Mare's Nest

by Larry Darter

  After getting off the lift, I walked to my room and inserted the key card. When the lock clicked, I opened the door and stepped inside. I'd found Shaw. He was lying on the floor near the bed wearing a white terry cloth Sheraton bathrobe. The open robe revealed that he wasn't wearing anything underneath. Bloody hell! What had Shaw been doing in my room and almost naked? Shaw had a large bloody gash on the side of his head, and there was an unopened bottle of wine on the floor near his feet.

  I stooped down and placed my index and middle fingers on the side of Shaw's neck to check for a pulse. There was no pulse. His skin already felt cold and clammy. It seemed Shaw must have been in my room for some time. Getting up, I went back out the door to the lift and back down to the lobby. I wanted to find out from Ken when Shaw had arrived at the hotel. But when I exited the lobby, Ken and the limousine were gone. As I pondered that I heard sirens nearby, that seemed to be getting closer. Was this some sort of setup? I had to get away from the hotel. That was certain. I started walking fast back up Kalakaua in the direction I'd come earlier.

  Hearing the screech of rubber tyres on pavement, I looked back over my shoulder. Two HPD cruisers slide to a stop in the hotel drive. I turned my head and kept walking. I ducked into a coffee shop a couple of blocks down the road from the Sheraton. I had to make a plan. Ken had seen me arrive at my hotel long after Shaw had. But I had the uncomfortable feeling that Ken didn't plan on providing me an alibi. The fact that he had left the scene soon after I had arrived suggested that he already knew that Shaw was dead. I surmised he had been waiting for me to arrive back at the hotel so that he could phone the police. The ordinary missing person case I'd expected when Malone sent me to Hawaii was becoming a regular mare's nest. It seemed I had caught myself up right in the middle of something that I didn't know a thing about.

  While I hadn't done anything wrong, I'd been with Kamaka when he was killed. Chances were good that I had the gun in the backpack that had been used to kill him. And now, I had another corpse in my hotel room. Making myself available for police questioning didn't seem a good idea at the moment. First, I had to find out what the bloody hell was going on and what I had gotten myself into. I couldn't return to my hotel room again. It also didn't seem wise to take a room at another hotel in Waikiki. If the police started looking for me, I expected that would be the first place they would look. I needed to hire a car and get out of downtown Honolulu until I could sort things out.

  I asked one of the baristas behind the counter if there was a car hire agency close by. She told me about the one at the hotel where I'd dumped Kamaka's car. But she also said there was a cheaper one on Kuhio Avenue that rented older cars. Since all I needed was basic transportation, I took my latte and headed out the door towards Kuhio. On the way, I decided that after I'd hired a car, I'd drive up to North Shore to find an out of the way place to stay.

  The place on Kuhio turned out to be ideal. It was a mum and pop sort of operation without the connected databases of the national chains. I reckoned it wouldn't be as easy for the Honolulu police to find out that I'd hired a car. While the guy at the counter made out the hire agreement, I accessed the web on my phone. I searched online hospitality services for North Shore vacation rentals. I found an available studio suite in Haleiwa. The advert described it as a gated, beachfront property. It sounded perfect. I contacted the owner through the app hoping I'd hear back before I arrived in Haleiwa. If not, I could spend a night in the car at one of the North Shore beach parks if it came to it.

  The agent processed my credit card. He then escorted me out to the lot to do a damage inspection on the blue Nissan Altima I'd hired. The paint was a bit rough, and there were more than a few dents, but it looked to be solid basic transportation. I signed the agreement, and the agent handed me my copy and the keys. I got in and started the engine. There were a few stains on the upholstery. The interior reeked of stale cigarette smoke, but I reckoned I could manage. After entering the Haleiwa address as my destination in the GPS app on my phone, I drove out of the lot bound for North Shore.

  Chapter 10

  I'D LIVED IN LOS ANGELES for more than three years but still had to focus on keeping to the right while driving. Somehow the American rules of the road seemed easier while riding my motorbike back in LA. Negotiating the Hawaiian motorways in an unfamiliar car was more of a challenge.

