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

by Brent Kroetch

  Panic turned to shock when he saw that very same man scurry across the still high traffic flow in the street. The guy hurried directly toward him, as though he saw through the tinted door to Ham within. The pursuer’s eyes bore into his, but how, he wondered, could the man possibly observe what he looked to be seeing?

  As for who he might be, Ham had no idea. The man wore a light windbreaker against the slight breeze, a breeze which, to Ham, only added heat to the night fire. The hat he sported had a brim pulled so low as to mask his features.

  Almost by rote, Ham’s hand searched for the security of his weapon, though he left it in place. If his quarry, now turned his hunter, showed any sign of carrying, Ham would not hesitate, would not be gentle.

  “Drew,” he half shouted, half whispered. “Come quick.”

  She crossed the room in less time that it took Ham to call her, all attention within directed at the detective at the door. “What is it?” she pressed.

  Ham pointed at the figure now nearing the curb on their side of the street and still aimed directly at them. He noted out of the corner of his eye that Drew reached into her purse, hand held ready, clasping, no doubt, a weapon of her own.

  “Are you expecting company?” she asked, whether to Derek or Preston Ham had no idea. Could have been either. Maybe both.

  Preston took the lead, motioned his men to join Ham and Drew at the door. All except the one still blocking Derek’s exit from the rear. “I am most assuredly not. If that company of which you speak attempts entry, you are to let him in, search and secure him and turn him over to me. Is that clear?”

  Even Ham and Drew nodded acquiescence. From the tone of Talbot’s voice he expected it at all times and always instantaneous. Ham, for one, was not prepared to deny him his wants. Or demands, whatever.

  He involuntarily pulled back when the man stepped rapidly to within inches of the door, pulled his hat up to reveal his features and held a card up for view within. Ham examined the man’s face, the card and, without turning tossed over his shoulder, “Do you know a Hiromitsu Fujita? Seems he has a business card to present to you.”

  He needn’t turn to look. He actually heard the smile in Preston’s voice. “Let him in, please.”

  Ham pushed the door wide, allowed the man entry then locked it behind him. “If you’ll pardon me, I am going to frisk you.”

  “No need,” Preston objected, reaching through to drag the man further inside. “He’s fine. Let him through.”

  “There most definitely is a freaking need,” Drew snapped. “Now step back and let us tend to our business.”

  Preston glared at her, clearly quite surprised and even more incensed. Ham guessed that he had long grown accustomed to obsequious deference, expected it, demanded it. That he was a total stranger to outright refusal and counter commands.

  Both stood their ground, moving not an inch until Drew softened her tone. “Were we not just talking about yakuza? Is Mrs. Waterson not in fact on her way here with one of the heads of the yakuza? Is it not possible that this scum is yakuza and that he may therefore have foreknowledge of the hit?”

  Preston refused the bait. Instead, time passed slowly as Ham twiddled thumbs and Drew’s eyes threw daggers aimed at Talbot. Though he didn’t snort out loud, Ham let the sniggers run and echo through his mind. Preston, mobbed up or not, had no clue that Drew was about an inch from taking him out. Either he would come through with the perp she chased, the man she aimed to maim in retribution for her ruined wedding day, or Talbot himself would become the recipient of her injurious intent.

  Just as Ham began to worry that he may not be able to prevent the imminent eruption, Preston sighed a long, loud, total defeat. “Yes, Ms. Thornton, to all your questions. However, I do know of Mr. Fujita. I know of him well. I think it is more likely that he can help us than that he holds responsibility for the situation we all find ourselves in.” Shifting his eyes to Hiromitsu, he nodded. “Would you care to add anything, Mr. Fujita?”

  The man pulled himself erect, looking Drew nose to nose, for indeed he stood no taller than she. Despite that relative disadvantage, he emanated an aura of danger, one Ham had learned to recognize from his years on the streets, in and out of chases, threats, double-crosses and just plain betrayal. That type of threat roiled the air, made it stink in its wake. And this room reeked.

  Yet when he spoke, his voice surfaced soft and calm. “Ms. Thornton.” He stopped short when her eyes narrowed. “Yes, of course I know who you are. And you, Mr. McCalister. We do our homework.”

