved closer to the gun on the floor. Krusty also moved closer to the weapon.
“Look, Krusty, I’m not going to hurt you,” Bobby said.
“Who are you?”
“That’s not important, kid.”
Krusty lunged for his gun. Bobby went for it too and hit Krusty on the back of the head. Krusty went down hard.
“Bobby got everything you wanted, but Krusty saw him up close and personal,” Trish said.
“Did he get the rest of the money?” Case asked.
“Yes, he got the rest of the money, as well as a gun, two masks, and two pairs of gloves. We’re meeting up shortly so he can hand it over to me.”
“Good. Take it all home tonight. I'll get it from you as soon as I can.”
“What are you planning on doing with the stuff?”
“Evidence, right?” Case asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t think any of this is admissible,” Trish said.
“Just keep everything safe until you can get it to me.”
“You should turn this over to the police.”
“Not yet—we need to know more about Ronnie Jackson. We don’t know for sure if he was involved, or if he was just getting a birthday present.”
34
“How you doing, Krusty? Check’s in the mail, right?” Ronnie joked.
Krusty had told Ronnie yesterday that he’d mail his half of the money that day—forty-one thousand dollars. Ronnie was excited. He’d never thought he’d see that much money at once. It was enough money to get him through college. He still felt horrible about the lady and her baby getting killed, and the clerk too, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. He was so happy about getting the money, he couldn’t believe it.
