Las Vegas Crime

by Leslie Wolfe

  Las Vegas Crime

  A Novel

  Leslie Wolfe

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Silent Screams

  Gone

  The Call

  The Ex

  School

  Casey

  Vultures

  Visit

  Request

  Crime Scene

  News

  Warehouse

  Feds

  Autopsy

  Bad News

  Lies

  Heidi

  Snitch

  Captive

  Immersion

  Two Cases

  Another

  Lessons

  Cocaine

  Resources

  Gear

  Fear Factor

  Lust

  Exchange

  Collaboration

  Territories

  Internal

  Inmate

  Building Olivia

  The Meet

  Raid

  Ransom

  Help

  Games

  Jailbreak

  Incentives

  Meredith

  Death’s Playground

  Terms

  Thank You!

  Connect with Me!

  Preview: Dawn Girl

  Preview: Las Vegas Girl

  About the Author

  Books by Leslie Wolfe

  Acknowledgments

  A special thank you to my New York City legal eagle and friend, Mark Freyberg, who expertly guided this author through the intricacies of the judicial system.

  Silent Screams

  She struggled to control her sobs but failed miserably. With every mile the man drove into the dark desert, her fear grew, panic overtaking her sense of reason, making it impossible for her to sit still and be quiet like the man had ordered.

  “No, please,” she whimpered, “I’ll disappear. I won’t say a word to anyone. I swear,” she added in a high-pitched plea, her voice trembling badly.

  She stared through a blur of tears at the man’s intense eyes, reflected in the rearview mirror. He rarely looked at her, not even when he spoke to her, but when he did, his eyes were ice cold, feral.

  She couldn’t tell how long they’d been on the road, or how far away from the city they’d traveled. Far enough for darkness to engulf the dazzling lights of Las Vegas, left behind at their brightest and now gone from view. Far enough to know that no matter how loud she’d scream, no one would hear her desperate cries for help. She sat silently, petrified, unable to fight anymore, knowing what Homeboy did to those who disobeyed him.

  They had entered the desolate vastness of the Mojave Desert, cold and bleak at night.

  Her breath shattered as raw memories swirled in her head, repeating over and over like a broken record.

  “Get rid of her,” that terrible man had said, “this bitch ain’t good for nothin’.” The one they called Snowman had curled his lip in disgust and ran his fingers across his throat in a clear gesture, sealing her fate.

  She was to be killed.

  She remembered how her knees gave and she folded onto the cold, grimy floor, half-naked and barefoot, shaking, sobbing uncontrollably, while the other man, a brute she got to know only as Homeboy, smiled and licked his lips. Then he’d grabbed her arm and dragged her out of that place, mumbling, “Sure, boss, whatever you say.”

  She’d seen that look on Homeboy’s face before.

  Maybe she was better off dead than having that animal’s hands on her again. Her body still ached from the hours she’d endured at his pleasure. The thought of peace soon to be found, even if in death, calmed her taut nerves. Soon she’d be free, one way or another.

  No one dared defy Snowman’s orders.

  Her mind wandered, numb and absent for a while, as Homeboy drove fast into the night, mile after mile, without saying a word.

  A slight chime came from the GPS and he braked, although there was no intersecting road crossing the highway, no available turn to take, just desert dunes, covered in shrubs and cacti, and trolled by scorpions, snakes, and coyotes.

  He turned off-road and drove carefully into the desert, climbing over a hill then descending behind it. He didn’t immediately stop; he kept on going, putting more and more distance between them and the road, eliminating any chances that someone could see her, could hear her screams.

  She felt her heart thumping against her chest, the sound of its terrified beats deafening against the deathly silence of the desert. Fresh tears started rolling down her cheeks and her pleas were left unanswered.

  She gasped when he cut the engine, bringing the SUV to a stop. Trembling, she didn’t fight back when he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the vehicle.

  “Please,” she mumbled, “I’ll do whatever you want. Please let me go.”

  “Can’t do that,” he replied, his lips stretched in an evil smile that exposed crooked, yellow teeth. “You heard the boss man.”

  He let go of her arm and reached inside his pocket. Panicked, she bolted in a desperate attempt to save herself. She ran toward the highway, now hidden behind a hill, not feeling the cactus thorns tearing at her flesh, not minding the sharp edges of the desert stones bloodying the soles of her feet.

  She’d run a few yards and he hadn’t caught up with her yet; hope gave her wings, and she sprung uphill clawing at the stones with her bare hands, desperate to put more distance between the two of them.

  She was almost at the top of the hill when his steeled grip bore into her arm, stopping her in place so abruptly that her bleeding feet sent pebbles and sand in the air. Angered, he dragged her back to the SUV and slammed her against the cold metal.

  “Nice try, bitch. There’s nowhere to go.”

  She was starting to understand that, to accept it, although every fiber in her body screamed its fear, urged her to fight, to run, to survive. She drew breath hastily and let out a blood-curdling shriek.

  Homeboy laughed. “Sure, go ahead, scream. You’re giving me a hard-on.”

  Her scream died, stifled by a sob.

