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

by Brent Kroetch

  “So,” he questioned, “from what I read, Genta is porking Waterson’s wife, Waterson gets assassinated while she’s out of country, you’re directed to find the yakuza traitor who let Waterson know about the porking going on, and congratulate the assassin who thereby kept Genta from getting his ass killed by Liam and his people. Nice, all that.”

  Drew pulled next to Ham, nodded silent agreement and turned to Talbot. “Preston, you’ve got four men here. Well, four men and a wuss,” she amended, pointing at Derek. “Lock the wuss in a vault, secure it so he can’t get out and betray us, as surely the punk will do and,” indicating Fujita, “put this guy in cuffs. I will even lend you mine for the duration, donate them to the cause, as it were.”

  Fujita stumbled back a step, looking unsure and for the first time ruffled. “This would not be a wise move, Mr. Talbot. I suggest you corral your subordinates before you get into a situation you cannot escape.”

  Drew reached out, faster than the angriest viper and with a vicious swipe slapped him upside the head and twice across the face, once on the forehead, the next on his ear. “I am nobody’s subordinate, little man. Apologize before I lose my temper.”

  Fujita slumped, his shoulders looking unable to support their weight, but the grin returned and this time in force. “Ms. Thornton, I have not been given incorrect information. That much is quite obvious to me. You are, to quote the report I have, a deadly weapon in disguise of lethal pleasantry. Please allow me to apologize for giving offense, and please allow me to pledge to never do so again, at least as far as humanly possible.”

  To her credit, Ham thought, Drew returned the smile along with an appreciative chuckle. “Apology accepted.”

  “Before I cause further unintended insult, let me go back to the beginning. I do not accept that Mrs. Waterson is having an affair with Mr. Akiyama, though he would be one of the few she has not bedded in the recent past.” As Talbot reddened once again, Fujita spread his hands in apparent surrender. “There are tapes and tapes and tapes, I am sorry to say. None that we have made public, nor any that we have any intention of ever so doing. But you must understand that Mrs. Waterson was not, I am guessing now, so very happy in her marriage bed.”

  “Supposing that’s true,” Ham replied, “which I doubt because otherwise Preston would likely be aware of it, what would that have to do with anything? With Pendleton, with the Vicantes, with Liam, with us?”

  “Screw that,” Drew snapped. “What does that have to do with Pendleton’s involvement in trying to kill my husband?”

  “They are all intertwined,” he assured them. “Let me answer one by one.” He held up a hand and grabbed a finger. “First, Mrs. Waterson’s lack of discretion would indicate less than full devotion to her mate, perhaps enough so to cause her to explore other interests.”

  “Interests such as his assassination? Is that what you are leading toward?”

  “Yes, Mr. McCalister, it is something we consider a possibility, something we are interested in exploring. Beyond that,” and here he held up a second finger, “in answer to the Vicantes, she is, after all, one of them, is she not? If she were to decide her husband had outlived his usefulness to her, it seems only natural she would turn to family for help.” He held up another finger and added, “Third, she might even enlist Mr. Talbot here.” When Preston flushed and opened his mouth to speak, Fujita shook his head, a kind and gentle smile in place. “No, Mr. Talbot, we accuse you not. But understand our position. It is another possibility we needed to explore, and it’s why we have followed you since you arrived this evening. Tell me, would you not have done the same?”

  Preston answered with a curt nod and a backhanded compliment. “Yes, Mr. Fujita, I would have done so. I may not have been as obvious, but yes, I agree with the approach, the caution.”

  “Moving on to us and Pendleton,” Drew urged. “You’re boring me.”

  An icy smile matched the granite in his eyes. “I don’t wish to tire you, Ms. Thornton. What it has to do with your husband is, I consider, quite simple. He was an innocent mistake. I no longer believe that he was used to deflect attention, not at the time of the shooting. Later, yes, once his presence was known, they used him to deflect. But during the actual crime? No.”

  “A simple mistake,” Drew growled. “Forgive me if I don’t see it like that.”

