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

by Mike Slavin

Case went for Krusty’s groin, using his right knee to smash it with all his might. He felt the energy leave both of Krusty’s arms. The Glock fired again. Case’s ears rang, but he managed to plunge the syringe into the artery in Krusty’s neck.

  Krusty yanked on Case’s hand, but Case had already shot the dose of heroin into him.

  Krusty let go of Case. Pulling the syringe out of his neck, he stumbled back and sat on the floor. “Fuck. Fuck. It hurts. It hurts.” Krusty held his chest and started screaming and twisting.

  A double dose of heroin had been in the syringe. Combined with the marijuana, it would have been enough for an overdose. But because the heroin had been injected into an artery, it was going straight to the heart undiluted because it wasn’t traveling through the veins. This would lead to swelling, excruciating pain, and a quick death.

  Krusty kept screaming. He lunged at Case, but fell forward with a twist and landed on his side. It suddenly got quiet. Krusty made a few gasping noises. Then his body completely relaxed. His lips were blue and his eyes were dead.

  Still wearing his gloves, Case took Krusty’s pulse. He couldn’t feel anything. He wanted to be sure, so he grabbed a mirror and put it under Krusty’s nose.

  Nothing.

  Case sat there on the floor. That Krusty had almost killed him and put up a fight made him feel better. Of course, it wasn’t really self-defense, but it wasn’t cold-blooded murder, either.

  He wasn’t sure he could have killed Krusty tied to a chair, but Krusty had helped him get the result he thought he wanted. Now that Krusty was dead, Case wished he’d handled it better. He’d killed men in combat, but this felt different. But he knew he wasn’t done. He still had to get rid of the body.

  Case rolled Krusty onto his back and looked for injuries that might send up a red flag to the authorities. Of course, Case knew deep bruises could show up later, but he couldn’t see any scrapes or cuts. He grabbed the syringe and stuck it into a vein in Krusty’s arm. He hoped the cops wouldn’t notice the injection site in his neck.

  Case ran down the steps to the ground floor and took the tracker off Krusty’s car. Then he went back up to get Krusty. He put the heroin, the spoon, the syringe, the rubber tie, and a lighter in a plastic bag, and then threw Krusty over his shoulder. He was limp and heavy.

  As Case emerged through the door, he was completely shielded from the highway. He opened the driver’s side of Krusty’s car and slipped him into it in a sitting position. Then he got in next to him, behind the steering wheel, and scooted Krusty over so he leaned on Case as he got ready to drive. It wasn’t easy driving with Krusty’s dead body against him, but the drive was short.

  There was no traffic. Case turned onto the highway and headed back to Krusty’s hideout. He pulled Krusty’s car as far off the road as possible until it pointed toward the Gulf. Case got out, turned off the car, pulled Krusty into the driver’s seat, and let him slump over the wheel. He shut the door and ran around to the passenger’s side.

  Case put the contents of the plastic bag beside Krusty. He also put Krusty’s thumb on the syringe and on the lighter.

  It had to be enough to suggest an accidental overdose. There shouldn’t be an intense investigation.

  A bright searchlight hit the car on the driver’s side, startling Case.

  He ducked down, then backed out of the passenger’s side and slowly shut the door. It had to be the police. He scrambled into the brush. The searchlight started moving around the clearing, side to side. The car moved in closer and the light kept sweeping. Finally, the searchlight stopped and focused on the driver’s side of Krusty’s car. Case heard the police radio but couldn’t understand it. He was on the wrong side of the clearing to return to his rental house.

  He moved deeper into the brush. He couldn’t cross the clearing on the beach side, as it was wide open. The cop would surely see him. He could make his way to the entrance. It was a short gap partially covered with brush that would be between him and the cop. Or he might cross the highway.

