Charlie’s face flushed crimson just before it contorted into a dizzying display of rage. “What the hell kind of stupid crap ass thing is that to say? What the hell is that supposed to mean, ‘what’s the big deal, anyway,’ huh? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Carson blurted. “Take it easy here. What she meant, I think, is that if all your dad and Russ lose is some money, who gives a shit? They can replace that anytime they want to, right? Like with the new album and the reunion tour, you see?” Taking a deep breath, he added, “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, Charlie, but it’s only money. It’s not life.”
“So sayeth the ghost,” Charlie muttered.
Ham managed no more than a snort of laughter before catching himself. “Well he is right, Charlie. But I’ll add this to what he and Drew said. If we pay the bastards off, it won’t be the end of it. Because I will still search for them and I will find them. And then I will either turn them over to the cops…or I will kill them.” Ignoring the shocked silence around the table, he assured her, “Either way, they won’t get away with this, Charlie. I’ll end it for them. And for us.”
Drew’s eyes widened as she shook her head with astonishment. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Ham. What, have you lost your freaking mind? Lord, man, how many cases like this have we worked on, huh, and over how many goddamn years? You know the drill. You go after them, they’ll retaliate, and they’ll fucking kill Blake. Maybe Russ, too, if they think Russ is helping you.”
Ham’s face darkened but his reply was calm and steady. “Drew, you think Charlie needs to hear crap like that? Or me? You think I don’t know what they’ll try to do? You honestly think I wouldn’t be ready for them? You think,” he spat, “that they, no matter who they might be, no matter how close, how clever, could ever get through me? You think for one freaking, fucking second that I’m going to leave, go back to Las Vegas, let Blake worry about it—because what the hell, I’ve got my check, so fuck him—before I’ve got those jackals behind bars or in the ground?” The anger drained from Ham’s face, replaced by a look of limitless depression. “You know me better than that, Drew.”
Carson attempted to intervene, to play a bit of the peacemaker with his lame attempt at a joke. “For partners, you guys make pretty serious enemies. This is what you call teamwork?”
Ham shrugged as Drew blew out a shaky breath. “Carson’s right,” she agreed. “So what do you say, pistols at twenty paces?”
Gordo appeared to be trying to look calm, amused, in control, but his waxen face gave him away as he stammered, “You wouldn’t really kill anybody, would you, Ham? Or…you know, lock them up, whatever. I mean, you’d let it go, keep them the hell away from here, wouldn’t you?”
Lindsey reached over and patted her shaken husband’s hand. “Don’t worry, honey. That’s not going to happen, I’m sure.” To Ham and Drew, she added, “Gordo may be a big ox of a man, but he’s as gentle as they come. The thought of people getting killed over this, maybe even on this property while we’re all here to witness it, is horrifying to him. And to me,” she added with sadness.
“That’s not what I meant, Lindsey. It’s not going to come to that. I’m just letting off steam, just pissed that anybody would do this to a beautiful man like Blake. And I’m angry that so far they’ve outwitted me. I’m infuriated that I’m not doing all I can to protect the man.” Ham sighed, a weary, defeated sound. “I’m just too filled with fury, I guess is what it is. Just plain outraged. And I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right,” Charlie announced, her face set in determination. “You get just as angry as you need to get. And you, Drew, you fight with him, and you fight against him just as much as you need to, and just as much as he needs you to. Let’s all of us do whatever it takes for us all to get angry, to get our edge, to lose our impotence, whatever, let’s just do it. And by damn by hell, let’s just do it right this very freaking now.”
Small chuckles greeted Charlie’s attempt at a halftime pep talk. Ham gave them time to release a bit of the tension before he added some words of his own.