  He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small bottle fitted with an eyedropper. With a lewd, sickening smile, he took his time unscrewing the cap and carefully extracted two drops of the clear liquid. Then he grabbed her jaw and forced her lips open.

  “No, no,” she whimpered, fighting desperately to free herself.

  Homeboy just smirked, ignoring her feeble kicks, and squeezed the eyedropper, releasing the liquid into her mouth. Then he held her lips sealed under his heavy hand, forcing her to swallow.

  She couldn’t detect any strange taste; he’d barely used a drop or two. It couldn’t be too bad, she thought, gasping desperately for air as soon as he released his grip.

  She felt her tongue becoming numb, then her lips. Panic opened her eyes widely and made her lungs scream for more air. She gasped, feeling an evil numbness taking over her body, reaching her extremities, weakening her knees. A strange sense of dizziness overtook her, making her reach for support, finding none until her body hit the ground. No matter how much she willed herself to move, she lay still on the cold desert dirt, feeling every stab of pain where sharp-edged rocks cut into her flesh.

  Homeboy crouched near her body with a satisfied grin. He pushed aside a few locks of her hair, clearing her face, touching her frozen lips.

  “You won’t die,” he said, while his hand fumbled with his belt buckle. “Not now, anyway. Not until I’m bored with you.”

  She forced her lungs to draw air and screamed, then drew another raspy breath and screamed again.

  She listened but couldn’t hear her own screams. The desert was completely silent, except for the brute’s rhythmic grunts.

  G
one

  They sat in the unmarked Crown Vic, watching the last of the kids rush inside, after harried drivers dropped them off at the curb. It was almost eight-thirty, but some parents had a terrible sense of timing; by now, the first period had already started, and traffic should’ve been nonexistent in the drop-off lane.

  “Let’s do this,” the man behind the wheel said, arranging his uniform and checking himself briefly in the rearview mirror. His name tag read, “Beasley,” and the patch affixed to his uniform bore the insignia of North Las Vegas Police Department. “The job isn’t going to get any easier if we wait.”

  “Yeah, yeah, all right, hold your skivvies, will you?” his partner, with a name tag of Greer, replied, then got out of the Crown Vic, groaning. He arranged his tactical duty belt and put his cap on, walking quickly toward the school entrance, not bothering to wait for Beasley to catch up.

  They entered through the main gate, underneath a glass banner with the words, “Western Warriors” written in bold lettering. The security officer posted at the doors let them right through, but they didn’t stop to ask for directions; they kept on walking.

  “This place gives me the creeps, man,” said Beasley. “I’d rather do serious time than go back to school. No, scratch that, I’d rather be shot like a rabid dog, than do one more day of school.”

  The two men laughed, and the resounding echo of their laughter caught the attention of a sternly dressed woman in her fifties, carrying a stack of papers and walking quickly toward one of the classrooms.

  “Can I help you, officers?” she asked, forcing herself to try to smile and failing.

  The two men immediately stopped laughing. Beasley cleared his throat, uncomfortable with being caught laughing, when he was about to break some bad news, and said, “We’re here to pick up the daughter of one of our detectives.”

  The woman frowned.

  “We require parental approval—”

  “He’s been shot in the line of duty, ma’am,” Beasley replied quickly.

  The woman gasped. “Oh, my goodness… I’m so sorry. Is he, um, going to be all right?”

  “Yes,” the second man replied, while at the same time, Beasley said, “They don’t know yet; it’s too soon.”

  The two cops glared at each other for a moment, but the woman didn’t seem to notice. She kept staring into nothingness, her hand clasping her gaped mouth.

  “Ma’am?” Beasley asked.

  She turned toward him as in a trance. “I’m assuming you’re talking about Meredith Holt, right?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Beasley confirmed.

  “Such a shame,” the woman continued. “Detective Holt is such a nice man.” She looked at them for a long moment, then said, “You’ll have to sign her out at the office.”

  “Ma’am, with all due respect,” Beasley said, “time is of the essence here. Last thing we want is for Meredith to get there too late.”

  She hesitated, then said, “Okay, follow me; I’ll take you to her.”

  They walked down seemingly endless corridors filled with the smell of heated sneakers, disinfectant, and too many strange odors, while the woman never stopped talking, not for a single moment. Not even to draw breath.

  “This city is falling apart, if you ask me,” she said. “A nice man like Detective Holt—to be shot… that isn’t right. That shouldn’t happen. Where did, um, where did he get shot?”

  Beasley looked at Greer before answering, “In the abdomen. It’s serious.” Thankfully, Greer had learned his lesson and kept his mouth shut.

  After what seemed like an eternity of walking through a maze of cement-floored corridors, the woman stopped in front of a classroom and opened the door. She turned to the two men and said, “Please, wait here.”

  She went inside, and they heard her say, “Meredith, please come with me, dearie.”

  When the girl stepped outside the classroom, the men could tell she was confused and a little worried. Beasley was the one who broke the news to her. Before he could finish speaking, the girl had grabbed his forearm and begged, “Please, take me to him.” She was acting brave, but her lips quivered.

