by Eve Gaal
Strange people, Penny thought, smiling and feeling self-conscious. While the doctor and her husband stared, she continued to smile. Nodding uncomfortably, she waited for what seemed like minutes, finally breaking the ice by saying, “Hello?”
Laughing, the couple apologized for their peculiar behavior and Stephen finally reached out for a handshake.
“She's an artist darling,” Doctor Okos said, while Penny shook hands with her husband. Rough, warm hands, clasped her delicate fingers and she noticed tiny speckles of paint on his cuticles.
“Wow, what an honor,” he said, not letting go of her hand. “I've finally met my muse.”
With a boisterous laugh, Dr. Okos asked, “Can he call you Pele?”
* * *
Chapter Ninety-Five
People in the lobby probably heard Tina shout, “OPERATION PENNY?” Open-mouthed, she stared at Ron and John. Her blue eyes bulged like giant marbles. Carl looked up from his breakfast. “She's in trouble John. If that pilot guy is with Penny and he is part of 'Operation Penny', then she's in trouble. Big trouble. We have to go.” Turning toward the manager, she said, “Thanks.” She tossed her napkin, grabbed Ron by the hand and said, “We have to go.” Embarrassed, the manager waved and turned away. “Now!” Tina shrieked at John.
“Carl is coming too.” John said, getting up and grabbing his jacket.
“How will that help us?” Tina asked. “Don't you think that will slow us down?”
“No, it's better than leaving him alone. Last time he was alone he ended up in the hospital,” John answered. “Remember?”
Slowly, Carl got up and said, “If you think my little girl's in trouble then I have to come along.” He stood up and wandered towards the lobby.
“All right Carl, John has a point.” Tina said paying the breakfast tab and following him out to the street side of the hotel. Running ahead, John caught up and waited for Ron to saunter out of the dining room.
“I can't believe you want all of us to fly to the Big Island? Maybe I should stay. I can stay with Carl.” Ron said loudly, while whispering some other personal things to Tina and acting as if he didn't want to risk facing danger again.
“Tina's not afraid,” John said to Ron, “Why should you be?” They were standing in front of the resort, where cabs waited to shuttle people to the airport.
“I don't like burglars, I guess.” Ron stated looking down at his new shoelaces. The old laces had torn during the dealership fiasco when they tied his feet together and took his briefcase.
Carl looked at Ron and said, “I like burgers, but not after that great breakfast. Maybe for lunch.”
“Burglars,” Ron repeated, rolling his eyes and wondering why they would want to drag Carl into a perilous situation.
“These guys are much worse than burglars, honey.” Tina added. “They tied us up and they're wanted for drug smuggling and everything else. They could have killed us.”
“Exactly my point, which is why all of this should be handled by the authorities, not amateur detectives and a deaf grandpa,” Ron fumed.
“I'm not a grandpa yet.” Carl said defensively, crawling into the back seat of a yellow van. Tina stepped in after him and the rest of them followed.
“You won't be anything if we all die,” Ron whined, holding Tina's hand. “We don't know what kind of mischief Penny might be into. Just because we worked with her for three years, doesn't mean we know everything about her.”
“I know everything about her,” Carl's voice burst with pride. He glanced at John possibly wondering why he wasn't speaking up to defend his daughter.
John's heart started contracting and began pumping adrenalin through his veins, the minute Tina had mentioned trouble. Though quiet on the trip to the airport, he knew he had to do something, if Penny was facing danger. At the terminal, he rushed from the cab, and ran with Tina to check in for airline tickets.
“Tina?” John asked, “Tell me what you know about 'Operation Penny'.”
“Not much John, I don't really know anything. I just know those two guys who tied us up were into drug shipments and money laundering along with Darin and some airline pilots who flew the stuff up from Bogota or whatever and then onto the mainland. Hilo is like a Hawaiian Miami with the easily accessible port. Anyway, one of the FBI guys said that Darin and his hoodlum friends called the latest shipment, 'Operation Penny'.”
* * *
Chapter Ninety-Six
“Hey Dumbazz, why are there people vacuuming in the middle of the showroom? I thought we wanted to keep our little trap for Darin a secret.”
Fist yawned, “Yeah, but don't you think keeping the maintenance crew away is suspicious? I figured we'd keep everything low-key by doing business as usual.”
“Did you tell them not to clean the head?”
“Of course, I told him it looked clean and he should focus on everything else. Guy's son was thrilled. I think I made his day,” The Fist answered with a trace of bravado.
“All we need is a dead maintenance guy.” The Fist can be so stupid, Baldy kept thinking. He was afraid that by keeping the maintenance crew away it looked suspicious, but if they died in an explosion that would be worse than suspicious. Stupid or not, Fist could handle tough customers better than anyone he ever met.
“Don't worry. I got it under control. By the way, my explosives don't kill anyone–they just blow off personal body parts. Stuff like that,” he snickered.
“You're sick, but at least I know you're not afraid of a tough job.”
“This is a huge place, but I've got my eye on everything,” Fist said stifling another yawn.
“How about that dude in the service drive? The one in the black car?”
