Mary-Ann watched it all slide by with indifference, thinking about the meeting ahead.
It was the third time in the last month she had met with Thomas Zall, each one carrying a bit more of a clandestine nature. The first was a simple meet-and-greet at the campaign headquarters, an encounter Harris had thought was nothing more than a potential booster stopping by for a visit.
It was there that Zall had introduced his plan. The straightforward idea was nothing short of a bombshell to Mary-Ann, the kind of thing she watched on Netflix late at night, but didn’t think actually existed. She was given just twenty-four hours to make her decision before the conversation was forgotten, the details of it denied forevermore.
Once the stunned silence of what had just been laid at her feet wore off, Mary-Ann made the call, confirming her interest.
The second meeting, if it could even be called that, was a quick conference call. The pertinent details had been laid out in their prior encounter, so the only thing left do was give the heads up that things had transpired as promised.
Two hours later, Mary-Ann had met with Kimo Mata.
This was the third meeting between the two, a summons having arrived the previous day asking to meet again. Given their unusual circumstances, Zall was requesting an in-person meeting, even offering up his home as the desired site for it.
The thought of another face-to-face encounter was almost enough to make Mary-Ann’s skin crawl. As a person, Zall was an affable, likeable man. For all he represented, and the things he was pulling her into, he was nothing short of evil incarnate.
There was no way to imagine what his motivations for spearheading such a movement could be, but Mary-Ann felt reasonably certain they were all vile.
Every nerve in her body tingled as the cab climbed upward along Tantalus drive, past Punchbowl Cemetery, and into a housing community known as Ridgeview Estates. Following the directions that had been given to her, she directed the driver to the top of the lane, turning through a pair of bronze gates and winding up a cobbled brick drive.
Having been active in the Honolulu community for decades, Mary-Ann had more than once heard the name Thomas Zall. It was well-known that he was a shipping magnate that had relocated to the islands a few years before, fleeing New York City and bringing his wealth with him. Beyond that, details were sparse at best. He was known to meet the proper expected amount of charity for a man of his stature and to play his part when local politicians came around at election time, though for the most part he kept to himself.
How he now filled his days was anybody’s guess.
Climbing out of the taxi and taking in his home for the first time, Mary-Ann could understand why.
Stretched out before her was a modern-style villa standing two stories in height. Built into the sloping ground beneath it, the structure jutted out from the mountainside, a sparkling beacon of white marble and glass. In front of it the lawn was immaculately kept, the grass trimmed like that of a country club fairway, beds filled with flowers of every variety and color.
Moving up the front sidewalk, Mary-Ann could see the entire panorama of Honolulu stretched out below. The late-day sun sat just a few inches above the horizon, searing a stripe atop the water and painting everything in an orange hue.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” a voice asked, turning Mary-Ann away from the view, her breath catching.
Seated in a padded white Adirondack chair on the front porch was Thomas Zall. Dressed in a pink Oxford shirt and pressed slacks, he sat with one leg crossed over the other, his bare ankles visible above leather loafers. Beside him a glass table contained a decanter and two tumblers, both sitting empty. Opposite the table was a matching chair, the entire set-up bathed in sunlight.
“Very,” Mary-Ann replied, ascending the stairs and taking her place in the opposite chair, neither person going through the motions of false salutations. There were no pretenses of friendship or camaraderie that needed to be carried out, no time to be wasted on such matters. It was well understood that neither person was especially fond of their arrangement, but that it was a necessary evil they would both endure for as long as they must.
“May I?” Zall asked, removing the crystal stopper from the top of his decanter and lifting it from the table.
“Please,” Mary-Ann said, glancing over to her taxi parked on the driveway, her chauffeur for the night squirrelled away inside.
One at a time Zall poured an inch of brandy into each of the glasses and replaced the stopper in the decanter, both of them taking up their drinks and venturing a sip. In silence they sat for a long moment, savoring the drink, Mary-Ann waiting for Zall to take the lead.
After a full minute, he did just that.
“I assume by this point you have acted on the information that I gave you?” he asked without turning to face her.
Mary-Ann paused for a moment, long enough to relay the fact that she was not one of his myriad servants and would not be spoken down to. “I already had a meeting in place when your call came in,” she replied, a hint of an edge in her voice. “It was done by ten o’clock yesterday.”
If Zall noticed her tone or the curt nature of her response at all, he did nothing to show it. “Two full news cycles have passed,” he said, “and not one word of it.”
“You said you expected that to be the case,” Mary-Ann replied. “Are you now surprised?”
A small snort rolled out of Zall, his body rocking back just an inch. “Surprised that it was covered up? Hardly. But I am a little surprised you have not managed to capitalize on it yet.”
Mary-Ann felt her pulse pick up a bit as she sat and stared out, her sunglasses doing little to dampen the strength of the sun beaming in on them. Closing her eyes shut for a moment she took another sip of the brandy, letting the sweet tasting liquor slide down her throat, warming her body from within.
“I contacted Kimo Mata, known to be the best investigative journalist in the state. I assume he is now running down the information before going forward with it.”
