The Scent of Waikiki

by Terry Ambrose

  Steward frowned, went to the open door, peered left, then right. He looked at me and gestured with his head to the right. “Come on.”

  I shrugged and followed, not sure where we were going.

  “Keep quiet,” he whispered, then hunched down and tiptoed into another maze of shelving and boxes, still holding Joseph’s file in his hands.

  Chance and I needed Joseph’s address, so I followed. I wasn’t sure where Steward thought he was going, but I wasn’t about to let him do anything to that folder. The voices became more distant as we wove our way toward whatever Steward thought was so important.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Hush,” he whispered. “Can’t let them hear us.”

  Oh, great. Looney tunes.

  Steward took an abrupt left and his keys jangled again. When I turned the corner to see what he was doing, he pushed open a door, grabbed my shirtsleeve, and dragged me through.

  I blinked at the blinding light. The sun was bearing down and we were standing on the east side of the building. Steward closed the door, made sure it was locked, then adjusted his sunglasses.

  “Always have an escape plan, Private.”

  “What?” Private? This guy really had gone off the deep end. “Where are we going?”

  “You’re right. When you’re behind enemy lines, no formalities. We’re on a mission to find us a man gone AWOL.”

  My jaw dropped as he grabbed my sleeve again and dragged me around the side of the building to his car. The parking lot now had a total of eight vehicles. Steward went to the driver’s door of his car, yanked it open, and stared at me from behind his mirrored sunglasses.

  “Get in, Private! Our position is exposed.”

  He lumbered into the car and slammed his door. I gave the door handle a tug. It did nothing. Steward muttered something and reached across from the driver’s seat.

  He pulled on the inside handle and shoved the door open.

  I hopped in. No way was I letting Joseph Sato’s folder out of my sight.

  CHAPTER 18

  Steward backed out of the parking space with barely a glance in the rearview mirror. He gunned the engine and the old Corolla jounced out of the lot like we were on rough seas in a sailboat.

  “Where are we going?” I demanded.

  The file was resting on Steward’s lap. He steered crazily with one hand, grabbed the file with the other, and shoved it at me. I stared at the manila folder, convinced my driver belonged in an asylum. Maybe I did, too. I’d come along willingly.

  “Sorry about the door handle,” Steward said. “Forgot it was broken.”

  As was everything else on this rattletrap. The carpet looked like a roadmap to Albuquerque. It was a mass of splotches, swatches, and gotchas. There were old napkins doing tumbleweed drifts in little circles, the speedometer didn’t work, and the biggest gotcha was the exposed foam on my seat.

  “Bought Old Bessie new,” Steward said defensively. He quickly added, “I saw you looking around. Old Bessie’s always been good to me. Don’t be making any wisecracks. She’s temperamental.”

  Right. No comments about the car. “No problem. You want to tell me why we left so abruptly?” I avoided mentioning how closely our departure resembled a prison break.

  “Can’t trust them.”

  Them? As in, spies? Aliens? Great. I reached across the car and jabbed Steward’s shoulder. “Hey! Who can’t we trust and where are we going?”

  Steward gave me a sharp glance, then turned his eyes back to the road. He checked his rearview mirror, then the side mirrors. The only street sign I’d seen was the one for Dillingham Road. “Waipa Lane. Check your instructions.”

  I glanced down at the manila folder. Why was I asking a lunatic questions when I had everything I needed right in front of me? My phone pinged on my hip. I took a look at the screen. It was Chance; he’d figured out that we’d left. I tapped the screen to send a message back and let him know what had happened, but stopped when Steward snapped at me.

  “Turn that thing off, Private. No communications on this mission.”

  “It’s my friend. I need to let him know I’m okay.”

  “You want me to throw that out the window? On the count of three. One…two…”

  “Okay, okay.” I turned off the screen and put the phone back in it’s holster. “Chance gave me that phone, and I don’t need you destroying it. I can’t afford a new one.”

  The light ahead turned yellow. Steward hit the gas and swung into the left-turn lane. The light turned red and our tires squealed as we veered around the corner. The driver whose light had turned green, and who we’d cut in front of, leaned on his horn, but Steward ignored him.

  Watching Steward’s face, I said, “Cut it kind of close there, yah?”

  “Basic evasive maneuver, Private.”

  “Will you stop calling me that? My name’s McKenna.” I started to tell him we weren’t on some top secret military mission, but if he was having some sort of delusional episode, I had no idea what to expect if I challenged him. Better to just go along. “You said this was a classified mission. Using rank could expose us.”

  “Good thinking…McKenna.” Steward took a sudden right.

  I’d missed another street sign. Where the devil were we other than somewhere in Honolulu? “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “I drove a delivery truck for twenty years in this town. I know every street and back alley there is.”

  Okay, so he had a connection to reality, as well as to his little fantasy spy world. “So you know where this Waipa Lane is?”

  Steward answered by glaring at me and shaking his head. “I told you I know the area.”

  The car made another sudden turn and pulled to a stop in front of a three-story apartment building. Steward jerked on the brake and pointed at a building to our left.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  The building was about the ugliest color combination anyone could have chosen—a combination of mustard yellow and dark brown. