Las Vegas Crime

by Leslie Wolfe

  Driven by SA Rosales, a black sedan with grille-embedded flashers pulled right behind the ambulance, and his ex-wife climbed out before it had come to a complete stop. She rushed to the gurney and grabbed her daughter’s hand, then hugged her tightly, rocking her back and forth as if she were an infant.

  “Meredith, my baby,” she said between tears.

  Then she looked at Holt and said, “Thank you,” still pressing Meredith’s head against her chest.

  The medics loaded the gurney onto the bus, and it was soon set in motion. Holt looked around, feeling the immense exhaustion of the past two days hitting him with a crushing wave of numbness, now that his daughter had been found and the adrenaline was wearing off. He checked on Glover, who was being patched up in the back of the second ambo, then looked for Baxter.

  She stood to the side, leaning against a car and checking her phone. She looked at him with an unmistakable urgency in her eyes and handed Holt her phone to see for himself. There was a message from Fletcher that froze the blood in his veins.

  The birdman had sent new coordinates; his precious vultures were circling again.

  43

  Death’s Playground

  Mindy shook violently in the cold, January wind blowing across the Mojave expanse, the gusts lifting and carrying dust and dry yucca leaves in small, localized whirlwinds. Her bare legs were as cold as ice and starting to turn blue, and she could barely feel her toes. She crouched to the ground, hugging her knees, unable to take her eyes off Homeboy.

  She knew she’d die today; she’d heard Snowman give the order himself, showing immense contempt for her and calling her a waste of time and a good-for-nothing piece of trash. She welcomed death, the bringer of peace and the end of her suffering, and, in the face of the Grim Reaper, she felt serene and liberated, ready to receive the forgiving bullet.

  But she’d never imagined this.

  The drive in the back of Homeboy’s SUV, a few miles southwest of the city, then another few miles across the uneven, rocky terrain of the Mojave. The threats he made, making her realize her hell wasn’t over yet. It was just beginning, out there, in the desert, where no one could ever hear her scream.

  She’d been at Homeboy’s mercy before and knew what he could do. Back then, she’d hoped he’d grow tired of her, maybe he’d choose someone else to satisfy his urges, maybe Snowman or his other men would stop him. Nothing like that had happened, and her tormentor had returned to her again and again, each time more violent, more sadistic, making her wish she’d be dead already.

  But death doesn’t come when it’s summoned. No, it sits back and laughs in the face of those invoking its mercy, because it has none.

  She’d cried until she ran out of tears, her pleading sobs ridiculed, her wails nothing but an aphrodisiac for her captor. Then she’d fallen silent, watching in horror Homeboy’s preparation for what he’d called, “a night to remember.”

  He took a couple of gulps from a flask, then resumed work on what seemed to be the digging of a shallow grave. If it was that shallow, maybe she could dig herself out after he’d gone. He wasn’t going to kill her now; he’d already shattered that hope. No, he was going to play with her for days, if she were to believe him.

  That thought send new shivers down her spine and the urge to scream and scream. She’d done that before and no one had heard her; no one heard Homeboy’s roars of laughter either.

  But she wouldn’t last that long, not in the cold, barefoot and almost naked, wearing only a short-sleeved T-shirt and panties. She remembered a scene from a movie she’d seen recently, about people who fight for survival in arctic conditions; they mustn’t fall asleep or death will come sooner.

  That’s what she needed to do… fall asleep and never wake up again.

  The shadows grew longer, then vanished, the desert twilight a quick and purple-hued transition from day to night. In the falling darkness, the grave he was digging terrified her, fear clasping its claw around her throat, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

  He dropped the shovel and walked to the car, grinning at her and licking his lips with a lewd glint in his eyes. He returned with a piece of tarp he laid on the ground, a black shroud for her untimely burial.

  Then he came for her.

  “No, no,” she whimpered, feeling tears burning her eyes and blurring her vision. “Please, no.”

