Mai Tais and Murder

by J. C. Long

  And then, just like that, somehow Grace had the upper hand. She jerked the gun out of Peter’s grip, holding it aloft from him. Peter, though, was fighting with the strength of a desperate man. He grabbed Grace around the waist, lifting her up and slamming her down on his desk, face purple with his rage.

  Grace lashed out, fingernails scoring two deep lines on Peter’s cheek. He laughed wildly, picking up the small name plaque on his desk and slamming it across Grace’s face. Disoriented, she released the gun, and Peter took it from her.

  “Peter,” I pleaded, watching him take a step back from her, right hand holding the gun at her chest, left hand coming up to dab at the blood seeping from the scratches on his face.

  The wild laughter came again as he examined his fingers. “Thanks for legitimizing the struggle story I’m going to weave, Grace. You just made me that much more believable.”

  “The police know who you are!” I shouted when he cocked back the hammer.

  Peter didn’t even look at me. “You’re lying.”

  “No, no I’m not. That phone call I got earlier was from one of the detectives who went to see you the day I first met you.” I was talking fast, praying that he listened to me and that he would get spooked and maybe flee without harming either of us. “He and his partner went to the ATM where you withdrew all the money, and they got the footage. The call was him telling me you were the one withdrawing it. They know, Peter, so this whole crazy ‘she killed him I killed her in self-defense’ thing isn’t going to work. They’re on their way. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Face blanching, Peter glanced over his shoulder at the window behind him like he expected to see the police cars pouring into the parking lot. It was the briefest moment of distraction, but it was my opportunity, and I took it. I lunged at him, hitting him around his knees, and he fell to the ground with a loud cry, the gun skittering across the floor.

  I scrambled past him on my hands and knees, making for the gun, but he grabbed me by the ankle and jerked me back hard. My chest and chin hit the carpeted floor, jarring my teeth. I kicked my free leg out, making contact with some part of his body—I heard his oof of pain and managed to tug my other leg free of his grip. The gun was almost within my reach. If I could get it, I could bring an end to this nightmare, hold Peter at bay until the police came.

  But what if he tried to run? If he got away, then it wouldn’t be over. If he got away, Grace and I might still be in danger. I couldn’t let that happen, but could I shoot him if it came to it? I’d never shot a gun before in my life, and I didn’t think I could take a man’s life. Granted, I’d never been put in a position before where it might be necessary.

  “Gabe!” Grace cried just before I felt something thin and hard slam down on the middle of my back. Pain lanced through me, and I rolled over in time to see Peter raising a chair above his head to bring down on me again. I lifted my feet, catching the chair at the bottom and keeping it at bay before thrusting upward and sending the chair flying from his hands. I tried to roll over to get the gun, but Peter stomped on my stomach, making me double over.

  He used that time to grab the gun and back away from me, pointing it at me, his eyes wide and crazed. “Get over here,” he snapped at Grace. “Get the fuck over here!”

  “Okay, okay, just stay calm,” Grace said, holding her hands up in surrender. She climbed off the desk and made her way over to the wall next to me, sitting down.

  I pushed myself into a sitting position next to Grace, glaring up at Peter. It was all over, I knew, but I would not go out a coward. I would not close my eyes to this man, as I had to my assailant at the photography shop. I would look Peter square in the face as he pulled the trigger.

  “You couldn’t just stop looking around, could you? Couldn’t let it go? You got Grace off on her murder charges; why couldn’t you be satisfied with it? It was over. It was over. But no, now you both have to die.”

  Peter pointed the gun at me once again, cocking the hammer back. He moved the gun between us, back and forth, like he couldn’t decide which of us he would shoot first, or he was just playing some sort of psychological game with us. At that point, I wouldn’t have put it past him.

  “Just do it,” Grace sneered. Had she gone insane? Was she taunting a murderer into actually shooting us? “Go on, just pull the trigger! You say you’re going to shoot us, so just do it! Stop playing games!”

  “You think I won’t?” Peter cried, turning the gun on her. “You think I won’t do it?”

