4 Toby Neal- Broken ferns

by Neal, Toby

“Just a moment.” A slack-key guitar rendition of Muzak filled her ear while the call was transferred to her former commanding officer at Haiku Station on Maui. Lieutenant Omura was a formidable woman—one Lei was still intimidated by—but in the course of an investigation last year, she had come to respect her.

  “Omura here.”

  “This is Special Agent Lei Texeira calling from Oahu.”

  “Lei! Excellent, I heard you graduated. How are you?”

  “Fine. Thanks, Lieutenant.”

  “Captain, thank you very much. I’m in the middle of moving my office to Kahului Station. Captain Corpuz took early retirement, and I’m taking his place.”

  “Congratulations! Even better that I got ahold of you today. This is an official call.” Lei filled Omura in on the investigation and the possibility of the ultralight’s flight to Maui. “We think it’s a kid. He’s hit two big houses here and is pissing off some very important people, and if he makes it to Maui, it’s going to be by the skin of his teeth.”

  “You should alert the Coast Guard, too,” Omura said. Lei could tell she was taking notes. Lei experienced the bladder cramp her former commander could still engender at the reminder of something Lei wished she’d thought of. “Yes, we already did that.” Lei mentally crossed her fingers and hoped Waxman had taken care of it.

  “We got the fax on this BOLO, but I’ll cover it in this morning’s all-island briefing—put our people on high alert. Now, there’s someone here who I know would like to say hi.”

  Lei felt the blood drain from her face at the possibility of speaking to Stevens, but it was Pono’s rumbling bass that came over the line.

  “Sweets!” Her former partner was never going to stop calling her that misnomer of a nickname, inspired by the Bing Crosby song “Sweet Leilani.”

  “Pono Kaihale. It’s been a while.” She looked down at the yellow legal pad on her desk, drawing circles and blinking back tears. Pono had been like a big brother. She’d missed him more than she’d let herself realize. “When are you and Tiare coming over here?”

  He snorted. “You know what we make. The kids are in school at Kamehameha now. We don’t take trips anywhere but to soccer games.”

  “Shoots. I was just thinking about you guys. How’s everything?”

  “Same smell. Iceheads, potheads, tourists getting robbed—just another day in paradise. Let me call you later. I’m sure the captain needs her phone. Still got the same number?”

  “No.” Lei gave him her new cell phone number. “Talk to you later.”

  She hung up and realized she’d drawn hearts, with her name in them, all over the page. They were all variations on the tattoo Stevens had had done when they were on Kaua`i—a tiny purple heart with LEI in it, inside his forearm near the crook of his elbow.

  She wondered if he’d had it lasered off yet.

  This was why she didn’t contact her old friends. They all reminded her of what she’d left behind and lost.

  “Sounds like the Maui people are on it,” Ken said from his desk. She’d been so absorbed, she’d forgotten he was in the room.

  “Yeah. They got our fax, but my old commanding officer is going to highlight it on the all-island daily alert. She reminded us about notifying the Coast Guard, too. She’s been promoted to captain of Kahului Station.”

  “Yeah, Coast Guard got the BOLO too. Nice to talk to old friends?”

  “A little mixed. I miss them. Some of them, at least. Okay, what next?”

  “Let’s go out and pick up that box from the homeless shelter. See if there’s any new trace on it. It’s time to step things up.”

  Ken pulled the Acura up in front of the Institute for Human Resources, right in the red zone in front, as Lei snapped off the siren/lights—time was of the essence now, and with the lights on, getting through downtown traffic hadn’t been the usual hassle.

  They hurried up the cement steps, passing several homeless sitting in the sun. Lei glanced at their umbrellas and shopping carts, realizing her attitude had changed from annoyance to sympathy in the years she’d been a cop—homeless in Hawaii was warmer than other places, but still no picnic in the park, and the reasons that led to it were never simple.

  They walked into the urban-ugly building and down the hall to a receptionist. Lei had her cred wallet out first. “Special Agents Texeira and Yamada. We are here to pick up the box left on the front steps.”