“What is to be run down though?” Zall countered. “I gave you everything you needed.”
“True,” Mary-Ann said, the pads of her fingers pressing in tight on the glass in her hands, nails growing white from the exertion. “But there was no scene left to investigate, no witnesses around to confirm anything. If he just goes public with something like that, against the governor, it could be career killing.”
“For him or for you?” Zall asked.
The acrimony within Mary-Ann rose another notch as she placed the tumbler back on the table and pressed her hands down into the arms of the chair on either side of her. The first time Zall had met with her, he had seemed congenial, a business man seeing opportunity. It was his demeanor, his approach to the entire matter, that had set her at ease, made her think that the scenario was even possible.
In the time since, his condescension had risen in spades. Whether it was a product of strain or his true nature coming out she couldn’t be sure, but it was not her duty to wait and find out.
“Is there a reason you asked me here tonight?” Mary-Ann asked.
The comment drew Zall’s attention over towards her, his mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes, his face blank as he stared at her. He remained that way a long moment before the corner of his mouth turned upward, just the slightest hint of a smile.
“I summoned you here to let you know that tomorrow evening, another incident will occur.”
Mary-Ann matched the stare, willing herself not to react in any way. Inside, she could feel her pulse quicken, could feel the warmth from the brandy and the sunlight start to press on her from both directions, sweat threatening to break out at any moment.
“Incident?” she asked, her voice sounding much stronger than she felt.
“Yes,” Zall said. “It will happen at nine o’clock. I ask that you wait until tomorrow to relay that, but from then on you are free to do with that information what you choose.”
The air around her felt thic
k as Mary-Ann fought to push it in and out of her nose. She kept her hands screwed down tight on the arms of the chair to keep him from seeing them tremble, her body rigid.
“And you’re telling me this...”
“In advance this time, yes,” Zall said, already guessing where she was going with the question. “My hope is by being out in front of this one, it will achieve both our intended goals.”
The words sent a jolt through Mary-Ann, almost forcing her to close her eyes and slump back in her chair. “And where will you be?”
A long moment passed before an oversized smile stretched across Zall’s face. The mere sight of it seemed out of place on his features, his skin folding it itself up, age lines etched into his flesh.
“That’s the best part. Tomorrow night is the governor’s fundraising gala. I’ll be in the very same room with him when all the fun begins.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
As effective as the park had been the first time, Danilo couldn’t afford the risk of returning. None of the children had been harmed in any irreparable way, beyond a couple of missing adult teeth, but that didn’t make his situation any better. By now the children had no doubt shared with the police, their parents, the papers, and anybody that would listen, what had happened. Every playground in the city would have a patrol car staked out beside it, rookie cops looking to make a quick name for themselves stowed away inside.
Also out was Chinatown, the second best hunting ground for what he was after. The likelihood of anybody even noticing Candy was gone, let alone missing her, was slim at best. The other girl though seemed a little cleaner, and she was hapai, meaning somebody had probably reported her absence. Coupled with the little display he had left on the beach that morning, even someone as daft as the HPD was bound to put things together.
That brought Danilo to Option C. It wasn’t one he had ever actually employed before, merely a mental filing once his role with Zall switched in case he needed it. The first few times he had rolled past it he hadn’t put the possibilities together in his mind, the solution almost too obvious. Not until the first fetus turned up tainted did he start to view things in a different way, seeing the third location as the treasure trove it could be.
The spring sunshine had given way to a warm evening, the sky above cloudless. Stars dotted the blackened night, millions of tiny crystals shimmering down, reflecting off the ocean outside Danilo’s driver’s side window. The smell of saltwater and automobile exhaust floated on the breeze, filling the cab, enveloping his body.
Again he was back in the van, the dog cage from a few nights before long gone. The faint scent of the animal could still be detected when he first climbed inside, the reason for the windows riding low.
With the radio off, Danilo fell in with the flow of traffic moving away from downtown, following the Nimitz Highway as it hugged the coast. Twice he was forced to stop at red lights, waiting patiently as a small handful of cars turned in front of him, nobody giving much thought to the paneled van idling in the middle lane.
Three miles from the city center, Danilo turned off of Nimitz, exiting onto a single unmarked lane before the highway ascended into an on-ramp, merging with the H-1, pushing its way towards the airport and Pearl Harbor. He followed the makeshift roadway a quarter of a mile, the ground under his tires switching from pavement to gravel. Killing the front lamps, Danilo let the van coast to a stop and put it in park, surveying his surroundings.
Two stories above where he was now parked, traffic on the H-1 rushed by. He could hear semi-trucks and motorcycles pushing past, their engines whining with exertion. Every few minutes an errant strobe of light would pass over the ground beside where he was parked, the elevated roadway managing to block out most ambient glow from the world above.
Despite that he could still clearly see what he had come for, the slightest bit of apprehension crawling up his spine as he did so.
