The Biggest Little Crime In The World Read online

  THE BIGGEST LITTLE CRIME IN THE WORLD

  Brent Kroetch

  Copyright 2017 by Brent Kroetch

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the copyright holder, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Dedication

  For Claire Elizabeth Bolden

  With Love

  1

  THE BIGGEST LITTLE WEDDING IN THE WORLD

  Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” resonated through the small, well-appointed chapel, a musical hint of the bride’s arrival. As with the few others admitted to the private ceremony about to begin, Kyle “Ham” McCalister shifted his gaze toward the entrance and when she appeared an involuntary gasp escaped his lips. The radiant beauty she emanated was almost more than his eyes could bear. She sported a saucy red dress that rivaled her flaming hair for advantage, an advantage nearly snuffed by the luminous aura surrounding her entire being. Ham blinked as though trying to bring the vision to focus. After but a few tries his mind accepted the image as real. Only then did he smile, with an appreciation of days of old. For here she stood, more exquisite than he’d ever before seen her. And that said a lot, he mused.

  No doubt about it. She was ready. She’d come to play.

  He offered his arm, an escort down the aisle and toward her intended. As he did, he suddenly lost himself in mental images of the little girl he’d chased around the neighborhood in frolicking games of tag, the pull of pigtails, the pen ink incident, and so much more. The little girl who grew up to be his partner, first on the Las Vegas Police Department homicide squad and now in McCalister and Thornton, Las Vegas’ best and priciest private detective agency.

  To look at her now, one would deem her femininity a deadly weapon but in truth, he knew, she herself was the ultimate fatal force, a walking weapon in heels. His partner, Drew Thornton, the most lethal person in the martial arts he’d ever known, be they female or male. And here she stood, hand demurely on his arm as she peered up at him with those deep pools of blue, an unmitigated personification of softness. Were he not so breathless he might have laughed at the thought, no matter how inappropriate to the solemn occasion that might be.

  She nodded readiness, a keenness to take her rightful place in the history of music, a prominent place in books, articles and media whenever Truckee River appeared in type. A happenstance way more frequent than often, as no doubt would occur tomorrow when the news leaked out, as it must, that one of the dual front men for Truckee River, Russ Porter, her legendary intended, had newly wed a previously unsuspected lover. The rags would go bonkers, drooling with rumor and innuendo, and the internet probably burn with abandon.

  Russ beamed his famous smile from the altar down the short path his bride-to-be would traverse to marriage. Ham grinned back at the superstar, soon to be his best friend’s husband, the man who bestrode the worldwide stage, a colossus of rock and roll, a man, along with his songwriting partner, Blake Garrett, who had dominated the industry for decades, much like The Beatles before them. A man, for all that, of extreme gentleness and irresistible kindness.

  Ham shook off the thoughts and performed his function. With deliberate steps, he guided Drew down the aisle, a smile plastered on his face, both for the occasion and the superstar company and, beyond all that, the presence of his son, Dylan John McCalister. A young man heretofore less than interested in familial devotion to dear old dad, now turned to adoration for the old man and his cohorts. A young man who had the dramatic honor of standing as best man to Russ Porter’s vows, a position very much attributed to Russ’ huge heart and his desire to mend what should never have been broken in the first place. The love of a father and son.

  And then of course there was Charlie, dressed to act her part as Drew’s maid of honor. With her long blond hair and almond eyes, she very much matched Drew for attention, at least from Ham’s perspective. Blake Garrett’s daughter, adopted niece of Russ Porter, she also stood as Ham’s inamorata, a happenstance he still found impossible to admit. How he, a loser in love, with an ex-wife to prove it, had hit it out of the park he had no way of fathoming. He just let it be, soaked it up, blessed the day she’d walked into his formerly defective life.

  More thoughts and many more memories teased Ham’s mind as he passed Drew off to a beaming Russ but he shook them free. His attention, he determined, would not stray. It would remain fixed on and in this magical moment.

  He returned to the pews and sat next to the drummer for Truckee River. Though Ham had never met the man before, nor the bass player on the other side of him, he’d heard the stories. A few from Russ, others from Blake, but mostly books and rumors which alleged them the odd and bad boys of the Superstar Super Group.

