Killing to Know

By Sean Van Damme

Calvin Hobbs is a cantankerous retired Richmond Police officer who runs a small Private Investigative service, comprising of himself, and himself, having alienated just about everybody in his life over the years. Hobbs will take just about any case, a policy that has got him into trouble before and continues to do so.
Hobbs has been contracted by the disowned son of a local Mob boss to steal a copy of his father’s will. Seeing as how the old man was already dead, Hobbs didn’t know how it would help the young doctor and he didn’t ask. Questions always led to trouble, and this case was trouble.
Hobbs doesn’t know just how much until the bodies start to pile up and the twists and turns threaten to become more then he can work his way out of, as shifty women, backstabbing friends and government agents start to come out of the woodwork.
Killing to Know is a hard-boiled thriller set in a gritty version of Richmond Virginia and the first of the Calvin Hobbs series of mysteries.

And when you are done check out Hobbs next case with Bodies Under 95 (Calvin Hobbs #2)

The second edition of Killing to Know is the same book plot-wise the only changes that have been made were ones that addressed grammar and spelling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean Van Damme
• Release date: Apr 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301598632

Sean Van Damme

Sean Van Damme grew up all around the country as part of a military family, finally settling in the Richmond Virginia area. A love of stories and writing has been with him his entire life. A long fling with script writing and movies led Sean to try and major in film ending up instead with what turned out to be his second love, TV news. After graduating from Virginia Commonwealth University (go Rams) he started working at a local TV station as a video editor and photographer. Sean lives in a nice little house with his Fiancé Elizabeth their dog Gaius (Baltar not Creaser) and cat Gracie. Writing full time is his dream and hopefully this book will be the first step.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The night was dark. The cold air hung over Richmond as it tends to do in January. People huddled in their ratty coats and hats were out walking the streets. Rumpled college students were moving from one party to the next.  Why would a mob lawyer want to live in this part of town? Don't those fat-cats usually live over in the West End or along the river? Not some apartment building filled with kids fresh from the codling of their mommy and daddy, and people who can't speak a lick of English. Maybe because the apartments were in walking distance of his downtown office, maybe he was just cheap. Hobbs didn't know, and frankly, he didn't care. The location served his purposes tonight.

Calvin Hobbs, P.I., watched his breath mist up in the cold winter air as he walked down the shadowy street toward the apartment building.  The jokes about his name hadn’t been funny in more than twenty years. Tonight he was out working for a client, picking something up from the family lawyer, granted, in a less than official way.  Getting the prick out of his apartment had been easy enough.  Hobbs had made a quick phone call from his car with the help of an app that mimicked caller ID numbers. His target was convinced that the night watchman at the bank across the street was calling because the big glass window in the front of his law office had been broken. 

Hobbs pulled his heavy black wool coat tighter and the brim on his fedora down as he passed the lawyer in the lobby. Tall, lanky, and balding, the lawyer had on a coat and scarf. His fleece dorm pants gave away the fact that he had been sleeping before the phone rang. 

Gauging by the speed that he was walking it would take him about fifteen minutes to get to his office, and hopefully another twenty to figure out it was a ruse. That poor night watchman across the street was going to get an earful.  Hobbs laughed about that in his head; the guard had been a prick. He had run into him the other night while scoping out the law office.  Apparently, he didn’t feel like calling a cab for the drunk banging on his door. Getting the number for the building had been harder than he thought. They didn’t keep the outgoing number listed anywhere.

Hobbs quickly shoved his foot into the elevator departed by his prey and slipped inside as the door closed. He pressed the button for the sixth floor. He watched as the numbers slowly clicked up.

Hobbs pulled off his thick leather gloves revealing a pair of black latex ones underneath. Anybody giving them a quick look would think they were normal gloves.

The door opened and Hobbs made his way to the end of the hall. He had been to this door before, but never inside. Apartment 611 was all the way in the back in a nook beside the side stairwell and a room filled with circuit breakers and water heaters. The door had a simple deadbolt lock and a handle without a lock. This should be simple enough, Hobbs thought. He pulled out his small lock picking kit, and was inside the apartment in less than three minutes. He quickly and quietly closed the door behind him.

He reached inside his coat, pulled out a small Maglite, and clicked it on. The soft white LED light filled the small room. In the single main room was a large flat screen TV, a table, and a desk with a laptop. The files he was looking for were sure to be on the laptop, but Hobbs didn't have time to futz around with encryption disks, and figuring out how this mob lawyer organized shit. Most people just threw files on their computer willy-nilly, like a pair of pants in a teenage boy's closet. This created a pile of files that were hell to go through, unless you were the one chucking them in willy-nilly. 

