by Mike Slavin
“Trying to kill you? What? And your friend was a cop, too. Damn! Every cop in Houston should be looking for this guy.”
“I’m sure they are, but I don’t think they’ll ever find him.”
“Why were they after you?”
“Long story.”
“Understood,” Joe replied. After his days in the military, he was used to need-to-know assignments. “What about the guys who pulled the trigger?”
“Let’s just say I was promised I’d never see them again,” Case said.
“Look, Jeff, all shit aside, I wanna do this,” Joe said. “Let me help you, man. You saved my ass enough times. Plus, I’m doing this for me, too. Kill Crime made a lot of sense.”
“I’m not sure,” Case said. “Besides, the target’s in Vegas. With that massacre at Mandalay Bay, there might be too much security.”
“You know better than that. The guy has to be exposed somewhere—his work, his home, or wherever he plays. There’ll be a place where his guard is down—guaranteed. Trust me, I can do this and I won’t get caught. If I am, I’d never in my life give you up.”
Jeff did trust Joe. They’d been caught in many life-threatening situations in Afghanistan. Joe had been part of the team that had helped Case hunt down and kill the sniper who had killed his friend.
“Okay, Joe. If I decide to do it that way, I’ll let you take the shot.” Case said. “Fair enough?”
“You won’t be sorry,” Joe said. “Of course, we’ll need to go to Vegas to scope this out.”
“Soon. Right now, I have a PI watching Testa so I can see his habits. Once I get his habits down, you or I will go to Vegas to watch him.”
“Great.” Joe was excited. Then he got very solemn. “Sorry again about your family, your friend, and, of course, Captain Baker. Shit, that’s a lot.”
“Yep.” Case didn’t want to talk about his plans for Krusty or Ronnie. He still wasn’t sure what he’d do himself.
“You never told me what’s happening about your wife and son’s situation—did they catch who did it yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Anything I can do to help, I will.”
“Thanks.”
He wouldn’t get Joe involved in the justice Case sought for his family. But Joe had been with Case the only other time Case had wanted payback in blood. He knew the decision he made then, and he always wondered if it was right. He had the same decisions to make now. It made his stomach upset just thinking about it.
Afghanistan, Nine Years Ago
Case called in favors and mustered all the resources he could to find the sniper who had killed Captain Baker. The clock was running and the sniper would soon be out of their area. It took three days, but Case, along with a few men, surprised him at daybreak as he set up for another possible kill in the mountains. The sniper heard Case at the last minute and jumped up from a prone position.
As the sniper spun around, he dropped his rifle and elbowed Case in the face. Case was dazed. His nose felt broken and he dropped his weapon. He was disoriented, like a boxer who’d taken a right hook, but he instinctively pulled out his knife. Case knew he was vulnerable and prayed he got his wits back before he got knifed under his vest or across the throat.
In the half darkness, the sniper stumbled on a rock. He fell on his back in front of Case. Then, seeing Case’s men, he lifted his arms in surrender. Case couldn’t see out of his right eye, which was filled with blood. He must have been cut in the struggle or when he was dazed. He had a split second to decide whether to kill the sniper or take him prisoner.
With his one blood-free eye, Case looked in the sniper’s eyes. He noticed the sniper’s dark, bushy eyebrows above deep brown eyes. He could tell when the sniper noticed his deadly intent—the sniper’s expression changed from resignation to panic as he tried to get up.
Case shoved him back down and dropped his body weight onto the sniper, with one leg on either side of his chest. Case wanted desperately to kill this man. He jammed the knife toward the man’s throat and the tip drew blood. Just one thrust and the man would be dead. As Case hesitated, he saw the sniper shut his eyes and surrender to death.
“Shit!” Case yelled, then jumped up and told his men, “Tie him up.”
Sorry, Matt! I can’t kill the guy. Case had been responsible for a lot of death in combat, but he’d never murdered anyone, and he couldn’t do it that day.
Case squeezed the cut over his right eye to slow the bleeding.
Over a damn birthday cake. Rest in peace, my friend.
40
Las Vegas
July 8, 2018, Monday
When Ford finally got back to Vegas, he met with Tony. Larry’s murder might not be enough to turn Tony into a confidential informant, but if Tony gave him instructions and wanted him to move some drugs, that could be.
It was tricky, turning someone into a CI.
When Ford showed up to meet Tony in Vegas, Tony didn’t seem suspicious of Ford at all. He asked a couple questions about Greg and Marco, then immediately jumped into what he needed from Ford—a cocaine shipment moved a week from Wednesday. Tony told him what he needed to move and where it had to go. Ford told him it wouldn’t be a problem.
After talking business, Tony told Ford how excited he was to play in the main event of the World Series of Poker, which started that day. Tony would start on the third day. There were too many entries to start everyone at once, so they’d staggered the start over three days. The event was taking place in Vegas, as always, at the Rio Casino. This gave Ford an idea. If an agent sat beside Tony at the big poker event, they would be next to each other for hours. Tony’s bodyguards wouldn’t be allowed inside the ropes. It would be a chance to broach the idea of him becoming a confidential informant.
