by Tyler Colins
Ric watched Rey pop two capsules before answering, his expression impassive and his tone neutral. “Someone's out to obliterate data.”
“Any idea who and why?” I asked casually.
“I'm inclined to believe Jimmy's killer wants to erase anything that might come back to bite him on the butt. But, you know, he could have just broken in and grabbed or deleted any condemning evidence, so maybe he's also out to deliver a warning.”
After pouring milk into my coffee, I passed the container to Rey. “Why'd you and your brother never get along?”
He peered out the window, but seemed oblivious to streaming traffic and ambling tourists. “We did, once upon a time.”
“Was it because he was into illegal stuff?” Rey asked straightforwardly.
He sipped orange juice as he continued to peer outside. Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes. With a limp shrug, he finally said, “I was jealous when our father left Braddah Jimmy's solely to him, but I got over it.”
“You didn't approve of his work ethics,” I prodded.
“He had our father's looks, personality, brainpower, and principles. Like Papa, he became entangled in some dubious business transactions – such as investment projects that went south.” Ric's gaze returned to the table. “Jimmy was smart and motivated. Decades ago, he realized Hawaii would undergo a major development boom. He had the foresight – and determination – to grab up key properties he knew he might have to sit on for years.”
“ 'Grab up' through whatever means necessary,” I said with a complacent smile.
We ceased speaking as the waitress placed three plates on the table.
As she poured syrup, Rey again got to the [blunt] point. “How'd you know Coco was dead?”
“And how'd you learn about the tatt and jewelry?” I added.
Ric looked as if he were about to invoke the Fifth again, but then thought better of it. “Jimmy.”
“He actually admitted this to you?” I had to look as surprised as I sounded. For two not-so-loving male siblings, I'd not have expected Big Bruddah to readily share sensitive – and risky – information with Little Brother.
“We'd been discussing Annia's financial situation –”
“Vice, you mean,” Rey smirked, forking a sizeable piece of syrup-slathered pancake to her lips.
Ric smiled wryly.
“Why'd he take out the contract?” my cousin asked.
“It won't go beyond this table,” I promised, sensing hesitancy.
His gaze, coupled with an ominous smile, said: make sure it doesn't. “Jimmy had discovered some financial inconsistencies a few months back. He learned who was involved –”
“Coco being one of them,” Rey threw out. “Franken and Falsch being the other two.”
“Coco had been Jimmy Junior's good friend for years –”
“Which meant Jimmy Senior had to embrace the stupid little dolt,” Rey finished for me.
Ric's root-beer-brown eyes regarded Rey with a hint of interest. “Do you have a habit of finishing people's sentences?”
She smiled prettily and returned to her pancakes.
“Your brother was angry at having been deceived,” I continued. “Who wouldn't be?”
He took a sip of tea and nodded. “Jimmy had done a lot for the 'stupid little dolt' over the years. How was that kindness repaid? With barefaced deceit and attitude, among other things.”
Rey tsked and I frowned. Whatever else Jimmy Silone Picolo III had been, as father and benefactor, he'd been more than fair and generous.
“My brother considered gambling a depravity, and as Coco became more and more … crazed with it, the more and more outraged Jimmy became.”
“Because he'd seen its impact on Annia,” Rey appended.
Ric nodded glumly.
“Why the tattoo and jewelry?” I persisted.
“First and foremost, they were trophies. Secondly, they were intended to serve as warnings – to taunt and caution Franken, Falsch and Marlowe.”
“Why didn't he simply fire the lot of them? Or bring legal action?” I asked, perplexed.
Ric's expression was cynical. “That, ladies, would have been too easy and un-dramatic for Jimmy Picolo the Third.” Rising, he nodded at Rey and then me. “Thanks for breakfast.”
“You've haven't touched it,” Rey motioned.
“Then there's a bona fide reason to return and try it,” he winked at her, “maybe together.”
“Do you know who killed Coco?” I asked as he was about to depart.
He offered an oily smile in response and sauntered into a bright, sunshiny morning.