  “I’m not sure I’m pleased about that,” Drew answered, her own threat adding to the roil already fouling the room. “Explain yourself, please.”

  “I represent Mr. Genta Akiyama, the head of our firm in Aomori, Japan. He asked that I be personally present until he arrives, as he will soon, with the wife of Mr. Talbot’s associate, Mrs. Liam Waterson.”

  “So you are here to represent his interests?” Ham inquired.

  “That I am. When I heard that you and your associate intended to approach my car and introduce yourself, I realized it would be less awkward to make such introductions in here, away from interfering eyes.”

  Ham’s eyes narrowed in apprehension. “How long have your people had this place bugged?” Turning to Talbot, he shook his head in disgust. “And you didn’t know this?”

  “No, I admit I did not. Please explain yourself, Mr. Fujita.”

  A tight, lopsided smile supplied the only answer.

  “Don’t worry, Preston, we’ll find out before we’re done here,” Ham assured him. He then turned his attention fully on Fujita. “Your English is impressively fluent. Not a hint of an accent,” he remarked dryly. And pointedly.

  The man grinned, clearly amused. “My mother is American. I got my undergraduate degree at Stanford, and an MBA from the Warton School of Business at the University of Pennsylvania.”

  “My god,” Ham sputtered, “all that education and you end up yakuza? What the hell? How is that possible?”

  Again Fujita grinned, good natured and clearly growing more entertained by the moment. “You’re biases are quaint, if prosaic. You Americans think well inside the box, to turn one of your rather ridiculous phrases. Look outside that box and ask yourself why would it be that our leaders would consist of educational throwbacks, dropouts from the system? It takes more than the unschooled to run a successful enterprise. On the contrary, it may charm you to note that the head of one of our chapters is a widely known surgeon. Naturally, that being the case, we own all the hospitals and clinics in his territory. A fact that he considers an aside, a hobby, an amusement as it were.”

  “I am amazed,” Ham admitted. “but unamused and most assuredly not charmed. How can a man like that, a man sworn to protect human life, how can he then engage in the criminality of your yakuza? It’s brutal, from everything I’ve heard.”

  The man shrugged, neither offended nor agreeing. “No more so than your own police from everything I have heard.”

  Before either he or Drew could spit a reply, Preston stepped forward and put an end to it. Or at least attempted to, as Ham remained unconvinced. “Hang on, I haven’t frisked him yet.”

  Fujita reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a Beretta semiautomatic and presented it for confiscation. “I will save you the trouble. This is the only weapon I carry.”

  Drew laughed, sarcastic and combative. “Yes, I am going to ignore my girlish skepticism and let you pass. Now spread your fucking legs.”

  She performed a rapid, thorough and unnecessarily rough search, at least in Ham’s opinion. Especially around the crotch, a grab and bang that caused a soft groan from the yakuza associate. Though his eyes blazed he refrained from comment. Which evoked silent congratulations from Ham. Apparently the man was not particularly stupid. Nor masochistic.

  “He’s clean, for a dirty guy,” Drew gibed.

  “Ms. Thornton, regardless of what you might think, we’re hardly what you’d call a criminal organizatio
n. We’re businessmen.”

  “You use some mighty strange marketing techniques.”

  The shrug denied everything. “We do what we must, no more than that.” With a small bow, he admitted, “Sometimes, negotiations are more difficult than at other times. That’s true throughout.”

  “Throughout what?” she challenged. “Throughout the Vatican? Throughout the FBI, the White House, your own parliament, the cabinet of ministers?”

  Fujita favored her with a tender smile, one usually reserved for a charming and inquisitive child. Much to Ham’s relief, he didn’t actually speak to Drew in that manner. “Yes, Ms. Thornton, like all those examples. Which is why there is secrecy throughout the Vatican, particularly within the Vatican bank. Why there are wars between nations, within nations and between presumably allied forces such as your various branches of the military. If you think these are resolved in a peaceful, civilized fashion, you have not been paying attention. The knives are never sheathed.”

  “I was on the force for a lot of years, Fujita. I found it neither necessary nor even desirable to have somebody killed because they disagreed with me.”