The World Series of Poker Main Event was a big deal and cost ten thousand dollars to enter. There were sixty-five hundred players spread over two large rooms at the Rio Casino. Tony took his assigned seat and an undercover DEA agent, a poker enthusiast in his own right, sat beside him. They played poker for about an hour before the agent slipped Tony a message on a piece of paper.
Tony was surprised when the guy next to him slipped him a note on a piece of folded paper. Tony looked at the guy, but he wore sunglasses and a pulled-down baseball hat. He kept his head down and didn’t even acknowledge Tony was looking at him.
What the fuck! Tony was slow to open the paper, but he did. He read the note with no idea of what it was about.
Tony—
We have your office and all your phones tapped. We know you are a drug trafficker. We know you were involved in the murder of a police lieutenant in Houston. We can make sure you never spend a day in prison, but I need to talk to you. Otherwise, we will arrest you today and you may face the death penalty. Go to the port-a-potties on the next break.
Tony reread the note in stunned silence. He sat there, frozen, until he noticed the dealer had reached his hand in his direction and said, “Sir, the action is on you.”
He looked at his cards. He had bullets—two aces, the best starting hand possible. He was on tilt from the note and not thinking straight. There was only one real move with this hand.
“All in.” Tony pushed in all his chips.
The man to his left smiled and folded. Tony looked at him too long, wondering, as the rest of the table folded, if he was an agent. He won a small pot since no one had called him.
Tony was breathing hard. He could hardly think of anything—he just folded when his next turn came. There was a ten-minute break every fifty minutes, and it was about fifteen minutes to the break. He kept folding. What could he do? He had to hear what the guy had to say on the next break. Tony didn’t yet know what agency he was with. He began thinking through possible outcomes.
If it was witness protection and he was offered immunity, he might consider it. Over the years, he’d hidden millions of dollars in safety deposit boxes. Not all these boxes were in the US, and most were under an alias. He might cooperate
and take off with his wife and children, but he wasn’t sure. He’d have to hear what the guy had to say. Tony couldn’t risk prison.
The break finally came. Tony got up and walked toward the port-a-potties set up outside the building. There was a line of poker players. The DEA agent walked out with Tony and got in line behind him. They talked briefly, with no bodyguards around.
“Tony, I’m with the DEA. We have you dead to rights. It’s your choice—a lifetime in prison, possibly the death penalty, or you work for us,” the agent said.
“I’m willing to talk about it,” Tony said.
“Take this burner phone. When would be a good time to call?” the DEA agent asked.
“Call me during the tournament. I’ll step away from my table but not outside the ropes where my bodyguards are,” Tony said.
Tony’s phone rang halfway through the next hour of tournament play. Concentrating on poker was difficult. His mind was going crazy, running through the possible scenarios. He glanced at his cards, a five and an eight off-suit. Garbage anyway. Tony pushed his cards forward so the dealer would take them when his turn came. The players were packed in tightly, but he shoved back his chair, stood behind his seat, and answered his phone.
“This is Tony.”
“Tony, this is Special Agent Fuller. Get up and go to the player check-in area. Do it now. If you have to tell your guys anything, tell them there’s some problem with your registration. We’ll pull you behind the counter into a separate room, where we can talk to you alone.”
Tony stood from the table, walked to his two bodyguards, and told them he had to go to check-in. It was something about his registration form. The DEA agent saw him coming and asked him to go into the back. Once out of sight of his bodyguards, they took Tony into a private room.
“Mr. Testa, we have you on a murder charge for a police lieutenant in Houston and multiple federal and state drug charges,” Agent Fuller said.
Tony didn’t say anything.
“Either you become a confidential informant or we arrest you now.”
There were two DEA agents—people Tony had never seen before. It wasn’t a quick conversation. They explained in detail what they had on him and the consequences of his accepting or refusing the offer.
“I’m willing to negotiate,” Tony said.
41
Houston
July 17, 2018, Tuesday
The time had come to get serious about whether to kill Krusty and Ronnie. Case still wasn’t sure. He felt the evidence was contaminated, so it wasn’t an option to turn over what he had to the police. He’d already collected the computers and cells from Trish and Bobby. He didn’t think they’d turn him in even if he told them his plans. He wasn’t sure, but they didn’t need to be involved anymore. He doubted they’d do anything after the fact, even if they found out Krusty and Ronnie had died of an overdose and a heart problem. Case had considered turning Krusty and Ronnie over to the police, but things had gotten messy. The only real way to make sure they were punished was to kill them himself. Of course, Case could do nothing. But for now, he’d keep moving ahead. There would be a point of no return, but he wasn’t there yet.
Thanks to Trish and Bobby, Case knew a lot about Krusty and his cousin. His plan was to deal with Krusty first before going to Kansas City to deal with Ronnie. His initial thought had been to kidnap Krusty, take him out to the quarry, and kill him there. But that would be pretty brutal, and the body would be found sooner or later. It would lead to an investigation. However, if Krusty and Ronnie died in accidents, there would probably be no investigation—or not much of one, at least.
