The Biggest Little Crime In The World (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 3)

by Brent Kroetch

  Russ and Drew led the way toward the exit, drawing gapes and stares along the way. Much amused, Ham couldn’t help but wonder if it was Drew’s exquisite beauty on show today that caught such attention, or if the assembled gawkers recognized The Great One. Probably both, he surmised.

  They emerged into a blazing hot summer afternoon, searing by Reno standards, though merely warm for a Vegas man. Ham grinned inwardly when he caught Russ fanning his face, presumably sweating beneath the unfamiliar suit and throat constricting tie. For a lifelong rocker, suits represented the unknown, the unwanted, the grotesque. But bless his soul, Ham thought, he’d dressed to impress. Not for the crowds but his bride-to-be.

  As with the procession out of the casino, the crowds parted for the entourage, even as cameras snapped and jaws dropped. Ham noted with huge amusement that Russ appeared not to be aware of his effect on those around him. And Ham realized he probably was not, given that The Star had lived his entire life in a fishbowl. Fish must learn to ignore the constant stare of faces into their world, after all.

  Ham grinned when he spotted the world famous sign that arched across Virginia Street, the one that welcomed visitors to “The Biggest Little City In The World.” His grin widened as the landmark neared. His delight in witnessing downtown Reno for the first time was matched by his son’s wide-eyed wonder at the scene he found himself enmeshed in. For indeed, Ham understood the incredulity, he had been there, had himself been dressed in that well-worn t-shirt a few times over. And the fact that his son experienced it now, all of it for the first time, filled Ham with a pride and joy he’d long since forgotten, a relic of the past.

  Suddenly ruminations ceased as his senses heightened and tingled to maximum alert. Movement, unexpected, unwelcome. A sense of threat fouling the air, from his left, from out in front.

  Zero in.

  Instinctively, he shoved Charlie and Dylan aside and used his chest as a shield for both. Although at that second he failed to recognize whatever had pinged his radar, his cop instincts, honed beyond razor-sharp by twenty years in homicide, bellowed danger, source unknown.

  No matter, do something, anything. Just move.

  The shots boomed so close in time as to almost sound as one. Ham’s ears insisted on two, however, and his eyes sought the source. Before he could locate it his eyes noted, though his mind failed to register, Russ collapsing to the ground, and that some other man, just ahead and to Russ’ left, immediately followed suit, synchronized swimmers on land.

  And still he couldn’t locate the source. Raging at his stupidity and lack of investigative prowess, he abandoned the quest in favor of backing Charlie and Dylan to the wall to better protect them from any additional attack, or perhaps from some new and unknown peril.

  None occurred, at least not as far as he determined. Though given that panic, pandemonium and chaos squeezed him from all sides, he remained more confused than alert. Until at last his mind focused and he noted with satisfaction and relief people screaming into cell phones and heard the word “shootings” as it echoed across, to and back from the street.

  Now certain Charlie and his son were for the moment safe, Ham rushed to Russ’ side, where Drew knelt cradling his head to her chest. She looked up when he stopped and Ham saw the stain of tears on her cheeks. He suspected, and from the blaze in her eyes was certain, those tracks were tears of fury. Tears that promised instant death to a perp as yet unaware he had just purchased himself a charter membership in the club of the walking dead.

  He made out the cough and wheeze that passed for Russ’ breathing and knew from experience the gunshot wound was critical and required surgery. If he lived long enough to receive it, he heard his mind object.

  Drew’s flashing eyes sought Ham’s and when she spoke her voice rasped with fury. “He’s growing weaker by the second. Between the wheezes he’s coughing a fine mist of blood. I’m worried he’s going to go into shock.” She kissed Russ’ forehead, whispered, “Hang in there, love,” then threw back her head and shrieked. “Where the hell are those damn EMTs?”