  A loud noise very different from what you hear on television left my ears ringing. Bits of wall and plaster sprayed out from a hole in the wall halfway between Grace and me.

  He really is going to do it. My heart beat erratically in my chest as those words bounced around my mind again and again. They say your life flashes before your eyes, but that didn’t happen for me. Maka did, and the short amount of time we spent together. I wished for more—more time to get to know him. More time to see his goofy side. More time to learn just where he liked to be touched, what made him feel the best. What foods he liked—or, probably a better question, what foods did he not like? It was unfair, having such a short amount of time with him.

  For the second time, I heard gunshots, and my body spasmed, like it anticipated receiving the shot; why wouldn’t it? I registered nothing for several long seconds—like time had stopped, everything frozen in one brief moment, like someone had pushed the pause button on existence.

  My mind couldn’t recall who the gun was pointed at—was it me, or was it Grace? Shouldn’t I be feeling something right now? It hurt to get shot, right? Unless I was in shock—I could have been in shock, I guess. The fact that I was thinking meant I was still alive, right?

  And then someone pressed play and reality kicked back in. Blood blossomed on Peter’s shirt, spreading out in a slow, dark patch. The gun fell from his hand, clattering heavily to the floor. Peter’s face was a mask of surprise. He looked down at his chest, touching at the blood. I could practically see his mind trying to make sense of everything.

  He fell slowly to his knees. Peter opened his mouth to say something, but only a gurgle of blood bubbled out. I looked over his shoulder, not believing this was actually happening, and saw Maka standing there, his gun drawn and pointed where Peter had been standing.

  I was alive. A quick look at Grace told me she was fine too. We were fine. We were fine, and it was over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fifteen minutes later, I sat in the backseat of Maka’s car, the door open. I couldn’t get my arms and legs to stop shaking—shock, the medic said. Benet stood over me, asking me questions while Maka did the same to Grace.

  “What happened next?” Benet asked in his usual gruff voice.

  “Remember how I told you that you that you should work on your bedside manner?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Then he told me to put the gun down, proceeded to confess to why he killed Carrie—”

  “Which was?”

  I sighed. I didn’t want to relive it, but I knew that I had to at some point, and now was probably better than later. I walked him through everything that happened, repeating Peter’s words with as much accuracy as I could. I stopped a few times to think through the order of events, before continuing, but eventually I got to Maka shooting Peter.

  “You know the rest,” I finished, exhausted just from the few minutes spent going over the story.

  Maka, finished with his interview of Grace, came over to the car. Benet glowered at him in his surly way and lumbered off. Maka rested his forearm on the hood of the car, leaning down to look at me, his face etched with concern.

  “I’m fine,” I said before he could ask. “Just…”

  “Scared?” Maka supplied.

  “Tired,” I corrected. “Though, I won’t lie, I was scared in there.”

  “There aren’t many people who wouldn’t be, looking down the barrel of a gun, particularly when it’s being held by a cornere
d man. I know I would be.”

  “Thank you,” I said suddenly. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead right now. Grace and I both would. You saved our lives.”

  “I did my job,” he said. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

  “Well, thanks to your job, I’m alive. I owe you.”

  Maka waggled his eyebrows. “You mean, like, a great blowjob?”

  I mustered a small smile. “Well, I have been told I am an expert on those.”

  Maka smiled too.

  I woke up to warm, wet kisses trailing down my neck. When I opened my eyes, it was already dark outside, and I had no idea where I was. Disoriented, I thrashed a bit, only to be soothed quietly by Maka’s gentle hands, his lips pressing into the space just behind my ear, his breath ghosting across my neck.

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Memories came back, and I sat up. After the incident at Paradise Investigations, Maka had a uniformed officer drive me back to his place in my car, tailed by his partner so he could leave afterward. I let myself in the apartment with his spare key and then passed out on his bed.

  “You didn’t lock the door,” he chided me gently.