“Yeah I saw him earlier, but I figured it was either a customer waiting for service or a dumb-ass salesman who never got the message.”
Peering through the lowered blinds in Darin's office, they focused in on Glenn sipping his latte.
“Look at that suit, that's got to be a salesman. I'll just tell him I'm the new manager and if he sells a car, we'll split the down payment.” Fist laughed at his own joke and continued with, “we don't even have hostages this time. That reminds me, I wonder when that Penny chick is coming. Do you think she'll show?”
“She's coming, because she's either a supplier or a dealer. As soon as the operator told her Darin had something for her, she asked for directions.”
“I bet she's trained in martial arts and everything. Like that computer game where that tough chick kicks butt with combat boots. I mean to do what she does? Think about it. Darin's probably got her car outfitted with the sickest gadgets. She'll be loaded up with every weapon known to mankind. The minute she walks in, you take her down.”
“No problem, unless she brings her back up thugs and we get out-numbered.”
“You scared?”
“Fuck no, but if she's really good at shipping coke, then she also knows how to throw a punch. I'm ready for the bitch.” Fist swiped his clenched fist through the air like a karate chop and swung his other arm around to block it, bringing it to a standstill.
“Remember the leggy blond and the pervert with the briefcase?”
“Briefcase full of crap.”
“Nothing?”
“Nada, just graphs and pie charts.”
“Bet that's Darin's bookkeeper. The guy who logs his shipments and figures out how much profit they make when it sells. Maybe we should have kept him somehow—he'd know all the inside secrets–like where the bodies are buried.”
“Nah, he was no brainiac,” Fist said, dropping onto the couch. “Just newspaper shit.”
“Don't you see it's a cover-up? Was there anything else in there?”
“Yeah, a comb and a mirror.”
At that precise moment, they heard an explosion coming from the men's room. Jumping up, Fist ran towards the corridor.
“Shit,” Baldy said, “Did someone just take a piss?”
“Hurry up,” Fist shouted, grabbing s
ome rope. “I think we have our hostage.”
* * *
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Stephen ushered Penny to a small sitting area on the veranda and he kept asking her questions about graphic art design and how it related to hand painted art like those he evoked in his contemporary interpretations of South Seas petroglyphs. She had the utmost respect for his “old fashioned” style of oil painting and though he didn't use a computer she explained that though she could do things quickly, the difference in the finished product would be obvious. They had a nice chat and he promised to show her his latest pastel drawings before checking out. Tomorrow they were heading home for Christmas in New Zealand.
Changing the subject, Stephen asked, “Are you ready for Christmas?”
Looking into his warm twinkling eyes, Penny looked somewhat shocked, and asked, “Ready?” Truthfully, she had not thought about Christmas at all. Taking a sip from her drink, she put the glass on the small coffee table in front of them. She inhaled and audibly sighed. Guilt crawled up her arm and a warm sensation made her feel damp and uncomfortable. How could she be ready for Christmas? If he knew her life and the magnitude of disarray that dominated her every waking moment, maybe he wouldn't ask such a bizarre question.
When she didn't elaborate, Stephen began, “Well, Christmas is very meaningful in our house and our family enjoys getting together to celebrate the birth of Jesus.” He smiled and gazed across the lanai, looking like he could envision his memories. “We usually have relatives who fly in from Christchurch and Auckland. My wife and I even have relatives who fly from Europe. Planning our holiday meals during Advent and setting up our little manger is something we look forward to every year. Of course, we also love buying gifts and secretly wrapping and hiding them.” His eyes flickered like radiant opals and his five o'clock shadow almost looked like sparkling snow. “Our grandson figures out where we hide everything, but since he's such a little ball of mischief, we expect that.” The warmth in his voice and features suggested he loved talking about the child. Pausing momentarily, he said, “Anyway, this year he won't find anything, because we are bringing souvenirs.” He chuckled and continued, “Ilona loves decorating the front room and I usually hang a few lights. This time we have to do everything in one day.”
Penny listened with interest to the man's story, but most of it seemed somewhat typical and humdrum. Jesus, family and gifts. La-dee-da. She had no family to buy gifts for and Jesus, well that was another story. Maybe he should talk to her mother in the cemetery. “I guess I'm not ready,” Penny answered, looking down and trying to picture the old porcelain nativity set her mother used to put on the mantle–years ago. Vague memories of hiding the crèche from her cousins and running around giggling lurked in the shadowed hallways of her recollection.
Stephen noticed her displeasure and the dimming of her emerald eyes. “Oh, come on now, I wasn't trying to make you sad with my holiday dissertation, I just thought….”
She cut him off and reached out to pat his sleeve. “It's cool…. It's just that ever since my mom died, Christmas isn't the same.”
Holding his chin, he rubbed his jaw while thinking of the right things to say. The silence went on…a couple of minutes, and Penny listened to the harpist end a piece with a dramatic swirl of strings.
“You're in charge Penny,” he finally said, slapping his knee. “Pardon me for saying this, but your mother has bowed out of the celebration and now it's your turn to start new traditions for commemorating your life. It's time for your own family. It's time for you to be spending the holidays with people you love.” When he said the word love, she felt a warm breeze swirling around her shoulders.
