Kill Crime: A Jeff Case Novel-Stunning crime thriller full of twists with an unpredictable ending. Book 1

by Mike Slavin

  He was already planning how to hide the money. He had a place in his room upstairs he was sure no one would find. He smiled as he waited for Krusty to say something.

  “Some guy took the money,” Krusty said.

  “What? What do you mean? Who would take the money? How’d that happen?” Ronnie asked.

  “I don’t know who he was, but he said he wasn’t a cop. I was about to mail your money, but he chased me down when I was on the way to the post office and ran me off the road. Then, when I came home, he was in my garage taking my half of the money.”

  “Oh, come on, Krusty—this is bullshit!” Ronnie said.

  “I swear to you, the guy even knocked me out. I’ve got a big bump on my head!”

  “You piece of shit!” Ronnie yelled, trying to hold back tears. That money had been the answer to his problems. He felt dizzy.

  “Look, I know you need some money for college. Maybe I can rob the same store again in a few months.”

  “Yeah, right. I think I should just tell our parents. Then maybe I can get my half,” Ronnie said.

  “What? That’s crazy! You gonna tell them we killed three people too?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone!”

  “You shot the store owner, remember?"

  Ronnie went silent for a moment. “That was to save you,” he whispered.

  “The cops won’t care. As far as they’re concerned, you committed the same three murders I did. It’ll be the death penalty for you.”

  “I don't want to die.”

  “Some guy did take all the money. There’s none left. He took it all. I don’t know who he is, but we can’t tell anyone. Just give me a day or two, let me try and figure out how to get you the money you need to start college. Then I’ll find a way to get enough to keep you in school. I promise. Let me think about this and I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “You sure all the money is gone?”

  “I’ll figure something out,” Krusty said sincerely.

  Krusty hung up. Ronnie was sure he was lying to him. He would hate to disappoint his parents, but if he told them, they might be able to get his half of the money from Krusty. Besides, all Ronnie had done was watch the door at the convenience store and save Krusty’s life. Krusty had been planning to kill that guy anyway, so what did it matter that Ronnie did it for him? Ronnie hadn’t planned or even wanted to do the robbery. He’d said no three times, but he’d felt pressured to go. He wasn’t sure he could tell his parents—they had so much respect for him it would crush them.

  They would never let him keep stolen money, especially if anyone had been hurt.

  Maybe he should drive to Houston and try to pressure Krusty into coming clean. But Ronnie was afraid of him. No, he was terrified of him.

  But that was a lot of money.

  “Damn, this sucks!” Ronnie said out loud.

  He should at least wait until tomorrow when Krusty called—maybe he’d change his mind and give Ronnie his share.

  Ronnie watched TV with the volume turned down so as not to wake his parents. Finally, he turned off the TV and slept intermittently, but every time he woke, only thirty minutes or so had passed. He couldn’t wait to call Krusty. It was a long night.

  When Ronnie got up, he kept checking the time. He ate cereal, got dressed, did some reading, watched a little TV. Time moved so slowly he couldn’t believe it. Finally, as 9:00 a.m. approached, Ronnie took his phone and stepped outside. He sat on the wooden porch swing and rocked. The chain supporting the swing squeaked every time it went back. Ronnie stared at the phone in his hand, already on Krusty’s number. He looked at the goofy face Krusty had made when Ronnie had taken a picture to use for him on his phone. Ten minutes to go, nine minutes … finally, one minute, then thirty seconds … five, four, three, two, one—9:00 a.m. Ronnie hit dial.

  “Anything yet?” Ronnie asked.

  “Damn, it’s nine in the morning. I just got up. Give me until the end of the day.” Krusty hung up without waiting for a response.

  Ronnie felt sick.

  Krusty didn’t know what to do. The only way he could get that kind of money again was to give Mr. Park’s wife time to relax and maybe build up some cash. That could take six months or a year. He knew how to rob that place and get away with it. Maybe he would rob it two more times over a year or two—no one would expect that. He couldn’t rob just any convenience store—most had no money. The ones that did had too much traffic and no getaway route like he’d found with this store.