  As if in answer to her plea, sirens exploded from a couple of blocks away, moving closer and closer, louder and more clamorous by the second. Even as Ham turned to watch, two emergency medical technicians jumped from the first to arrive ambulance. One ran to the as yet unknown injured victim, the other to Russ’ side. As they began their ministrations, more police cars wailed arrival until, suddenly and blessedly, the sirens died away, leaving a confused muddle of lights in their stead.

  He saw but could not hear the words that Drew offered the EMT who, even as she spoke, tended to Russ. He opened his shirt, examined the entry wound and called over one of the disembarking EMTs from the last ambulance. “His blood pressure is down and dropping, he’s weak and dizzy and in and out of consciousness. Get me an endotracheal tube while I start the IV. And hurry. We got to transport him like now.”

  “I’m going with you,” Drew informed him. When the EMT nodded understanding and agreement, she asked, “Where are you taking him?”

  “Renown Regional Medical Center.”

  Drew glanced up to make sure Ham overheard. He nodded and began to ask about further injuries when a cop stepped in front of him and gently but with authority pushed him back. His polite tone softened the order. “I’m sorry, sir, but we need room here. I’m asking everybody to please stand back and allow the medics to do their jobs, and us ours.”

  “Who’s the other injured guy?” Ham asked. “I’m not just being curious.” He pointed to Russ and explained, “I’m with him. And,” he found the phrase strange, “with his wife. Both his wife and I are retired homicide out of Vegas. We’re now private detectives and I assure you our paths will cross again.”

  The cop sized him up, eyes searching him head to toe and back again before a small grin graced his lips. ‘Let’s hope it’s a friendly path, shall we? But to answer your question, I don’t know yet. There’ll be a statement later, no doubt. Meantime,” he continued as he pulled a card from his wallet, “feel free to give me a call. Only not today.”

  Eric and Duncan ran up, breathless and panicked. “What the hell is going on?” Eric demanded. “Where’s Russ?”

  Ham pointed to the fallen man now mostly obscured by the quick working and harried medics. “They shot him. They’re going to take him to Renown Regional Medical Center. Drew will be in the ambulance with him.”

  “What do you mean ‘they shot him’,” Duncan demanded. “Who shot him? And why, for god’s sake?”

  “Is he going to be okay?” Eric added, his voice quivering and anxious.

  “I don’t know who shot him. Yet. You can bet your ass I will. And then I’ll know why. As for whether he will be okay,” Ham paused, shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and left the thought unsaid.

  Dylan approached, his face ashen, eyes swelled with tears. He opened his mouth, once, twice and a third time before he managed to stammer, “Can we go to the hospital, too?”

  “You can for a while, yes. Then we’ve got to get you on a plane.”

  The boy blinked confusion. “A plane? Why?”

  Ham laid a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. “Dylan, I don’t know what’s going to happen right now but I do know I’m going to be very busy and that the situation is likely to be dangerous. I won’t have the time to both protect you and to hunt down the bastard who did this. I’m going to have to send you back home until this is over. Then,” he smiled, more sadness than promise, “we’ll try again.”

  Dylan’s crestfallen face revealed a grief from somewhere deep in the soul. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay.”

  “I know you do, son, and I’d like you to. But like I said, I’ve got work to do and I can’t watch out for you right now.”

  “Well, I can,” Charlie insisted. “He can come home with me.”

  “I’m not sure about that. His mother will be worried sick, to say the least. To say the most, she’ll accuse me of trying to get him killed.”

 
“I don’t care,” Dylan protested. “I want to stay here. I want to be with you.”

  Ham’s crooked grin revealed his wish and he sighed, “No, you don’t, though I wish it could be. Think about it. If you decided to stay here over her objections, you’d destroy your mom. You want that on your conscious?”

  The boy’s disconsolate expression and drooped shoulders announced capitulation. “Yeah, I know you’re right. I’m just not ready to go yet. But I understand. I really do. But will you at least let me know how Russ is doing? And when I can come back?”

  “Dylan, that is a promise, one that I will break only if I’ve quit breathing.”

