Mahu Vice m-4

by Neil S. Plakcy

  “Works for me,” I said. “You sleep with any gourmet chefs while you were at it? I wouldn’t mind getting comped a nice meal now and then.”

  “Get dressed, goofball. They’re not letting you into the Halekulani looking like that.”

  We had to shower before we left, to get the smell of smoke out of our skin and our hair, and we did it together, to save time and water. But the idea that Stan might be skulking around outside put the damper on romance, and we finished quickly and got out. The watch commander for District 3, which included Aiea, said he’d get a car to pass by Mike’s house every half hour for the rest of the night, just in case.

  Neither of us spoke much on the way down to Waikiki. I wondered about the guy Mike knew at the Halekulani, and where Stan was. I wanted to drive right over to his house, rip open his door and punch his lights out, though I knew that wasn’t the solution to anything.

  We left Mike’s truck with the valet at the Halekulani, and I walked through the lobby to the ocean while he negotiated with his former flame. The huge pool was lit up, highlighting the orchid painted on the bottom. The lounge chairs had been folded up and the umbrellas closed. I wondered if Stan had followed us. I doubted he’d be able to cause any trouble at the Halekulani, though.

  A few minutes later, Mike joined me out by the pool. “We’re all set.”

  The clouds had cleared, revealing a full moon and an array of stars splayed across the sky. The waves made a gentle rushing sound meeting the beach, and in the distance we could hear the faintest echo of dance music. Mike took my hand. “Been a busy day, huh? When I woke up this morning I couldn’t have imagined everything we’d go through today.”

  “I knew we’d end up like this, though. I guess I’ve known since I saw you at the shopping center fire.”

  “Me, too.” He turned his head toward me, and we kissed. The breeze picked up and wafted the smell of salt water and plumeria blossoms around us.

  The room Mike had arranged for us was the most luxurious I’d ever stayed in. It was on the twelfth floor, overlooking the ocean and Diamond Head, with a lanai, a king-sized bed, and a Roman tub in the bathroom. “This room is too nice to sleep in,” I said, when we walked in. I went straight across to the lanai and opened the sliding glass door, stepping outside.

  There was a glittering necklace of lights at the foot of Diamond Head, clouds massing over it, illuminated by the moonlight. “Who says we’re going to sleep?” Mike asked, coming up behind me. He wrapped his arms around me and we kissed. I savored every place where our bodies touched, chest to chest, hip to hip, hands on shoulders.

  Since we’d worked out the urgency of our lust earlier in the evening, we took our time. We stripped down out there on the lanai, kissing and running our hands over each other, naked against the ocean breeze. He leaned forward against the railing and I stood behind him, arching my back so my dick pressed up against his ass. I reached around and cupped his nipples in my hands, kissing the back of his neck as he breathed deeply.

  We moved back inside, rolling around for a while on the lush, carpeted floor, wrestling for dominance. Then we climbed on the bed in a sixty-nine position, me on top, as if I was doing pushups over him, and we sucked each other to climax. From there, we stumbled into the Roman tub and cuddled in the hot, soapy water. It was after four by the time we’d worn each other out and drifted to sleep.

  I woke at first light, despite how late we’d gone to bed, and rolled over to kiss the top of Mike’s head. He yawned. “What time is it?”

  “A little before six. I think we got about two hours of sleep.”

  He stroked the edge of my hairline. “I wish we could stay here in bed all day.”

  “Me, too. But it’s what, Thursday? We’ll have the weekend.” I stood up and stretched. His ex had arranged for us to stay at least two nights, if we needed to, and as I pulled my clothes back on I told Mike I’d call him during the day.

  I would have liked the luxury of surfing for a while that morning, to clear my head, but I had to get downtown. I settled for a walk through Waikiki as the city was waking up-food trucks making deliveries, maids on their way to work, street cleaners hosing down Kalakaua.

  Ray was still shaken by the events of the night before, but Julie had sat up with him for a while and then dosed him with a couple of sleeping pills, and he was ready to get Stan behind bars. I told him about the fire at Mike’s, and he whistled. “The guy’s a piece of work.” Then he looked at me. “You went back to the fireman’s house.”