  “Sorry. You’re lucky I even made it to the bed before passing out.” I stretched, rolling over and nestling against him, taking strength from his warmth. “How can I be this tired after sleeping so long?”

  “You went through a lot today,” Maka said, his warm palm making small circles against my back, lulling me back into a state of near sleep. “It’s understandable that you’re tired.”

  “Where did you go?” I asked, doing my best to stay awake. “After, I mean.”

  “Tried to wrap up the case on Peter.” Maka shifted positions, allowing me to relax more comfortable in the cradle of his arm, head resting on his shoulder. “We followed as many leads as we could, traced the bank deposits. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to connect a damn thing to Delgado. Everything was wrapped up clean, with nothing incriminating pointing his way. Looks like it was just Peter.”

  “He confessed to the money coming from Delgado.”

  “No, he confessed to someone paying him money to find out information on Delgado. There’s no way to prove it was him, and he has politically powerful friends. This is as far as the investigation goes, unfortunately.”

  “But surely Peter knows—”

  “Peter’s dead,” Maka said, voice quieter now.

  I froze. The news caught me off guard, though I knew it shouldn’t have surprised me. He was shot, after all, in the chest. Hell, as far as I knew he’d died right in front of my eyes. Funny how the thought never crossed my mind before that moment, though. I guess after someone confesses to murder right in front of you and then tries to kill you, your level of concern for their well-being is somewhat diminished.

  “I heard gunfire,” Maka said, like he had to explain to me. “I went in, saw him with the gun, saw you there… I shot him. I did my job.”

  I caught his face in my hands, tugging him down until he leaned forward and kissed him deeply. “I know. You did the right thing. Like I said before, you saved my life and Grace’s. I just hate that Delgado is going to get away with it.” I could just imagine Delgado’s smug face as he saw his accomplice go down in flames while he himself remained unscathed.

  Maka kissed my forehead. “Me too. That’s why I’m going to pay him one last visit tomorrow. He’ll have heard about Peter by then, so hopefully he’ll have his guard down and will slip up. Not a big chance, but there’s still a small one. Might as well give it a shot.”

  “I’m going, too,” I said immediately. “After everything, I want to look him in the eyes one more time. Please? You have to admit I came in handy earlier.”

  “I’m too tired to argue with you tonight,” Maka conceded. “You can come, but this time I need you to actually stay quiet, not just say you will and then ignore it.”

  “Okay, okay, if it’ll get me in there, I promise.”

  I settled my head back on his shoulder, closing my eyes, letting his breathing soothe me back to sleep. Just as I was about to drift off, though, his hand came down hard on my ass, jarring me awake.

  “Ow! What the hell was that for?”

  “How many times since Friday have you almost been killed? I told you to be careful; you told me you would be, and you end up with a gun pointed in your face again. How is that even possible? How is one person that unlucky?”

  “You say unlucky, I say lucky, since I’m still alive after every attempt,” I said, a sleepy attempt at levity. He slapped the other ass cheek—not quite as hard as the first, but enough to make me hiss. “Ouch!”

  “I’m serious, Gabe!”

  “I blame Grace entirely,” I grumbled. “She’s the one that dragged my ass out here in the first place, so she started it all.”

  “Wait, wait, let’s not get hasty,” Maka said, cupping the same cheek he’d slap a moment before. “I like that your ass is here—the rest of you, too, but right now, particularly your ass.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to demonstrate later just how much you like it being here,” I said with a yawn. “But right now, I really need to go to sleep.”

  “Aw.” Maka gave my ass a squeeze. “That’s too bad.”

  I nuzzled closer to his neck, feeling safe and content. “I’ll make it up to you later. Or let you make it up to me, whichever.”

  Maka laughed, the sound vibrating against my cheek, and that was the last thing I remembered before darkness claimed me again.

  The next morning we made our way back to DLC Construction’s main office, where Maka warned me again about being quiet when we were with Delgado. When we entered the building, Maka didn’t bother stopping by the receptionist’s desk, making a beeline for the elevator instead. When the receptionist hurried toward the elevator to stop us, Maka held down the “close” button until it did so.