  “I did not mean to imply anything, most especially that it is anything but despicable and tragic. Were it to happen to my wife, nobody would be safe until I found the culprit. So you have my deepest sympathy and understanding.”

  “Screw that. Just finish your story and either give me something useful or get the hell out before I throw you out.” The flash in his eyes indicated a danger that Drew had apparently invited. And just as clearly didn’t care. “Neither you nor all your yakuza buddies together are accomplished enough to stop me.”

  Preston cleared his throat, a pure attempt to redirect. “You are aware, are you not, that the police are probably on their way here?”

  “We’re aware,” Ham and Drew answered as one.

  “Perhaps Mr. Fujita would care to make himself scarce before that event occurs?” Fujita nodded but before he could bow and exit, Preston completed the thought. “Before I allow you to leave, however, you will need to explain how and why you think it is Sergeant Larry Pendleton who pulled the trigger that killed my friend and boss.”

  “And put my husband on life support.”

  The yakuza representative glanced at his watch, threw a worried look at the door, began to say something but was interrupted by an alert from his cell phone. He glanced at it for a moment and sighed. “Why don’t we talk on the way?”

  “On the way to where?” Ham inquired.

  Fujita looked surprised. “Why to speak with Mrs. Fister, of course.”

  “With my goddaughter? I’ve already spoken to her. What do you expect to achieve by asking her further question? She doesn’t know anything.”

  “She might now,” he assured them. “I would guess that Barton Bianchi is currently providing her much information.”

  “What the hell are you talking about now, for god’s sake?” Ham exploded. He put a restraining hand on Preston’s shoulder, both warning him and encouraging patience. “Where did this crap come from all of a sudden? Are you going to claim prescience, or something like that, on behalf of your criminal asshole buddies?”

  “My criminal asshole buddies, as you put it, are spread throughout the city, Mr. McCalister. Two of them are watching Mrs. Fister even as we speak. It may interest you to learn that Mr. Barton Bianchi has just arrived at and let himself into the Fister household. He was, I am informed, welcomed with a kiss.”

  “That’s a goddam lie,” Derek shouted. “A goddam, fucking lie, you lying fucking bastard asshole shit.”

  Preston did not even hesitate. “Take him down,” he ordered his men. “I’ve had more than enough. We’re wasting our time.”

  Two of his heavies moved to subdue the yakuza but were prevented from achieving their intentions when both Ham and Drew stepped forward. “Is there a problem?” she asked of no one in particular.

  “Ms. Thornton, Mr. McCalister, I do not wish to threaten or intimidate you in any way. I do wish to point out, however, that there are two of you and five of us.”

  “Yes,” Drew admitted. “The odds are against you, that is true.”

  “What she means,” Ham agreed, “is that these four would be well advised to back away.”

  Talbot threw up his hands in apparent exasperation. “May I ask why this interruption, this insistence on defying my orders?”

  “Because, Preston, you are acting out of anger, much as Derek just did, shouting every four letter word he can pronounce, though he managed to mispronounce most of them anyway,” Drew replied. “Think a minute.” Pointing at Fujita, she added, “Just think a second. Why would he claim such a thing if he couldn’t back it up? He’d be committing suicide. And while he may be a disgraceful animal, I don’t think
he’s quite that rash. So let’s hear him out. You can always off him later.”

  “Threats are unnecessary. We all have the same objectives, just maybe for different reasons. If we turn on each other we only serve enemy interests.”

  “Fujita has a point,” Ham agreed. “So tell us how you came about this latest bombshell and why you waited so long to explode it.”

  “I waited because I did not know, until this very minute, that Bianchi had arrived at her house, nor was I even aware that he was on the way to see her.” He pulled up the text he had just received and offered it up as evidence. Useless evidence, Ham saw. Written in Japanese. “This is from the associate who is assigned to keep an eye on him,” Fujita explained. His orders are to know where Bianchi is every second so that once we are ready to grab him we can move in. That is an ‘on pain of death’ assignment.”

  “Is Bianchi actually in the house?” Prescott asked. “Are they sure it was him and that he’s still there?”

