Mai Tais and Murder

by J. C. Long

  “That’s Benet’s ringtone.” He got up, naked, and padded into the living room. I heard his voice coming in as he had a conversation with his partner, though I could barely make out what was said.

  He returned a little over two minutes later, his jaw set. He grabbed his underwear and pulled them up.

  “I take it that wasn’t a social call, then?”

  “Call records from Carrie’s phone came in. Turns out she’d had a pretty long conversation with someone a few days before her death.” Maka pulled a pair of khakis out of a drawer, and though I was disappointed he was dressing, I was happy that I was getting to see the fabric of his underwear stretch over his ass the way it did when he bent down to retrieve them. “Before they actually talked, the same number called her twenty-four times this month, though it looks like she never answered. I’ll give you one guess who the number is associated with.”

  He didn’t have to say anything, and one guess would be plenty. After the finding that file, who could I think it was associated with other than this Delgado guy? I jumped out of bed.

  “I’m going with you.” This could be exactly what I needed to prove once and for all that Grace didn’t have anything to do with this incident. I wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass me by.

  Maka looked me over, and I thought for a moment that he was going to say no, but instead he just sighed. “Well, you can’t go naked.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Manuel Delgado had an office located in the heart of the business district of Honolulu, a spire of glass and modern architecture. On the way there, Maka explained that Delgado was a businessman whose money came from property management, construction, and a few other odds and ends. Delgado was a respected member of Honolulu society, from all reports, and made a show of donating money to charity, as well as hosting fifty-thousand-dollar-a-plate charity events every year, and donating great amounts of money to the Democratic National Committee.

  “I’m surprised there aren’t billboards with his face plastered on them running for mayor or something,” I muttered.

  “There are no billboards in Hawai’i,” Maka replied. “But yeah, if there were, then no doubt you’d see it. Most people think Delgado has political ambitions.” Maka cut the engine and turned to look at me, eyes stern. “Listen to me, Gabe. You can come in with me, but you can’t say anything. I mean it, you can’t say anything. I’m not supposed to bring you here with me, technically speaking. I could get in a lot of trouble, so just stay quiet. Can you do that for me?”

  “One silent treatment, coming up,” I said, miming a zipper on my lips. “I’m serious,” I assured him when he opened his mouth to speak again. “After this morning, the absolute last thing I want to do is get you in trouble.”

  Maka snorted. “That good, huh?”

  Not caring that we were sitting in a parking lot outside of the office of a powerful businessman who quite likely sent someone to kill Carrie and attack me, I reached over and squeezed Maka’s cock through his khakis.

  Maka batted my hand away, but not before letting me get a good feel.

  We exited the car, and I squinted against the bright morning sun reflecting off the glass tower. The interior of the building looked exactly how I expected it to: cold and modern, the floor reflective marble, everything designed to impress the greatness of this place—and by extension, the man who created it—on visitors.

  A large crescent receptionist desk sat in the center of the room, and behind it an elevator and a staircase. It was Sunday, so there weren’t many people going in and out of the place. There was, however, a secretary there.

  Maka approached the counter, and I stayed few steps behind him so as not to draw too much attention to myself. “Excuse me, but I’d like to speak with Mr. Delgado.”

  The secretary glanced up at Maka, like she was weighing him to see how important he was before answering. She apparently didn’t rate him very high, because her face remained impassive as she turned her attention back to her computer screen. “It’s a Sunday.”

  “I already called his house, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Maka said, voice remaining polite. “They told me he’d gone into the office for a few hours and I could find him here.”

  “Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you,” the secretary said rudely.

  “Looks pretty shady, him purposefully trying to avoid Honolulu PD,” I commented and flinched when Maka shot me a glare. My statement worked, though, because the woman stiffened and turned to Maka with renewed interest.

  “Can I see your badge?”

  Maka complied, putting her at ease.

  “You’ll have to forgive me. Mr. Delgado gets a lot of people who come in with the next great project for him, or the next perfect charity for his investment, and they all demand to see him without an appointment. He’s a very busy man, so it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  She picked up a phone and pushed two buttons. “Mr. Delgado has two visitors. I know. Honolulu Police.” She was quiet for a moment, nodding at whatever was being said in her ear. “Understood. She hung up the phone and flashed her secretary’s fake smile at us. “Mr. Delgado would be happy to see you in his office. Take the elevator to my left and go to floor eleven. His assistant will meet you there.”

  “Mahalo,” Maka said, heading for the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, he stepped in close to me. “What did I tell you?”

  “You told me not to talk to Delgado, not the receptionist,” I pointed out. “Besides, I got us inside, didn’t I?”

  “You think my next step wasn’t going to be flashing my badge?”

  “Well, you were taking your sweet time,” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Maka turned my cheek so I was looking into his eyes, seeing how serious he was. “From now on, not one word. Not one, Gabe, okay?”

  I nodded. “Okay. I promise.”

  The elevator doors slid smoothly and soundlessly open when we reached the eleventh floor, and, like the receptionist said, a man in a three-piece suit stood there waiting for us. No doubt he was Delgado’s assistant.

