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

by Mike Slavin

  At first, he thought one of them was spelling DEAD, which was odd. Then it dawned on him that someone was yelling DEA over and over, trying to be heard above the noise of the other two.

  Case double-checked that the car was in park and the emergency brake was on. He turned off the car, then reached into the back seat and got one of their pistols. He found a flashlight in the glove box. If he had to shoot someone, he didn’t want to use his Glock.

  He popped open the trunk. His pistol aimed, Case shone the light in the first guy’s eyes and stepped back just in case they jumped him.

  “Shut up! Everyone shut up!” Case yelled.

  He hit everyone’s eyes back and forth with the flashlight. In the dark, it would mess up the visual purple in their eyes and temporarily disrupt their night vision. “Okay, who was yelling DEA?”

  All three of them started saying they were undercover DEA agents.

  “All right, shut up again,” Case said. “You in the front, get out of the trunk. Slowly.”

  The man struggled to get out of the trunk with his hands and feet duct-taped. In the process, he fell. As soon as he was out, Case stepped forward and slammed down the trunk lid. He could hear the muffled sounds of Greg and Prego yelling bloody murder. Case leaned close to the man’s ear. “I’m going to cut the tape on your legs. We’re going to walk about a hundred yards away so they can’t hear us. Then we’ll talk,” he said. “Try anything and I’ll put a bullet through you, understand?”

  “Yeah, I got it,” the guy said.

  Case cut the duct tape and they moved a hundred yards away, where they sat on a rock. Case made sure the man wasn’t close enough to jump him.

  “You try anything, you die. Do you understand me?” Case asked.

  “I’m not going to try anything. I told you, I’m DEA,” the man said. “May I ask who you are?”

  “I’m asking the fucking questions. You’re lucky to be alive. Real fucking lucky. If you’re a DEA agent, why didn’t you tell me before I put you in the trunk?”

  “You said you’d let us go.”

  “I lied. Okay, let’s start with your real name and how you plan to prove to me you’re a DEA agent.”

  “My name is Ford Ragsdale. If you call any DEA office, I’ll give you a code to give them. You leave your number and my handler will call you back in a few minutes. He can confirm I’m a special agent.”

  “Well, Ford, we don’t have any phones, remember? If we did, how would I even know the guy on the other end is a DEA guy?”

  “I assure you I’m with DEA. I’ve been undercover off and on for ten years. I just went back under to try to put away Tony Testa.”

  “Okay, let’s assume you are who you say. The situation here is that you and your two friends just murdered my best friend, a Houston police lieutenant named Larry Marsh, in cold blood,” Case said, his voice low and menacing.

  “What? No, they killed some guy named Case,” Ford said. “Tony Testa said he owed him big and was welching. I didn’t know they planned to kill the guy. I thought they were just going to kidnap him, but then I heard the shotgun go off. As a federal agent, I couldn’t participate in a murder.”

  “I’m Case. I don’t owe money to anyone and you participated in a murder.”

  “Wait! Hold on!” Ford was sweating big-time. “First off, Greg did all the shooting, and I—I had to go along with the kidnapping or blow my cover! I would have shot them both on the spot if I thought they were going to gun down a cop, or anyone. Believe me! Look, I know you’re a decent guy. Let’s talk this out.”

  “Hypothetically, if you are a law enforcement officer, I just kidnapped three people and was about to kill them, including you. Then I surrendered myself,” Case said. “How do I stay out of jail?”

  “First, I’m really sorry about your friend. I swear I had no idea what they were going to do.” Ford took a breath and started talking slowly. “My cover is blown if those two guys get arrested. We’re close to nailing Testa. I think it might be possible to arrange for Homeland Security to arrest them as terrorists and ship them off to Gitmo until I come out from this undercover assignment. They did kill a police lieutenant with a shotgun in a residential district.”

  “Don’t bullshit me. Homeland will haul these guys off?”

  “I think so, but I need to talk to my handler.”