  When he got back to the highway, Case saw the cop standing next to Krusty’s door. The cop’s back was to Case, so Case quickly crossed over the opening. This put him on the correct side of the clearing to make it back to his rental. Case froze when he saw the cop walking toward him. The policeman turned and picked up the radio. Case couldn’t understand most of what was being said. The cop unknowingly turned in his direction. In the radio conversation, Case heard, “… I need emergency services. I have an apparent drug overdose, maybe suicide. He’s in a car in the driver’s seat looking out into the Gulf. I’m not positive, of course, but you know how they love to look at the water as they commit suicide.”

  That was all Case needed to hear. He kept going while the cop talked on his radio. As soon as he was out of hearing range, Case ran until he got close to the rental. Then he started walking. A few minutes later, he was back in the rental house. There was no reason anyone should suspect him or come to this house, but he felt an urgency to clean up.

  It took Case an hour to take down the plastic and arrange the furniture. He took everything to his car. Case cleaned up as best he could. He thought three rounds had been fired, but confirmed it by checking the Glock.

  He dug two bullets out of the wall and one from the ceiling. Case would get a painter in to fix the wall and ceiling and a cleaning crew for the mess. There was no rush—he had months on the lease, and he was sure the cops weren’t going to look.

  He decided to sleep in the rental house and drive home the next day. On his way back, he would find a dumpster to throw the plastic and chair in.

  It’s your turn, Ronnie. Then I’ll put this behind me.

  He opened a bottle of wine and had a glass of it. He tried to put Krusty and Ronnie out of his mind. The wine helped. Case went to sleep with a smile on his face, thinking about his family.

  A few hours later, the police notified Krusty’s parents that their son had died of a drug overdose. It came as a shock, but without speaking the words to each other, Krusty’s mother and father had always feared Krusty would die an early death. They knew he used drugs. Still, it was hard to accept.

  There was no real investigation—a known drug user had died of an overdose, with zero signs of foul play. Since the police had never found any evidence that linked Krusty to the convenience store robbery or the triple murder of a woman, her infant son, and the store owner, Krusty died with his secret.

  Krusty’s parents called Ronnie’s parents in Kansas City and told them about Krusty. Of course, everyone was in disbelief. Ronnie, while showing his surprise and grief, wondered if something else was going on. Was there a connection between their stolen money and Krusty’s death? Ronnie was scared, but he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t tell his parents or anyone else. He couldn’t go to the police. He had been involved in a robbery and had killed someone.

  Ronnie walked around terrified and zoned out while his parents thought he was grieving.

  He wasn’t ready to die.

  44

  Reno

  July 19, 2018, Thursday

  It was a beautiful day in the hills outside Reno. Joe walked outside, shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. He wasn’t anxious at all, but excited. He missed being in the Army—the combat and the thrill of killing an enemy soldier. He had been looking forward to taking this kill shot ever since Case had talked to him. He often wondered if he should’ve stayed for a few more years instead of retiring when he hit twenty years, but he couldn’t do anything about that now.

  He’d had a purpose in the Army, especially as a Green Beret, and he loved being a weapons specialist. He had chosen his weapon to kill Tony Testa. He had already made a couple of trips to Vegas, once with Jeff and the other time by himself. He planned to take the shot, drive back home, and melt the barrel and the firing pin. That would prevent anyone from making a ballistics match.

  Joe knew Tony Testa’s routines because of the intel from Jeff’s PI. He’d already chosen where he wanted to
take the kill shot: the back of Tony’s casino.

  A new building construction site was close by. Joe had found an excellent spot to set up in a three-story storage facility with an open structure. Construction had stopped, which worked out perfectly for Joe. He was concerned about the wind or occasional gust, which often occurred in the afternoons in that area. For some reason, Tony would come out the back door of his casino between one and one-thirty every Thursday. Joe didn’t know why, but it didn’t matter. From the vantage point, he could clearly see where Tony would exit the building.

  He should have a clean shot, but if the wind was too strong, he could try again in a week.

  He’d set his firing position fifteen feet back from the edge of the building. He had draped some plastic to obscure his position, then set up a platform on some construction horses with two pieces of plywood. It would be perfect for him to take the shot in the prone position. He was all set for that week, but, if necessary, he would keep going back every Thursday until he could take the shot.