  “We may be getting back together.”

  “May be? Or already did?”

  “Already did.” I couldn’t help grinning. “A couple of times, actually.”

  “High five,” Ray said, holding up his palm. I slapped it just as Lieutenant Sampson came out of his office and beckoned us.

  “I hope these high spirits mean you’re making progress on this case,” he said. “I want to catch this guy, and I want to catch him fast. What have you got?”

  We ran it down for him, from the planned meeting at the Rod and Reel Club, through Sergei getting shot, to the fire at Mike’s house. I admit, I made it sound to Sampson like Mike and I had just gone back there to talk through the case. I don’t know if he believed me, but he didn’t lecture me, and that was a good thing.

  “We can’t say for sure that was Stan on the motorcycle, or that he was the one who set the fire at Mike Riccardi’s house,” I said. “But he’s our prime suspect at this point.”

  “Why wasn’t one of you waiting at his office, to follow him to Waikiki?” Sampson asked. “I thought I authorized you to do that yesterday.”

  I looked at Ray and we both shrugged. “We knew where he was going to be,” I said. “We were chasing down other leads.”

  “If one of you’d picked him up at his office, or at his house, we’d have a case,” Sampson said. “But that’s water under the bridge. The question is how do we nail him?”

  “We don’t have enough evidence for a search warrant?” Ray asked. “Not even with everything we’ve got?”

  “And what do you have?” Sampson asked. “You have Sergei Baranov, a felon from Alaska who says this fine, upstanding citizen supplied him with illegal immigrants. But he has nothing in writing, and the only evidence he can give you is a couple of cancelled checks to this man’s business. How about the illegal workers at the landscaping company-did you get anything from them?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing on Stan. A couple of them implicated Richard Hu in the immigrant smuggling, and Frank O’Connor’s moving forward on that.”

  “You have any other leads?” Sampson asked. “Any at all?”

  I remembered the way that Stan had threatened Gunter. “I’ve got a friend who works for Stan.” I explained Stan’s attempt to get Gunter into his blackmail ring. “I’ve been trying to keep him out of this, but I don’t see that we have any choice. With Sergei out of the picture, the only chance we have of nailing Stan is to use Gunter.”

  “Talk to him,” Sampson said.

  I knew Gunter was tough and could take care of himself, but after seeing Sergei get shot, I was worried. At ten, I drove over to Gunter’s, leaving Ray at the station going over a couple of witness statements that the uniformed officers had collected the night before. The clouds of the night before were back, puffy cumulus piles that dotted the sky. It was garbage day in Gunter’s neighborhood, and I had to nose the Wrangler between a couple of cans, careful not to bang up my new ride.

  Gunter answered his door in a white silk thong, and nothing else. “Why’d you bother to put that on?” I asked. “It’s not like it covers anything up.”

  “You never know who’s at the door,” Gunter said, stepping back as I walked in. “Sometimes it’s somebody you want to see.”

  He closed the door and stalked across the living room to the kitchen, and I followed. He may have been a tall, skinny guy with an average dick, but you could bounce a quarter off that ass and get change back.

  “T
o what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asked, sticking an oversized mug of water into the microwave.

  “Can’t I just drop in to see my good friend?” I asked, as he spooned some loose tea into a cheesecloth bag.

  “Not at this hour. You want something, don’t you?” He looked at me. “You want to pimp me out to Stan LoCicero. Christ.”

  “I wouldn’t call it that.”

  The microwave beeped and Gunter pulled the hot water out. He poured it into a clear glass teapot, dipped the tea bag in, and put the top on.

  “What would you call it?” Gunter asked, turning to face me. I was glad to avoid the distraction of that perfect ass, but it wasn’t as though his dick was hidden by the pouch of white silk. “Helping the police with their inquiries?”

  “Putting an asshole behind bars,” I said.

  We watched the water in the glass teapot grow darker. Gunter opened the cabinet for two cups and a plastic honey dispenser in the shape of a bear.