  About halfway to Haleiwa, the hospitality site app alerted me that I had a message. I pulled to the side of the road to check it. It was a message from the owner of the beachfront suite confirming it was available. I entered my credit card details for a three-day stay.

  I didn't know if I'd be able to sort everything in three days. But, I reckoned if it took longer I'd be better off moving to a new place to stay. Staying at one place too long would make it easier for the police to find me. I had no way of knowing whether the police were looking for me or not, but it was the safe bet they were.

  After I entered my details into the app, I received another message. The owner of the flat had provided the directions and instructions on where to pick up the key. I updated the GPS with the new address, put the car in gear, and drove back onto the road.

  It was almost dark by the time I arrived at the owner's house where I was meant to pick up the key. A cheerful Hawaiian lady answered the door. She told me that the flat was a little way down the road and offered to walk over with me to show me the amenities. I thanked her but told her I was sure I could manage. Key in hand, I got back in the car. It had been a long day and tiring. I was also starving since I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Before going to the flat, I drove back into town to a fast food restaurant I'd passed on the way in. It was an island-themed chain whose menu featured traditional Hawaiian plate lunches. I could be a raving foodie, but after the day I'd had I wasn't feeling particular, only hungry so I went inside.

  I ordered the shrimp curry plate. It came with a scoop of rice and a scoop of macaroni salad. It seemed every plate came with that. I reckoned that must be what made it “traditional Hawaiian” food. It wasn't bad, spicy but not too spicy, a mean feed. The macaroni salad was actually quite good. After finishing my dinner, I walked over to a petrol station next door. I bought a bottle of wine to take back to the flat. Then I got in the car and drove back there.

  After letting myself in the flat, I took a hot shower and put on the sarong from my beach bag. All the clothes I'd brought on the trip were still at the hotel in Honolulu with my luggage. I'd have to pick up some new clothes tomorrow. I didn't fancy following the example of that Reacher bloke in the Lee Child novels. The guy only owned one suit of clothes at a time. The thought of wearing the same pair of undies for days on end was not attractive. No bloody way. I poured a glass of wine and sat down in front of the television. I switched it on and found a local news channel. Bugger. I had made the news.

  A female reporter was standing in front of what I guessed was a police station. A photo of me appeared in the corner of the picture. It wasn't a great photo. I reckoned the police had pulled it from a security camera somewhere. Still, it was recognizable. The reporter began the story by reporting the death of Douglas Shaw. She characterized Shaw as a successful Honolulu businessman. The reporter said that HPD had found Shaw deceased in a Honolulu hotel room. She added that the police suspected foul play. The reporter didn't identify the hotel by name. I reckoned the Honolulu authorities withheld that sort of information. Honolulu's economy was dependent on tourism. No point in harming the tourism business of a popular Waikiki hotel by naming it. The hotel had simply suffered the misfortune of having a murder committed in one of its rooms. The reporter then turned her attention to me, and my photo was enlarged to take up most of the screen.

  "HPD is looking for this woman, Tazzi J. O'Sullivan," the reporter said. "She is wanted for questioning in connection with the death of Douglas Shaw.” For fuck's sake, she announced my given name on television. She then gave my physical description.

  The reporter continued. “A police spokesp
erson characterized O'Sullivan as a person of interest in the investigation. O'Sullivan was the registered guest staying in the room where police discovered Douglas Shaw's body. Police also told us that O'Sullivan had been observed entering the hotel shortly before police discovered the body. HPD had responded to the location to investigate a reported disturbance.” I switched off the television. Bloody hell.

  It was official then, the police were looking for me. Besides clothes, I'd have to pick up some things tomorrow to alter my appearance. I hadn't killed Shaw and expected that if I went to the cops, at some point, they would realize I hadn't. But who knew how long that would take? And they might keep me in custody until they did. In police custody, I wouldn't be able to do anything to clear myself or find out what was going on with my case.