  Las Vegas

  “This Thursday,” Joe said on the burner phone. “You ready?”

  “I’ll be there,” Case said.

  “You don’t need to,” Joe said.

  “I want to.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you there. Just be there about thirty minutes early.”

  “Can do.”

  Case flew into Vegas the night before. He was nervous—this was going to be a cold-blooded, premeditated murder in the eyes of the law. Tony was a scumbag and he was responsible for killing Lieutenant Larry Marsh. Would life in prison be any worse for this guy than death?

  An eye for an eye. Tony should die.

  Case smiled as he accidentally rhymed in his head.

  He took a cab and had the cabbie drop him off three blocks away at a small casino. He went into the small, nondescript building until the cab left, then walked to the building from which Joe would take the shot. Case’s stomach churned. Joe’s car was parked off to the side, neither illegal nor conspicuous.

  He climbed the steps to the third floor in the skeleton of a partially constructed building. The draped, flowing plastic blended perfectly into the construction site.

  “You ready?” Case asked as he pulled aside the plastic.

  “All set,” Joe said. “Tony should be coming out in about fifteen minutes, give or take. One shot and only one shot. We get in my car and drive to Reno before anyone realizes what’s happened.”

  The sniper rifle was already set up on the table. Joe climbed onto the table and got comfortable. He looked confident. There was a light crosswind, but Joe said it was of no consequence.

  Case checked his watch: 12:59 p.m. Case knew Joe hoped it would be sooner rather than later so he wouldn’t get stiff, but it wouldn’t affect his accuracy. Case was nervous. Should he have gotten Joe involved? If you wanted to keep a secret, you didn’t tell anyone. He felt he could trust Joe, but who knew? Everyone had a breaking point.

  One-fifteen came and went, and still no Tony. At 1:20, three men came out the back of the casino. Case tapped Joe on the shoulder.

  “I see ‘em,” Joe said. “Damn! I can’t tell which one is Tony.” They all wore nearly identical slacks, polo shirts, and sunglasses. The three men were about the same height and the same build, and they walked as a group to the car. At the last minute, one man moved to get in the car, but from their angle, one of the bodyguards shielded him as he got in.

  “Can you believe that?” Case asked.

  They had pictures from the PI, and they knew what Tony looked like, but in all the pictures, his two bodyguards had been taller than Tony. They assumed Tony would be the shortest of the three people coming out. It was impossible to tell who he was.

  “Maybe next week,” Joe said. “I guarantee I’ll know what he looks like by then.”

  45

  Las Vegas

  July 19, 2018, Thursday-July 25, 2018, Wednesday

  Since Joe couldn’t take a one-hour flight with his sniper rifle, he’d have to drive to Reno if he wanted to be home that same day. The seven-hour drive was too long. He decided to spend the week in Las Vegas at a cheap hotel. He would camp out at Tony’s casino and try to see him up close if possible. The rest of the time, he would just enjoy Vegas.

  Tony sometimes went onto the casino floor. He also knew the other places where Tony liked to go, as well as when he liked to go there, so over the course of a week, Joe was sure he could observe Tony a few times. Once he’d seen him walking around, even if his bodyguards resembled him, he could pick him out from his gait.

  Joe had a whole week before he would try the shot again.

  Tony usually showed up at eleven and ate lunch at the casino, but it varied. At eleven, the casino was just waking up—not many people were at the slots or tables. Tony would enter through the front door and walk around the floor to check that everything was running smoothly.

  Joe wasn’t sure when Tony would show up, so he got to the casino at ten and found a seat at a quarter video poker machine close to the main entrance. This close up, he could watch Tony as much as possible to make sure he recognized him from a distance next Thursday.