  “Good morning. I’m Tyson Ashburn, and I’m Mr. Delgado’s assistant. I’m making myself available to answer any questions you might have. First things first, what is this in regards to?”

  “That’s between me and Mr. Delgado,” Maka said firmly. “I was told I would be speaking directly to him. I appreciate your willingness to speak to us, but the only use I have for you right now is to have you lead me to your boss. That is, unless you want to be arrested for hindering a police investigation. And that certainly wouldn’t look good for your boss, Mr. Ashburn.”

  Ashburn’s face went beet red, like he couldn’t believe Maka had the nerve to talk to him like that. I could barely suppress my smile, only succeeding by biting the inside of my cheeks rather forcefully. Unable to muster anything else to say, Ashburn spun on his heel, leading us down a hallway lined with a plush champagne-colored carpet until we reached two big double doors made out of a rich, dark wood with gleaming gold-colored handles in an ornate design.

  It all reminded me quite a bit of my grandfather’s office. When I was a child, I loved going there. Everything felt so big, so impressive, larger than life, just like my grandfather. There was a major difference, though. Delgado’s office seemed to be entirely for show, another way of displaying just how wealthy he was. My grandfather, the splendor was for him. He didn’t care about other people and almost never met anyone in his office. That sort of thing was reserved for a conference room that was not at all decadent.

  Every step of this meeting with Delgado, from the dismissive attitude of the receptionist to the interference being run by the assistant, right down to the way the assistant grabbed the double doors by both handles and pushed them in at the same time, a gesture of grandeur—it was all designed to intimidate. I had no doubt that as soon as Maka called his house, someone phoned Delgado. The receptionist knew we were coming. This was all some game b
eing played, and Delgado thought he had the upper hand. I prayed Maka didn’t fall for it.

  The office that Ashburn led us to would not have been out of place in a superhero movie featuring a billionaire villain. Everything reeked of money, including the large cherrywood desk behind which sat Manuel Delgado. He looked precisely how I pictured him: the body of someone who could have once been a manual laborer, who would have been at home in dirty, plaster-coated overalls or the cream-colored suit he currently wore. His jet-black hair was slicked back, a look that could have said slumlord but somehow said dignified on Delgado.

  Delgado was on the phone as we entered or was at least pretending to be in order to delay us until he wanted to speak—another step in his game. He maintained his cool composure as he spoke on the phone, his eyes studying Maka and me with just the barest hint of interest.

  Maka did not have a lot of patience for this man, and Delgado used it up quickly, judging by the way Maka stormed to his desk, took the phone from him, informed whoever was on the other end “He’ll call you back,” and hung up.

  “That was a very important call with a client regarding groundbreaking at his work site,” said Delgado coldly, lifting a bushy eyebrow in what probably passed as an intimidating look amongst his employees. His words were disdainful and his attitude dismissive, but there was some real steel beneath the surface, I noticed, an air of danger that I couldn’t quite pinpoint, but made the hair on my neck stand on end.

  “I told them you’d call them back,” Maka said innocently. He wasn’t going to intimidate easy. My already quite high approval of him soared even higher. A lot of people would have been quelled in the face of a man like Delgado. I was happy to see Maka wasn’t one of them. “I’m detective Maka Kekoa with Honolulu PD, and I’d like to ask some questions.”

  “And your friend?” Delgado asked casually, motioning toward me. “You haven’t introduced your companion to me. Would that be because he isn’t a cop?”

  I could not stop the flicker of surprise that crossed my face. It lasted only a second before I schooled my expression once more, but it was enough for Delgado, who chuckled and sat back in his leather office chair, fingers steepled together. He looked like he’d just won the first point in the match, and for some reason I agreed with him.

  Maybe my coming here wasn’t such a good idea.

  “That really isn’t relevant, Mr. Delgado. I’d like to ask you some questions in regard to the death of Carrie Lange. Perhaps you knew her?”

  Delgado looked to Ashburn, who shrugged, expression blank. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know who that is. The name certainly doesn’t sound familiar to me. Was she a client of mine?”

  “She was following you,” Maka said. He dug into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Do you recognize this number?” He held the phone out for Delgado to look at.

  “I don’t, no.”

  “What about you?” Maka held it out for Ashburn as well.

  Ashburn grimaced, making him look constipated. “I believe that it is a number connected to this building, somewhere.”

  “Oh, somewhere? Let’s be more specific, Mr. Ashburn. Where in the building?”

  Ashburn flushed. “I wouldn’t know off the top of my head.”

  “I would, Mr. Ashburn. From what HPD was able to determine, it’s connected to the executive suites, so the number of people with access to those phones would be limited, right?”

  I enjoyed seeing Maka at work; the assistant who had been so aloof earlier was now flustered and struggling to find words. A point scored for Maka, then. I expected Delgado to seem that way as well, but he looked perfectly composed, like evidence hadn’t just been linked to him.

  “I truly fail to see the point of all of this, Detective Kekoa,” said Delgado, sounding bored.

  “Let me fill you in, then.” Maka stalked up to Delgado’s desk, resting both hands on it so he could lean his considerably intimidating frame out, looming over Delgado. “A number connected to your office was found in the phone records of a woman who was paid to follow you and who has ended up dead. Why was Carrie Lange following you?”