  “We’ll make a quick stop at the hospital to talk to Drew and check on Russ. Then I’ll take the limo back to Russ’ and get Dylan packed. He can catch the first plane back home.” Charlie leaned up and pecked Ham’s cheek. “Be careful. And call me. I want to know you’re alright and I want you to keep me in the loop.”

  “Don’t worry, Charlie,” Eric assured her. “Duncan and I will be at the hospital and there is not once chance in the history of the world that they will fail to keep us totally, fully and promptly informed of every single damn thing they do and how Russ reacts to it. We’ll give you frequent updates.”

  “Thank you so, so much. I’m very grateful.” With that, she took Dylan’s arm and forced the lad back up the street toward where the limousine and its driver awaited.

  Ham, Duncan and Eric stood, silent and grim, as the EMTs loaded Russ aboard. They watched as Drew hopped in and their eyes lingered, riveted on the ambulance as it roared away, lights and siren its fateful companion.

  Ham turned away and into himself for several long moments until finally he looked up from the shoes he hadn’t known he’d been studying. Tears of wrath stung his eyes, blurring the sign that had once been so welcoming with its announcement of The Biggest Little City In The World, now the home to the biggest big crime in the world. A crime that would dominate the front pages of the nation’s newspapers tomorrow, and for days and months yet to come.

  Eric laid a hand on Ham’s back, though with his sight still turned to the now vanished vehicle. “I hope you guys are as good as Russ tells me you are.”

  “Yeah,” Ham mumbled. “I hope so, too.”

  “Because I’m your client now. You find me the bastard that did this and you bring me his dick on a platter.”

  2

  THE BIGGEST LITTLE LIE IN THE WORLD

  Ham paid the fare, exited the cab and darted to the emergency room entrance. When he glanced around, he saw no sign of Russ’ EMT saviors, nor of Drew, or Russ’ bandmates. He approached the check-in desk and shoved aside a little old lady bleeding from her forehead.

  Well, not really. He wanted to but he knew better, knew it from experience. He’d had harmless-looking elderly women beat him about the head and shoulders and it was not a pleasant experience. So he waited, impatient and angry, until the next available clerk called him over.

  “Russ Porter,” he breathlessly demanded, “where is he? How is he? Is Drew with him? What about his drummer and bass player? What did the doctors—”

  “Whoa, hey, hold on. Slow down, tiger. Let’s start with this: who are you?”

  Ham extracted his credentials and handed them over. “I’m a private detective, hired to look after his interests. My partner is his wife.” That still felt and sounded strange to his mind but presumably, he thought, he’d become accustomed to that situation over time, someday. With any luck. Hopefully there would be a need. Please God, make it so.

  “Sorry,” reading off his card, “Mister McCalister. I don’t believe status as a private eye is enough for me to avoid a HIPAA violation.”

  Confusion colored Ham’s eyes as he shrugged and shook his head. “I’m sorry. HIPAA who?”

  “Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act. It means if we give out unauthorized information on people we’re in contravention of law. The fines range from $100 to $50,000 per violation. And I don’t have $50,000 to throw around,” she grinned. “But tell you what. Have a seat and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Ham nodded his thanks, found a chair away from the largest mass of illness and, despite the warning sign proscribing its use, pulled out his cell phone and punched in the desired number.

  “Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, Sergeant Maynard speaking.”

  “Sergeant, yes, hello. My name is Ham McCalister, I was a homicide detective on your force.”

  “That’s nice,” the man replied dryly.

  Apparently this is going to be more difficult than I had hoped. Officious prick. “I’d like to speak to Walter Daily. Is he in?”

  “I guess you don’t keep up. He retired a year and a half ago.”

  “Oh,” Ham replied, surprise evident in his voice. “No, I didn’t know. How about Henry Mason?”

  “Retired. I gotta go.”

  “Jarrod Grayson,” Ham yelled, trying to keep the man on the line. And his temper in check.

  “Lieutenant Grayson? Sure, he’s here. Who did you say you are again?”

