by J. C. Long
A sparse smattering of freckles spanned out across my shoulders and the bridge of my nose. My body was normal, leaning toward skinny. I had a decent amount of muscle definition in my chest beneath a soft fan of dark chest hair. My stomach was just flat, maybe a bit soft. I gave it a little poke, frowning at just how flabby it felt.
There wasn’t much I could do about the stomach, though, I thought as I toweled my bland brown hair. It was just shaggy enough to occasionally be annoying but wouldn’t earn me the “surfer brah” stereotype.
I dressed in basic cargo shorts and a sky-blue polo shirt that brought out the flecks of blue in my otherwise green eyes. I’d learned to dress to draw out the few things I saw as my good features a long time ago, and my eyes were definitely at the top of that—very short—list. I didn’t bother spending much time trying to tame my hair; it would simply do what it wanted no matter how long I tried to coax it into some semblance of order. I’d long ago given up that particular fight.
Dressed and ready to face the day, I set out to meet Grace. As I climbed behind the wheel, I was surprised to find that I was actually excited for lunch.
Chapter Two
I was not surprised to find Grace already at the restaurant. She sat in a booth near the back, facing the door, things spread out across the table that I was betting were not menus. When I reached the table, I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Grace, this is a restaurant!”
She skewered me with her gaze, something that she managed to do in a way that no one else I’d ever met could master. Just that simple look from her could make a person feel like they’d said the dumbest thing in the history of mankind. “How observant of you, Gabe. Maybe I’m not the one who should be working as a private investigator.”
“Since you know that already, maybe you can understand why it’s a bad idea for you to have pictures of dogs taking a dump spread out all over the table!” I slid into the booth and collected the photos. She had twenty-three pictures of nine different dogs and their owners. The worst thing was they were high resolution. I placed the photos in a manila folder she brought with her. She reluctantly put it in the bag next to her on the booth seat.
“Have you been waiting long?”
“Not really. Maybe five minutes. I’m glad you decided to come out. It’s about damn time.”
“I think you’re right about that,” I agreed. The waiter came over and took our drink orders—a Coca Cola for me, a water with lemon for Grace—and vanished. “What are you going to get?” I studied the menu, seeing a lot of options with Spam in them, which I immediately ruled out.
“Probably just a salad,” she replied. “I need to lose some weight.”
I stared at her like she’d grown a second head. Not for the first time, I wondered if she had a mirror at home. Grace was utterly gorgeous, of mixed Islander and Korean descent, her facial features revealing both in well-proportioned ways. Her skin, already dark from her Islander blood, was tanned from spending all of her free time on a surfboard or in the water. The same outdoor activities kept her figure in great condition. The very idea that she could be fat was ridiculous.
I knew better than to say anything, though.
Grace flagged down the waiter, and when he came, she ordered for both of us. “Two mai tais and two loco moco, please.”
“Maybe I don’t want loco moco, Grace. Did you ever think of that?” I actually did want the loco moco—I’d heard a lot about it ever since Grace moved to Hawaii after college—but I wanted to give her a little hell. I didn’t like when people ordered for me. It was something that Trevor did constantly, like I was incapable of making my own decisions.
“Everyone wants loco moco. Also, now that you’re out and about again, we need to get down to the beach and get you on a board.” A light kindled in Grace’s eyes any time she talked about surfing. She’d developed the passion for it in college after she was introduced to it by some guy or another she’d dated. The relationship had lasted no more than a month, but it left her with a passion that would without a doubt last for the rest of her life.
“Grace, I don’t know how to surf,” I reminded her. “It wasn’t on my list of things to do in Seattle. Trevor didn’t really like the beach.”
Grace’s face darkened at my mention of my ex. “Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t make you spend ungodly amounts of money on him at the beach.”
I conceded her point with a nod but didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to get into the Trevor talk right then, and certainly not with Grace. She told me from the beginning that my relationship with Trevor was a bad idea, and I didn’t listen to her. I felt like she couldn’t see the whole picture of our relationship, being so far away in Hawaii and only seeing him over Skype. It turned out I was the one who didn’t see the whole picture.
Grace was a good friend, but she couldn’t say no to an “I told you so” moment if it killed her.
Thankfully, Grace changed the subject. “Do you want to learn to surf? I could teach you.”
“I hope this doesn’t offend you, but I find the idea terrifying.” I bore the middle finger she tossed my way with aplomb and dignity as the waiter returned with our mai tais. I sipped happily at my drink. “Are you sure these are such a good idea? I drove here.”
“Come on, Gabe, it’s just one mai tai. And if it makes you feel any better, I’ll drive you around today and bring you back to pick up your car when we’re done tearing up Honolulu. That way you can drink as many as you want until much later. Happy?”
In response, I took a nice, long draw from my mai tai.
We chitchatted about nothing as we waited for the food—Grace regaling me with the story of a client who literally jumped out of a second-story window after realizing he was being photographed having an affair.