“Okay, people, here’s the deal. I know the clock is growing short—hell, we all feel the pull of it, even when we try to take a little time, like now, to pretend otherwise—and that’s precisely why we have to pull together instead of apart. So...” He wiped his mouth with the linen napkin Lindsey had provided at each setting, laid it down across his now forgotten plate, and announced, “As for me, it’s back to the main house. I’m going to want you,” pointing at Drew, “and you,” at Carson, “along with me. Drew, you’re going to shadow Russ wherever he goes, including, yes, the freaking bathroom—if he’s still too shy at this stage of his life then he’s worthless anyway—and you, Carson, you’re going to monitor the doors and patrol the outside of the building, so bundle up. As for you,” he pointed at Gordo, “I want you to—”
The abrupt and unexpected roar of a close-by engine burst through the routine and ongoing background sounds, interior and exterior, that had become an unnoticed part of the lakeside ambience. The sput, sput, sput of a gasoline engine warming up was so wholly anomalous that it seized their attention, chasing away all other thoughts with its demanding immediacy.
“What the hell is that?” Drew asked no one in particular. “Where’s it coming from?”
Both Ham and Drew yanked their guns as Gordo screamed back, “It’s the Tahoe Too. Somebody’s started her up.” As the engine revved, he cursed, “Shit. She’s pulling away from the dock.”
He dashed out the door, Drew, Ham, Lindsey and Carson close on his heels. He pulled up at the sight of the big cruiser moving slowly but steadily out to deeper water, already beyond the reach of the stranded bystanders.
“What about the other boats?” Ham demanded. “Can we take one of those?”
Gordo shook his head. “They’re out of water, I’m going to have to lower one. Over here,” he said as he waved to the other side of the pier, at one of the other, smaller boathouses. “Follow me.”
They burst through a barn-like door that enclosed the hoists, and Gordo, without bothering to latch the gate behind them, threw a switch that immediately engaged the winch that lowered a sleek and powerful looking ski boat down toward the cold, clear, icy water below.
Though it took less than five minutes to free the boat from its constraints, it felt more like five hours to Ham. He was near to biting his own weapon in frustration when the ominous click of a semi-automatic’s slide slapped him almost literally upside the head. He swung toward the noise, toward Carson, the offending party and demanded, “Where the hell did you get that gun? I told you to leave it.”
Carson’s eyes were harder than his smile. “Can’t do it, brother. If you think for one second that I’m going to put myself in the line of fire and not have a means of self defense, you’re more of an idiot than I give you credit for. And that would be amazing.”
Ham regarded him with suspicion and no small amount of hostility—until the obvious dawned. Martina’s “apprentice” had just admitted what Ham already knew with absolute certainty—that Carson wasn’t any freaking ghost at all, that he was as alive and kicking as Ham himself. “Fine. I would have done the same thing,” meaning, of course, that he would have tried to keep himself alive, too, which was his less than subtle way of alerting Carson that the jig was up. “Just have a care and keep that thing pointed away from me, unless you want it shoved up your ass.”
“Point taken. And understood.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure it is,” Ham replied dryly.
Gordo backed the sleek craft from the enclosed housing. Before he could even stop its backward progress, Ham, Drew and Carson had jumped aboard, ready to go. Gordo helped Lindsey aboard before he swung the helm around, punched the lever into overdrive and shot out in search of the open blue before them.
When they rounded the small point to the south, the Tahoe Too came fully into view, not more than a half a mile ahead. As large as it was, it was
clearly identifiable even at that distance and Gordo, with a shout mostly lost into the wind, pointed ahead and to the east.
Ham, who had failed to fully lodge himself in his seat, fell sideways and off the bench when Gordo slammed the boat onto a southeasterly course without first slowing its forward progress. With red hot anger blocking his vision, and steam rising from his ears and encircling his head, he swatted futilely at the freezing spray biting his face, barely avoiding beating himself senseless with a good old fashioned pistol whipping with his own gun.