  Ham’s attention turned to his son when he spotted the boy’s ashen face and unsteady legs. Through his pride he felt pity for the lad, as well. Just days from his sixteenth birthday, Dylan celebrated by standing up for one of his favorite musicians in the world, a fabled man he’d met only the day before. A man he’d had absolutely no clue his dad knew and had worked for on two deadly cases. Knowledge that rocked his world, as the kid had called it.

  The officiant began the ceremony and as he did it occurred to Ham that the celebrants lacked rings to exchange. They’d only decided to marry yesterday and he knew for fact they hadn’t gone ring shopping in the time since. But then again, given it was Russ Porter, he figured the jewelry store probably chose the rings, sized, polished and engraved them, then hand delivered both to the chapel within an hour of notification of need. Probably at zero cost, he grinned to himself. The life of a superstar.

  Ham studied Russ’ countenance as the rocker recited vows he’d written for the occasion. Though now probably in his early to mid-sixties, his unweathered face appeared younger by years and his hair, still full, frizzy and long, hung to his shoulders in waves. He chortled softly, to and at himself, as his mind snapped back to the suspicions he’d once had that Russ was only toying with a much younger woman. He’d found out in a hurry that his worries proved him an idiot. He admitted that happily and without shame.

  Drew pronounced her vows in return, soft and sweet of voice. Ham, through a lifetime of friendship and partnership, recognized every facet of Drew’s mien and he identified this one as part love, part astonishment. Her little girl side, which Ham understood was alive and from time to time active, blushed at her handsome, world famous prince, that he would choose her over any and every other female in the world he could have and hold on a whim. Or at least that’s what she’d insisted to Ham when he’d questioned the whole relationship.

  It still boggled his mind, the male legend and the deadly lady united as one. Russ held a two decade edge in age, a billion in friends, acquaintances and strangers who professed their love, and a lifetime in the spotlight. Drew held her temper from time to time, and little else.

  He covered his snort of amusement with delicate coughs, earning a light frown from his partner and a questioning glance from the minister. But the humor inherent in that thought proved beyond his ability to act, as again he snorted a feigned clearing of the throat. For the facts denied his mind’s accusation of her holding little. In pure truth, Ham felt, she possessed it all. A woman who outwitted and outmanned any of her male counterparts in anything they may choose to dare. And that left Drew unmatched and uninterested. Period and with a huge exclamation mark.

  Until Russ.

  “By the power vested in me by the State of Nevada and the County of Washoe, I declare you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  Ham shook his head
, cobwebs and all, peeved at his mental meandering. He’d gone down that path once, pulled back and determined to remain in the moment, to record, memorize and enjoy this day, this instant in time. Instead, he’d let his mind wander, what there was of it, he fumed, and had missed most of the vows, the exchange of rings—for indeed, he noticed, they sported shiny new jewelry on the appropriate fingers—and the final promise of vows. Well, he sighed, maybe they got video. At least he could purchase a copy and see what he failed to witness right in front of his face.

  Russ and Drew stepped from the altar and strolled back down the aisle, her arm in his, his face a radiant reflection of hers. Suddenly, Drew stopped, turned back to grin mischievously at Ham and, while so doing, calmly and precisely handed her bouquet to Charlie. Much to his embarrassment and horror, Charlie rose, thanked Drew loudly and firmly, and stepped up to Ham. “Our turn.”

  “Charlie, I…”

  “Oh, Hamster, close your mouth. It’s a joke. But thank you for your look of sheer panic. How flattering of you.”

  “Nicely done, Hamster,” Drew added. “You sure know how to impress a woman. Still a virgin, I take it.”

  Ham reddened even as he attempted to pass it over. Not for his sake, but for the sake of his son.

  Oh hell, admit it. For my sake. “Dylan, this is what passes for humor with these two. Best to ignore it, that’s what I do.”

  Dylan glanced back and forth, between Charlie and Drew, Drew and Russ, before he weakly smiled his confusion. “I’m old enough to know you’re not a virgin. But why do they call you ‘Hamster’?”