  “Let’s take a walk. It’ll take an hour or two to get back to the gas station down the road,” Case said.

  “Were you really going to kill us?” Ford asked.

  “What do you think?” Case asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “And I don't know if you’re really with the DEA. But if it turns out you’re not, I’ll put you back in the trunk.”

  Case walked six feet behind Ford, holding the pistol in his right hand. Ford stepped in a cow patty. “Damn, just stepped in cow shit,” Ford said.

  “No one’s going to notice how you smell,” Case said.

  28

  “Stop a second,” Case said as they approached the remote gas station. When Ford turned around, Case said, “I’m going to cut the duct tape off your hands. Don’t give me any problems.”

  “Believe me, I’m on your side,” Ford said as he rubbed the circulation back into his wrists.

  They went inside the gas station and Case asked if they had a payphone.

  The attendant laughed and said, “No. I’m sorry. We haven’t had a payphone for a while.”

  “Then may I please use your phone for a minute?” Case asked.

  “Sure. Here you go,” the attendant said.

  Case and Ford stepped outside so as not to be overheard.

  He asked the operator for the DEA phone number in Houston. A duty officer answered and Ford told Case what to say. The duty officer on the other end took the message and said he’d get back as soon as he could.

  “This is an emergency!” Case said, louder than he intended.

  Case sat with Ford in old metal chairs in front of the gas station. About ten minutes later, the phone rang.

  “This is Special Agent Bruce Walker. I was told you’re with Ford and needed to speak to me?” said a no-nonsense voice on the other end.

  “Hold on.” Case put the phone on speaker and handed it to Ford.

  Ford spoke up. “Bruce, it’s me.”

  “What’s going on? Everything all right?” Walker asked.

  “Yeah, sort of,” Ford said. “I’m on speakerphone. Jeff Case is listening. You can trust him. Tell him anything he needs to know.”

  “Who is Jeff Case?” Walker asked.

  “Look, Bruce, it’s very important you convince him I’m a DEA agent—life and death important. Okay?” Ford asked.

  “Okay, Mr. Case, you there?” Walker asked.

  “I’m here. So convince me.”

  A rather short conversation convinced Case that Ford was a DEA agent. Then Ford started talking again and Case just listened. Ford brought Special Agent Bruce Walker up to speed on the situation. Ford explained how the two goons needed to disappear until he finished his case.

  “You need to let me start making calls. How long will it take you to get to Houston?” Walker asked.

  “I’m not sure. I have to get back to the car,” Ford said. “That will take at least thirty minutes, maybe a lot more if I have to walk, then maybe an hour or more to get to the Houston outskirts and an extra thirty to get downtown. I’ll be coming into Houston from the north side.”

  “We’ve isolated your location and I have operatives ready to go. Just tell us where to meet, and sit tight,” Walker said.

  “Thanks. One other thing,” Ford said. “You need to get someone to call the police chief in Houston. They need to drop all charges against Jeffery Case once he’s brought in. Can you do that?”

  “Consider it done,” Walker said. “When do you think he’ll be in custody?”

  “It’ll be a while. He has plans to go home and clean up before the cops come.”

  “Roger that.�
�

  “Case didn’t kill anyone. I was there.”

  Walker asked, “What do you plan to tell Testa?”

  “I don’t know yet. He thinks Case is dead and we’re on our way back to Vegas. So, I have a little time. Let me think about it,” Ford said. “I’ll call you when I pass this gas station again. Then I’m out of touch until I find a phone along the road.”

  “Good luck and be careful,” Walker said.

  “Call me back in about an hour if you can.” Ford hung up.

  “What about the Houston Police?” Case asked.

  “Bruce can get it worked out. Turn yourself in, go through your attorney, and we should have everything worked out today,” Ford said.

  “I could be at the police station all day,” Case said.

  While they spoke, an eighteen-wheeler stopped for fuel. The truck was heading toward Houston. Case walked up to the older trucker, who was wearing cowboy boots and a black cowboy hat. “Excuse me. You going to Houston?”