By the time his vision cleared, they were no more than a few hundred yards from the slower moving yacht and closing fast. When they finally pulled up alongside, he jumped onto the rail of the speedboat and used that as a springboard to the higher and wider railing of the larger boat. In his haste, and in his obliviousness, he used both hands to pull himself up and on board, which would have been fine except that one still grasped the weapon, finger through the trigger, on which he tugged as he pulled. He realized with panic that had he released the safety earlier on the dock or on the boat, somebody—or at least the cruiser—would have been plugged full of holes, and for no other reason than to climb board. He also realized that it was only the last in a very long line of errors he’d made in the past few days, ranging from the major to the more important, and all because he’d been busy reacting with emotion rather than with police-like detachment and logic. Not to mention just plain unthinking, like being unprepared for receiving a genuine bomb the previous night when he should have been well and fully prepared given that they had previously planted a “warning bomb” in Hawaii. Then of course there were the shots through the window, the murder of a cop and a multiple of other blunders and threats he should have and could have used as preparation for…
Apologizing to Blake. Giving him his money back and doing the right thing. For finding Blake a real pro to deal with those very real threats, hire someone competent to protect him from those very real threats, employ someone that Blake could put his trust in with absolute certainty of judgment. Someone other than an old, washed up cripple of a self absorbed cynic.
Someone other than a whining, self absorbed jerk, you mean. Snap out of it. Do your job.
Russ, cupping a huge mug of steaming brew, casually exited the cabin and grinned down at Ham, watching as Ham continued to struggle to bring himself into an upright and seaworthy position. He said nothing as he witnessed that comedy, as well as the boarding party of Charlie, Drew, Lindsey and Carson beyond.
Ham waited until Gordo had heaved to, secured the smaller boat to the Tahoe Too and had himself jumped aboard to greet them before he turned back to address Russ. This was something he wanted them all to hear. “What the hell is going on? Why are you out here? And where’s Blake?”
“ Blake is at the helm and what the hell is going on is that we’re taking a morning ride. What’s it to you and your gang of pirates?”
“I told you, I told Blake, to stay put. What in heaven are you guys thinking? Aren’t you taking this seriously at all?”
“More so than you, it seems. I’m not the one who ran off for a quickie breakfast, leaving my charge to fend for himself.”
In response to that accusation, Ham pushed his way past Russ and on into the cabin, yanking the door shut behind him. As promised, Blake was at the helm, his own oversized cup of coffee at hand, a beatific smile brightening his face. Clearly, here, at the helm of his prized possession, he was in his element, even if he was in the midst of snow, wind and terror.
“Welcome aboard, my good man. Care for some coffee? You’ll find a fresh pot in the galley.”
Ham grinned, quickly and slyly, before letting it slip from his face. When he turned back to the door, anticipating arrivals, he was all seriousness, all business.
All tension.
Charlie entered, Drew, Carson, Lindsey and Gordo close behind, all of them nearly blown into the cabin by a fresh and brutal gust of arctic air. To his daughter, Blake chastised, “Damn, child, watch your timing, will you?”
“Sorry about that, Popster,” Charlie grinned. The devilish glint in her eyes belied the sincerity in her voice, though to nobody’s surprise.
“I was just telling Ham, coffee’s on in the galley. From the aromas that escaped the picnic house and enveloped us on our way out, I’m guessing there’s nothing else I could interest you all in.”
“What’s up, Popster? Where are we going?”
“Yeah, Ham was just going over the same interrogatives. We’re going to Emerald Bay, then we’re going to stop by Russ’ to pick up some stuff that we’ll need for the studio. Figure about two hours or so. You’re welcome to come along, all of you.”
“Blake,” Ham snapped, “I told you to stay put. Think, man, will you? We got just one more day before the danger passes, at least according to Martina, which I remind you is why we’re all here and believing all this. And you want to tempt fate by taking a tour of Emerald Bay? Why? What’s so special about Emerald Bay that you’d take this kind of chance? And,” he raged, sounding as though he were just warming up, “why in the hell would Russ go along with this? Has he got just as little sense as you? What the crap is wrong with him?”
The new blast of frigid air announced Russ’ entrance and his reply. “I thought my ears were burning from more than the cold.” With a nod to Blake, he said, “You probably ought to tell them. Otherwise, I’ll have to.”
