“So it was her plan?” Ham inquired. “She came to you?”
“She can trust me and she thought it was time. Liam was going to screw the pooch on the whole deal. The yakuza would have taken him down, would have owned him and everything we all worked for. Nicole wasn’t about to let that happen. And neither was I. And besides,” she added, an apparent afterthought, “she felt the time was right for her to take control of the business. Liam was just too soft, had long since begun to lose his edge.”
“How did you know Pendleton was a cop on the take?” Drew asked.
“Larry has expensive tastes and a cheap job. He’s worked for Liam for years.”
“And for me,” Adam added. “There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for a measly little bit of money.
Pendleton’s face flamed red. “There’s nothing measly about five-million dollars,” he fumed.
“So that’s what you’re embarrassed about?” Ham demanded. “That people might think you work cheap? God,” he spat, “get this asshole out of my sight.”
“I can help with that,” a grinning Drew informed him.
Ham held up a hand to forestall her as he added another thought. “I don’t get it,” he sighed, shaking a rueful head at the cop gone bad. “Why would you become a part of this, even for that amount of money? What about your badge, your ethics, morality? Your family, for god’s sake. Did you ever think about any of that? Did any of that even bother you?”
Pendleton gaped at him, stared with a confusion that suggested Ham would need to study harder if he held hopes of laying claim to the title of village idiot. “Say it after me. Five-million dollars.” His eyes lit with intensity as he softly added, “And all that damn power, all of it in my hands.”
“All of those prison bars,” Drew retorted, “all caging your hands. You idiot. I ought to just put your sorry ass out of business right here and now.”
“Ms. Thornton, if I may?” At her nod, Genta continued. “It would not do to have you charged with murder here in your own country, Ms. Thornton. Even if you were to be acquitted—and we would do all within our power to see that such would be the case—going through that, a delicate flower like you, it may well destroy you.”
Ham covered his horselaughs with choking, explosive coughs, the image of “Drew the Delicate Flower” blowing through his mind and in the wind. “Sorry,” he managed to sputter after mere long minutes. “Swallowed the wrong way. Go on.”
Drew eyed Genta with suspicion, wariness her partner. “What are you suggesting?”
“I am suggesting, Ms. Thornton, or Porter, if you will, that we, me and my people, we escort Mr. Fister, Mrs. Fister and Mr. Sergeant Larry Pendleton to our offices in Aomori.”
Drew’s snigger, though soft, rang eerily through the room as Ham thought “offices, indeed.” Were it he, he’d rather jump from the airplane at 35,000 feet, and that without a parachute.
“And what of Nicole Waterson, grieving widow of Liam?”
“She’ll remain here,” Preston insisted. “We’ll take care of her.”
Ham had to admire the guy’s style. To handle her could be taken in different ways. Based upon the confused look in Jennifer’s eyes, he guessed she was fully aware of that, and just as ignorant as to his meaning. “Adam? Are you going to allow this?” His stony silence provided all the answer needed. “You can’t do that,” she pleaded. “You’ve got to help me. You owe it to me.”
He waved a hand, an indication of his answer and a plea for her to let him go. “I cannot help you, my friend. It is you who must help me.”
Confusion shone in her eyes. “Help you? How can I help you?”
“You can keep me from getting killed for your betrayals. Go with them and leave me of your tears. They are for you, not for me.”
“What about the press?” Drew asked. “They’re not going to let this drop just because we send the jackasses out of here, and we can hardly admit their fate.”
“Not to worry,” Preston replied. “We’ve got people in the media. Pick a name, any name will do, and that’s our killer. The one who, obviously insane, committed the dastardly deed and when confronted by the reporter from the Reno Gazette-Journal, shot and killed him, then killed himself. Tragic all the way around.”
The silence that engulfed the room was a tsunami of emptiness. Into that sudden cessation, Ham thought aloud. “It’s interesting,” he stated to Preston, “you and Genta are quite the old world charm, what with everybody is Mr. This or Ms. That, whereas,” pointing at Adam, “your cohort here has no such manners. I wonder why that is.”
