One Man's Paradise

by Douglas Corleone

  “Cindy, you testified during direct examination that Joey and Shannon were engaged, is that correct?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Do you know if Joey gave Shannon an engagement ring?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Have you seen the ring, Cindy?”

  “As a matter of fact, I helped Joey pick it out.”

  “Would you please describe the ring for the jury?”

  “It was a two-carat, princess-cut diamond with a platinum band.”

  “Cindy, do you know how much the ring was worth?” She looks at Joey as if to ask if it is all right for her to reveal the cost. I assure her that it’s okay.

  “It was in excess of twelve thousand dollars,” she says.

  “Did Shannon wear the ring often after Joey gave it to her?”

  “Yes, Shannon never took it off.”

  “Did Shannon return the ring to Joey after they broke up?”

  “No, she did not.”

  “Cindy, you testified that you drove Shannon to the airport when she was leaving for Honolulu, did you not?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Think carefully, Cindy. Was Shannon wearing the diamond engagement ring when you dropped her off at the airport?”

  “Yes,” she says quickly, “she was.”

  “Are you absolutely certain?”

  “Yes, I am. I remember because I made a comment about it. I asked Shannon if she wanted me to hold the ring for her while she was gone. She said, ‘No, it’ll help to keep the guys away.’ ”

  From my peripheral vision, I see Watanabe frantically searching through his file. But Dapper Don already knows what I know: no two-carat-diamond engagement ring was found on the victim’s person or in her hotel room, and it certainly was not in the possession of the defendant at the time of his arrest.

  A $12,000 diamond engagement ring is missing. Clearly, whoever killed Shannon also took the ring. The ring we all know that Joey does not have.

  Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I give you reasonable doubt.

  CHAPTER 42

  Court recesses for the day, and Jake and I are out the door as quickly as our legs can carry us. When we get to our office, Flan is already in the conference room waiting for us. I have Hoshi bring us a map of the island of Oahu, and I spread it across the conference-room table.

  “We find the ring and we find our killer,” I say. “If it is Nicoletti,” Flan says, “wouldn’t he have brought the ring back to Jersey?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “I don’t think he would have risked taking it on the plane. He couldn’t have known for sure that the police weren’t onto him. And I doubt he opened a safety-deposit box here on the island, though we’ll check for one, too, if it comes to that. My guess is that he would’ve gotten rid of the ring as quickly as possible here on Oahu, probably by pawning it using another false name. Hopefully, whoever he pawned it to will remember him, even though more than six months have passed. Even if we can’t identify Nicoletti, finding the ring should be enough to get Joey off the hook.”

  “If Nicoletti killed Shannon to keep her quiet like we think he did,” Flan says, “he may have just tossed the ring in the trash.”

  “A criminal like Nicoletti wouldn’t toss away twelve grand,” I say. “Besides, if he was thinking that way, he would never have bothered taking it off her dead hand in the first place.”

  I ask Hoshi to bring me three copies of the yellow pages.

  “Gentlemen,” I say, “we are looking for a two-carat, princess-cut diamond engagement ring with a platinum band. We need to check every pawnshop and jewelry store on Oahu that trades in pre-owned diamonds. It would probably have been brought to them within the first two days of the murder before police would have been able to put out word.”

  I use my Sharpie to divide the island into three sections.

  “Jake, you take Honolulu and the rest of the leeward side. Flan, you take windward Oahu. I’ll take central Oahu and all of North Shore.”

  Flan and Jake start rifling through the pages of their phone books, jotting down names and addresses. I take mine and head for the door.

  “The clock is ticking, gentlemen,” I say. “Thank you and good luck.”

  __________

  Oahu has fifty-six pawnbrokers and over three hundred jewelers. The pawnbrokers have been given first priority. After hitting a handful of brokers in Wahiawa, I pull my cell phone from my pocket to see if Jake or Flan have made any more progress than I. Of course, since I didn’t sleep at home and charge it last night, the bastard battery is dead.