  Ham stuttered a non-reply, a nonsensical attempt to deflect, before Charlie stepped into the breach. “It’s a pet thing,” she informed him. “I don’t know when it started but it’s long since habit. I add the ‘ster’ as an endearment. Like my dad, Popster. Your dad, Hamster. You, Dylanster.”

  The boy’s eyes popped with amazement, pleasure written all over his face and etched in the hoot that echoed through the small chamber. “Dylanster. I like that. I think I’m going to like you,” and turning to face Ham, he finished, “Mom.”

  “Oh, Dylan, not you, too,” Ham protested.

  “It’s a pride thing,” Drew informed the boy. “Your dad’s intimidated by Charlie’s wealth. Her house, for instance. You’ve been to Russ’ but you have yet to see hers. It’s even bigger and grander than Russ has. That’s where your dad stays when he’s at Tahoe,” she unhelpfully added.

  Ham’s cheeks flashed fiery red and he choked on the words he ultimately spit out. “That’s a little out of line, Drew. The lad doesn’t need to know those kinds of details, if you catch my drift.”

  “We all catch your drift, Dad. I’m not a child.”

  Ham regarded the boy with affection tinted with sadness. For what, he wondered, lost time? Lost innocence that Ham had not had a chance to see slip away? Or the man he’d become without his help. Maybe all of these.

  “I know you’re not. I don’t like it, but I do know it. Still, Drew’s teasing can be a little more adult that I want you to be at this stage of your young life.”

  “Meaning,” Dylan grinned, “I’m still a kid. The one I just told you I wasn’t, the one you agreed I can’t be. Is that it?”

  Charlie’s snort demanded attention and she responded with a gentle smile for Ham’s son. “My, my,” she told Ham, “he’s more than a chip off the block, he is the block.”

  Ham shook his head, beginning to feel out of his depth. Again. “And that means?”

  “It means, dear Hamster, he’s smarter and quicker than you are.”

  “But then that’s to be expected,” Drew added.

  Ham threw a desperate look to Russ, an obvious plea for help. “You’re the one with all the words,” he begged, “help me out here.”

  “Sorry,” Russ replied, “I’m not near stupid enough to mix up in this one. Besides,” he grinned, “being newly married I’d like to stay happy. And you know what they say.”

  “Happy wife, happy life, yeah, I know.”

  “So whatever makes her happy,” Russ pointed out. “And if riding you makes her happy, why then, I say ride away.”

  “As entertaining as all this is,” the drummer for the group announced, “I’d say it’s time we vacate this lovely chapel and retire to the bar for a celebratory drink.”

  Russ glanced at Drew who nodded agreement. “Sounds good.” To Dylan, he inquired, “Have you met Duncan, our drummer, and Eric, our bass player extraordinaire?” When the boy merely shook his head, mute with embarrassment apparently, Russ performed the introductions, including a formal one with Ham.

  “You don’t look like your albums,” Dylan pointed out for them.

  Too young to be embarrassed by it, Ham figured, but old enough to learn. “That’s not appropriate, Dylan. It’s not only not polite to discuss an elder’s age, it borders on rude.” After a second thought, he added, “Maybe steps over it. My point is, don’t do that.”

  Eric slipped an arm around the now obviously mortified young man. “He’s your dad, you’re supposed to learn from him, respect and love him. But in this one particular case, he’s flat out wrong. I’m neither insulted nor upset. How could I be?” With a smile for Ham, he added, “The boy speaks truth.”

  “Add my two cents,” Duncan told them. “Eric’s exactly right. Can’t deny time and can’t figure out any reason to try to do so. It’s all good, both then and now.” Patting Dylan on the shoulder, he suggested, “So don’t let your face grow long. It’s your dad who’s out of his league here, not you.”

  Ham threw up his arms in surrender. “Okay, fine, I get it. I got all of Truckee River dogging me, Drew riding me, Charlie messing with me, and my only son laughing at me, his old man.” With a shrug of his shoulders, he finished, “To paraphrase Eric, I speak truth about you all. So yes, I admit it, I am definitely, totally, categorically over my head and out of your league.” The beam he sported belied any sense of distress at the admission when he added, “So you go ahead, Dylan, you tell them how old they are, how grandfather-like their visages, and I’ll stand back and applaud agreement. In fact, next time we get together I’ll bring the canes.”