  “Sure am,” the trucker said.

  “Can I bum a ride?”

  “As soon as I fill her up. It’ll take a few minutes.” The trucker went on to say he’d be happy to drop off Case as he went through Houston.

  Case ran into the restroom and cleaned off any blood still remaining on him. His clothes looked pretty good. Case looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked tired. Case left the restroom and saw Ford.

  Case shook hands with him. “I think it’s best if I hitch a ride to Houston. You can wait for your buddies.”

  “Sure, that’s fine, but whatever you do, don’t mention me being a DEA agent to anyone, under any circumstances. That includes your attorney. It could get me killed, you understand?”

  “Sure, I understand, but Testa put the hit on me, so my business isn’t done with him. You know that?”

  “Yes, I know. I’ll give you a heads up if I hear him trying again,” Ford said.

  “I may have to get proactive,” Case said.

  “Stay away from Testa.”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  The trucker called to Case. “Gotta go!”

  Case shook hands with Ford and climbed into the truck. He was glad the trucker didn’t ask any questions. He’d been ready to kill three guys a couple hours ago. Case had mixed emotions. He wished he’d sent the car over the cliff and those two goons were dead, but he was also glad he hadn’t had to kill them. He was especially pleased he hadn’t accidentally killed a DEA agent. However, in his mind, it was only a matter of time before Pumpkin Head and Prego were dead. They were in a violent occupation. He hoped he’d get to do it.

  It was still dark at 5:00 a.m., when Case got back to Houston. He realized he hadn’t slept for twenty-three hours.

  I’m back on the grid.

  Case walked half a block to a coffee shop. There, he sat down and relaxed. He ordered a coffee that smelled as good as it tasted and let his mind go blank for a few minutes. It was a beautiful moment.

  The taxi pulled into the Walmart parking lot by his house. It took only fifteen minutes. Few cars were around at that time of the morning, and he was able to locate his right away. He directed the cabbie to his car. It was unlocked, and the key was in the same place he’d left it for Trish. The Browning was still there, too. He got in and felt oddly normal as he drove the ten minutes home. However, exhaustion was starting to set in and his entire body ached.

  When Case drove up his driveway, the sun was rising. The police were no longer there, but police tape was everywhere. He pulled into the garage and walked into the kitchen. He knew a bloody mess would be around the corner. Larry Marsh was gone, but no one had cleaned up the blood and gore. He walked past it to get to the other end of the house and then fell on top of his bed, thinking he would be there just a minute.

  He woke up at 9:00 a.m. with the maid shaking him. “Mr. Jeff, you okay?” Maria asked. From experience, Case knew she never understood one hundred percent of what he said, but she always seemed to understand enough to get the job done.

  “Everything is okay.”

  “What happened?”

  “My friend—amigo—Larry was killed—muerte,” Case said.

  She couldn’t hide her surprise, but she didn’t really have a shocked expression. Maria was quiet for a while, and then she hugged Case. “Me sorry. Clean now.”

  “No, it’s too much. I’m going to call someone to do it. Don’t worry about anything.”

  “No clean?”

  Case had recently learned his iPhone X could translate from English into Spanish, so he rolled over to grab it to help him communicate with the maid. He didn’t see it bedside his bed on the nightstand. Great. Case never got up. He looked around for his cell and remembered he’d given it to the gas station attendant during the chase.

  Damn.

  Case rolled out of bed.

  He motioned for Maria to follow him to his study. Case got on his computer and pulled up a translation program. He typed a message to Maria, explaining that she should just do her normal work. Some men would be by soon to clean the blood and mess and fix the doors. The dubious maid left the study. Case heard her go to the laundry room and start the daily chores. He walked back to his bedroom, sat on his bed, and used the phone on his nightstand.

  “Sam, I don’t have time to explain, but Larry Marsh was killed at my house last night.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me right. For now, get one of those companies that clean up murder sites over here ASAP. Then call the guy who built my house to fix my front door and to repair and paint whatever needs to be fixed.”