  He grabbed her arm and forced her to stand, pressing her body between his groin and the hood of his vehicle. He pulled a small bottle from his pocket and, with an eyedropper, extracted a few drops of liquid, and then he grabbed her face and forced her lips open. She fought him as best she could, but she was no match for him. Her mouth was forced open and the liquid dripped into the back of her throat. He forced her head upward, and her mouth closed until she swallowed a few times, and then he let her go.

  He took a step back, and, in the darkening crepuscule, he looked at her with avid eyes, while slowly undoing his belt. When she whimpered quietly, his grin widened, and his hand plunged to free himself.

  Numbness took over Mindy’s body and she screamed, knowing it was useless and no one would hear, stunned that all the effort she made to scream didn’t even produce the tiniest sound. The paralysis spread through her entire body, leaving her mind intact, her fears exacerbated. Her knees gave way and she fell, willing her hands to reach for support, to grab onto the SUV’s front bumper, but failing, feeling herself falling as if she were watching a strange movie in slow motion.

  She fell hard onto the ground, sharp-edged rocks cutting her flesh, her head bouncing as if she were a rag doll. Then her fallen body finally settled; all she could hear was the howling wind and Homeboy’s satisfied groan.

  And something else, distant, barely intelligible. Perhaps it was her weary mind, playing tricks on her. Possibly she was dreaming, an attempt to escape her brutal reality.

  “Step away from that girl,” a man’s voice commanded. “Put your hands up and step away, now.”

  Homeboy hesitated a little, looking at her, then at something in the distance, and then reached for the gun he carried in his shoulder holster. She heard two, distant, popping sounds and bullets shearing through the air, then Homeboy’s body landed hard on the ground next to her, his eyes wide open, looking into hers, his blood sprayed on her face.

  Now she could sleep.

  44

  Terms

  “All right, thanks, Jennifer,” Holt said and ended the call with a long sigh of relief and, for a moment, he kept his eyes closed. He sat on the boulder by my side and patted my knee. “She’s okay,” he said, his voice breaking, barely above a whisper. “Meredith’s okay.”

  “She wasn’t…” I asked, not able to fully articulate the question.

  “No,” he replied quickly, letting another breath of air leave his lungs. “She was roughed up though, and the doctor said she’s dehydrated and malnourished, but thankfully, they didn’t touch her. We got to her just in time.”

  I listened to the howling winds rushing across the desert, focused on the stars that were coming out, barely visible against the powerful lights deployed in a circle by the Crime Scene Unit. The rescue helicopter had just taken off, raising a cloud of dust that was yet to settle. When she woke, Mindy would be surrounded by family and friends, starting her journey to healing. It wasn’t going to be an easy road, but she was going to live; she was strong, a fighter, a survivor.

  All in all, an excellent end to the day.

  I was so tired, I couldn’t more. I just sat there on the cold boulder by Holt’s side, knowing that at some point I’d have to haul it back home and get into bed. I still had a few loose ends to worry about.

  The fifteen girls who worked the Strip, carrying embedded microchips in their arms, were Snowman’s sex slaves. I was aware that cops were locating them and picking them up one by one, the moment they stepped away from the Strip hotels, as their tracker chips showed motion. Many families would be reunited with their missing children tonight.
<
br />   Then there were the two thugs I’d left bound to a shelf in the plumbing store warehouse. Their fate was still up in the air.

  Holt dissipated those thoughts when he grabbed my hand, seeping heat into my frozen fingers.

  “Can you live with what I’ve done?” he asked, his voice calm, accepting.

  I looked at him for a moment, his eyes, dark and intense, having the same effect as always, sending a rush of mixed emotions in a rampage through my brain. Everything I’d been so worked up about before seemed like ages ago, inconsequential, trivial, almost forgotten.

  I nodded a few times before speaking. “Yeah… Can you?”

  He looked at the desert soil for a moment, then back into my eyes. “Yes, I can.”