  I debated whether I should tell Gunter about Sergei’s aborted meeting with Stan. I knew it would make him more nervous, but he was my friend, and I owed him the truth. “We need your help.” I sketched out the details of Sergei’s involvement with Stan as Gunter poured the tea into the cups, squeezing honey into his and passing the bear to me.

  “He shot the dude?” Gunter squeaked. “And you want me to meet with him?”

  I drizzled some honey into my cup. “Yeah, but Stan had reason to be suspicious of Sergei. Sergei wanted something from him that Stan didn’t want to give up. But with you, it’s different.”

  “Different gun? Or different bullets?”

  “Different because Stan wants something from you. You call him up and say you’ve been thinking about his offer, and you could use some extra cash. It’s the holidays coming up, after all. Maybe you’ve been thinking about going back to Jersey for a white Christmas.”

  “Like that’s going to happen,” Gunter said. We both sipped our tea. “Where will you be?”

  “Wherever you need me.”

  “I could tell him to come by the Kuhio Regent,” Gunter said, considering. “There’s a balcony overlooking the lobby. You could be up there.”

  “We’d have you wired up.”

  “Let me do this before I realize what a stupid idea it is.” Gunter picked up his cell phone and dialed. “Mr. LoCicero? It’s Gunter Franz. I’ve been thinking about your proposition.”

  Gunter laughed. “Well, one of your propositions. I’ve got my eye on a Bulgari watch, and I’m not going to be able to buy it on a security guard’s paycheck. You think I could earn enough money working for you to put that little bauble on my wrist?”

  He listened for a minute, then laughed again. “It’s big, but not that big,” he said. “Though I do have a selection of rings that fit it.”

  I could see what they were talking about was turning Gunter on, and I averted my eyes from the silk thong, focusing on my tea.

  “I’ll be at the Kuhio Regent from three to eleven,” Gunter said. “I’ll see you later, then.”

  He hung up the phone. “There. I hope you’re happy. If you break up with the fireman again, I am so collecting from you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless the fireman is into threesomes?”

  “I’ll ask him. Tell me the details.”

  “Stan’s coming by the Regent later today. He wants to set up a meeting with that guy he told me about.”

  I drained the last of my tea. “Then I’d better get moving. Can you come by the station before your shift? Say, two o’clock? We’ll get you wired up.” I looked at him. The excitement of talking to Stan had worn off, and it only looked like he had a coiled snake inside the thong instead of a toilet plunger. “But you’re going to have to wear something more than that to cover up the wire.”

  “Don’t make me regret this.” Gunter poured a third cup of tea and squeezed some honey into it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a guest in my bedroom I have to say good-bye to.”

  RENDEZVOUS AT THE REGENT

  On my way back to the station I swung by the hospital to check on Sergei. Tatiana was at his bedside, sketching him. I kissed her first, then him. “How’s the patient this morning?”

  Sergei smiled weakly. “The doctors say I’ll survive.”

  Tatiana laughed. “He’s a big drama queen. He’s fine. They’re letting him out this afternoon.”

  I sat on the edge of Sergei’s bed. “You catch that bastard Stan?” he asked.

  “Not yet. We don’t have anything to tie him to the shooting other than circumstance.”

  Sergei sat up, his body language changing immediately. “Who else on this island has a Night Rod?”

  “What do you mean?”

  As if he was talking to a child, Sergei said, “I recognized the bike. Stan has a Harley special edition, the Night Rod. I’ll bet there aren’t that many in Honolulu.”

  I took out a pad and started making notes. “You know motorcycles?”

  “I worked at a bike shop in Anchorage for a while.”

  “Until the boss caught him screwing one of the customers,” Tatiana said. “How long did you last there? Six months?”

  “This is good, Sergei. I’ll get somebody to check the registrations.”

  “See?” he said to Tatiana. “I’m not a total screwup. Please don’t make me go back to Alaska.”

  “I’ll leave you guys to work things out,” I said. I kissed them both again and took my notes back to the station, where I called the Harley dealership and asked about the Night Rod. As Sergei had said, it was a special edition, and the guy only knew of four on the island. One of them was Stan’s.