“It is,” Preston answered, “because Adam Vicante never learned at his father’s knee. On the contrary, he was nothing but a street hoodlum when his father was killed. So blame him not. He’s unschooled in the ways of our business.”
“Fuck you,” Adam retorted.
Probably not the best riposte, Ham thought, almost laughing at the banality of the immaturity. If this is the family head, he told himself, the family is in for divorce. Ousting the master in family court. Or in the alley, whatever.
“Ham?” Drew asked. “What do you think?”
“I think Adam Vicante is an infantile idiot.”
Her smile matched his and she shook his head in what appeared to be feigned reproval. “I meant about Akiyama’s suggestion. Taking the Fisters and Pendleton back to yakuza territory and letting them handle it.”
“Personally, I think it’s brilliant. What’s the point, after all, of wasting taxpayer money on this son of a bitch cop on the take when we can get the same results for free?”
Preston nodded agreement. “We relinquish our claim on him and his associates in this nefarious business. I am happy to trust Genta to handle this appropriately. That leaves you, Adam.”
He shrugged, either in defeat or resignation. Maybe both, Ham realized. “I will not start a war over a misguided, unauthorized machination, even if a family friend is involved. I’m sorry, Jennifer, I am forced to agree with Genta and Preston. It is for the best. A public trial here would only expose all of us to danger, maybe ruination, even. I can’t risk it. I won’t risk it.”
“Now we just have to get Karl Neely to turn Derek Fister over to us,” Drew pointed out. “And to keep his mouth shut about it. That may not be so easy. The press is all over this thing and they’re not going to lose interest anytime soon. You can bet on it. In the face of that, will he play along?”
“Why don’t we ask Gary?” Ham suggested, referring to their pet attorney. “He’s pretty good at issuing threats if it comes to need.”
“Get him on the phone,” Drew urged. “Get it settled before we close this chapter on these bastards. Because if he’s not going to play,” Drew added, glaring at Jennifer and Pendleton, “we got a couple of ends to tie up and get rid of in a way that, come to think of it, might be fun. So maybe never mind.”
Ham grinned inwardly at the panic that briefly visited the two under threat before he nodded acquiescence. He punched up the number, waited through three rings then spoke up almost before Gary finished a greeting. “Where are you at?”
“Still at the precinct, still babysitting Derek Fister.”
“Excellent. I want you to get him out of there. Right now.”
“The magistrate is not in. It’s going to have to wait until morning.”
“Is Karl Neely still there?”
“The lieutenant? Yeah. Hang on, I see him putting his stuff away. Looks like he’s headed out.”
“Don’t let him go,” Ham ordered. “Call him over. Tell him I’m on one line with you and on the other line with the governor.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“He’ll understand, just do it before you lose him.”
Ham heard the yell across the room, waited as noises squawked from the phone, sounds which indicated rapid movement within.
“You’re not going to let me get any sleep tonight whatever, are you, McCalister? Okay, what is it this time?”
“I need you to bring me Derek Fister.”
A long sigh followed an almost equally long pause, enough so that Ham began to wonder if the man had tossed the phone back to Gary. When he spoke, Ham understood the pause indicated irritation. At best. At worst, maybe genuine anger. “First you want me to hold him until morning, now you want me to spring him. Whatever for? And what do you expect me to do, just drop the charges? I can’t set bail, you know.”
“Definitely drop the charges. He’s got a flight to catch. It’s one-way, he won’t be coming back.”
“Oh my god, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Mr. Akiyama has invited Derek, his wife, Jennifer, and Larry Pendleton to go with him back to his home town, which you may or may not know is Aomori, Japan. Sounds like a nice trip. Preston’s even lending his plane, since Genta flew commercial coming over here.”
“You said he won’t be coming back.”