  As Joe sat down, he put twenty dollars into the game. He pushed “deal max bet,” which removed $1.25 from his total and electronically dealt him five cards on the screen. He looked down and saw he had three aces. Three of a kind paid $3.75, but if he drew into four aces that would be $275 with the progressive pot. This caught his attention. He discarded two cards, said a prayer, and looked down. He didn’t get the ace.

  “Oh well,” he mumbled out loud.

  “I hate that,” said a voice behind him.

  Joe casually looked up and said, “Yeah, you can’t win them all.” He tried to not act as shocked as he was. Tony Testa stood behind him, his two bodyguards at either side. Tony’s pine cologne was too strong. He wore an expensive shirt, a blue blazer, and gray pants.

  Tony extended his arm to shake hands and his sleeve hitched up to show his cufflinks—oil derricks of white gold with a diamond in the middle. Joe took his hand. He couldn’t believe he was shaking hands with the guy he’d kill in less than a week.

  “I'm Tony Testa, the owner of this casino. I hope we’re treating you right,” Tony said.

  “Yes, sir, everything is great,” Joe said.

  “Is this your first time to Vegas?”

  “It is, and I love it.”

  “Well, enjoy yourself, and let any of the staff know if there’s anything we can do to make your visit better.”

  Tony left with his two bodyguards in tow. He seemed like a nice guy, and now Joe wouldn’t have any problem identifying him again. But since he’d met Tony face-to-face, he couldn’t hang around the casino anymore.

  Joe had a lazy week. He took tours to the Hoover Dam and the Grand Canyon. The rest of the time, he gambled a little and took in the sights.

  The time went fast. He had fun but was ready to go home after he took his shot. It was Wednesday night. The next day, if the weather cooperated, he would kill Tony Testa. The forecast of light winds at five to ten miles per hour and possible gusts up to twenty to thirty miles per hour bothered him.

  On his burner phone, Joe got a call from Case.

  “I can’t get to Vegas tomorrow. I have to attend a meeting. We need to wait another week,” Case said.

  “I can do it without you,” Joe said.

  “This is for me, remember?” Case said.

  “Of course, I know. No disrespect, but the goal is to kill the guy, right? I can do that by myself. I’ve been in Vegas all week. I’ve met him and I’m ready to do it tomorrow.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I wanted to see him up close, so I waited in his casino. I was staring at my cards on a video poker machine when he walked up to me. I even shook his hand and talked to him.”

  “Damn, you shitting me?”

  “I can pick him out easily now.”

  “Wait until I’m t
here before you take the shot. I’m paying for everything. Go home to Reno or stay in Vegas. Throw in whatever you want as play money. But wait for me before you take the shot, understand?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll wait,” Joe said. But he wanted to take the shot if he could tomorrow. He was tired of hanging around Vegas. Besides, he didn’t need Case. All Case wanted was for Tony to be dead. He planned on taking the shot the next day. Case would get over it.

  46

  Houston

  July 26, 2018, Thursday

  Thursday, Case had a meeting to attend. Krusty was dead. Next was Tony and then a quick trip to Kansas City to take care of Ronnie. Depending on how these three kills went, it crossed Case’s mind that he should keep killing bad guys.

  Why not?

  Because it’s crazy.

  The message in Kill Crime wasn’t wrong. If the justice system were more rigorous, people wouldn’t have to take justice into their own hands. Case could relax for another week, but this could be both an interesting hobby and a public service.

  Las Vegas

  Thursday in Vegas was hot, and there was a very light wind while Joe enjoyed his breakfast. He had checked his shooting location a couple of times throughout the last week, and again the previous night, right after he’d spoken with Case. Nothing had been disturbed and his perch was still intact.

  Joe planned to be at his perch at twelve-thirty. No reason to be there too early. He’d be on his scope, ready and waiting. If he couldn’t make the shot for any reason, he’d go to Reno and wait another week. That would make Case happy.

  If he got off the shot and left the immediate area, it was likely they’d never catch him. On the off chance he ran into resistance, he was carrying a pistol. He didn’t want to kill an innocent, but he would if they were preventing him from escape.