  Krusty did consider looking for another store. If he applied to work at a few stores, someone would hire him. He could size it up for a couple weeks or so. If the store showed promise, he’d stay and make a plan. If not, he’d quit and start at another shop somewhere else. After his first successful robbery, he was feeling confident.

  He would need to convince Ronnie to give him some time, but he would help him out for college.

  Krusty called Ronnie back at about one. “Ronnie, I have a plan, okay, but you need to give me some more time,” Krusty said.

  “What’s your plan?”

  Krusty went over his plan with Ronnie. Again, it took some convincing, but Ronnie started to believe him. It was early summer and Ronnie thought he could get the money to start the first semester of the local community college. He could afford to wait to see if Krusty got more.

  Maybe this was God’s way of reminding Ronnie to live a good life. He wondered if he might have the strength to tell Krusty he didn’t want stolen money even if he got it, but he didn’t want to close that door yet. Ronnie decided he would ask forgiveness from God. He would also ask God to help him find the money to get a good college education. Ronnie wanted to do some good in the world someday.

  35

  Houston to Las Vegas

  As soon as Case sat in his first-class seat, fatigue hit him. He shut his eyes and relaxed. Then someone tapped him on the shoulder. He was on the aisle and the lady sitting next to him asked if she could get by. It shocked him that he had fallen asleep that quickly, but as soon as she crossed over and sat back down, he fell asleep again.

  The next time he woke up, it was because the stewardess was tapping him on the shoulder. They had arrived in Vegas. For a minute he looked at the seat next to him, expecting to see his wife, but it wasn’t her. Case snapped back to reality and the reason he was in Vegas.

  He didn’t expect to have the opportunity to kill Tony on this trip, but he was getting ready. He would probably need a sniper rifle, and he knew where he could get it. He planned to check while he was in Vegas. There was a good chance a friend of his who lived outside Reno could help him. He had been on Case’s Green Beret team in Afghanistan.

  It was a short cab ride to the Vegas strip. Before Case knew it, he was standing in the casino. Case checked in and dropped his carry-on bag in his room. From a casino house phone, he called his friend in Reno, former Sergeant Joe Shoemaker.

  “Hello?” Joe answered.

  “Joe, it’s Jeff Case.”

  “Holy shit. How you doing, sir?”

  “I may need a favor, if you can?”

  “Anything you need, sir.”

  “Please, Jeff will do,” Case said. “I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. I know I’m asking a lot, but how quickly can you get to Vegas? I’ll pay for everything—your flight, a room, even some spending money.”

  “Damn, what a deal. I’ll get there as soon as I can,” Joe said. “How about tomorrow morning?”

  “Good. I’ll have a room set aside for you. Check in when you get to Caesars,” Case said. “Let’s meet for lunch at Caesars Café Americano at noon. If you have a problem, you can reach me on this number.” He gave Joe the number to his burner phone.

  With that set, Case went straight to the poker tables. He played for an hour, but fatigue caught up with him, so he headed to his room.

  It would be nice to see Trish in Vegas the next day, not to mention an old friend from Afghanistan. Case was anxious to get whatever i
nformation Trish had gathered on Tony Testa.

  He went through the list in his head.

  He’d think more about what to do with Krusty and about Krusty’s partner later, once he returned to Houston. As for evening the score for murdering his best friend, the two goons were gone for now, but probably not enjoying life. Then there was Tony Testa, the goons’ boss. Case didn’t feel he had a choice—it felt like a him-or-me situation. He didn’t know much about him, but surely the world would be a better place without him.