  “Okay, I’ll take care of everything,” Sam said. “Sorry about Lieutenant Marsh, sir.”

  “Thanks, Sam. Keep me updated.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Case laid his head down again and immediately fell asleep. A few hours later, he awoke. He walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He looked horrible. He had no idea what the maid must have thought. He looked like he’d just survived a train wreck. Case showered and decided it might be a good idea to wash all his clothes, too. He threw all his clothes in the washer. He threw away his shoes.

  The house was a mess, with blood and gore covering the foyer. Case had to walk through the mess to get from one side of the house to the other. As he walked by on one trip, he saw that a white van had pulled up. Two people in white biohazard suits were getting their stuff together.

  After they’d cleaned the mess, Case noticed the shotgun had caused a lot of damage.

  He got a cup of coffee from his Keurig and sat at the table.

  Poor Larry. Poor Becky and little Jeff. Shit. I still need to talk to the cops. I need to talk to Larry’s wife, too. Sandy must be a wreck. He had to make a few calls. He’d go into the office first to see if everything was okay. Then he’d call his attorney and turn himself in.

  29

  After Case got into the eighteen-wheeler headed to Houston, Ford got a ride back to the gravel road turnoff. He didn’t want the clerk to see the car sitting on the edge of a cliff and hear two guys yelling from inside the trunk, so he walked the gravel road in the dark. When he got to the car, the guys in the trunk were quiet. Case had kept his Glock, but told Ford there were plenty of weapons in the car in case he needed them to control the goons.

  Ford hadn’t wanted Greg and Marco to die in the trunk, so he’d brought two bottles of water from the gas station. Case had told Ford if he decided to let the car go over the cliff, it would be their little secret. Of course, this had crossed his mind. It would definitely simplify things.

  But Ford couldn’t kill them.

  He arrived at the car and opened the back door. Greg started yelling, “Hey, help us out! We got kidnapped, let us out of the trunk!”

  Ford didn’t say anything. He found the .45 automatic with a full clip and a round chambered, as well as a few other weapons in the back seat where Case had told him to look.

  He walked back
to the trunk. When Case had given Ford the car keys, he’d also handed over his flashlight. Ford popped open the trunk. He shined the light in their eyes. “Relax. I have a loaded .45 pointed at you guys. Do either of you want a drink of water? You have another hour or two ride in the trunk.”

  “Goddamn it! You’re a fucking DEA agent?” Greg screamed.

  “Surprise!” Ford said like he’d just seen the guest of honor walk into a surprise party.

  “Get us the fuck out of this trunk,” Marco piped up.

  “No way.” Ford threw the two bottles of water in the trunk and slammed it shut. They could figure out how to drink them.

  Ford pulled into the gas station and parked in the back. He didn’t want anyone to hear the goons if they started yelling. He used the attendant’s phone to call Special Agent Walker again. “Bruce, I’m back at the gas station and still an hour or two from Houston,” Ford said.

  “That’s fine. I just got off the phone. A black Cadillac Escalade will be at the southeast corner of 249 and FM 1960, waiting on you in the parking lot.”

  “Who’s gonna take them? Homeland?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “So, it’s not Homeland?”

  “What part of ‘don’t ask’ don’t you understand?”

  “I get it. I’m on the way.”

  Houston

  It was early morning and still dark. Ford drove into the parking lot and saw the black Escalade. He drove up beside it, got out, and walked over to the passenger’s window. The window descended and a voice said, “Follow us.”

  Ford got back in the car with his loaded trunk and followed the Escalade about three miles. They were now in a remote gravel parking lot behind a warehouse. Trees covered three sides of the building. Ford made a habit of looking for cameras, but he saw none.

  Two men got out of the Escalade and walked to Ford’s car. They were dressed in jeans, polo shirts, and caps pulled down over their faces. They were in great shape, with military haircuts. There were no handshakes or niceties.