Tucked away in the darkness was a homeless community almost one hundred yards square. Sheltered by the concrete expanse of the highway, it was out of the harsh sunlight and heavy spring rains. For the same reason there was hardly a trace of the persistent trade winds passing through, the spot shielded from any fear of the elements outside.
Danilo turned the keys in the ignition to off and sat in the darkness a long moment, observing the scene before him. Most of the structures packed tight along the grounds were piecemeal amalgamations thrown together by whatever had been scavenged from the neighborhoods nearby. Odd pieces of furniture and home goods arranged into amoebic shapes, a tarp or blanket thrown over the top to lash it all together. A few of the dwellings were a bit more permanent, constructed of pallets or concrete blocks, pieces of carpet covering the tops.
On the opposite side of where he was parked a drainage canal wound its way towards the ocean, a finger of water originating somewhere in the valleys high above. On a previous scouting run Danilo had seen people washing clothes just feet from others relieving themselves in the tepid water. Even now he could see a few muted shapes trudging between the ditch and their makeshift homes, bottles or buckets hanging by their side.
If his loyalty had not already been signed away years before, it would have resonated as a damning commentary on the lives these people led.
Free of any moral qualms though, it was an excellent sign, fitting his purposes in being there to the letter.
By and large the place appeared deserted, most of the occupants already tucked away for the night. Only a small cluster of lights could be seen, one a tiny fire, another appearing to be an electronic screen, its illumination an artificial shade of yellow. A few muted shapes moved about amongst them, nobody acting with much purpose.
That was about to change.
Stepping out from the van, a rancid stench passed across Danilo’s nose. Carrying the combined scents of body odor, feces, and rotten food, it brought a veneer of moisture to his eyes, burning the edges of his nostrils. Passing a hand over his face and wiping it against his shorts, Danilo stepped around the front end of the van, his shoes crunching against the gravel. Behind him the engine ticked in a steady cadence, the engine block cooling in the night air.
“Anybody want to make some money?” Danilo called without preamble, raising a hand to the side of his mouth and yelling through the night. At the sound of his voice the few people he could see turned towards him, bits of light reflecting off their eyes.
“I said, anybody want to make some money?!” Danilo yelled again, raising his voice, making sure to be heard over the sound of the highway above.
This time his words found the mark, a tremor of movement passing through the encampment. A few people took a step or two towards him. Several heads poked out of their shelters to see who was summoning them, murmuring indiscernible words between one another.
Taking a few steps forward, Danilo kept the hand raised by the side of his face. It was this moment that would dictate if his plan would work, or if he would have to go back to doing things the way he had a few nights before. It wasn’t a proposition he was especially fond of, but one he would take up if the situation required it.
“My employer will pay ten dollars for every child’s tooth I collect here tonight.”
The words passed through the crowd quickly, the closest ones to him turning and relaying the directive on to the others. Danilo waited as many of the silhouettes threw up their hands or made dismissive gestures, returning to hauling water or receding back into their shelters. He made no attempt to convince them otherwise, allowing them to retreat without comment.
They weren’t the people he was there to see anyway.
The initial proposal thinned out over two-thirds of the crowd, leaving a healthy handful still staring at him. A few of them took a step or two closer, casting a wary glance his way.
“What you need teeth for?” an older woman with stringy grey hair and no more than seven teeth in her head asked.
Ignoring her and her question, Danilo ventured another step closer. There was
nothing to physically fear from any of the people pressing in on him, for not a single one, or even group of them, stood the smallest chance against him in a fight. His only real concern was allowing one of them to get a good look at him, perhaps nail down a description that could one day be passed along.
“I need children’s teeth,” Danilo said. “Baby teeth. No adult ones.”
Another chorus of groans went up from the crowd, a few more people dropping away, turning back to their shelters, having already dismissed the stranger and his odd request. Danilo watched them go for a split second before focusing in on the few people he had remaining.
Reaching into his back pocket, Danilo extracted a roll of cash and fanned it out, a few hundred dollars in total. He held the wad of bills up high enough for everyone to see it, wagging it back and forth above his head. “As you can see, I have the money. I only wish to exchange it for some baby teeth for a project my employer is working on. In a few months they will grow back, and you’ll be all the richer for it.”
Not once in the preceding few weeks had Danilo felt remorse, save the few times he was forced to watch Saiki at work in his lab. While the outcomes that had met the young girls could be construed as regrettable, there was no cause for him to feel guilt over their plight. Their death had occurred to propagate a more noble cause, achieving far more than any of them or their unborn children could in life.
Standing in front of the assembled homeless gathered beneath the H-1 freeway, he still felt no form of recognizable emotion. Someone that was better adjusted, with a more attuned sense of morality, might have felt evil preying on the less fortunate, using their hunger for food or drink or drugs against them.
Instead, all Danilo felt was relief, glad that on this particular night, the hard part was done for him. He didn’t have to spend all day putting a plan into motion, searching out the optimal place to isolate his targets, making sure his getaway was clean.
All he had to do was wave the cash around and they would come right to him, offering themselves up for a shot at the money. It was like a shark fisherman dropping chum into the water.
Motive Page 14