  He kept wondering if a sniper rifle assassination for Testa was too brutal to carry out on the streets, even a lightly traveled back street. But it seemed dangerous and messy to get close enough to fight off any possible bodyguards. Plus, that crazy sniper guy with automatic weapons killing fifty-eight people at Mandalay Bay made him wonder if security might be too tight around the casinos. He’d need to see if it was even possible. Maybe he could poison Testa’s drink, if there was an opportunity. Well, the sniper rifle was in play if Case decided to go that route.

  Case was about to go to bed when his phone rang. Special Agent Ford Ragsdale was on the other end.

  “What the hell are you doing in Vegas?” Ford demanded.

  “How’d you know I’m in Vegas?” Case asked.

  “I’m with the government, remember?”

  “I like Vegas. No crime against that, is there?

  “No, but you know he’s off limits, right?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Case said. “How are our two friends, by the way?”

  “Gone,” Ford said.

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “I mean gone, and you don’t want to know any more,” Ford said. “Look, don’t do anything stupid. People could get hurt. A lot of work has gone into getting me where I am.”

  “I’m making no promises.”

  “Dammit, Case. It could go awful for you if you try anything stupid.”

  “Guess I’ll have to take my chances.”

  Trish got in early and called after she checked in. As Case was about to leave his room to pick her up for lunch, the room phone rang.

  “This is Jazz, the investigative reporter? Sam said you were busy, but I have to talk to you.”

  “How’d you know where I was?”

  “Like I said before, I am an investigative reporter,” she said.

  “What do you want, Jazz?” There was no point in arguing with her any further.

  “So many of the stories in Kill Crime seem to have a connection to you … I also think you may be in danger, at least with the oil lease story in the book,” Jazz said.

  “Maybe,” Case said. “I’ll be back soon and then we’ll meet. Is that good enough?”

  “Please call me as soon as you’re back in town.” She didn’t sound sexy anymore—she sounded worried.

  Case liked Jazz, even if she was a pain in the ass. He kept reminding himself she was a reporter and he couldn’t trust her.

  He met Trish in her room. She looked great and she had the report in her hand, ready for Case when he opened the door.

  “It's great to see you, but if you don’t mind, I want to start reading,” Case said.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Black, please,” Case said as he sat in a chair by the window and started reading. Trish was right—the report on Tony Testa was thin.

  Like Trish had told him, Tony had never been in jail. He had no criminal record at all, not even a speeding ticket. Tony was forty-five and his wife Angela was thirty-nine. They had two kids—Rosie was four and Conner was five. They’d been married nine years. He’d graduated from San Francisco State University with a business degree, then gotten an MBA. Testa was formerly from the San Francisco area. His parents had provided a stable home, but they didn’t have much money. He’d moved to Vegas twenty years ago, right after he finished his MBA.

  Tony never seemed to be employed by anyone, but over the years he’d owned many small businesses including a commercial cleaning business, a real estate firm, a construction company, and the Happy Gambler casino off the strip in Vegas. He also seemed to be associated with a Houston business—MBA Exploration, an oil and gas exploration company. However, Trish couldn’t find any direct ownership.

  He had a private pilot's license, a gaming license, a liquor license, and a real estate broker’s license.

  “How could a guy in the drug business be so clean?” Case asked.

  “I was just as surprised,” Trish said.

  “Well, we have a few minutes. Do you come to Vegas much?” Case sipped his coffee.

  “A few years ago, for a bachelorette party.”

  “Pretty wild?”

  “Pretty tame. The bridesmaid arranged it, but the bride was very conservative. No strippers or anything like that. We went to a show, a nice supper, and then we were let loose to play the slots.”

  “Ready to go to lunch?” Case asked.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “We’re going to meet a friend of mine at lunch, a buddy from Afghanistan. I need to talk to him alone for a few minutes. Would you mind going to the restroom for about fifteen minutes before the meal? We’ll wait for you to come back before we order, but I have to talk to him.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  Case walked into the greeting area of the Café Americano Restaurant. It was noon and Joe was waiting with a big smile.

  “Jeff, you’re looking great,” Joe said.

