Coco's Nuts

by Tyler Colins

  She smiled wryly. “He seemed particularly needy and down.”

  “Did you see anyone nearby that looked odd? Did Coco say something out of the ordinary?”

  “With Coco being so fidgety and looking here, there, and everywhere, I did tend to gaze around more than I normally might. There were two guys sitting three tables over, eating fish-n-chips. They were young and into each other. There was an older couple sharing fries in a Jeep and a guy, maybe thirty, leaning into a post and sharing lunch with a very friendly and grateful mongoose. That's all I noticed. …You know, Coco did say something odd toward the end, that he thought maybe he'd pissed off someone in senior management. Then he laughed in that nutty Coco way and dug into the last of his shrimp.”

  “He wouldn't elaborate?”

  “No. I did press and wheedle for a full moment, because he had me curious, but he just waved it off with a couple of silly grins and shrugs.”

  “Could it have been Jimmy Picolo he was referring to? While it wasn't common knowledge at the time, there was a contract out on him. Maybe Coco got wind of it and that's why he was so anxious.”

  “You heard about the contract?” she asked, surprised.

  “You knew about it?” I asked, stunned.

  “There'd been whisperings here and there, but I put it down to idle chit-chat. Jimmy was into a few dubious things, but a hitman contract was not one of them,” she explained and then spoke softly to someone. “Listen, I better get off the phone; they're bringing out the cake in five.”

  “Quickly then, you two said your goodbyes and he got into his car –”

  “No, he got into mine. His was in the garage and he asked for a lift to Mikole Street on Sand Island. He was going to connect with someone there and, no, he didn't tell me who. He did become extremely antsy once we neared the destination.”

  “Did you leave him at a business?”

  “A warehouse. It was fairly quiet that afternoon, save for delivery trucks and vans, and some construction here and there. Once we arrived, Coco climbed out of the car, blew a kiss, and toddled off to the side of the warehouse.”

  “Could you provide the address?”

  “I don't remember the exact number, but I'll Google it. Expect a text with directions in the next hour or two. I really have to go, but let's get together sometime during the next few days, okay?”

  “I'll call you tomorrow to firm up a date and time.”

  Jem was next. Unfortunately, I only got VM, so I left a message.

  Faith was last on the list. It was good to hear her melodic voice, a cross between a young girl's and a bellowing teamster's, with a little crooning songster thrown in. We chatted a bit about the case and a lot about lighthearted, trivial things. After agreeing to meet for coffee the following week, I got organized for the visit to Gail's.

  In addition to runners, jeans, and a T-shirt, I slipped on something I'd not worn since that insane confrontation at Howell's getaway cottage: a Barsony ankle holster, supporting the new Beretta M9A3.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “I come bearing gifts,” I said, my voice as deadpan as my expression.

  Gail gazed at the big box of donuts and two industrial-sized coffees perched on top, then grinned and motioned me into the condo. “It appears we have a long night ahead.”

  The 800-square-foot place was decorated in a style much like her personality: bright, warm, and artsy. My eyes grew Oreo-round upon sighting a plethora of fun and funky clocks lining a far wall.

  Turning, my eyes rounded even more. “Oh my goodness! Is that a cat or a mammoth loaf of bread?” A huge cubic-shaped fuzzball, which had to weigh twenty-five pounds, rested on a gold-and-copper ottoman.

  She sniffed with feigned affront. “That, my dear JJ, is Mr. Percival Abernathy Katt. And he's merely big-boned.”

  Laughing, I slipped off runners and placed the “gifts” on a granite counter that divided a cozy apricot-and-plum galley kitchen from a long, rectangular living room accented in precious-metal colors.

  Gail pulled out two unique [weird] chicken-head mugs from a two-door, pomegranate-red kitchen pantry and poured the coffees into them as I peeled open the box.

  “What did you want to share?”

  “Roderick, that undercover detective and good friend I'd told you about, returned from Cali yesterday afternoon. I'd told him about Coltrane and he dredged up some interesting poop.”

  I wiggled fingers in a tell-me-all gesture.