  “It’s in the director’s office.” The girl hustled out from behind the desk, led them down the hall, and knocked on another door.

  “Come in!”

  Ken and Lei showed their creds again to the short, balding man behind a battered aluminum desk. “Tell us about the box,” Ken said.

  The director moved the box over in front of them, holding it gingerly with a pair of tissues. “I’m sorry. Our receptionist touched it when she brought it in. Kind of remarkable when you think about it, that no one took it.”

  “Why would they?” Lei said as they looked at the box—a nondescript square. Ken snapped on rubber gloves, picked it up, lifting the flaps to look inside at the contents—bundled cash and jewelry matching the description of what had gone missing in the most recent hit.

  “Lei, can you get the receptionist’s fingerprints, so we can rule them out?”

  “Sure—but just a minute.” She reached inside her jacket for the driver’s license photos of Rezents, Kinoshita, Blackman, and Matthews, slid them across the desk to the director. “Seen any of these people?”

  “Yes.” The director tapped the photo of Blackman. “He’s been our guest recently.”

  “Is he still here?”

  “No. Checked out last week, said he had a line on a place.”

  “Any idea where that is?”

  “Check with the receptionist. She has the clients fill out an exit form. Maybe he left some information on that.”

  “Anything you can tell us about him?”

  “Angry young man. Our social worker tried to counsel him, but he refused. Seems like he thinks the world owes him something.”

  Ken scooped up the box, and the director peered at him over his reading glasses. “We’re going to ask for that donation to be honored.”

  “That’s your business,” Ken said. “We will return it to the owner when we’re done using it for evidence, and what he does from there is between you.”

  Lei hurried back down the hall to the receptionist. “I need your prints to rule you out on the box and any information you have on Tom Blackman.”

  “Oh, Tom?” The receptionist seemed to perk up, and Lei noticed she was an attractive young brunette with a skull tattoo on her breast bobbing distractingly in and out of her neckline. “Is he in trouble?”

  “No. We just heard he might have information related to a case we’re working on.” Lei opened her box for the fingerprint kit. She rolled the girl’s fingers across the pad and onto a card. “Do you know where he went after he checked out?”

  “I have the exit form.” They finished the fingerprinting and Lei handed her a wipe. She rubbed her hands and opened a file cabinet, took out a bulging file. “We don’t do a lot of paperwork here, just an intake and exit form basically. He didn’t leave an address.” She pointed with a purple-tipped nail at the empty line.

  “Did Tom tell you anything?” Ken had joined Lei.

  “Yeah, he said he had a place with a friend from the airline. Said it was going to be a little crowded, but just until he got on his feet and got another job.”

  Out at the car, Lei looked at Ken. “I know we need to take the box back in and check it over, but do you think it’s worth another drive out to Rezents’s place? I mean, those guys are around the same age.”

  “I was actually thinking we should look for Rezents’s mother’s last-known address. Blackman isn’t from here, but Rezents is. Maybe the mother will know something.”

  “Good idea.” Lei punched up Shawna Rezents on the Toughbook. “Got something here. She’s not far away, if this address is
still good.”

  Ten minutes later, Ken pulled the Acura into a potholed driveway in front of yet another sun-blasted apartment building, narrowly missing a blond woman running out the door. The face Lei saw flash by the window was the once-pretty, hard-used kind.

  A portly man pursued her, and Lei opened her door, blocking him. “Can I help you?” she asked, stepping into his way as Ken bolted after the woman in the driver’s license photo they’d just been perusing.

  “She owes me rent!” the man yelled. “Stop her!”

  Ken had a hand on the woman’s arm, and as Lei and the landlord watched, they spoke. Then he took his hand off, releasing her, and she broke into a jog, moving rapidly away.

  “Stop her, goddamn it!” the landlord yelled, face reddening, as Ken returned, smoothing his immaculate jacket.

  “Not our problem.” He cocked his head at Lei. The two agents got into the Acura.

  “What kind of cops are you?” the landlord yelled after them as they pulled out. “I’m filing a complaint!”