  My home in Waialua is only a fifteen-minute ride from here, so I jump in my Jeep and drive. I hate cell phones, but I hate even more not being able to contact Nikki to make sure she’s just fine. I pull in front of my home, jump out of the Jeep, and grab my mail. As I walk across the street, I see, sitting stone still, a handsome gray cat that looks a lot like Skies. So many strays are in this neighborhood, I wonder how they all eat and survive.

  I step inside and lock the door behind me. I walk into the kitchen and plug my cell phone into its charger, then return to the living room to check for messages on my landline. The light is not blinking.

  That’s when I see him. He steps out of my bedroom and in front of the front door. He stands there between me and my only means of escape.

  “Sit down,” Nicoletti says in a throaty voice befitting his size.

  I take a seat in the chair next to the phone, sweat suddenly dripping from my forehead, stinging my eyes. My breathing quickens; nausea creeps into my gut.

  Nicoletti seats himself on the couch across from me.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing in that courtroom?”

  “I—”

  “Shut the fuck up!” he shouts. “I already know what you been doing, and I’m putting a fucking end to it here and now.”

  Nicoletti pulls a cigarette from his pocket and I wonder if he’s armed. He certainly wouldn’t need to be. The size of the hands lighting his cigarette could wrap around my neck at least twice. This is probably not the best time to tell him how much I loathe cigarette smoke.

  “I like Joey Bangs,” he says. “You know who gave him that name?”

  I nod but say nothing, afraid to open my mouth.

  “Yeah, Joey said he told you. But did he tell you why I gave it to him?”

  I shake my head, not saying a word. “I gave him that name in high school because he was banging every chick in his class.”

  He allows himself a long, hearty laugh.

  “As much as I like Joey Bangs, I’m not going down for this murder, Counselor. And I know that’s where all this is heading if I allow you to continue doing whatever it is you are doing.”

  The landline rings and I move for the phone. But Nicoletti gets up and throws me back down into the chair.

  “Sit still, you motherfucker!” he shouts, pulling a handgun from the small of his back. “One more move and your little girlfriend’s gonna be serving mai tais out of your fucking skull!”

  The answering machine picks up the call, and I hear my voice from a much happier time: “You’ve reached Attorney Kevin Corvelli. Please leave a message after the tone.”

  The tone sounds.

  “Kev, it’s Flan. I tried your cell but it must be dead. I found the ring. It was at a pawnshop in Kailua. The bastards wouldn’t give me the name at first. But I gave them a few hundred bucks and they folded like a cheap suit. I’m billing you for that, by the way. Well, listen, I wanted to tell you in person, but fuck it. It wasn’t Nicoletti at all. The name of the fucker who sold the ring to the pawnbroker is Alika Kapua.”

  CHAPTER 43

  I am already in my Jeep, well on my way to Kailua, when I realize I’ve forgotten my cell phone. Convinced by Flan’s phone message that I would now be pursuing a new lead, Nicoletti let me go free with the caveat that I not go to the police and describe our impromptu meeting in my home. I readily agreed on the condition that he go outsi
de and locate Skies, whom he accidently let out my front door. My foot feels stuck to the accelerator as I race toward the Kapua cottage in search of further evidence that Nikki’s brother, Alika, murdered Shannon Douglas in a robbery gone awry.

  Scared away by the very real threat of Paolo Nicoletti, the cottage will be empty, although I have no idea for just how long. Clearly, selling ice alone did not generate the income necessary to feed Alika’s own habit. I seriously doubt that the Douglas robbery was his first. His newfound hobby is no doubt why he acquired the gun. I have read in the Honolulu Advertiser about a rash of robberies in Mililani in recent months. They remain as yet unsolved, yet are attributed to the ever-growing ice epidemic plaguing the Hawaiian Islands. I would bet my bottom gecko that Alika Kapua is responsible for his fair share of these crimes.