  The kind smile offered the tip of the knife and appeared just as lethal. “Does ‘all lives matter’ ring a bell, Ms. Thornton? Or Ruby Ridge? How about Waco? I am not here to argue, not to condemn or condone, nor to justify. I am here solely on behalf of my organizational interests. It begins there and ends there.”

  Preston stepped forward, an impatient scowl painted on his face. “Let’s move beyond this, Ms. Thornton, Mr. McCalister. I appreciate your investigative prowess but this now interferes with my own requirements.” To Fujita, he inquired, “Why exactly are you here, at this shop, at this minute, having followed us and why? And if I’m being redundant, so be it. Answer my questions.” His glare emphasized his final thought. “And I only ask once.”

  “We have been in the process of negotiating a deal with Liam Waterson. Some didn’t want to see it come to fruition. Some of my associates and I have been in your state for the past month, quietly investigating the situation. With this new twist, we are quite eager to discover the traitor who saw fit to disrupt our plans and take care of that little bit of business.”

  Talbot shook his head. “What little bit of business?”

  “The traitor. Beyond that, other, newer business. Like who is behind the assassination, who wishes to interfere with the expansion of our interests.” He cocked his head, almost mimicking Preston. “Do tell, are you claiming you are unaware of our commerce with your late associate?”

  Preston regarded the man as if a curious specimen. “Mr. Fujita, I find your claims most bizarre. If, as you insist, Liam had business with you, particularly business within this state, I would know it. And I have no knowledge of this whatever. I must, therefore, conclude that you are playing me for the fool I am not. That is a dangerous game, Mr. Fujita. A very dangerous game indeed.”

  “I consider life an amusement, Mr. Talbot, a game to be played. My purpose is to play it well. But,” he continued as he held up a hand in denial, “this is not my purpose today. If you have been kept out of Mr. Waterson’s business with us, I must assume he had his reasons. Now that he is no more, those reasons, though moot, are irrelevant. Our business now is with you.”

  “Is that why your Aomori associate, Mr. Akiyama is bedding Liam Waterson’s wife?” Drew asked.

  Fujita shrugged, cool and unperturbed as far as Ham could see. “If Genta is indeed sharing a bed with Mrs. Waterson, as you claim and I doubt, he is only one of many.”

  Preston’s cheeks burned a sudden and brilliant red, a match for the fury in his eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” The fact that he verbalized the actual oath, so unlike what little he’d seen of the man, indicated to Ham that the rage was unmasked and unconcealed.

  Fujita bowed, apparently having also caught the connotation. “I am not intending offense, Mr. Preston, and if I have caused any I beg your forgiveness. I merely state truth.”

  “You will be kind enough to provide an explanation for your crude slander at a later, more appropriate time. At the moment, I am more concerned with your presence, what it is you intend, why Genta is on his way, why he is in the travelling company of Nicole Waterson, and what part you and your people played, and are apparently still playing, in all this.”

  The fact that Preston’s men moved to surround Fujita was lost on no one, particularly the yakuza representative. “Before you make a mistake you will wish you hadn’t, please let me continue.”

  At the nod from their boss, Talbot’s men withdrew just enough to signal a decrease in immediate danger. With a permissive wave of his hand, he acquiesced. “Please do.”

  “We are watching your Sergeant Larry Pendleton. We are also watching your Barton Bianchi, though he’s not the shooter, that we know.”

  Preston’s tight jaws worked enough to spit displeasure. “Barton’s not involved, he’s an innocent? We’ll see. Where is he?”

  Fujita revealed a tight, grim smile. “You misunderstand me, Mr. Talbot. I did not say that Mr. Bianchi is an innocent. On the contrary, he is very much enmeshed in this whole affair. He coordinated everything, every single detail. And he is, as of now, under the protection of the Vicante family.”

  Oh my dear god, Ham thought. If there’s a path out of this one it’s covered with debris. And soon to be bodies.

  15

  NOT LOST IN THE CROWD

  Preston appeared stunned, like he took a right to his jaw from the world champ. But much to his credit, Ham thought, he rebounded so fast that it almost could have been missed. Almost.