Since Krusty went to the Galveston beach area so often, and it was well known he liked to use drugs, it wouldn’t be difficult to imagine the police would think he drowned because he’d been swimming while high. A straight overdose would be better. Regardless of how he was killed, everything that traced Krusty to the convenience store was in Case’s possession. Case would donate the money somewhere, and everything else he would destroy. If the police ever found anything related to the robbery, Case knew he’d become the prime suspect. The easiest way to kill Krusty might be to overdose him in his own house after his parents went to work, but there were too many prying eyes in any housing area.
Heroin was the leading drug overdose killer, so it was fitting to use. But Case was worried about all the steps involved. He got the syringes with no problem, but he needed to dissolve the heroin and inject it into a vein. If he didn’t get it in the vein, Krusty would still get the heroin effect, but it would be a slower absorption, and it may take a higher amount to overdose him. And Krusty probably wouldn’t want to sit still while Case put a syringe in his arm.
Case also had to talk to Krusty before he killed him, to get his version of the robbery.
Mainly, he wanted to know which of them had killed his wife and son. Case still felt that both Krusty and Ronnie deserved to die, but he had to know who’d pulled the trigger.
And how had Ronnie, an apparently normal kid, gotten involved in an armed robbery and murder? Maybe he was a good kid on the surface, but had a lying, manipulating, dark soul underneath.
The trackers on Krusty’s and Ronnie’s cars were excellent. Case watched them when he could, or played them back when he had the time. When it looked like Krusty was headed for Galveston, Case knew this would be the day. Krusty apparently always smoked marijuana when he went there, and who knew what else he did. In Galveston, Krusty often stayed out late or overnight, so Case felt he wouldn’t be missed right away.
If Krusty had marijuana in his system, the heroin would be even more potent.
Krusty liked to go to an unmarked turnoff that led to the water on the south side of Highway 259, also called Bluewater Highway, between Surfside Beach and Galveston. This was a secluded place shielded from the highway. As soon as Bobby let Trish and Case know that Krusty went there on a regular basis, Case had taken a drive down to check it out.
About three hundred yards from Krusty’s hideaway was a lone beach house with a sign, For Lease by Owner. Case had called the number and the man had said the fully furnished house was $250 a night. Case listened politely, even though he didn’t care about all the features the owner listed. When the owner stopped talking, Case got to the point.
“I’ll rent the beach house for sixty days. Twelve thousand cash.”
“It’s worth fifteen thousand,” the owner said and he started talking up the house again.
“Fine,” Case said. “I’ll pay the fifteen grand, but no paperwork. Just cash. You don’t have to tell the IRS unless you want to. Deal?”
“What about a deposit for damages?”
“Okay, how about sixteen thousand total and that includes a deposit you can keep?”
“That sounds good.”
“Give me an address. I’ll have a delivery service bring you the money. You can give them the key,” Case said.
“This is a little weird,” the owner said.
“I’m in the middle of a divorce and don’t need my wife finding out about my love shack, alright?”
“Then it’ll be our secret.”
Galveston
The GPS showed Krusty was heading toward his beach spot. Case was ready. If nothing went wrong, Krusty would die that day.
Case had his throwaway computer in the passenger seat so he could watch a real-time satellite display of Krusty’s movements.
He beat Krusty to Galveston.
Case stopped at his rental house and went inside. It had beautiful windows overlooking the ocean. He had time to relax. He planned to wait until the party was over and then get Krusty just as he was leaving—hopefully, while he was still high. Case set the computer on the coffee table so he could see where Krusty’s car was, and then turned on the TV. He put up his feet and found a movie to watch. It was going to be a long night.
About thirty minutes later, the GPS tracker showed Krusty’s car had stopped in his secret hideout. After it got dark, Case planned
to do a quick recon of Krusty and his friends. It was within walking distance.
He got up and double-checked his supplies. Case was ready to prepare the living room. If anyone showed up—which was unlikely—it couldn’t be seen from the front door. He pushed most of the living room furniture against the walls, which provided plenty of room. He laid out the plastic from wall to wall and covered the furniture. He left the TV and a plush chair on the other side of the plastic and taped any gaps in the plastic sheets.
Case didn’t expect much—or any—blood, but he wanted to be extra careful and leave all options open. He had bought a chair at a secondhand store for cash. He set the simple, reliable armchair in the center of the room on top of the plastic. His supplies went along the wall on top of the sheeting—GHB and a small bottle of water. He also had other drinks in the refrigerator if he needed them. Plus, he had the marijuana, the heroin and its paraphernalia, duct tape, and zip ties.
Next to everything was a stack of towels and cleaning supplies.
He planned to give Krusty a lethal dose of heroin after he questioned him. Case thought Krusty would still be high on marijuana, but if he wasn’t, hopefully, he’d want a joint.
Krusty usually met friends at his hideout, but they came at different times and often stayed late. The biggest glitch in Case’s plan was the possibility of Krusty bringing a girl with him, or leaving with one. If he had a partner, Case would have to try another time.
It would soon be dark. Time to relax and wait. He was ready.
42
It grew dark at about nine. Case glanced at the computer. The car was still in the same place, so he decided on a quick recon of Krusty’s hideout. It was just a short walk down the road. As he got close, Case saw a small break in the foliage—the turnoff.