“He knows,” Rey and I uttered simultaneously.
* * *
“I finally get to check out your favorite Thai place.” I gazed around the nearly full seventy-seat Nimitz eatery.
The scents of garlic, citrus, and herbs wafted across the large, square room heavy with chrome. If you weren't hungry when you arrived, you were by the time you'd walked halfway through the place.
Ald and I were seated at an aluminum table by a tall window in a corner, drinking green tea and sharing an order of vegetable spring rolls before Basil Shrimp, Tamarind Fish, and Coconut-Pineapple Rice arrived.
We'd been here approximately fifteen minutes, chatting about the weather, a major traffic accident that had closed down the H-1 for the early afternoon, condos going up in Kakaako, and a new burger joint on Ward. When I'd eventually asked how the visit to his twin brother in Florida had gone, he explained that Ger had passed (they'd been named Gerald One and Gerald Two, or Ger and Ald for short). Sadly, the forty-five-year-old advertising exec had died of pleomorphic liposarcoma, a cancer belonging to soft-tissue sarcomas (or tumors); both rare and challenging to treat, it had ended his life within twenty months of discovery. As there'd been no other family – Ger's wife had died a decade ago – Ald was the sole beneficiary, receiving a three-bedroom Tallahassee condo and sizeable savings account. A letter written three months before his death had also requested that Ald endeavor to learn more about fashion, wine and food, so that he might appreciate the finer things in life, as Ger had. Ald had found it an odd request, but given his brother had had an odd sense of humor, and other idiosyncrasies, vowed to honor it.
“I saw your forecast today,” he said casually. “You looked good, but then you always do.”
“Is that a compliment?” I joked, sensing he was attempting to dismantle the barrier he'd recently erected, and perhaps wasn't overly comfortable doing so.
“A fact.” He smiled dryly and, noticing our server approach with a laden tray, waited for the young man to arrange food on the table. “Dig in, Fonne.”
“How'd the date with Annia go?” I asked as I spooned seafood onto a plate.
“Great meal and wine. Uneventful woman and evening.” A sliver of fish disappeared behind full, sensual lips.
I was surprised. I'd have expected Annia Picolo-Adverterre to be charming and witty, someone who could speak intelligently, if not eloquently, about any topic.
“She's easy on the eyes and smart, no question, but she's full of herself. Apparently, status and money are everything.”
“Does this mean there's no second date?” I asked drolly.
“There was no first.” He chewed a slice of pepper. “I only agreed to go out with her to see what made the woman tick and what I could learn about the Picolos.”
“And?”
“I didn't learn anything I didn't already know,” he replied regretfully. “How's your case going?”
“It's going.”
“That's all you have to say?”
“Other than to re-affirm our client is innocent, yes.” I dug into the rice, then stopped to regard him closely. “Are you still so certain that Buddy committed the murders?”
“The witnesses you provided have us looking at … other possibilities.”
“Meaning?”
“We have new leads to investigate,” he replied evasively.
“�
�What about Coco Peterson?”
“We haven't come across anything of note. It's as if he were a ghost. What about you?”
“He was killed because Jimmy Picolo took out a contract.”
Ald lowered his fork and frowned. “Where'd you get this/”
It was my turn to be evasive. “The rumor mill.”
“Spill it, Fonne.”
“There's nothing to spill, except my tea … which I just did.” I sighed and patted the tablecloth with a napkin. “Coco had deceived Picolo once too often.”
“So Picolo had Peterson – to use mob vernacular – rubbed out?” he asked with a cross smile.
“So the rumor mill has it,” I responded lightly and changed the subject. “Tell JJ what had Ald so p'o'd that he would barely speak to her these past few weeks?”
“Ald wasn't crazy about the bad company JJ was keeping,” he answered simply, pulling out his cell phone when it cha-cha-cha'd.
I cocked a curious eyebrow and he smiled as he turned away to take the call. I picked at a fat shrimp, deciding it was time to tie all loose ends together. This evening, Rey was out at a talent agency function and Linda with Makjo, of course. That left me and the kids – a perfect opportunity to make calls. Maybe one or two would actually prove of value.