  No one can accuse me of being the most ethical attorney in this world. But no chance in hell am I warning Nikki of the storm about to rain down upon her brother. For a long time, I was impervious to the victims of the crimes of the people I was hired to defend. But something over the past six months took hold of me. Something in the photos of Shannon Douglas, both alive and dead, made me angry about her murder. Something in Joey’s voice made me feel sorry for his loss. Justice is rarely, if ever, the goal of the criminal defense attorney. But for the first time in my career, I can truthfully say that it is mine.

  I am hopeful that my actions will not destroy any chance I have of creating a future with Nikki. I am hopeful that when she sees the evidence, she will weep but understand. I am hopeful that when I bring the evidence to Tatupu and Watanabe, Alika will be arrested and Joey will be freed. I am hopeful of a hell of a lot. But the reality of it is that it would be foolish of me to risk Joey’s freedom and my career on the strength of a single pawn slip.

  I park my Jeep four blocks away on the darkest street I can find. I hike on foot toward the cottage, maneuvering behind bushes and parked cars whenever possible. When I get to the cottage, I curse myself for demanding that Nikki lock all doors and windows before leaving to stay with her friend. I intend to anonymously call police to the scene if I discover anything useful, and I would prefer there be no evidence of an amateurish break-in. But, looking around, I realize I really have no other choice.

  I creep around to the back of the cottage, my hands shaking with every step. The night is cool as far as Hawaiian nights go, yet I find myself drenched in sweat. I remove my suit jacket and wrap it tightly around my right fist, as I’ve seen done so many times on the silver screen. With the jacket tightly secured, I throw a right jab into the window leading into the living room and nearly break my fist. The glass, however, is none the worse for wear.

  With my right hand throbbing in pain, I search the small yard for something more solid to break the glass. I slip back into my jacket, then with my left hand pick up a rock. It is large and ivory, and it reminds me of the piece of reef that was used to kill Shannon. I cock my left arm back and whip it at the window, shuddering at the sound of breaking glass.

  I reach my hand through, careful not to cut myself while attempting to unlatch the lock. I do so, ripping only my suit and not the skin on my arm. I open the window, take a deep breath and climb in. I stand completely still as my eyes adjust to the darkness. I try to conjure some rational thought, but I left all logic somewhere outside. I am running on lunacy.

  I look down at my hands and realize I’m leaving prints around the area of forced entry. I’ve been admonishing clients for years about how stupid they must be to leave such evidence behind. I realize for the first time that I haven’t at all thought this through. I have only a vague idea of what I’m looking for, but I am confident that I will know it when I see it. I could very well find the companion receipt to the pawn slip, his bloody clothes, or even the fruits of other robberies. Whatever I find, I’ll leave it where it is, find a phone, and call the cops.

  In the darkness, I feel around the cottage the way I did that first night with Nikki. I navigate the small area blindly, searching for the door to Alika’s room. Once I find it, I open it, take another deep breath, and step inside.

  The mess of dirty clothes, ashtrays, and empty beer cans is illuminated by the half-moon outside. My first instinct is to drop to my knees and reach underneath the bed, to feel around for the old Adidas shoe box and pull it free. The box is light and I open the lid to see for myself what I already know to be true. The weapon is gone.

  Still on my knees, staring helplessly into the empty box, I suddenly hear the sound of footfalls outside followed by the jingle-jangle of keys. Nikki, I know, is working the evening shift at the Bleu Sharq, which means that Alika Kapua must be coming home.

  I replace the lid on the shoe box and stuff it back under the bed. I stand up and bolt out the door into the small foyer leading to Nikki’s room. I dive into her room just as I hear the front door creak open.

  I slowly close the door to Nikki’s room, careful not to make a sound. I pant frantically in the darkness as I hear the television in the living room turn on. I glance around the room, looking toward the windows for escape. The half-moon illuminates this room even brighter than Alika’s, giving it and me an eerie glow.

  Nikki’s bedroom is back in the disarray it had been in the first time I was here. Clothes and beauty items are strewn haphazardly across her furniture. Ledgers and loose papers are piled high upon her desk. Even the mementos and photographs with cropped-out heads are back.