Hobbs didn't see a filing cabinet, so he headed toward the bedroom. He looked down at his watch; it read nine minutes thirty seconds and counting down faster. The shyster was probably already to Fooshee Street, or even 1st if he was doing more of a run than a walk. Hobbs had timed his walk to work the other day He knew that morning time with coffee and a Blackberry was slower than a panicked run at three in the morning, thus he had planned accordingly.

Inside the bedroom was a king-sized bed with rumpled sheets. It almost filled the whole room. Why the hell did he need a bed that big? Hobbs quickly scanned it to make sure that the piles of blankets didn't conceal a wife he hadn't found out about, or some intern that he was diddling.  He breathed a sigh of relief as only the glowing eyes of a grumpy cat greeted him from the foot of the bed. She didn't pay Hobbs any mind, going right back to sleep when he moved the light from her face. 

The filing cabinet was across the room, three large metal units, with little cards denoting the last names of the clients.  Analog organization, it was a constant that he had come to rely on in this digital age.  People were still desperately clinging to the ways of the past. Hobbs was fine with that because the ways of the past were far more susceptible to his brand of thievery. He might have lived in the digital age and understood it, but he was also a relic of times long past. 

The cabinets weren't locked; the lawyer must have thought nobody would come looking for files here. Hobbs figured these were all copies, blackmail goods no doubt. He was sure his target’s employers would not be happy to know that all of these documents were hidden in plain sight.

D was the second drawer on the first rack. Hobbs pulled it open and started flipping through the names till he came to Devereaux. The good doctor had been right about it being here. Hobbs quickly pulled the file out and plopped it down on top of the bed and stared to rifle through it, holding the little light in his mouth. 

He found what he was looking for in the middle of the folder, the last will and testament of one Abner Jean-Luc Devereaux. Hobbs reached into his pocket and pulled out the camera, quickly snapping pictures of the document.  Ah, spy games, he thought. The rush of adrenalin ramping up with each click of the camera as Hobbs shot the entire document getting several angles and close-ups so his client would have everything at his fingertips. He flipped through the rest of the folder. Hobbs found the will was a single legal sized page. Hobbs figured that it had to be hard to legally bequeath millions in ill begotten goods. That or the lawyer was incredibly precise. He wasn’t sure because he was just snapping pictures like he had been told to do.

The watch read zero, zero ten. Hobbs’ fifteen minutes were almost up. His friend had probably already reached his office and seen that the windows were still intact. Hopefully he would go yell at the watchman at the bank or call the police, something to delay him there. Hobbs hit a button on his watch and a second countdown started another fifteen minutes. It was undershooting his estimated time of arrival, better safe than sorry Hobbs thought. He didn't need to be caught in this man’s apartment stealing documents that shouldn't be seen by anybody other than the parties involved.

Just as he was putting the file into the cabinet, Hobbs heard the door to the apartment start to open, a key sliding into the tumbler. Fuck, he couldn't have gotten back that fast.  Quickly Hobbs raced for the closet and slipped inside, closing the door behind him just as he heard the apartment door open. Hobbs pulled his scarf over his face reaching into his coat, slipping out his Colt 1911, and silently slid a .45 caliber round into the chamber. It was never a good night when you had to pull out your weapon, and he sure as shit didn't want to shoot this tall, tired, confused, mob lawyer.

Chapter 2

The footsteps came closer and closer. How had he gotten home so Goddamn quickly? It didn't seem possible. Maybe he had a car somewhere that Hobbs hadn't seen, or a friend drove him home. Maybe he called the night watchman at the bank on his way over to get the details so he could call the cops.  Any number of things could have gone wrong in his plan that had been working so well.

The gun felt heavy in his hand. Hobbs didn't plan on shooting him, just barging from the closet and waving the piece around before ducking out of the apartment. Though just having the pistol complicated things if he were to get caught, or if he fired it. The gun was legal, registered in his name even. He probably shouldn't have been carrying the pistol with him on these late night escapades.

But all that wasn't important right now. The bedroom door creaked open, and a shaft of light poured into the room as a shadow crossed the threshold and stood still. Hobbs was confused by all of this but didn't move, didn't even take a breath. Then the shadow flicked on the bedroom light and stepped into Hobbs’ field of view.