  I added that to our growing list of information. By then, it was two o’clock, and Gunter showed up to be wired with a recorder and transmitter that would reach up to the balcony. Of course, Gunter flirted with the technician as he snaked the wire down my friend’s shirt, and to my surprise the guy flirted back. Maybe he was yet another undercover homosexual at the Honolulu Police Department. Or maybe straight guys were just a lot more comfortable these days.

  Steve Hart and his partner, a Chinese-Hawaiian guy named Lee Kawika, left the station to set up surveillance on Stan at the Mahalo Manpower office. I drove Gunter over to the Kuhio Regent and Ray followed me in his Highlander. Parking is always a nightmare in Waikiki, but I snagged a metered spot around the corner from the building, and Ray pulled into a handicapped space across from me. We both left our police decals on the dashboard.

  Gunter led us in through a back door and up to the balcony which overlooked the lobby. We tested the audio, then settled down with some sandwiches and bottled water, because it looked like it might be a long wait until Stan showed up.

  It was interesting to watch Gunter work-for about the first hour. He checked in visitors, accepted deliveries, and flirted with every guy who passed his desk, including the elderly Chinese man who brought the dry cleaning, the FedEx guy, the letter carrier, and the hunky UPS guy, who filled out his brown shirt and shorts in a way that was almost pornographic. I’d have flirted with him, too, if I’d been single.

  Around four-thirty Steve Hart called to let us know that Stan was on the move, and about a half-hour later he showed up in the lobby. He was wearing his faux-cop outfit again, the tight white shirt with epaulets and form-fitting black slacks.

  Ray and I listened in as he walked up to Gunter. “Haven’t seen your friend Kimo lately,” Stan said.

  He was a couple of inches shorter than Gunter, but they were too far away for us to read Gunter’s expression. “Not for a couple of days,” Gunter said. He shifted from foot to foot.

  “You and he ever fool around?”

  Gunter shrugged. “A few times.”

  “Pretty sexy guy. You should see him on tape. He’s got some interesting tastes. Likes a big dick pounding up his ass.” He smiled. “But then, who doesn’t?”

  I was imagining Lieutenant Sampson listening to the tape when the front doors slid open and Mr. H
u walked in, holding Treasure Chen close to him in a way that implied he had a gun on her.

  “Just got more interesting, huh?” Ray said to me in an undertone.

  Stan looked surprised to see Mr. Hu. Because they stepped away from Gunter, I couldn’t hear what they said, but it looked like an argument.

  “Shit,” I said to Ray. “What the hell is Mr. Hu doing here? How did he get hold of Treasure?”

  “I talked to Treasure yesterday,” Ray said. “She was antsy, wanted to get out of Norma’s apartment. I tried to reassure her, told her a bunch of stuff about what we’ve been working on. I’m sorry, Kimo. She must have gone to Mr. Hu.”

  My mind raced ahead. What if Treasure had attempted to use whatever Ray told her about our investigation to leverage her position with Mr. Hu? That would explain why Mr. Hu had come looking for Stan. Did he know that Gunter was my friend? Would he suspect that Gunter was wired up?

  Stan walked back over to Gunter. “You’re coming with us,” he said. He nodded toward Mr. Hu.

  “I can’t leave the desk,” Gunter said. “Any of the residents find out, they’ll complain to the manager. I’ll get fired, even if I say I was with you.”

  “Getting fired is the least of your problems,” Stan said.

  Grabbing Gunter by the arm, Stan half-dragged him toward the front door, Mr. Hu and Treasure following. “Do we stop them?” Ray asked.

  “We don’t have anything yet.” I was torn between my desire to protect Gunter and Treasure and the need to get something on the two guys that would stick. Ray looked to me as the front door slid open and the four of them walked out.

  “We follow them,” I said.

  THE HOUSE IN BLACK POINT

  Ray and I dashed for the staircase to the first floor. I radioed Steve Hart; he was parked in the loading zone in the front of the building. He told me that Stan, Mr. Hu, Treasure, and Gunter were getting into a Mercedes in the semicircular drive in front of the Regent. “Chinese guy driving, Chinese girl in the front seat,” he said. “The other two in the back seat.”