Silence engulfed them for a fateful few seconds as both the wind and the conversation died away. Charlie, uncertainty in her voice and on her face, turned to Blake. “Popster? What is it? What’s going on?”
Blake shrugged, looking unconcerned. “I had this overwhelming urge to take a look at Emerald Bay, that’s all. It’s always been my favorite part of the lake, and I didn’t want to pass on without riding across those waves one more time. Because, really, who knows how this will end? Anyway, so I’m heading out and then Russ decides to come along and pick up some music and a couple of guitars from his house, which of course he could have done with one of the cars, but no, he has to intrude on my pilgrimage.” Before Russ could correct or interrupt, he added more seriously, “We plan to spend the day in the studio if we get a chance. I want to get a couple of these new songs recorded before…”
“What this all amounts to,” Russ announced, “is that he’s not going to pay the ransom. Or the blood money, or whatever you want to call it.”
Into the stunned silence that followed, Drew snorted with contempt, “So let me get this straight. You, Russ, you pay me a small fortune—make that a large fortune—to protect your interests by looking after Blake, make sure he’s not being taken advantage of or being used by anybody, including my dear friend Ham, and then you want to not only let him commit suicide, but you’re going to do it along with him?” She threw up her hands and looked searchingly at Ham. “What kind of Wonderland have I landed in?”
Turning back to Russ, she continued, “Whatever. Fine, good. But I would like to suggest that we head, quick like a bunny, over to your bank so I can cash that check you gave me—and that we do it before you manage to cash your own self in. No reason for your self-inflicted self-sacrifice to cost me, too.”
Russ ignored her rants and nodded at Blake. “Go ahead, tell them. And tell them why.”
“Because I’m not doing this anymore,” Blake announced. “I’m not going to run scared. I’m too old, I’m too rich, and I’m way too pissed off to give in to these bastards. So here I am, out on the lake that I love, in the one boat they can’t miss. Let them come and get me. Let them do it now, right now, if they’ve got the nerve.”
Again there was silence, a stillness broken only by the gentle rocking of the boat in time to the white tipped waves, and the gentle kiss of the water as it tapped against the hull. They stood, watching each other, the floor, the water, the snow flecked wind, waiting for somebody, anybody to make the next move, the next claim, the next denial—or maybe the next demand. That came when a loud and exaggerated
sigh split the calm and drew their attention toward the door.
Back at the hatch where Carson stood, shoulder propped against the frame, gun pointed directly at the middle of the group, but mostly toward Blake, a wry grin twisting his face, he announced, “Well then. I guess we’ll just have to do it another way, now won’t we?”
18
ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST
“What the hell are you doing?” Drew screamed at Carson. “You freaking moron. Put that damn thing away!”
Carson waved the weapon in her face, a silent, mocking denial. “I don’t think so, Drew. You’ve run things long enough. Look where it’s got us. No,” he asserted, “I do believe I’ll just go ahead and do it my way from now on.”
Ham looked between them, one to the other, and back again, saying nothing through his open mouth as the two antagonists glared at each other. Finally finding his voice, he directed his question at Drew. “What’s he talking about? Please tell me you don’t know.” He was pleading as he begged yet again, “Please tell me you do not know.”
Drew shook her head, angry and impatient. “Of course I know what he’s talking about, and if you didn’t spend all your time around Charlie thinking with your dick, you would, too. He’s saying he’s involved in this thing, that Blake’s announced intention to not pay changes nothing for him, that he’s either going to get his money or he’s going to kill us just for spite.” Nearly spitting in anger, she shouted at Carson, “Isn’t that right, you little teeny tiny would-be excuse for a ghost trainee prick?”
Ham immediately lost his feigned ignorance and his pleading tone. His voice was rock, his face stone as he pronounced his judgment. “Forget it, Drew, it’s not going to play anymore. I know.”
“Shut up, Ham, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know anything.”
“Maybe not. But Carson surely does. Come on, Carson, explain it to your nice Aunt Drew.”
The Ghost of Truckee River (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 1) Page 25