  They thanked the woman and left, rushing toward the school’s exit. Falling a step behind, Beasley looked at the girl with a smirk on his face; she had a nice, round butt for a fifteen-year-old. She showed promise; a couple of months with the right trainers and she’d be topnotch booty. Not to mention, she was the daughter of a cop—one of the meanest, most annoying pigs he’d ever crossed paths with. He’d lost three long years of his life because that piece-of-absolute scum, waste-of-skin Jack Holt wouldn’t cut him some slack when he’d caught Beasley selling a little bit of dope, just to make ends meet.

  Today was payback for all the long days he’d spent caged like an animal.

  He’d gladly taken the job to snatch Holt’s daughter; he’d volunteered, and he didn’t even think of negotiating the fee. He would’ve done it for free, just to put that pig’s little bitch in Snowman’s hands and then, when the time was right, to find Holt and laugh in his face, say something like Bruce Willis would’ve said. “Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker, it was me, and now we’re even. You’re never going to see your little girl again.”

  The girl stopped a few yards short of the exit and turned around so quickly that Beasley barely had time to wipe the smirk off his face.

  “Where’s my mom? I have to call my mom,” she said, as she started digging through her backpack for her phone.

  “She’s already on her way to the hospital,” Beasley said, frowning.

  How did they not realize the kid came equipped with a cell phone and she was going to use it?

  He grabbed her hand and somberly looked her in the eye. “We’ll get you there in ten minutes, you’ll see. We’ll turn on the sirens and all. Your mom is probably already there with your dad, and they don’t allow phones in hospitals, so she wouldn’t get your call. You know that, right?”

  The girl nodded. She wore a spiky dog collar around her neck and dark eyeliner, and her long hair, almost raven black, covered one of her eyes completely. She was trying to pass for a Goth, but she wasn’t there all the way.

  To see where she was going, she occasionally ran her hand through rebellious locks and tucked them behind her ear. Yeah, Beasley could see she needed some work, but her small, firm breasts and her full lips were promising, and she had fire in her eyes. Now, with her eyeliner running down her cheeks, she didn’t look like much, but Beasley still felt a twitch below his belt.

  When they reached the car, he held the back door open for her and refrained from putting his hand on her head to prevent her from hitting the doorframe, like he’d experienced firsthand when he’d been arrested. He’d seen that so many times in the movies he was dying to do it, to be the pig for a change, the one who got to force people’s heads down. He would’ve loved to force that girl’s head down… all the way down.

  “Let me take that,” he offered, extending his hand for the girl’s backpack.

  She hesitated a moment, then let go of the straps and watched Beasley put it in the trunk of the Crown Vic.

  Beasley slammed the car door shut, making sure the girl was now locked inside, behind bars, without possibility of escape. Satisfied, he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. Cautious, he looked left, then right, before entering traffic and they drove in silence for a while, heading north. He didn’t turn on the lights nor the siren; the last thing they needed was to draw any unwanted attention.

  “Hey,” the girl said, sniffling and panting, grabbing the wire mesh that separated the back from the front, “where are you going? UMC Trauma Center is south of here. That’s where they take all the wounded cops.”

  The two men looked at each other, smiling widely.

  “Shut your piehole, bitch,” Greer said, slamming his palm against the wire screen.

  She flinched, but quickly recovered. “Hey,” she shouted, “let me go!” She grabbed the wire
mesh with both her hands, sliding her fingers through the holes and rattling it with all her might. “Hey!”

  They laughed louder, ignoring her. When she turned sideways and started screaming for help, banging against the barred window, Beasley took out his phone and handed it to his partner.

  “Here, you break the good news to the boss. Tell him we’ve got the cop’s girl and we’re coming in.” He licked his lips and added, “Tell him he’ll like her; she’s feisty.”

  Stunned, Meredith stopped shouting while pallor discolored her features. She looked at the two men, slowly taking in the details she’d missed before. Their two uniforms bore different precinct insignias. There was a thick layer of dust on the car’s dashboard. The driver’s duty belt didn’t have any gear inside its many pockets; only the gun holster wasn’t empty.

  Then she seemed to realize what had happened to her.

  She’d been kidnapped.

  The Call

  Sunlight pierced my heavy eyelids and dissolved the lingering slumber with merciless rays making their way through a sliver of exposed window, where the two curtain panels didn’t overlap. Refusing to open my eyes, I stretched lazily, remembering I had the day off, and that meant I got to sleep in for a while longer. With a smile and a satisfied groan, I tried to turn on my side but couldn’t. My hair was caught under Holt’s torso, and now that I’d regained some consciousness, I could sense his leg was thrown over mine, while his arm rested on my stomach.

  Bollocks.

  I opened my eyes, welcoming the sobering sunlight and cringed at the sight. Scattered clothing littered my bedroom floor. His tie dangled from the doorknob, and my panties put a splash of luscious red against the dark fabric of his slacks. His weapon holster hung on the back of a chair, while mine was on the carpet, next to the night table. The sweaty bedsheets were a mess, bearing statement of the heated encounter I preferred not to recall. Our naked bodies lay entangled and relaxed in unequivocal testimony of what had transpired last night.