  One question swirled through my mind, now that we were safe, that his daughter was safe. My partner knew all my secrets, and I had no idea what he felt about that. Did he feel betrayed? Was our vicious circle of distrust finally broken?

  I had to ask, although I feared the answer and the loneliness it could bring. “Can we still be partners, after—”

  “Ah, there you are,” Anne interrupted, rushing toward us with her medical kit.

  “Yes, we can,” I heard Holt reply to my unfinished question, and I smiled.

  She crouched in front of us and shone a flashlight into my eyes, one at a time. “Any concussions, broken bones, anything I should know about?”

  I squinted, the ray of light piercing and inflicting physical pain, sharp needles of burning ache in my skull. “I’m fine,” I replied, “just tired, hungry, and my feet are killing me. Why are you here?”

  “I heard the Dispatch call and wanted to check on you,” she replied, then gave me a quick smooch on my cheek. “All right. You’re good to go.”

  She moved over to Holt, and did her flashlight torture, taking more time with him, focused on his left eye, the one that was still black and blue and swollen. She examined the bruises on his forehead, then turned toward me with amusement in her eyes.

  “Makeup?” she asked, rubbing the tips of her fingers together.

  I sighed. “Long story.”

  “Share it sometime, all right? Should be one for the books.”

  She asked Holt about broken bones and painful parts of his body, and he lied like the brave son of a bitch he was. I needed to catch my breath a little, and then I’d get him to the hospital to get checked out, even if I had to use a couple of drops of modified tetrodotoxin to get that done. A crime scene tech was carefully packing the bottle, only a few yards away. It wouldn’t be too hard to swipe.

  Anne rose to her feet, the medical kit in her hand, ready to leave. I reached out and squeezed her other hand, suddenly tearful without cause. I turned away to hide my tears from Holt, from her, knowing I was probably too bloody tired to hold myself together. Keen on my state of mind as always, Anne gave me another clinically scrutinizing gaze and reluctantly walked away, just as the two people I really didn’t want to see that night approached at high speed in a UTV.

  The vehicle came to a stop a few feet away. Captain Morales was the first to climb out, followed by Lieutenant Steenstra, visibly infuriated to find herself in the desert that late at night.

  “Baxter, Holt,” Morales said, “we knew we’d find you here.”

  “Yeah, before you disappeared again,” Steenstra said coldly. “You broke so many rules I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Special circumstances, Lieutenant,” Morales said, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture.

  She pressed her lips together and gave us a stare as if we were in tenth grade, caught smoking behind the gym. “I expect a full report on my desk from both of you by Monday morning. Start with why you had to abandon your phones and use burners and continue with how you coerced an analyst to break protocol and help you off the record.”

  I looked at Holt, and both of us smiled. That nuisance was nothing, compared to what we’d been through.

  Steenstra looked at Morales, infuriated probably because he wasn’t siding with her.

  “What’s this I’m hearing, you went undercover in an unsanctioned deployment, then had the nerve to send word to me to make it ongoing? Since when am I working for you, taking orders from you, Detective Baxter? This is unbelievable.”

  She was the usual bitch I knew so well, but I had no energy to argue. “It was a kind request from one distressed cop to a ranking officer, nothing else,” I clarified, then stopped short of saying anything else. Instead, I stood with a groan, my feet unhappy to be put to work again, and looked her in the eye. “Yes, I’ve gone undercover, taking a huge risk, because I saw an opening to catch a serial killer and find Holt’s daughter.”

  She didn’t flinch, but my gaze didn’t falter either. “And I’m going back,” I announced.

  Everyone started talking at the same time.

  “What? No,” Morales reacted. “You’re not going anywhere but home, to bed.”

  “In your dreams, Baxter,” Steenstra replied coldly. “I could always fire you, so don’t push it.”

  “Baxter, no,” Holt whispered, his fingers touching mine in passing.

  My partner’s plea was the hardest to ignore.

  “Yesterday about this time, a girl jumped off the terrace of my hotel room because she was too terrified of what would happen to the other girls if she talked. Do you think I’ve stopped thinking of her? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget her.”