  “As I already told you, Detective, I don’t know this woman, and if she were hired to follow me, I certainly wouldn’t know why.” Delgado straightened, the relaxed façade he’d been hiding behind dropping to reveal the steel I’d sensed earlier. “Do you have proof that I was being followed by this woman, Detective? If so, please get to it so we can stop wasting each other’s time.”

  Don’t say anything, Maka, I thought silently. If I was right and Delgado was connected, then he would know how I got the files and Maka mentioning them would create a lot of hassle for the investigation, not to mention potentially put me in more danger than I was already in.

  “Can you explain why you called her twenty-five times this month?” Maka asked, effectively evading the other question.

  “And where’s your proof I called her?” Delgado spread his hands as if waiting for something to be handed to him or magically appear. “That number is not my office extension, Detective. I am hardly the only person who has access to the phones in this building. It seems to me that there is precious little evidence to connect me to the victim in either of the ways you are claiming.”

  Delgado’s dismissive attitude and mannerisms—like he thought he’d already won the game—didn’t put Maka off one bit. “Well, then, Mr. Delgado, why would someone from your office be calling a dead woman a few days before her death—a woman you say you don’t know?”

  “I hardly keep track of the personal lives of my employees, Detective, nor can I be held responsible for them.” Delgado’s voice darkened, something flashing behind his eyes. “I am a businessman who built my company from the ground up. I have worked tirelessly to make a name for myself and for my family, and I will not allow you to jeopardize that with wild allegations that have no basis in fact.”

  A knock came at the doors behind us, and I turned to see a man in a suit that looked like it cost more than my car and a year’s rent at my condo combined walk in. He had salt-and-pepper hair and wore wire-rimmed glasses, the frame reflecting the light in what would have been an almost dapper manner if it weren’t for the ugly expression on his face, like he’d just stepped in dog shit. Something told me Maka and I were the dog shit.

  “I’m going to need you to address any further questions you have to me, Detective.” The man’s voice was higher than I expected, almost nasal, and very annoying. “I am Phillip Corbin of Corbin, Walters and Stein.”

  Maka shook his head at Delgado, a small smile on his face. “You weren’t on the phone with a client. You were on the phone with your lawyer.”

  “Mr. Delgado is well within his rights to retain counsel when being questioned by the police,” Corbin said haughtily. “I’m sorry that my client’s knowledge of his rights inconveniences you. Now, I would like you to show me any evidence you have in regards to my client or this case.”

  Maka gave a short bark of laughter. “Are you kidding? No.”

  “Detective, if you don’t hand over the information, I will be forced to file slander charges against you.”

  “No, you won’t,” I said before I could stop myself. I didn’t look at Maka, not wanting to see his glare. “Slander charges can only be brought if the detective has spoken to someone other than your client in regards to this case, and a routine police investigation in pursuit of the facts doesn’t fall under the category of slander. You can’t prove damages, so there’s little point. Besides, bringing that sort of charge would force a judge to review the information we have, which might lead to some uncomfortable questions for Mr. Delgado, and it would all become a matter of public record when we say what we believe your client’s involvement is.”

  “Which would then become slander by definition, as other people would hear it,” Corbin said fiercely.

  “But court testimony is protected and can’t be used to bring a charge of slander,” I reminded the big-shot corporate attorney.
/>
  “Wrongful prosecution, then,” Corbin snapped.

  “I guess you could bring that up,” I agreed sagely. “Of course, then I would turn to my friends at Hampton, Wyler, Morgan and Rodriguez for help. They owe me a favor or two.” I dropped the names casually, knowing that a corporate attorney worth his pay would know exactly who my former bosses were. They’d made a name for themselves tearing down corrupt corporations and got very wealthy doing it.

  I was happy to see Corbin’s face pale, and he didn’t say anything else, just watched me with a baleful look in his eyes. Well, if I accomplished nothing else today, at least I’d shut that asshole lawyer up.

  “I think we’ve wasted enough of your time,” Maka said, giving a polite nod to Delgado. “Have a lovely Sunday.”

  I kept waiting for the explosion to come as we left the building and got into the car, but surprisingly it didn’t. Instead, when Maka finally spoke, he said, “That was some fancy legal talk. You sure you were just a paralegal?”

  “I couldn’t do my job if I wasn’t really familiar with the law. People don’t give paralegals enough credit.” I waited until we were driving away from Delgado’s office before speaking again. “What’s next?”

  “I’m dropping you back off at home. Your lock should get fixed today, so you can go home.”

  I frowned. “Is that your way of kicking me out of your bed?”

  Maka could have given himself whiplash with how quickly his head turned toward me. “Are you crazy? No. I just meant—”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, embarrassed for overreacting. “It’s just been a while, and I don’t even know what you’re looking for. Like, next-door booty call? Fuck buddies?”

  “We’re definitely not fuck buddies,” Maka growled. “I know we need to have that talk, and it should be a long one, but I’ll put this as plainly as I can, considering the time we have at the moment: I don’t just want to fuck around. I’m too damn old for that.”