This person was most definitely not the lawyer unless he had lost about five inches in height and changed his clothing between his apartment and the office. The short man had on a black duster, and a wide brimmed black hat. Sticking out from his waist on the side opposite of Hobbs was something boxy, a pistol, probably a Glock. 

Who was this motherfucker and why was he breaking into the lawyer's apartment? Hobbs watched as the man walked around the room, then walked out, not seeing whatever it was he had been looking for.

Hobbs waited a second before quietly opening the closet and slipping out letting his Colt lead the way. He didn't know who this second visitor was but he did know that he needed to get the hell out of this apartment, and he needed to get out now.

The strange man didn't hear him slip out of the closet. His back was to the bedroom as he watched the front door. Hobbs raised his pistol before saying anything.

Freeze! He barked, the decades of cop training in his voice, and his gun leveled at the man's center of mass. Hands where I can see them, then slowly turn to me.

The man's hands went into the air. The Glock was still gripped in his left hand as he slowly turned around.  Hobbs was shocked at how pale the man's face was. His cheeks were sunken in, and there were black bags under his eyes. He gave Hobbs a smile as he turned around, revealing a mouth of straight but yellowed teeth.

Evening Mr. Hobbs, the strange man said, as he finished turning to face him.

Slowly put the gun on the ground. This strange man knowing his name threw him off, making the already uneasy situation much worse. First he had to get that gun out of the way before he could ask this creep any questions. Questions like why the fuck was he here and how the fuck did he know his name.

The stranger put the gun on the ground and kicked it over to Hobbs, anticipating the next command that the private investigator was going to bark at him. Then the stranger lowered his hands and took a seat at the table.

Hands up, Hobbs barked again taking a step toward the stranger jabbing the 1911 forward an extra inch.

Or what? the man asked in a raspy voice. You'll shoot me? Because the sound of a gun going off won't attract any attention at all, he said, giving him another of those toothy grins, which sent shivers down Hobbs’ back.

Have a seat, Mr. Hobbs, the toothy man said as he reached for a decanter on the table filled with a brown spirit. He popped the lid; Hobbs could smell whisky as he poured it into a glass next to the decanter. 

A drink, you look tense, the man said, taking a sip from the glass. 

I'll pass, Hobbs said, tightening his grip on the Colt, never letting it stray from the strange man's center of mass. 

Who are you and what are you doing here? he barked, quickly glancing down at his watch as the time ticked away. 

I could ask you the same questions, Mr. Hobbs. He pulled out the /S/ in his name, hissing like a snake, before finishing his drink in a quick gulp.

It seems you know who I am so how about a bit of quid pro quo? Hobbs said.

Alas, information is earned and not simply given out. I know who you are because I worked for it, Mr. Hobbs, the strange man said.

Fuck you! Answer my questions before Mr. Colt here has to start asking! Hobbs said angrily hoping that his bluff would work. It didn't.

I thought we went over this already, the strange man said, reaching into his coat pocket. Hobbs reacted, almost pulling the trigger, but easing up when the man produced a weathered pack of Marlboros, and a silver Zippo.

Smoke? he asked, extending the pack toward Hobbs.  He looked at it with longing before shaking his head.

Oh, that's right, you quit. Forgive me. the strange man said, putting one of the cigarettes into his mouth and flicking open the Zippo.

How did you? Hobbs paused. You know, I don't want to know. I'm leaving, he said, reaching down and picking up the strange man's Glock and shoving it into a coat pocket.

Just as he was about to walk toward the door, he heard the handle being pushed down. A lump formed in the back of his throat, as the shit storm of a night kept raining down on him. 

Chapter 3

The strange man moved with an unnatural speed. The lawyer hadn’t even rounded the bend from his front hallway when the man was up, a silenced Beretta in his hand, rounds going off.  Three nine-millimeter slugs ripped through the lawyer’s chest, spraying blood all over the white walls of his apartment. 

Hobbs looked on in shock as the man he had been sent to steal a few documents from, smashed into the wall and slid down in a bloody mess. The carpet was quickly soaking up the blood and changing colors. 

Drop the gun! Hobbs screamed, as the strange man turned back to him, holstering the pistol. 

I think not. Good evening, Mr. Hobbs. He said taking a bow with a flourish from his right hand before he calmly walked out of the apartment. Hobbs watched him go; too flabbergasted at the situation to do anything.