“Right. It’s a permanent move. I’m guessing to escape American justice. Of course, since we won’t know where exactly they are, we can’t request extradition. We—” He paused as newcomers pushed past him and on toward the body of Barton Bianchi, then returned to his conference with Neely. “The coroner just arrived, along with a couple of EMTs, useless, of course. Did you talk to her?”
“No worries there. Back to this ‘escape’ to Japan. How are you going to keep their location under wraps? Suppose they don’t cooperate?”
“I think we can safely leave that to Genta.”
“Okay, here’s what I’ll do,” Karl offered. “I’ll bring him to you, he will escape from me. Much to my embarrassment, that’ll be two escapes from me today. You know, sometimes it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.”
Ham chuckled a response before adding one further instruction. “Bring him to the airport, I’ll meet you at the hangar in thirty minutes.”
“Where the private jets are, I take it?”
‘That’s the place.”
“Okay, we’ll be there, in Fister’s case with cuffs on.”
Ham cut the connection and stood near Drew as they watched the scene unfold. Without much delay, the EMTs loaded the body on a stretcher and left via the front door, their cargo in hand. As they did, the coroner approached. “Are you McCalister?” He nodded, as did she before she continued. “He described you pretty well, but then I guess he would being a detective and all.”
“Your brother-in-law?”
“Lieutenant Karl Neely, yes. He also provided me with his view of the deceased’s cause of death. He stated he believed it to be suicide and I must say I firmly concur. I will file my paperwork and have the body sent to the funeral home. I understand he has no next of kin who wish to claim it, therefore cremation will occur at once.”
Ham, tongue firmly in cheek, assured her that they’d done an exhaustive search for next of kin. None could be found, so yes, proceed as planned.
Upon her exit, Ham nodded to Drew and Genta. Time to go. He gently grabbed Jennifer’s arm and steered her toward the exit, along with Pendleton, whose arm he grasped much less gently. Drew, as per her wont, held her weapon, lowered but ostentatiously out, and followed on their heels, while Akiyama strode along beside. Jennifer paused fleetingly, a desperate, last hope glance thrown Adam’s way, but he merely shrugged and nodded toward the door. If he felt sorrow, which Ham would have thought he must, he showed nothing of the sort on his face.
It took less than twenty minutes with Drew navigating through late, late night traffic before they reached their destination. Upon showing ID, and having been cleared by Preston, the guard permitted entrance. When they pulled near the plane they found Karl Neely waiting with his unhappy charge, Derek Fister
Ham jumped out and strode up to the lieutenant. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Karl. I owe you one or two, at the very least.”
“It’s been a pleasure, McCalister,” Neely smiled. They shook hands before he added, “Keep in touch. You do lead an interesting life.” Without further word, he jumped in his car and was off.
Ham looked back toward the jet and noticed a lone uniformed man waving them over to where he stood, door and stairs readied for his passengers. As they drew near, Ham recognized the uniform as pilot’s dress and assumed, therefore, that he’d aviate the jet on the long trip home. Drew slowed to a stop and the man entered the craft, presumably to the cockpit.
Acting the drum majorette, Ham marched his charges up the stairs and into the body of the plane, his weapon the baton to action. As he began to issue orders to strap in and keep their hands where they belong, meaning out of pockets and in sight, out from the cockpit strode Jesse Spencer, outfitted to the max in the pilot’s uniform he’d seen but moments before.
Ham couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter, eyes wide with amusement and amazement. Once again under control, he shook his head, an act of admiration. “I shouldn’t be surprised to see you, but much to my disgrace I am. So tell me. You’re a Navy Seal, you’re muscle at the casinos on behalf of all the families, you’re a cab driving adventurer, and now I find you’re an international pilot. What don’t you do? And is this why they tell me that you’re the connection?”
He doffed his hat and performed a small bow. “At your service. I hadn’t heard you were coming with us.”
Ham grinned inwardly at the deflection, the non-answer to his probably imprudent question. “I won’t. It’ll just be Genta and his guests. What about you? When will you return? Or are you?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” he grinned. “I have many business interests here. I’ll sleep a couple of days, enjoy the local amenities and fly back. Maybe I’ll see you when I return.”