  “You do that,” Duncan agreed. “But just for Eric here. And maybe a muzzle, now that I think about it.”

  The easy camaraderie between the two, Ham noticed, was not fully shared by Russ who appeared both bored and impatient. Maybe, Ham thought, those stories in the rags had some basis in fact after all. Maybe there had been a schism in the band. Maybe it existed still, though if so, it didn’t explain their presence or Russ’ invitation. So maybe he imagined a phenomenon not there. Maybe Russ was just anxious to get on with his new life.

  Assuming that he’d worked his mind to the correct conclusion, Ham made the suggestion. “How about we continue this at the bar? Where were you and Eric thinking? Or perhaps, more apropos to the occasion, what about you, Russ?”

  “Wait,” Charlie objected. “What about Dylan?”

  “That’s alright,” Ham shrugged. “If we go to a casino bar, he can be there as long as he’s with someone of age. I’m not so sure about other places.”

  “Not a problem” Russ informed him. “The one up the street is where I’d like to go, The Californian. It’s a restaurant with a really nice, cozy, dark bar. Dylan’s allowed in there until nine tonight.”

  “Okay,” Charlie agreed. “Dylan and I will suck them dry of Shirley Temples while the rest of you blur your brains, right, Dylanster?”

  “Right. Momster.”

  Charlie’s snuffles of delight merged with Ham’s coughs of distress into a cacophony of amusement. “If you tell your mother about this Hamster stuff I’m cutting off your allowance.”

  “You don’t give me an allowance.”

  Ham nodded agreement. “Right, I don’t. But starting today I am so I can cut it off on a whim. So don’t mess with me, kid.”

  “Mess all you want,” Charlie told him. “I got your back.”

  “Th
at’s right,” Drew agreed. “If Hamster ever wants any—”

  “Drew,” Ham sighed. “Out of the gutter. He’s just a kid.”

  “Great,” Dylan sighed. “We’re back to that.”

  “So where is this place?” Eric asked. “If it’s not a casino, I don’t know it.”

  “He and Duncan spend most of their time in Florida,” Russ explained to Drew. “Too cold out here for them. Couple a wussies, that’s all.” To his bandmates, he said, “Outside the main doors, turn left, go two blocks, just past the ‘Reno The Biggest Little City In The World’ sign, can’t miss it. We’ll meet you there.”

  “Right, then,” Duncan agreed, “we’ll catch up to you. We want to try our luck a bit before we leave. It won’t be long.”

  “Not a problem, we’ll be there a few hours, probably.”

  As the bandmates left the room, Ham turned to Russ and offered the invite. “Charlie and I would like to take you dinner at Angelo’s. Afterwards, I thought we’d go have a few drinks, maybe dance a little and celebrate your beautiful and blessed nuptials. What do you say?”

  “I’ll say it for them, Ham,” Charlie smiled. “After dinner, I think they’d be more inclined to jump in the limo and head back to Tahoe. Where,” she informed them, “the fire’s already lit, the liquor stocked and the cupboard full. After you two have had enough of old married couple bliss, give us a call and we’ll come out and celebrate like we should.”

  “That’s a promise,” Drew agreed. “Meanwhile, a few drinks to toast the new Mrs. Russ Porter is appropriate, so on our way let’s be.”

  Which they may have been had not the photographer invited them to take more stills “for the memories of tomorrow.” Ham, Charlie and Dylan stood as witnesses while the cameraman shuffled back and forth as he offered suggestions and orders for style and content. Satisfied, he nodded to the couple and informed them that he would personally deliver hard copies and the disk on the morrow. Ham guessed Russ knew that ploy since he smiled and gently shook his head. “Thank you, but no need. I’ll have someone drop by your office tomorrow afternoon to pick them up.” He shook the man’s hand, with genuine warmth as far as Ham could see, just a normal man with a gratitude attitude. An easy and gracious way to turn down a man’s request to visit the great Russ Porter at home.