  “He was in the army for five years.” She eyed the dozen circular delights and decided on triple-chocolate. “Care to guess what he excelled in?”

  I opted for a lemon-cream one and, mugs in hand, we moved to a pineapple-themed wicker sofa.

  “Given what transpired yesterday, I'm going to go with demolitions.”

  She bit into the donut and gave a thumb's up. “You're spot on. He grew up in Idaho, studied mathematics and physics at university, and joined the army upon graduation – something to do with honoring his older brother's memory, a lieutenant who'd done four overseas tours. The irony was that he was killed when he got beaned by a wayward rebounding mole at a fair midway game.”

  “Irony is right,” I murmured, envisioning the comically tragic scene.

  “There was an incident during his Picolo days. Apparently, as Colt Colter, he'd been arrested on an assault charge, but it never stuck.”

  I frowned. “Who did he assault?”

  “George Franken.”

  A Cheshire-cat grin pulled at my lips. “Rey sent him a photo of Colt and said he was lurking around, asking peculiar questions.”

  “Do you think he'll admit that he was assaulted by Coltrane or share anything of note?”

  “Let's have Rey check with him in the morning.” After texting my cousin, I turned back to Gail and found Percival Abernathy Katt sitting before my feet. Huge feline orbs regarded me intently.

  “He wants a lap dance.”

  Before I could say “meow”, the loaf had leapt onto my thighs and settled in with a rub-my-belly look. Had I said twenty-five pounds? More like thirty. I obeyed Mr. Katt's silent request and hoped the probable allergic reaction would be minimal. “Anything else?”

  She shook her head.

  “The agency owes your friend a dinner.”

  “You owe me three.”

  We grinned, then sobered.

  “We need to locate Petey,” I affirmed.

  Gail exhaled slowly, her forehead creasing. “Should we check…”

  “The morgue?” I asked softly.

  “I was going to say hospital.” She looked sad. “But yes, that, too.”

  I took a calming breath. “I'm calling Ald. Will you see if you can find a number for Eddy Galazie?”

  “On it.” Shoving the last of the donut into her mouth, she scurried into a corner niche that served as an office.

  “Fonne.”

  “Ives,” I said in greeting.

  “What's up on this hot and humid Friday night besides us?”

  “Petey May is missing.”

  “Are you sure?” Tension was evident in the tone. Ald knew Petey from his early Detroit police days. They'd ended up becoming “professional buddies” (as Petey had told it), when both ended up in St. Louis for a few years.

  “He's not replied to voice-mail or text messages, or picked up calls in forty-eight hours. That's not like him.”

  “No, it's not,” the detective agreed quietly.

  “…He's on the agency's payroll.”

  “Doing what?”

  “…Watching someone.” I hoped.

  Sensing I wouldn't elaborate, he said, “I'll make a few calls.”

  “Thanks. If you don't reach me, try Gail.”

  “Are you two together right now?”

  “We are.”

  He swore softly. “Stay in, watch a movie, and do not get into mischief.”

  “I can't make any promises.” I returned to rubbing Mr. Katt's big belly after receiving a distinctly icy glare from t
he puffed-up (in more ways than one) feline.

  “What's next?” Gail asked from across the room.

  “A drive to Kent's and then Colt's.”

  * * *

  In was after midnight when we headed down Kent's street in Gale's new Hyundai Santa Fe. The street was well lit, which would have been great under other circumstances: tonight, dim and shadowy were favored.

  Gail had succeeded in locating a number for Eddy, but he'd not answered when I'd called. I left my cell number, stating I was an associate of Jimmy Picolo's and was seeking some temporary assistance for the office.

  “That's the place,” I motioned. Kent's single, detached Aiea house was dark. He was either sleeping or out and about.

  Pulling binoculars from a tote bag behind the passenger's seat, Gail surveyed the area slowly. “I don't see anyone lurking in bushes, hiding in and around the fenced yard, or hunched in a car.”

  I frowned. Where was Petey? Had he discovered something he shouldn't have? Was he hurt? Or worse?

  My companion read my mind. “Let's stay positive, okay?”

  “Sure.” I slapped her arm lightly. “Let's go to Colt's.”