“I've got to run. DB slung over a station toilet.” He stood. “Let's do drinks soon.”
I nodded once, my thoughts aligned with a mental to-call list.
He scanned my preoccupied face and hastened through the restaurant.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Once Button was walked and fed, and she and Bonzo settled in the lanai, I made a cup of mint tea and got down to business: compiling a list of priorities and calls to be made.
Priority number one: determine how to ensnare Colt. A pissed-off traitor with his [dangerous] skillset should not be walking among the masses, much less working for the “good and safety” of the country. Proving Buddy innocent was pretty much a done deal, thanks to the witnesses from J&B who'd verified they'd seen Buddy leave Jimmy Picolo alive. Still, his executioner had to be found and when he – or she, as the case might be – was found, the tragic demise of Razor and Eb would almost certainly also be explained. Priority number two: track down one dogged killer. Locating Coco's dead body – the piece that could help assemble the last of the puzzle – would provide closure. Consequently, priority number three: find Coco Peterson.
On a five-call list, Petey was first. We'd not heard from him since Wednesday evening and I was a wee bit worried. While he likely had a good reason for not contacting us – such as Kent hadn't done much save go to work, work out, and work off [tension and/or hostility] – it didn't seem like the seasoned P.I. not to report in.
Speaking of, Kent was second. Regardless of the liaison with Colt, I suspected he'd want to continue playing pal/confidante. As there surely had to be additional information to glean, we had to chase it while still accessible. If he candidly shared what he'd learned so far about his stepbrother, maybe we could establish Coco's final moments and subsequently locate the body and/or ascertain the killer's identity.
Third came Buddy, of course. The time to check in was past due; hopefully, all was going relatively smoothly.
Fourth: Jem Stretta. Maybe he'd heard something new about Coco, Jimmy Picolo, or his brother in his bar and repairman travels.
For no other reason than I wanted a bit of girly-girl chat time, Faith was fifth. We'd not connected since the movies nearly two weeks ago.
Gail had left a message a couple of hours ago; something about a friend being back in town. When I'd called back, I got VM. A game of telephone/text tag would most likely be on the agenda.
Eddy “Red Head” Galazie had obviously not left town or the Island – if that was him I'd sighted at the fire scene. I was pretty sure it was. There had to be a functional number for him somewhere.
Cash would have made the list if I had a telephone number or email address. Perhaps he was still healing and/or lying low, or had even left Oahu for a spell, but if not, his brains were the ones to pick. When and how had he discovered his colleague was a traitor? Was it the night he'd been beaten? What could and would he share if we spoke? He had to know we'd pursue this or he'd not have left the clue. There might be a number associated with the Hawai'i Kai house, but what if Wifey answered? How professional could I play it if she picked up?
Minor players included Harry the Hoarse, Ichirou Hamasaki, Fugger, Chester and George Franken, Sal Marlowe … Lilo Dorfmeister, Mark Jack Deon, and Lula. There were a few others, of course, but not one seemed worth pursuing (pestering) at this juncture.
* * *
It was nine o'clock Friday night, nearly forty-eight hours since we'd last seen Petey. He'd still not responded to texts, voice-mails, and emails, and I was a lot worried now. I decided to try Gail again and lucked in. Engaged in a weekly “retreat”, she was soaking in a rosemary-scented bubble bath, reading an old Zane Gray novel, and sipping iced rooibos tea.
“No, hon, I haven't heard from him. He said he'd call when we parted ways the other night, but not when,” she said uneasily. “Why don't you come over?”
Getting together, even if only to chat, was better than fretting or doing nothing at all. “Finish getting pruney. I have a few calls to make.”
“Great. I can share the other news I'd told you about.”
“I plumb forgot,” I confessed sheepishly. “I'll be there at eleven. We'll catch up then.”
As I waited for the kettle to boil for a third round of tea, I tried Kent.