  “That was cold,” I said appreciatively.

  “I don’t have time for the runaround today,” Maka said tersely.

  When the elevator doors opened on the eleventh floor we were greeted by Ashburn, no doubt thanks to the security cameras in the place. Just like before, he wore a three-piece suit. “You do not have permission to be here. You need to leave, immediately, before I call security.”

  “What’s wrong?” Maka challenged, stepping up close to the well-dressed assistant and staring him down. Much to my surprise, Ashburn didn’t so much as blink, even though a man of Maka’s build would be intimidating for most people. “We just want to have a word with your boss, that’s all.”

  “You’ve already taken up plenty of my boss’s time,” Ashburn said coldly. “Mr. Delgado is far too busy to deal with the likes of you.”

  “The likes of us?” Maka pretended to be stabbed in the chest. “You wound me.”

  “It’s okay, Tyson.” Delgado poked his head out of his office door. “I have a little free time in my schedule for the detective and his…friend. I’m sure this won’t take too long.”

  Ashburn scowled but stepped aside. His eyes were particularly hate-filled when they settled on me, for some reason. Those eyes jarred something within me, the inklings of a memory, but they flicked away before I could fully recall it.

  “I hear that you caught the person responsible for the death you claim is connected to me,” Delgado said, holding the door open for Maka and me. “I am very happy to hear it. Our streets are safer thanks to the hard work of the Honolulu Police Department. I’m guessing it’s too much to hope you’ve come to offer me an apology today?”

  “Actually, we’ve come because the person responsible claimed to be doing it after being paid by you,” Maka said bluntly. “A very specific amount, as well. Would you know anything about the transfer of twenty-one thousand dollars, Mr. Delgado?”

  Delgado let out a long-suffering sigh. “As I told you before, Detective Kekoa, I know absolutely nothing about this guy.”

  “I think it’s time for you t
o leave,” Ashburn said, walking up behind Maka and grabbing his shoulder with his right hand. Maka reacted immediately, grasping Ashburn by the wrist, tightly. I caught Ashburn’s wince of pain and looked closer at his eyes.

  “Holy shit,” I gasped.

  “Take your hand off of me,” Maka growled, thrusting Ashburn’s hand away.

  “Now, now, gentlemen, calm down,” Delgado said, though he didn’t sound that concerned with it.

  “It was you,” I said, pushing past Maka and striding up to Ashburn. “In my apartment and then at the photography store. That was you!”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Ashburn said, drawing himself up and tugging at his tie nervously. But I wasn’t wrong. Those eyes, those cold, merciless eyes, they were the same ones that stared out at me the previous day, behind a gun.

  “I think you do.” I grabbed Ashburn’s wrist, squeezing it purposefully. “Does that hurt?”

  “Gabe, stop!”

  “Why does your arm hurt?” I went on, not letting go. “Is it because I bit you yesterday?”

  “Excuse me?” Ashburn tried to pull away from me, but I wouldn’t let him.

  “I must insist you take your hand off my assistant.”

  “Gabe, what are you doing?” Maka sounded concerned and a little bit angry.

  “Maka, this is the guy who broke into my apartment and attacked me at the photography place!”

  “I did no such thing!”

  “I can prove it,” I insisted, maintaining my grip as Ashburn struggled to pull away from me. “When I was attacked yesterday, I bit the guy’s wrist. Ashburn flinched when you grabbed his wrist—the same wrist I bit!”

  Delgado came around his desk, his eyes hooded, but he said nothing.

  “Show me your wrist,” Maka demanded, switching immediately into his detective voice. “Now, Mr. Ashburn.”

  “I don’t have to do any such thing,” Ashburn huffed.

  “Do it, Tyson,” Delgado said. Something in his words brought a visible change in Ashburn; his body relaxed and a relaxed expression came over his face. He pulled free of my grip, unbuttoning the cuffs and rolling them back, exposing a nasty bruise and the clear imprints of teeth.