  If they hadn't one already, I knew the police would get a warrant to pull my mobile phone and credit card records. The police could use the records to suss out my whereabouts. I'd used my credit card to rent the flat. I couldn't risk spending more than the one night here. I reached over and picked up my mobile off the coffee table. I switched it off. I took it into the kitchen.

  Using a small knife I found in a drawer, I removed the two screws located near the dock connector. Then, pushing the rear panel of the phone towards the top, it moved up. Opening the phone, I removed the screw that secured the battery connector. I then removed the battery. I wouldn't use my credit cards again. And now there was no way the police could retrieve any further information from my mobile. I'd have to also buy a disposable mobile tomorrow. At least refraining from using the credit cards wouldn't pose a problem. I had one million dollars, the ransom money, in the boot of the car. I'd use that instead until this mess was over. That reminded me that I needed to get the money out of the car. It wouldn't be wise to leave it in the car overnight.

  Putting on my jandals, I unlocked and opened the front door and stepped outside. A man stepped out from the shadows. He had a large semiautomatic pistol in his hand. Guns always look as large as a cannon when they pointed at you.

  Chapter 11

  "HELLO, O’SULLIVAN," the man said.

  "And who might you be?" I said. I couldn’t make out the details of his face due to the shadows.

  "Never mind that," the man said. "I want my money back. Where is it?"

  "Ah, Adam," I said. "The helo pilot."

  "Shut up," Adam said. "Where is the money?"

  "Money?" I said.

  "Don’t play games with me," Adam said. "I’ve already been to the hospital to see Allison. She told me you have the backpack."

  "The last time I saw you two together she was shooting at you," I said. "I’m surprised she would tell you anything."

  "With a pillow pressed over her face, Allison became very cooperative," Adam said. "People tend to get that way when unable to breathe."

  "Did you kill her?" I said.

  "No, didn’t get the chance," Adam said. "A nurse interrupted me moments after she told me you had the backpack. Now, where is it?"

  "It’s in my hotel room, back in Honolulu," I said. "Or at least it was the last time I saw it."

  "You’re lying," Adam said.

  "I’m not," I said. "If you’ve heard the news you know the cops think I killed Shaw in my hotel room. I had to run. I didn’t have time to take anything, not even the backpack. Even so, I got out of the room only minutes before the cops arrived."

  "Yeah, I heard Shaw bought it," Adam said. "So, you did him?"

  "I didn’t," I said. "But, someone went to a good bit of trouble to make it look as if I did."

  "Then come on, we’re going back to Honolulu to get the money," Adam said.

  "Pardon?" I said. "Did you not hear what I said? The cops think I killed Shaw and they were in my room. Do you actually think the police overlooked a backpack filled with cash?"

  "No offense," Adam said, "but I still don’t believe you." He motioned with the barrel of the gun. "Let’s go inside and have a look. I want to make sure the backpack isn’t there."

  "Sure," I said. I turned, opened the door, and walked back inside. Adam followed me in and closed the door behind him.

  Adam looked around the lounge. "How about the bedroom?" he said. "Let’s have a look in there." He motioned with the gun barrel again.

  I walked to the small bedroom and went in.

  "Stand over there against the wall," Adam said.

  I complied. Adam stooped over and checked beneath the bed. Not finding the backpack there, he walked to the wardrobe. After glancing at me, he opened the door and looked inside. No backpack. He then walked around the foot of the bed until he could see the floor on the other side. We repeated the process while he checked the bathroom and kitchen.

  "Have you hidden it somewhere outside?" Adam said.

  "I didn’t," I said. "Like I told you, it was in my hotel room, and I’m certain the police have it now."

  "That reminds me," Adam said. "Where is your gun, the one you used to shoot up my bird with?"

  "To be fair, you were trying to strike me with your helo," I said.

  Adam laughed. "You’re quite the smart ass, lady."

  "Yep, I can be a bit cheeky when someone is pointing a gun at me."

  "So where is it?" Adam said.