  I pick up one of the photographs to examine it, a tiny sense of betrayal tugging at my heart. Nikki’s smiling face rests on the shoulder of a tall, bare-chested man. The headless man boasts a tattoo on his chest, one I immediately recognize. A weeping tiki god. I rifle through the pile of pictures, all of them of Nikki, all of them with the same bare-chested, headless man.

  Palani Kanno.

  I feel dizzy, faint enough to drop. I forget about the television sounding from the living room. I forget about Alika, undoubtedly carrying his gun. I forget about the danger lurking just outside the door.

  I pick through the items on her desk and find a half-filled journal. I open it and scan the dates. I see my name peppered throughout the pages, but the focus of my search is not my name. I am looking for the name of Palani Kanno.

  I flip backward through the pages until I spot it. I search for the beginning of the passage so that I may read it in context, but time is short, and instead I start somewhere in the middle.

  . . . and this guy she screamed at and called a “stalker” left her there alone on the beach, just as Palani had done before him.

  Palani. I was shaking just thinking about him, thinking about him having sex with this HAOLE in the sand! I felt short of breath, dizzy. It felt like animals were eating my insides! My life, my love, my WORLD was torn to shreds!

  I felt nauseous, close to vomiting. I couldn’t help but curse her aloud. She heard me. She looked toward the shrubs where I was hiding and took a couple of steps toward me.

  Without even thinking about it, I found myself feeling around in the dark for something, some rock or reef, a weapon of some sort. How could she do this to me? How could she cause me all this PAIN after listening to me beg her to stay away from Palani at the bar? How could she come to my island and take from me the only LOVE that I had left in my life?!

  “Is someone there?” she asked. “Help me,” I cried, hoping to bring her closer to where I hid. She moved toward me slowly, cautiously . . .

  Seeing her eyes through the bushes caused something in me to just SNAP! I picked up the piece of reef, raised it above my head, and leapt at her from behind the shrubs. The reef struck her right in the skull and we both landed facedown in the sand.

  The piece of reef was red with blood. My hands were shaking, but I managed to turn her limp body over in the sand. Looking at her bloodied face, I didn’t know what to do . . .

  But I knew what I had done.

  I don’t hear the door open when it does. I hear only the voice from behind me as the light flic
kers on.

  “I’m pregnant, Kevin.”

  I turn, see her eyes locked on the journal still glued to my trembling hands.

  “I wanted to wait, to tell you on Kauai. We are going to have a keiki.”

  I stare at Nikki, an incredulous look plastered on my face. My world is turning inside out. The past six months suddenly seem like a dream.

  “I would like to give our child a Hawaiian name,” she says, “if that’s okay with you.”

  “Nikki, what have you done?”

  “You mean that?” She points at the journal, her other hand hidden behind her back. “I told you that I like to write.”

  “You killed Shannon Douglas.”

  “Don’t do this, Kevin,” she says, shaking her head. “Just let it go.”

  “Let it go?”

  “The trial is almost over. Then we’ll leave this place, forever if you want.”

  “Do you hear yourself, Nikki?”

  “We can move away from here and raise a family. Kevin, we have a child on the way.”

  I slowly shake my head, but say nothing. For just the slightest instant, I am tempted to run from Oahu, to run from the law. To change our names and find a home somewhere across the sea. But then I think of Shannon. And then, I think of Joey. I think of Jake and of Flan and the man I’m striving to become. And the choice becomes no choice at all.

  “Never,” I say.

  The word rings like a bell, and with it, she brandishes a butcher’s knife. She charges at me like a bull at a matador, and like a matador, I deftly dodge out of the way. As I move, she swings the knife, tripping, then falling clumsily across the bed.

  I bolt for the door just as she screams, “Alika!”

  That is when I see him, high and wild-eyed, loading a clip into his gun.

  I run for the red front door and make it out of the cottage, hitting the street at full speed. I look back and see Alika in the moonlight, chasing me with pistol in hand.

  “Shoot him!” Nikki cries, but Alika doesn’t yet have a clean shot.