Ham shook his head, amused and a bit dumbfounded. “Jesse, I’m betting the house that you will.” Sobering, he offered condolences—even as he sought information. “I understand Quentin Wallace, the reporter found dead in the river, was your step-brother. I am so sorry.”
Jesse’s face turned stone, nothing showing on his lips or in his eyes. “That’s been handled.”
Ham understood the full implications. Jesse had been busy himself this night. He shook the pilot’s hand and headed to the exit. Just before he got there, Genta looked up at him and winked.
He leaned close to his ear and softly whispered. “So tell me the truth, Genta. It won’t go any further than me. Did you bed the late Liam Waterson’s wife?”
“I am a criminal, Mr. McCalister. I am not criminally insane. Does that answer your question?”
Ham hated being forced to like a man such as Genta but was powerless to do otherwise. Same for the old world charm that Preston embodied. As for Adam, that was Ham’s saving grace. For that man he could line his pockets with the pride of unmitigated contempt for the criminal class.
“It does.”
They shook hands like old friends. “If you’re ever in Japan, look me up. You will be an honored guest.”
“I’ll do that, Genta. And let me return that. If you find yourself back in the States, give me a call. You’ll be my favored guest.”
He walked away from the plane and its screaming engines, stopped to lean against the car, as did Drew. They eyed the progress of the plane as it taxied its way to the main runway and waited, still watching, until the plane lifted from the ground. Only then did they enter the car—the one Jennifer was never going to need again—and drive to the exit. Once they hit the main road, Drew sighed, almost a wistful sound. “What do you suppose is going to happen to them?”
Being an absolutely unnecessary question, he let it hang in the air, a lopsided grin his only reply.
19
THE END IS ONLY THE BEGINNING
As dawn broke over the sleeping city, a weary Ham and an even more exhausted Drew pushed through the hospital doors. Too early for visiting hours but nobody would stop them. Well, not stop them and live, Ham vowed.
When they entered the room, three chairs occupied positions near the bed of a sleeping Russ Porter. Eric, though red-eyed a
nd groggy of mien, sat erect in one, while Duncan slumped and softly snored in another and, best to Ham’s eyes, Charlie sat close to Russ in the other, holding his hand and softly cooing in his ear.
Charlie’s head came up when she heard the door. She rose, holding her arms wide in a welcoming embrace for Drew. As she held Drew close, her eyes caught Ham’s. Sad eyes, eyes in which he recognized pain and anger. Pain for the heartache of Drew, anger at the world for what they’d done to Russ. Mixed somewhere in there was some smidgeon of love for him. At least he’d like to think so. And all he could do at the moment, in return for her, was hope that the smidgeon was returned with a vengeance from his own, and by multiples thereof.
God, he sighed, it was so good to see her. Even and especially under these circumstances. She almost single-handedly brought him nearly back to human, to the decency inherent in most souls, a man not enraged at the world, at circumstances, and at God.
She released Drew and grabbed Ham in an equally loving embrace, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. The kiss she offered revealed a ton more affection than a smidgeon, with the result that Ham smiled all the way through the act.
When she released him she stood by his side, his arm around her shoulder, as they watched Drew unabashedly take her place in the chair nearest the bed. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss upon the sleeping man’s forehead, a kiss of magic, Ham supposed, for Russ immediately awoke, eyes wide and with a grin that split his face.
“You got him, didn’t you?”
She smiled at him, tenderly and with devotion, as she nodded her response. “How did you know?”
He took her hand, held it tightly clutched in his. “I didn’t,” he grinned, “but I know you. I expected nothing less. And I also suspected you wouldn’t be back, looking so haggard, yet satisfied, if you hadn’t got his ass.”
“Actually, their asses,” Ham corrected. He laughed at Russ’ curious look, a feature emphasized by the uncertainty coloring Eric’s face.
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