“Dumb ass landed in the shallow end of the pool,” Grace said, laughing. “He broke his ankle and then had to wait there, naked, for the ambulance because the lady he was having an affair with was too embarrassed to come out and give him clothes.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle too, even though part of me felt bad about laughing at someone else’s misfortune. Then again, this one was self-inflicted, so I didn’t think karma would come after me. “Did he think about just closing the curtains? There’s something wrong with people who just have sex in clear view of their neighbors.”
“I almost filed a claim for mental health services. It was bad. Thank you,” she added to the waiter as he brought the two big plates of loco moco to our table. Loco moco was a dish made with rice, a hamburger, and topped off with an egg and gravy, and it was something I’d heard Grace rave about a hundred times before. It was time I tried it for myself.
“Oh my fucking god,” I moaned after my first bite. It was such a simple thing, but it tasted heavenly. “How have I gone twenty-nine years without eating this?”
“You lived a hollow life before this moment,” said Grace solemnly. “Welcome to true living. We’re glad you’ve joined us.”
I wasn’t sure why I did it—looking back I could only say my inhibitions were lowered by delicious loco moco—but as we ate, I told Grace, “I met my neighbor today. His name was Maka.”
“Ooh, an island boy, right? Nice. Was he hot? Don’t bother lying. I can see your face—he’s hot!”
Grace knew me too well to lie, and I didn’t have much of a poker face, as she pointed out. “He was like a Hawaiian god. Literally the most beautiful human being on the planet, without a doubt.”
“You’ve got to tap that—or get tapped, whichever one is most convenient,” Grace insisted. “It is about time you get back on the man—see what I did there? Instead of saying back on the horse I said back on the man because we’re talking about sex?”
“Grace,” I said, deadpan, “if you have to explain the joke, it isn’t funny.”
Grace huffed. “Says the guy who can’t even tell a decent knock-knock joke. My point is it wouldn’t hurt to get a little action, you know? Christen the new pad. You said he was your
neighbor, right? Well, that makes a booty call really easy. No waiting.”
“Shut up,” I hissed, ducking my head down to hide my blush and forcing several forkfuls of loco moco into my mouth. Damn, but Grace had no filter, no matter where she might be. It didn’t strike her as awkward to talk about the most intimate things in public, where other people were quite likely overhearing. “I’m pretty sure I won’t be having a booty call with this guy. He’s my neighbor, yes, but we talked for all of two minutes, and I don’t even know if he’s gay.”
Grace made a psshh sound and said, dismissively, “Details.”
“A pretty big one,” I grumbled.
“I don’t see why. Just ask him.”
Grace made it sound so simple, but she didn’t really understand the realities of being a gay man. I thought about Maka’s almost bodybuilder-like muscles. That was definitely not the kind of guy you hit on if you aren’t sure of his sexuality. I didn’t know what it was, but something in the man’s demeanor told me he definitely had the potential to be dangerous, and I could easily recognize that I had no desire to be on the receiving end of that.
Grace, though, was like a dog with a bone. Once she’d latched onto something it was damn near impossible to get her to drop it, and this would be no different, I could tell. “You can at least try to take him for a spin, you know.”
“Can we just eat, please?” I pleaded, thinking I would die if my face got any redder. Had anyone ever died from blushing? I’d probably end up being the first.
“Okay, okay, I understand,” Grace said, an amused smile on her face. I half expected her to keep heckling me, but she didn’t, thankfully, and I finished my loco moco in peace.
“How do you eat that and still manage to move?” I asked when I’d taken the last bite. I felt like my stomach was going to explode and wanted to do nothing more than let myself sink into a blissful food coma.
“I guess you get used to it. Do you want another drink?”
I contemplated another mai tai, but decided against it. I felt myself edging closer and closer to a stupor after the meal and didn’t think it would be smart to combine that with any more alcohol than I’d already had. Besides, it was the middle of the afternoon, and even after Trevor, I wasn’t one for day drinking. I glanced at the empty glass at my right. At least not excessively. “I’m fine.”
Grace waved down the waiter. “Check, please—all together,” she added before he could ask.
“I can pay for myself, you know.” I had never been comfortable with other people paying for me, even guys I was dating. My family drilled the idea that people should carry their own weight into my head at a young age—easy to say when you come from money. I’d managed to shake free of some of the more poisonous notions my father tried to instill in me, but this one had sunk in early, and it had a good grip.
“You don’t have a job,” she reminded me. “About that—I was thinking, why don’t you come work at Paradise Investigations? We’re always looking to expand, and you’d actually be making money instead of just living off your inheritance from your grandfather.”
She had a good point, one I’d been thinking about myself. Hawaii was a really expensive place to live, and it wouldn’t be long before my inheritance really started feeling the drain, even doing pretty much nothing every night and just staying in. It would be nice to have money coming in again, but being a PI?
“Don’t you have to be licensed to do that?”
The waiter returned with our check, and Grace handed him her credit card, sending him off again. “Well, in an agency at least one person has to be licensed, yes, and we have two—me and my partner, Carrie Lange. You can get licensed yourself after working there for a certain period of time. It’s kind of like an apprenticeship.”
I almost laughed out loud at the idea of being Grace’s apprentice. We loved each other dearly, thought of each other like family, but I didn’t think that one of us having a position of authority over the other was a good idea.