  “Remember, I said it’s an ‘on pain of death assignment’. Yes, he’s sure, or I guess I should say ‘they’ since there are two of them. I would be instantly informed of any change.”

  “He’s lying,” Derek insisted. “He’s a goose-fucking, shithole-lying jack-mother ass.”

  “Yes, we’re aware of your opinion,” Preston sighed. “Now please shut up and let the adults work this out.”

  “What are we going to do with the kid?” Drew inquired. “We can hardly take him with us and there’s no way we can leave him here.”

  Ham punched in the number on his cell, a grin playing on his lips. “Let’s see what Lieutenant Neely is up to.” He waited but seconds before the connection rang through. “Karl, this is Ham. I need you to meet us at your office. Somebody is going to drop Derek Fister off for you to sit on. Overnight will probably do.”

  “Don’t you ever sleep? I’m off duty. Call the station.”

  “I wonder if the governor is asleep.”

  Ham heard the sigh of resignation. “You are a bastard, you know that, don’t you? Okay, I can be there within twenty minutes. What’s the charge?

  “Breaking and entering, here at Barton Mallon Associates. Charge him with felonious entry. He’d been fired and broke in with the intent to steal valuable equipment.” He listened a bit and added, “No, don’t worry about that. Eric and the governor got your back, guaranteed. Okay, so here’s what we’ll do. If you’re not there when we get there we’ll leave him in the custody of the desk sergeant, so you might want to call and let him or her know to expect Fister and to hold him for you.” Again a few words came through before Ham summed it up with, “Fine, talk to you soon.”

  Preston took the lead and Ham could have sworn he saw a twinkle in his eye when he turned to Fujita and politely inquired, “I assume you won’t get lost on the way to Jennifer’s house Feel free to follow us.”

  And follow they did, several men in at least four cars that Ham could now see but had not identified before. Either they bettered him at this game or Fujita had covertly summoned reinforcements.

  Within about ten minutes Drew pulled into the lot fronting the station. Ham jumped out, bade Derek to join him, and walked and pushed the reluctant manager to the station desk.

  “Is Karl Neely in?”

  The duty sergeant shook his head. “Afraid not. Can I help you?”

  “You can,” Ham assured him. “This young man is Derek Fister. He’s to meet Lieutenant Neely here. You are to hold him until he arrives.”

  “Oh, sure, yeah, the lieutenant told me about it. I expect he’ll be here shortly, if you care to wait.”

  “I do not care to wait. Tell Neely I’ll call as soon as possible. Meantime, you might want to place this guy in formal custody and make goddam good and sure he doesn’t give you the slip. He’s a little more cunning than he appears.”

  “You can count on that.” To Derek, he ordered, “Turn around, put your hands behind your back.”

  When he turned, he glared at Ham and, as the cuffs were slapped on, mouthed, “You’re a dead man.

  Ham, no stranger to threats, and neither intimidated nor worried by such, nevertheless understood a seriousness that alerted his senses. The man, slender and seemingly unassuming and harmless, carried the aura of danger, sudden and unexpected as it was. Ham reminded himself to look a little further into this man. He’d bet a month’s pay something previously unsuspected lived in the guy’s past.

  He showed no reaction, no intention, no warning of what may come. Instead, he nodded at the arresting officer, turned and retraced his steps back to the vehicle. As he fastened the seat belt, and as Drew pulled into traffic, he asked over his shoulder, “Preston, you assured me Derek belongs to you, right?” Given an affirmative response, he probed further. “What exactly has he done for you? You don’t have to give me particulars, generalities will do.”

  “He’s not muscle. He’s excellent at intelligence. Exactly how he gathers the information he feeds us I’ve never really cared about so long as it keeps coming and it’s accurate. Which it has always been. Why do you ask?”

  “Because he threatened me. Said I was a dead man. Does he have that kind of pull?” Preston snorted, a response if he’d ever heard one. “Then he’s pulled a bluff, which is stupid on the face of it. How much do you know about his past?”