  “You too, Joe. How’s life?” Case asked.

  “Can’t complain. Is this your lovely wife?” Joe asked. Case didn’t bother to explain what had happened to his wife, and he was happy Trish didn’t say anything.

  “This is Trish Teal. She’s a friend of mine.”

  They got a table and everyone sat down. They all ordered drinks. Then Trish excused herself to go to the ladies’ room.

  “Wow, Jeff, she’s a beautiful woman. But aren’t you married? I mean, it’s none of my business—”

  “Trish is a private investigator from Houston. She’s helping me do some research.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s fine, but I want to discuss this before she gets back,” Case said. “Can you get me a sniper rifle with a good scope? You need to deliver it to me here when I’m ready. I need it to be untraceable. Then, at some point, I’ll need you to melt it down. Can you do that?”

  “Wow. I didn’t see that coming,” Joe said.

  “Can you do it?”

  “Yeah, no problemo. Should I ask why you need this?”

  “I’d rather you don’t right now.”

  “Okay. I’m happy to help you. I owe you so much for keeping my ass alive in Afghanistan. Do you know what kind of weapon you want?”

  “Not really. I just want the best scope and rifle you can get. I’m a good shot, but I’m not sniper trained. How far can I stand off and be able to hit, let’s say, a deer?”

  “You should have no trouble at five hundred yards—if there’s no wind.”

  “How long will it take you to get it together for me?”

  “Not long. You want to come to my place? I have lots of wide-open space for you to practice and get used to the weapon,” Joe said.

  “I just might do that. Why don’t you stay here in Vegas for a few days if you like, on me? Then tell me when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll go home tomorrow so I can start getting what you need ready as soon as possible. Feels like we’re on an op again.”

  “Treat it like a secret op, too. Pay cash for anything you get. Here’s a burner phone, and the number to my burner phone is preset. From now on, call me only on that phone.”

  “Sure. I’ll be ready for you in a couple of days, so let me know when you want to come to Reno to practice.”

  Joe was excited to get what Case needed, so he returned to Reno the next morning.

  Case and Trish stayed another day. Case gave Trish money and she mostly played slots, then watched Case play poker.
He told her to let him know if she needed more money.

  He also took Trish to Cirque du Soleil’s The Beatles’ Love at the Mirage. He’d experienced the show twice with Becky and they’d loved it. He allowed himself to relax, enjoy the show, and relive all the great times he and Becky had had together in Vegas.

  36

  Houston

  Back in Houston, Case decided a heroin overdose might be a good way for Krusty to go. But he had no idea how to get heroin, or how to use it. Larry had told him about a good friend of his in homicide, Sergeant Gary Blowers, and how he liked to bend the rules. Case had even met him a few times. Blowers was divorced and Case had run into him at one of Larry’s barbeques, as well as at a few formal police functions Larry had invited him to attend.

  Of course, Case could find out where drug guys hung out and try to buy it directly, but that seemed to present many problems. If Blowers knew someone, he might give him a name. That seemed a better way. Case had to ask Blowers to lunch or supper and approach the subject very carefully.

  “Is Sergeant Blowers there?” asked Case, calling into the Houston Homicide Division.

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Jeff Case? I’m a—was a friend of Larry Marsh,” Case said.

  “Just a minute,” said the voice. There was a pause.

  “Sergeant Blowers. Can I help you?” came the deep, bellowing voice.

  “Gary, this is Jeff Case. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I was a good friend of Larry Marsh. He often talked about you—always good things.”

  “I remember you, Mr. Case. That was horrible, what happened to Larry. Your family, too, so sorry. We’re doing everything we can to catch the perpetrators. What can I do for you?” Blowers asked in a formal and matter-of-fact voice.

  “Please, call me Jeff.” Case already thought this was a mistake. Blowers really had a no-shit tone. Case wasn’t even sure what Blowers knew or thought about his involvement with Larry’s murder.