We’d learned that when our sociology professor in college put us in the same group for a project. We’d both insisted we knew the best way of getting the project done, and neither of us was willing to compromise that. Our other group mates finally had to tell us to knock it off or they would kick us out of the group.
“What?” Grace demanded, catching my suppressed snort of laughter.
“Nothing, it’s just…I don’t think that I’m cut out for what you do.”
Grace harrumphed. “We can’t all be big-shot paralegals for massive Seattle law firms, Gabe.”
The waiter returned with Grace’s card and receipt, and we made our way to Grace’s car—a Jeep Wrangler, of course, with the removable appendages. I could not think of a vehicle that better fit her personality. It was wild, meant for rough terrain, just like her. People took one look at Grace and thought she was just some dainty surfer girl, but really, she was much tougher than almost anybody I’d ever met.
I climbed into the car, buckling my seat belt as Grace got behind the wheel. “So, where are we off to on this magical Hawaiian adventure you’re promising?”
“We’re going to Waikiki Beach,” she replied gleefully, turning the key. “If we’re going to hit the beach, might as well hit one of the most famous first. We’ll take the scenic route, and you can get a real look at Hawaii, better than the one you got in the middle of the night when I drove you from the airport.”
“Sounds good,” I said, settling back, rolling down my window to allow in the Hawaiian breeze.
“Will you put this on the floor between your legs?” Grace asked, offering me her purse. I took it, but didn’t get a good grip on the second strap and it fell open, Grace’s manila envelope sliding partly out.
Grace winced as she glanced at it. “We’ll hit the beach right after I drop these off at work.”
“So the first real place in Hawaii that you show me is going to be your office?”
“Don’t look at me like that, Gabe, I have to get these to the office so they can be copied for our files and mailed off to the client tomorrow morning. I do have a job, you know.”
I patted her arm comfortingly. “I’m kidding, girl. Besides, I want to see the place where your PI magic happens. I keep picturing it like it’s in those old noir films—dark and moody, with all the lights turned off for some reason to show that you’re a brooding investigator with a dark, heavy past that weighs on you and forces you into a bottle.”
Grace laughed as she turned the Jeep onto the highway. “Wait, did you just call me an alcoholic?”
“If the wine cozy fits—Ow!” I rubbed my arm where she punched me ruefully. I forgot how hard Grace could punch. I would have to be careful not to tease her to that point too often, or I’d end up covered in bruises.
I sat back and got comfortable on the seat, listening to some pop song on the radio and staring out the window at the city as we drove through. It was amazing to see how different a city could feel depending on its location. Honolulu was not small, but it felt that way. Everything moved at a slower pace, everyone taking their time in pretty much every situation—the aloha way of life, or so I heard. In Seattle everyone felt so rushed, like there was no time to savor anything.
That was a big part of the problem with Trevor, too. Nothing was savored, even in our relationship. It seemed like we were just moving from one thing to the other, completing one stage in order to get to the next, not really enjoying where we were at that moment. Of course, that was probably because he didn’t care for me at all, but still.
As I took in the palm trees and sun in the sky, I decided I could get used to the aloha way of life.
“We’re almost there,” Grace said, turning onto a street lined with businesses.
When she turned into the parking lot of a run-down strip mall, I was surprised, to say the least. From the looks of it, the shops had been abandoned for close to a decade; weeds were growing in the parking lot, and any signs of businesses had long since faded or been
removed. Most of the windows and doors were boarded up.
“Did you make a wrong turn or something?” I asked, squirming on the seat. If it had been someone else’s car I would have been afraid I was being led somewhere to be killed. Being Grace, this was probably some dumb joke of hers.
“No.” Grace steered the car toward the far end of the strip. The very corner lot of the strip was still in use. It was a small space, probably once belonging to a Kinko’s before FedEx bought them all out. A sign hung above the doorway, a simple one bearing the logo of a palm tree, its shadow, and the company name of Paradise Investigations. Below that was an announcement indicating they were licensed private investigators since 2014.
“This is your office?” I could not keep the surprise—and maybe a little disappointment—out of my voice. I didn’t know what I expected, but hole-in-the-wall shop crammed into the corner of an abandoned shopping center wasn’t it.
“What’s wrong with it?” Grace asked defensively.
I paused, trying to find a way to be tactful about this; I knew how easily offended Grace could be at times. She was not a person who responded well to criticism. “I don’t think people can see it from the street, for starters. Look around you—you’re the last in a line of empty stores. People probably think this whole place is abandoned.”
“We got what we could afford,” Grace retorted frostily. “Not everyone has an inheritance to live on.”
The barb stung, and I realized I’d offended her. A small wave of guilt washed through me. I should have been a more supportive friend. Could I really be that out of practice? “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound snooty. It really is awesome that you’ve got a place to call your own. Everyone starts somewhere, right?”
Grace pouted for a second or two more and then nodded, apparently satisfied with my apology. “Don’t do it again. Let’s go slip these inside. I’ll give you the grand tour while we’re in there. You can see what goes on behind the curtains of a PI’s office firsthand.”