  “The place in Kapolei or Diamond Head?”

  “Both.”

  After another quick look around, Gail put the car into first. Given that Aiea was slightly closer to Kapolei than Diamond Head, we headed there.

  “Dark, too,” Gail murmured, parking four houses away.

  “Given his profession, it may be that he rarely comes here,” I said quietly, feeling useless. In truth, I wanted to break in, search every room, and hack into every technical device.

  Again, she read my mind. “It's not worth it.”

  “It is if it saves a life,” I retorted.

  She squeezed my hand. “We'll find Petey.”

  “Let's take a quick peek.”

  “If someone sees us prowling around, we'll be in Ald's office receiving a longwinded reprimand before we ever get to call lawyers.”

  I sighed, recalling Petey's lecture. “Colt probably does have trick wires and cameras around the premises. We may as well forgo the other place if we're not going in.”

  “Shall we all it a night?”

  I nodded glumly. Halfway home, Dean Martin's “Volare” announced a call. I barely got out a greeting when Ald grimly advised he'd located Petey in a hospital.

  “What happened?”

  “His rental car crashed into an embankment late last night and burst into flames. Fortunately, he was thrown clear. They found him several yards over.”

  “Is he okay?” I asked anxiously.

  “He's got cracked ribs, a concussion, a segmental fracture, meaning his arm is broken in two places, and a few facial stitches.”

  “We'll head over right away –”

  “He's heavily sedated. I'd suggest you wait until tomorrow. At the moment, there's nothing you can do and he certainly can't talk.”

  “But –”

  “Get some sleep, Fonne. And tell Murdock to do the same,” he ordered. “We'll meet there at ten, okay?”

  * * *

  It was nearly three when I got back to the condo. Sleep wasn't forthcoming, so after feeding an ever-energetic Bonzo, I took Button for a walk. A pleasant, moderate northeast breeze blew under a beautiful star-sparkly sky as we ambled along Ala Moana. Traffic was sporadic and, except for a few sleeping homeless folks, there was no one about.

  Instead of returning along the boulevard, we cut down Ala Wai and circled around Atkinson. I had energy to burn and so, apparently, did my little fluffnut. Unlike Button, however, I was also keeping a wary/leery eye (you truly never knew).

  When we neared our building, I noticed a black Mitsubishi. Hadn't Gail told us Colt owned one? Stealing alongside shrubbery, we tiptoed closer. Why would he be parked out here? Had he followed? For how long? Had he known I was out walking Button? …Or was lack of sleep contributing to paranoia? There had to be dozens of these cars on the Island.

  “Is your mom being silly, or what?” I asked Button softly.

  She cocked her head one way and then the other, and nudged my shin.

  “Yeah. My gut says the same.” So did the hairs on the back of my neck; they'd started standing on end.

  What to do? … Take pictures of the car perhaps?

  If he was nearby, he could see someone entering and leaving the lobby, so we bid a hasty, circular retreat and slipped into the building via a side door. I might be foolish enough to jeopardize my own health, but not Button's.

  Oli was on duty, scanning screens as he drank coffee from an insulated mug.

  “Hey you,” I said amiably.

  “JJ,” the Mack-truck-sized security guard grinned. “How's Cutie?”

  I let go the leash and Button scampered around the desk.

  “Would you watch her for ten minutes? I need to run to ABC.”

  “Take your time,” he said, reaching into a plastic container for a treat for his best friend.

  Pulling out my cell, I disabled the camera flash. Thank goodness I had on jeans and a dark T-shirt. At least I wouldn't glow or stand out.

  Cautiously, I neared the Mitsubishi and took photos of it and the license plate.

  I lingered in the bushes like a voyeur, debating what to do. Suddenly, a muscular arm hooked itself around my neck. Damn. If I'd belonged to a private eye club I'd have been ousted for stupidity and inattention. (The Beretta would do a lot of good – strapped to my ankle.)

  “I can crush your windpipe without losing a beat,” Colt whispered in my ear. “Be careful what you do. Okay?”

  Because I couldn't speak, much less move, I nodded as best I could.