  "It was in the backpack with the money," I said. "I’m guessing the police have it too."

  "Strange that there was nothing in the news about the cops finding $750,000 in your hotel room," Adam said.

  "Not really," I said. "The police don’t tell the media everything about a murder investigation."

  "Maybe not," Adam said. "But to be certain, let's have a look in your rental car outside."

  "I’m not mad," I said. "If I had the bloody backpack I wouldn’t have left it outside in the car."

  "You could have been on your way to retrieve it from the car when I showed up," Adam said. " I see you have the car keys in your hand. You must have gone outside to get something from the car. We'll take a look to make sure the backpack isn't there. Now, move. We’re going to check the car."

  We walked outside to the car. "My guess is it is in the trunk," Adam said. "Let’s look there first."

  He directed me to the back of the car. "Open it," he said.

  I inserted the key and turned the lock.

  "Now take a step back," Adam said, holding the gun straight out in his right hand with the barrel pointed at my face. He looked away for a split second while he lifted the lid of the boot with his left hand. It was time to make my move.

  I stepped forward and slapped the inside of Adam’s right wrist hard with my right palm. In the same motion, I twisted and ripped the pistol out of his hand with my left. It was a Krav Maga move I learned once from an Israeli Mossad officer. So quick and violent was the move, taking the weapon from Adam had been as easy as taking candy from an infant. Now Adam was looking down the barrel of his own gun.

  Adam started to speak, but my right foot was already in motion. I gave him a proper kick in the crotch. Adam doubled over grabbing himself. I followed up with a knee to his face. The blow sent him sprawling backward against the car, and then he bounced off it and slid to the ground on his side.

  He put both hands to his nose. There was already a nice bit of blood running from his nostrils. "You broke my nose you bitch."

  "At least it made you forget the pain in your nuts," I said. "You’re welcome. Now get up rat bastard. We’re going back inside. You try anything, and I’ll shoot you quick smart right in the arse."

  I closed the lid of the boot and pulled the key out. Adam got to his feet and limped back inside the flat with me behind him. The moment we entered the lounge, I bashed him in the head behind the right ear with the butt of the pistol. Adam dropped like a sack of grain.

  "Sorry, mate," I said. "I’m feeling a bit shattered, and I couldn’t be fucked with dealing with you a moment longer."

  After making certain Adam was unconscious, I went to the kitchen and picked up the knife I’d used earlier. I went
back to the lounge and cut the pull cords off the mini blinds over the front windows. Putting the gun down, I bound Adam’s wrists behind his back with one length of the cord. I used the other to bind his ankles. Satisfied he wasn’t going anywhere, I took the gun and went back to the bedroom and got dressed. I couldn’t very well tell Adam to get lost and not return. And I’d not get any sleep staying here with him in the flat, so it was time to move. I grabbed my things and went back out the front door.

  I’d left the flat key inside where the owner could find it before closing the front door. It was possible Adam might manage to free himself once he came to I reckoned. If not, the flat owner would find him at some point.

  I got in the car and drove back to the motorway, headed back towards Honolulu. I arrived in a town called Wahiawa and drove around for a bit until I found a motel that looked a bit dodgy. The motel had a blinking neon sign out front. The word "vacancy" was partly illuminated. I stopped in front of the office.

  I took a packet of one hundred dollar bills from the backpack, ripped off the paper band, and dropped the money in my bag. I went into the office and walked up to the counter. There was no one about so I tapped a silver bell on the counter. An elderly Asian guy came out from the back through a doorway covered by a curtain.

  "Yes?" he said.

  "I need a room for the night," I said.

  I followed the man’s gaze as he looked at a clock mounted on the wall. It was after one in the morning. Looking back at me he said, "Ninety-six dollars."

  "Fine," I said. I reached into the beach bag and pulled out a hundred. "Here you go, keep the change," I said.

  The man took the bill. He didn’t bother asking for identification or ask me to sign anything. He reached beneath the counter and handed me a room key with a plastic tag attached that had a room number on it. "Room 5," the man said.