  Ham heard rather than saw the shrug. “Not much. We investigated him when he asked for Jennifer’s hand in marriage. He had some typical teenage run-ins with the law, nothing serious. He was probably just pissed. I’d let it pass, but if you want I’ll make some inquiries.”

  “I want. Maybe something has occurred since your background investigation, something he hasn’t bothered to share with you.”

  “Like altering the surveillance tapes,”

  “Right, like that.”

  “Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

  While Preston tended to his task, Ham sat back, considering. Supposing Derek hadn’t tried to run a bluff, supposing, he thought, he actually meant what the words he’d conveyed. He’d have to be connected somewhere. But clearly not with Preston, therefore, if the connection was with the Waterson people it would be an alliance behind Talbot’s back, which could only mean nonofficial and dangerous. Maybe criminal, maybe political, maybe law enforcement related, maybe any or all of those.

  And what was this crap about Bianchi getting a kiss at Jennifer’s house? Wouldn’t she know if her husband Derek was involved in the plot to kill Waterson? If, as Fujita claimed, Bianchi masterminded the assassination and Pendleton pulled the trigger, how would Bianchi hide it from Derek, especially since Derek saw and altered the feed? Having done so, he without question had to have noted Pendleton on the feed, must have seen the hit. Must therefore be involved. And kept it from his wife?

  But why? Why would Bianchi and Derek turn on their benefactors? And how and why involve Larry Pendleton, erstwhile police sergeant, one of Reno’s finest?

  How Pendleton came to be under the protection of the Vicante family was another question altogether. Or maybe not altogether, he considered. Suppose he had done a favor for that particular group? That they would respond with such gratitude as to place him under their protection—which even the cops would hesitate to breach—doesn’t come without cost. Big cost. They’d have to know Liam Waterson’s people would come after them, do whatever required to get their hands on the rogue cop. Why chance a war? Why not just off Pendleton themselves if that’s what was needed to keep the peace? And their secrets, of course.

  None of that explained Nicole, Liam Waterson’s wife. Whether she bedded the yakuza boss or not, whether there really were tapes of her escapades, none of that mattered a whit to him. What did matter, and mattered a hell of a lot, was her amazingly coincidental association with another crime family, at a time when her husband is shot down, and that while she is conveniently out of country.

  He shook his head—or rather rattled the marbles therein, he mused—a futile attempt to make order from chaos. T
o this point, he simply lacked enough information to put it all together, to arrange the puzzle in order.

  The chime from Preston’s cell phone interrupted Ham’s musings. Knowing it signaled new information, he waited for explanation. Within moments, he had it.

  “They’ve landed, they’re pulling into the gate. We need to get to the airport immediately.”

  “What about Jennifer? And Bianchi?” Drew asked.

  “That can wait. The text was from Fujita, who himself just received one from his boss. “Fujita ordered four of his men to the airport, and four more to stay on the house. Two will follow Bianchi if he leaves, the other two will keep watch on the house. We won’t miss anything by delaying a bit. But we will definitely miss a lot if we fail to intercept Nicole Waterson and her charming escort, Genta Akiyama.”

  Drew hit the accelerator, passed through the intersection seconds after the light turned red and maybe one before traffic whizzed by the crossroad. Ham paled as his inner vision produced pictures of wreckage and ruin, and supplied the sounds of moans, screams and sirens. He tossed them off long enough to note the sign indicating the airport just ahead.

  They pulled up to arrivals where Drew stopped, parked and turned off the motor. When they emerged, intent on leaving the car, a uniformed airport cop ran up and waved them off. “You can’t park here. You can’t even wait here. This is only for picking passengers up, and that after they get out here with their luggage. Go to the cell phone waiting area around on the other side.”

  Much to Ham’s amusement, Preston pulled out his wallet and waived a badge and identification in front of the tin-star guard. “Police business. I want you to wait here with the car and make sure it’s not disturbed.” The cop looked uncertain, apparently not sure whether he should obey, refuse, or just break down and cry. “No worries,” Preston assured him, “leave your name and number under the wiper and we’ll get notification to airport security of your valiant cooperation.” The man visibly brightened and waived them on their way.