  “And we’re on it, Baxter,” Morales said. “Your three-day adventure left us with a pile of cases to work, all excellent leads, great police work.”

  “Like what?” Holt asked, still frowning.

  “Like those predators who meet with underage girls and pay for sex in West Flamingo Park,” he replied. “Forgot about them? Because we didn’t; we’re casting a net so wide the pervs will wish they were never anywhere near Las Vegas.”

  Holt looked at me visibly confused; he wasn’t there for the conversation I’d had with Heidi, and I hadn’t had the chance to bring him up to speed. I just shook my head quickly and whispered, “Never mind, it’s all good.” Then I turned toward Steenstra. “I have the unique opportunity to infiltrate this organization at the top level—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Steenstra cut me off, “I heard you the first time.”

  “What?” I reacted.

  “I was there when you told Glover to pass me the message,” she said, staring at me firmly, not condemning, but not encouraging either. “Yes, I know exactly what you can and cannot do.”

  “And?” I asked, propping my hands on my thighs, ready to argue with her some more. A new flush of adrenaline had dissipated some of my weariness, leaving me ready for a deathmatch with my IAB nemesis.

  “And I believe your idea has potential, but it needs prep. You can’t just show up in the middle of a drug-dealing, sex trafficking organization and announce candidly, ‘Hey, I’m your new boss.’ You’re going to get killed, and fast.”

  “Baxter, this is not how undercover work is done,” Holt added. “I’ve been there—”

  I grabbed Holt’s arm. “Haven’t you seen me in action? Huh? Wasn’t I getting them to eat from the palm of my hand?”

  He rubbed his forehead with his fingers as if willing a headache to go away. “Yeah, maybe. But there are issues you need to sort through. Your background. The people you’d work with—”

  “Only you,” I said quickly, then looked at Steenstra and Morales. “I’d only work with Holt. I don’t trust anyone else.”

  “Okay,” Morales said, taking one step closer to me in our tiny circle. “Let’s say we embrace this crazy idea of yours for a moment.”

  “Thanks, Captain,” I said quickly.

  “Hypothetically,” he underlined, glaring at me for a brief moment. “How long would you stay under? What kind of support will you need? Because we’re not going about this in any traditional way, I’m assuming you have a plan.”

  I nodded, then swallowed with difficulty. I was thirsty, my
throat dry from desert winds carrying the fine dust from which there was no escape.

  “I’d start with the two perps I left tied up at the plumbing store. I’d buy their loyalty, then have them tell the rest of the organization. I’d bring in a couple of my people, straight from Colombia, so to speak, whatever Spanish-speaking officers would be interested in this assignment. Under the ruse of preparing for Don’s visit and the naming of a successor for Snowman, I’d be speaking with the lieutenants, finding every one of them, and learning how they move product.”

  The three of them stared at me as if I’d just broken loose from the loony bin.

  “Listen, guys, we cleaned Snowman’s organization tonight. The top levels are gone, except those two losers I left tied up at the plumbing store. The worst is done, over. All I need is a little more information about how they move the product and how they sell the girls. Then I’m back.”

  Silence ensued, the only sounds were the howling wind and the distant noises of the Crime Scene unit going about their business, getting ready to wrap up and leave. I didn’t insist further; I let them mull it over for a while, too tired to speak.

  “We’ll need time to think about this,” Steenstra said. “For now, you’ll go—”

  “How about those two at the store?” I asked. “They’re critical assets for my plan.”

  Steenstra groaned and threw her arms in the air. “How’s this? We arrest them tonight, then, if you’re approved, you’ll post their bail and look like a superhero. If not, they’ll rot in jail where they belong.”

  “That means you’re considering it?”

  Steenstra looked at Morales before speaking. “Only for forty-eight hours, then we pull you out with whatever intel you get.”

  “Keep one convict, Pedro Reyes, in solitary with no phone access until I’m back, okay?” I said to Holt, and he nodded.