  He repeated his name, slowly for the moron, and waited, impatient and worried until he heard the familiar voice. “Ham, hey, how you doing? It’s been a while. A couple of years maybe?”

  “Yeah, probably that,” he agreed. “I’m relieved to hear your voice. That idiot desk sergeant who answered the phone led me to believe everybody I ever knew while I was on the force retired. He all but said the word ‘geezer’.”

  “I hear you. I can’t imagine how he got to be sergeant. Must have something on somebody. Which means,” he sighed, “he’ll probably end up my boss. In which case I need to retire and come work for you and Drew. Anyway, what can I do for you? I take it this isn’t a purely social call.”

  “You take it right. Do you know anybody at Reno PD?”

  Ham could almost hear the shrug in Jarrod’s reply. “Yeah, I’ve met a few at various conferences. Can’t say I know any of them well. Why? What’s up?”

  He related events of the day and when he mentioned the victim’s name a low whistle filled his ear. “That is some kind of news,” Jarrod declared. “Is he going to make it?”

  “I don’t know. I’m at the hospital but since I’m no relation they have to get permission to release his status to me. I assume they’ll ask Drew and she’ll tell them it’s okay. And most certainly they’ll have to make a statement to the press once the news gets out.”

  “So what is it I can do for you?”

  ‘There’s another victim. I need his name and a background, whatever you got.”

  “You’re going to be stepping on some toes.”

  “I’m going to do more than that,” Ham responded grimly. “I’m going to stomp all over them with size eighteen boots.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Meantime, try to stay out of jail. They’re not going to look favorably on a private dick interfering in a case with this much splash.”

  Ham clicked off just as Drew emerged from the emergency rooms beyond. One look at her face convinced him the news would be grim.

  And it was. “He’s being prepped for surgery. The bullet penetrated the chest wall. He’s bleeding into his lungs and they’re working to prevent him from drowning in his own blood.”

  “Oh my god,” Ham breathed. “What’s the prognosis?”

  Drew’s eyes revealed nothing but pain when she shrugged her answer. “Who knows? They don’t.” She inhaled deeply and offered at least a touch of hope. “It’s a small caliber bullet, still inside, no exit wound. They won’t really know the full extent of the damage until they get in there. The surgeon said he might be able to make a neat repair of the damaged lung but it’s also possible he’ll have to remove one or more of the lung’s lobes.”

  “What type of weapon? That should tell them something.”

  “Small caliber by the size of the bullet. That’s giving them some hope that the damage may not be too widespread.”

  “Anything else
?”

  ‘Yeah,” she replied, “they have a recovery plan, assuming no surprises. After surgery he’ll be put on a ventilator for as long as needed, probably overnight. They’ll remove the endotracheal tubes as soon as it’s safe to do so since leaving them in can cause a bunch of complications, like pneumonia, for instance. Plus, if he’s tied to an endotracheal tube and ventilator he’s immobile and that sets him up for deep venous thrombosis and a pulmonary embolus, where the clot breaks free and travels to the lungs. It’s a common and potentially deadly occurrence from these circumstances.”

  “Yeah, I remember that one. It happened to Nick Lowry after he was shot trying to arrest the perp in—”

  The fear in Drew’s eyes and the horror on her face forced him to censor the rest of the statement and substitute self-castigation. How stupid, how insensitive could he possibly be? There was no possible explanation, no possible apology that would soften the unwanted mention of the memory of Nick’s death from a similar wound, a memory that she would positively internalize. Damn his ass, he mentally raged. Damn his ass all to hell and back. And once that was done, he’d kick it back and forth again. Just for firm measure.

  Face red, voice low, he continued, “Are you going to stay with him?” Her disgusted grunt resulted in more mental insults directed at his parentage before he added, “Of course you are. What I meant was that Eric wants to hire us.”

  Drew actually almost smiled and her voiced lightened. “I know. Specifically, he wants us to hunt down the bastard that did this and put a bullet up his ass.”