“Thanks Stephen, but I wouldn't put myself in charge of a flea circus on a stray dog. In fact this whole life, this whole vacation and everything I touch seems to be wildly out of control.” The flower in her hair shook when she spoke and even though she hated the subject, it felt good to talk about it.
Stephen pouted, but his eyes continued to smile. “I don't mean to pry and I don't mean to say anything to hurt you, because I think you're a very special young lady, but do you think you might be waiting for someone to take over from where your mother left off?”
“Maybe,” she said looking at the kindness in his eyes and knowing that he didn't mean to say anything that would make her uncomfortable.
“Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. It's your turn now. Don't wait for anyone. Do what you want to do and get on with the show. Live.”
“Hmmm,” she sighed, picking up her drink and guzzling it down like a thirsty sailor.
“You're right. My mom always told me to be patient and things would work out. I have been patient, but it's not helping lately. Maybe I wasn't ready for a vacation by myself.”
“You're wrong, my dear,” he said gently, “you're ready for anything life puts in your path. I can tell just by looking at you.”
“You can? I am?” She thought about everything he said and tried desperately to understand how she could take control of her wayward life. Going home would be a start.
“Yes, of course.” He stood up and said, “I have to find my other half so we can pack.” Penny stood up and they shook hands. “It really is a pleasure meeting you,” Stephen said, with a slight bow, as if she were the most important person he had ever met. “I enjoyed our heart-to-heart.”
“Likewise.” Penny answered, waiting for him to let go of her fingers. This was the second time in an hour that he didn't want to let go.
Finally letting go, he waved to Ilona and was about to step away, when he said, “I have to show you my drawing of Pele before we leave tomorrow. Will you be at breakfast?”
“Sure, seven or eight?” She asked, thinking about what he had said moments before. 'You're ready for anything life puts in your path' spun around in her mind. Something about the man seemed to grab her very soul, shaking her and reminding her of good things, cozy memories and happy days. Live.
“Our flight to Honolulu leaves at nine, so we'll be here at seven or maybe a little earlier.” With that, he turned and walked down the little path to their room.
“Can't wait to see the artwork,” Penny called after him. She smiled and turned to Beverly, who was pulling her aside and whispering something about Dr. Okos and Stephen into her ear.
“Excuse me?” Penny's head whirled and vibrated like the strings on the harp or maybe it was just her heart, grasping the meaning behind the gentleman's decisive declaration that she was ready to live her life and she didn't need to run or be restless anymore. Why did he sound like he knew what he was talking about? What made him so sure she was strong enough to handle the important things in life? 'I can tell just by looking at you,' he had told her–what in the world did that mean?
Beverly's voice cut into her thoughts, “Just glad those island meddlers are gone, that's all.”
Penny could see Beverly's ire settle on her courtyard fountain where the dripping water almost froze from her icy glare.
* * *
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Blood gushed all over the floor of the small men's room where Glenn grasped his crotch. He was on the line with the 911 dispatcher when a short gangster-looking man ran into the smoke-filled bathroom.
“Drop the phone, sucker,” he yelled, throwing paper towels at Glenn. “Mop yourself up. Faster,” he added, his voice echoing and bouncing off the tile. “We're putting your ass in storage.” Leaning against the door, he stood on Glenn's arm and waited for his bald accomplice, so they could tie him up. The phone fell from Glenn's hand.
“Get away from me maggot,” Glenn shouted at the ugly little guy. They tied Glenn's hands behind his back. He kicked and screamed, but the two men overtook him and put him in the small office with the auto brochure on the window. The guy called the Fist picked up the cell phone and flushed it down the toilet along with the blood-soaked paper towels.
Meanwhile, Glenn lay on his stomach, putting pressure on his groin in order to stop t
he flow of blood. Somehow, he was lucky and his injuries were minor but he did have some pain and his new suit was completely ruined. On top of that, he'd be late to work, and today he might have had an opportunity for reading the weather because the regular weather guy was enjoying the holidays with his family. Needless to say, Glenn was very, very upset.
“Who's the suit?” The hairy bald guy wanted to know after they shut the door and turned out the lights. “Why would he come here at six in the morning?”
“I don't know, I thought salesmen start at 8 or 9,” Fist said, wiping his hands on his pants. “Whoever this is will be sitting down in the can from now on,” he laughed, coughed and choked on the smoke filled air. “I have to wash my hands again, what a mess.”
Fist went to wash his hands in the manager's office. Stepping out of Darin's rest room, he said, “Don't forget, this one's wired too.”
“Yeah, I know, but thanks for reminding me. I don't want my pecker blown into smithereens. Do you think he called someone?”
“He probably did, but I don't care, I'm ready for all of them.” They walked around the showroom and back to the corridor with the men's room. Fist checked the restroom and came out smiling. The cleaning crew had left minutes before the explosion. “Ready, big time.”
“You are?” The tall one scratched his head and looked at Fist with admiration. The older Fist got, the more his confidence seemed to grow. Baldy had known The Fist for years. Those years together in jail taught both of them they could count on each other for any difficult situation. “It's just us two, pal, what if they send in like ten cops or something?”