  “That’s what I don’t miss about local law enforcement.” Lei rolled up her tinted, bulletproof window so she didn’t hear the invectives spewing after them as they drove away. “Does she know anything about Tyson?”

  “She says she hasn’t seen him in months. She was pretty eager to get away; I think she was telling the truth.”

  “So he’s in the wind,” Lei said. “Interesting. They all are.”

  Chapter 9

  Lei had a simple system for her clothes: dirty clothes all in one plastic hamper. Take to basement. Separate by colors. Work clothes came out of the dryer and went straight onto hangers she took down for that purpose, and everything else went into three additional hampers. They stood in a row against her wall, an accusing reminder that she hadn’t even committed to this apartment enough to buy a dresser.

  She rustled through one of the clean-clothes hampers and dug out a pair of nylon gym shorts, a sports bra, and a mesh running shirt. She had something social to do, for once.

  Back at the office, Marcella had interrupted her perusal of the young men’s phone records to invite her to Women’s Fight Club.

  “Fight Club?” Lei frowned as her friend, already changed out of her FBI outfit into athletic clothes, laced up her shoes. “What’s that?”

  Sophie Ang, hanging in the doorway, broke into a three-cornered grin. “Excellent idea, Marcella! We need some fresh meat down at the gym.”

  “Heard of mixed martial arts?” Marcella straightened up and picked up her gym bag. “It’s kind of a hybrid of Muay Thai, Brazilian jujitsu, and boxing.”

  “I’ve heard of it, just not of chicks doing it,” Lei said. “You’re into this?”

  “Hell yes,” Marcella said. “It’s awesome. Gets rid of work stress. Great workout, and it keeps your aggression-management skills up.”

  “I’m in.” Lei suppressed a shiver of intimidation. She was smaller and leaner than either of the other women. One good punch would probably blow her away—but Tae Kwon Do and running kept her wiry and agile. She’d make them work for that punch.

  “Good. Because there’s a surprise for you there.” Marcella’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “What kind of surprise?”

  “Come, and you’ll see.” On that enigmatic note, her friend bounced out, Ang right behind her.

  Ken waved Lei toward the door. “I’ll close down here. Go. You need a workout.”

  Now, dressed for action, she looked in the fridge. Still nothing, dammit, and eating a burger on the way seemed like a good way to make herself sick. Food would have to wait.

  It wasn’t long before she was entering the huge aluminum warehouse that housed the gym. Large and dim, the interior was lit by skylights and spotlights on long cords dangling from a high ceiling. The air smelled slightly musky with a tang of something that started adrenaline humming through her veins. Two women sparring in the central ring caught her eye, but they weren’t familiar.

  A weight area dominated one wall, and the other was marked by square workout pads on the floor. Marcella and Ang, padded gloves on, were already warming up.

  Lei understood the appreciation on the faces of those watching them. Marcella was magnificent, even in a pair of long, baggy nylon basketball shorts and a sports bra. Ang was the surprise. The tall computer tech was surprisingly muscled, golden-brown skin braised with kanji tattoos that encircled her upper arms and ran down the exterior of her sleek thighs. The pixie haircut that looked professional in the office enhanced an aura of streamlined power.

  Lei moved in between a couple of other onlookers to watch.

  The women circled each other, faces intent. Marcella opened with a couple of jabs, then a high kick, a move that had Ang grabbing her foot and flipping her on her back with a whoosh of lost breath. But it didn’t end there. Ang followed up the advantage with a grappling hold, locked around Marcella’s midsection like a python. Marcella thumped and heaved to no avail, eventually smacking the mat with her glove-protected hand, a signal the bout was over.

  Ang let go and sprang back to her feet in a fluid motion. “I told you to knock off those high kicks unless you know I can’t grab you,” she chided.

  Marcella hauled herself back up much less gracefully and spotted Lei. “Oh good. You made it. Let’s take a break, show Lei the ropes, and you can finish kicking my ass in a minute.”