  “You know this how? And let me suggest that you be quite straight about this, Mr. Fujita. Though I know of you and of course of your boss, I have no reason to treat you with any more delicacy than I would anyone else who crossed me.” The eyes, if not the words, indicated the cost of refusal. “You have one opportunity. And only one. Please choose your words with care.”

  Ham could not but help admiring the yakuza figure. If that open threat caused Fujita any discomfort whatever, he disclosed it not a whit. He merely smiled that enigmatic grin of his, the one Ham now recognized as one he used for whatever purpose in his dealings with others. Maybe to cover, maybe to disconcert, maybe to deny. Whichever, effective it was.

  “Mr. Talbot, I assure you I have no interests adverse to your own. I, too, am eager to have a quiet discussion with your Barton Bianchi. I suspect—no, let me correct myself, I know—he has knowledge that both I and you require. Which of us acts upon it will of course be subject to discussion at that later time.”

  Preston eyed him with apparent interest and not a little skepticism. “Well said, Mr. Fujita. Very artful, I must say. I note you did not actually answer my question. Try again. This time with less distraction and more direction.”

  A small bow proceeded the answer and the soft grin admitted the thrust. “My compliments, Mr. Talbot. You are quite as astute as my esteemed boss claims.” As Preston opened his mouth, clearly intent on refocusing the conversation, Fujita raised a calming hand. “I know, I know. Back to the subject at hand, which is how we know about Barton Bianchi.” He paused, perhaps, Ham thought, to build the drama, which worked when he claimed, “We know this because your Mrs. Liam Waterson has so informed my boss, Mr. Genta Akiyama. Her brother has so informed her, I am told.”

  Drew had apparently reached the limit of her patience. She pushed Ham aside, much less than gently, and fronted Fujita nose to nose. “I don’t like you, Hiromitsu. If you know as much as you claim, you know that’s not a desirable place to be.” She grinned, a feral threat, as Fujita backpedaled a step or two and she stepped right with him, distance kept constant. “What’s the matter, little man? Afraid of a little woman? Tsk, tsk. And you a big bad yakuza and all.”

  Fujita attempted a another respectful bow, might have accomplished the deed except that Drew reached across, grabbed his hair and forced the head up to face her. “No more of your fakery. D
rop the freaking polite foreign act. You’re just another goddam gutter criminal with god only knows how many atrocities fouling your soul.” She spat, apparently disgusted by her own comment. “Like you have a soul. An empty shell filled with evil is more likely.”

  Fujita considered her closely, hands held loose to his side, clearly intent on presenting no danger, nothing that she could seize upon to cause her to snap. Ham grinned inwardly, laughing at the yakuza, not at his outward caution but at his inward strength. And focus on self-preservation.

  “Ms. Thornton, I apologize if I am causing you distress. That is not my intent, I assure you. To answer what appears to be your overriding concern, we were told that Pendleton is the assassin, that Bianchi is under the protection of the Vicante family, and beyond that I am aware of no additional facts that will enable us to cage the traitor among us. But I will, I assure you, keep you fully involved, keep you in the investigative loop, and keep you informed and involved in the resolution. A resolution,” he admitted, “that will most certainly involve the end of somebody’s career and existence. Now,” he bowed, and completed it because this time she allowed the action, “have I covered your immediate anxieties? If not, please ask and I shall do my absolute best to alleviate them.”

  “You talk a sweet game, Fujita, but again you give me no real information. How do you know Vicante has this guy? Because Liam’s wife told your boss? And we’re supposed to accept that? I don’t know you, I don’t know Liam’s wife, and I damn sure don’t know your yakuza gangster asshole friend. Give me some proof, fool.”

  Fujita nodded, pulled his cell phone from his pocket, pulled up a series of texts and silently handed the instrument to Drew. She, in turn, read through the missives and with a questioning look handed it over to Ham. “The texts are in English. Curious.”

  “Not so curious. The sources are American,” Fujita explained.

  Ham scanned the contents with interest, though without much belief. These were things, he knew, easily faked. Still, the contents did entice, if only on the periphery and as background.