  He lessened the hold, but didn't completely let go.

  “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” I asked coolly.

  “You three have been sticking your pretty noses where they don't belong.”

  “Fine. We'll stop sticking,” I snapped.

  His lips were hot on my cheek. “I'm giving you three to-dos. One: stop asking questions about me. Two: never ever enter my premises again, or I will shoot to kill. Three: don't bother mentioning the first two to anyone. Got it?”

  “Did Cash get it?”

  “I have no idea what you're talking about, Missy,” he replied breezily. “But I wouldn't mention anything to him, either – but hey, you're not together anymore, are you? I believe the wife and kids wanted him back or something like that.” He laughed darkly. “I repeat: don't mention anything to anyone. If you do, Button will pay the price. So will Cash's kids. Do you want that on you? I ask again, got it?”

  “Got it.” For the interim.

  “Scoot back to your furry friend. And please give Rey my love.” Brushing his lips across mine, he placed a hand on my rear and pushed me in the direction of the condo building.

  Angry and embarrassed, I lifted my flaming face high and ambled home … ignoring the hearty, damning laughter resounding from behind.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Considering I'd had maybe two hours sleep, I was fairly awake when I welcomed Buddy into the condo at 7:00 a.m. Saturday. She'd called an hour earlier, asking if we could meet ASAP as opposed to scheduling a later time and date.

  Her wavy hair hung loose. Sporting white cotton shorts, a floral-print blouse, and a Rebecca Minkoff Crossbody bag (Rey had been admiring one – of many – a few weeks back), she looked as beautiful and perky as ever. This morning, however, she finally looked relaxed.

  “What did you want to share, besides coffee and treats?” I grinned, referring to the huge cups of coffee and paper bag perched on a cardboard tray.

  “JJ, honey, you look like you've been burning the candle at both ends.” She slipped off pristine white canvas sneakers before placing the tray on the kitchen counter and rooting through cupboards for plates.

  Stepping before a long oval mirror in the living room, I noted portmanteau-sized bags under my eyes. In store for the day: trowel-it-on concealer and shovel-it-on make-up.
/>
  Button and Bonzo padded up and she joyfully greeted them in return. “I've never had pets. Mother had always thought them messy and smelly.” She sighed wistfully. “I may adopt one or two when I get back to Maui.”

  “For someone who's on the road a lot, cats make better pets,” I advised, returning alongside to find a plump pineapple malasada and thick glazed croissant on each plate.

  “I may give up trucking soon. The solidarity and freedom are great, but the hours can be a bit much.”

  I motioned the coffees and, grabbing the plates, led the way to the living room sofa. “How'd the party go?”

  “Eda had an awesome time.” She smiled prettily and made herself comfortable. “What's on the agenda this weekend? Something fun, I hope.”

  I sat on the other one and smiled ruefully. “Fortunately, I'm not on weather duty. Unfortunately, we're visiting someone in the hospital this morning. At one, I'm with Kent while Rey and Linda check out a couple of places that Coco may have gone to after you'd dropped him off.”

  She hugged the bag to her chest and studied me. “You really want to find him, don't you?”

  “He'd bring closure, but if we don't, we don't. I suspect he'll show up eventually, if he's not been served as fish fodder.” I pried off the lid and sipped a latte that was sweet and spicy. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  She smiled, then sobered. “Roch Chandrake called from Ric's late last night. He was very optimistic.”

  “So he should be. You're in the clear, my dear.”

  She sighed wistfully. “I wish you and I had met in another place and time, under different circumstances. I believe we'd have made good friends.”

  “There's no reason we can't be now,” I said gaily, eyeing the croissant. While it looked delicious – fat and flaky and scrumptious – a run along the canal had to come first. I needed some energizing, not enervating. Maybe there was time to squeeze in a quick one before meeting Rey and Linda at the hospital. “Our business relationship is coming to a quick close.”

  “In terms of our 'business relationship', I believe there's a degree of confidentiality that you have to maintain…?”

  “Subpoenas aside, yes, P.I.s have a responsibility to ensure their clients' investigations and information are kept strictly confidential.”