  “Sure. Glad you made it, Lei.” Ang went to a nearby gym bag and brought back a pair of the split-fingered padded gloves the other women were wearing. “Let me introduce you to our coach and show you around.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Oh, Lei—the coach is someone you know.” Marcella grinned. “That’s the surprise.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m not saying. I don’t want to spoil it. I’m going to do some cardio, warm up some more.” Marcella headed over to a stationary bike.

  Lei trailed Ang as she pointed her to the warm-up area, weight area, practice mats, and sparring ring. “Bathrooms and showers back here. We get three hours every other night for Women’s Fight Club, when we get to use the practice area and ring exclusively. I think you’ll like our coach—he’s only part-time, but he’s really helping the women’s aspect of the sport get some good events and exposure.”

  Lei stood slightly behind her as she knocked on a door and pushed it inward. “Hey, Coach,” Ang said.

  A man turned around from a file cabinet to greet them. Tall and brown, with a shock of ruffled dark hair falling over his brow, dimples, and a white grin that faded at the sight of Lei, Alika Wolcott was the best of hapa, mixed Hawaiian and Caucasian heritage.

  “Lei Texeira.” He stuffed the file back in the drawer and slammed it hard. “This is a surprise.”

  “Hey, Alika,” Lei said. He wasn’t the only one surprised. She regrouped first, stepped forward to give him the awkward A-frame hug of people who’ve dated and ended badly. His hands barely brushed her shoulders before he pulled away.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “I’d ask you the same. Thought you were totally embedded in Kaua`i.”

  “You know each other.” Ang glanced between them as she picked up on the vibe. “Well. Hey, that’s great. Coach, Marcella invited her.” Her delicate inference set the blame on Marcella as the culprit. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. See you back on the practice pads, Lei.” Lei hardly noticed her departure as she and Alika took each other’s measure.

  “Never thought I’d see you again.”

  “Kinda mutual there.” Lei groped for something to say to the man she’d dated on Kaua`i before choosing Stevens in the end. “I went to the Academy, as you must have heard—and they posted me here. Small world.”

  “Yeah. Well, I—decided I needed to get off the rock, expand the business in a different direction.”

  “This sure is a different direction.” Lei gestured to the vast barnlike space outside the office.

  “Oh, no. Coaching is just my hobby.
I own the gym building, though. Still doing real estate development, working with mostly apartment and office buildings now.” He leaned on the desk, a pose that emphasized his chiseled shoulders and back. “When Marcella started coming here, I should have known you wouldn’t be far behind.”

  “Well, they invited me. Thought I’d give it a try. I do Tae Kwon Do; that should help.”

  “Not necessarily.” Alika’s normal confidence reappeared as he pushed away from the desk, leading her back out into the main workout area and toward the practice pads. “A lot of MMA is groundwork. Got to be careful not to get into those high kicks. Your partner can take you down. Sophie is really good. You can learn a lot watching her.”

  They rejoined the group surrounding Marcella and Ang, who were back at it. Sure enough, Marcella tried another kick, and once again Ang caught her foot and upended her, following up with a grappling hold. Marcella yowled with frustration and took to whacking Ang about the head and shoulders, then burst out laughing.

  “No.” Alika looked down at them, hands on his hips. “Just no. No laughing in the gym.”

  This time Ang laughed, too. Lei withdrew to one of the stationary bikes against the wall, watching as the two women hopped up and began another round. This time Alika followed them, circling around, calling advice to Marcella, and finally she was able to win a round with formidable Sophie Ang.

  A few minutes later, Ang trotted over to Lei. “Ready to go?”

  “You know what? I don’t think so.” Lei wasn’t in the habit of backing down from a challenge—but she didn’t have the wherewithal to get smacked down in front of Alika, who was still looking on, now coaching another pair of women. “Think I’ll just do some cardio and call it good. This isn’t my thing.”

  “Oh, c’mon. Lei.” Marcella approached, mopping her flushed face with one of the thin gym towels. “Get out there with me. Or better yet, let Alika show you a few moves.” She winked. “He might still be into you.” Marcella had had front-row seats to their dating debacle on Kaua`i, something Lei still felt bad about. She wasn’t ready to joke about any of it.