“Yeah?” He sounded like someone who wanted to be anywhere but on a call.
“Did someone stub their toe or something?” I asked breezily.
His tone brightened. “What's up, doll?”
“You said you were going to map Coco's last few days. I thought we could review what you'd uncovered.” I got comfortable on a counter stool.
“Sure. Let's see. He'd gone to Vegas with his two pals the first weekend of October. Coco won four hundred, Franken lost two hundred, and Falsch lost three grand.”
“Ouch.”
“I'm sure he's said that a few times over the years,” Ken said sarcastically. “Anyway, Monday October 6th, I met Coco for beers at Marty's, a little bar on Aiea Heights. We talked again on Saturday. That's when he mentioned the ten K and even though he laughed it off with that 'sometimes ya win, sometimes ya lose' attitude of his, I could tell he was anxious.”
“Who did he owe?”
“He wouldn't say.”
“Go on.”
“The next night, Sunday, he called for a quick chat. He told me he was planning to see Picolo later that week about moving into sales and stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Stuff. He –”
“Wouldn't say,” we finished in unison.
He chuckled dryly. “He did mention that Monday and Tuesday would be full days with overtime, but that he was taking the rest of the week off … and maybe we could meet for lunch on Thursday.”
“Has anyone confirmed this?”
“A driver, Sean McNovo, verified that Coco was working late both days. That's all I've got so far.”
“So the boxing gym on the 15th is pretty much the last place he'd been seen – wait. The shrimp truck with Buddy, after Ralston's, was the last place.” I recalled details. “He appeared uneasy, but when she asked about his antsy state, he put it down to too many energy drinks. Later, after you told Buddy that he owed several thousand dollars, she understood why he'd repeatedly looked over his shoulder.” I took a thoughtful sip and threw out a conjecture I already knew the answer to. “Maybe the people he owed followed, waited until he was alone and nabbed him.”
“Debt collectors have limbs fractured or broken, depending on the amount owed and the inability to pay in a timely manner. They don't kill,” he announced blandly.
“Did Coco know about the planned hit on him? Would he have fought back if he'd been cornered?”
“T
he guy's got the strength of a Chihuahua. I've seen five-year-olds punch inflatable clowns with more muscle.” Kent laughed, but not with cheer.
“After he and Buddy parted ways after lunch, where do you suppose he would have headed?”
“He had the day off so he'd have gone to Chase's, his favorite pool hall, or maybe to one of three gambling houses he frequents, but given his situation, I'm guessing he'd have had enough sense to steer clear of those. He also likes to go to Yokohama Bay to unwind. He can't swim worth shit, but he finds watching the surfers and babes quite de-stressing.”
“We should poke around those places. Maybe someone saw him.”
“Do you want to aim for tomorrow aft?” he asked, not sounding as if he cared one way or the other.
“I'll pick you up at one at your place.” Without waiting for confirmation, I moved on to the next call: Buddy.
Eda picked up and went to get her best friend in the rear where a barbecue crowd was feasting on ribs and wings, and drinking copious amounts of beer and wine. It was Eda's birthday and from the sounds of music, chatter and laughter, the party was going strong.
“Sounds like a fun time,” I said gaily when Buddy finally came to the phone.
“It's a great way to loosen up, that's for sure,” she said cheerfully. “What's up?”
“I thought I'd see how you were doing.”
“Quite well, considering.”
“Considering you're pretty much clear,” I asserted. “You didn't commit those two murders, did you?”
“I did not,” she affirmed.
“Then keep the faith. You'll be completely exonerated and soon. Now, tell me about that last time you saw Coco. When you parted ways, did he say where he was going? Which direction did he head in?”
“After we'd finished eating at Sammo's Shrimp Stand, we continued to sit on one of the picnic tables facing the Kam Highway and chatted – he seemed very eager to dialog about a career change. Given I'd made a major vocation transition, he wanted to learn the best way to go about it.”
“I'm surprised you had lunch with him, considering you weren't a big fan.”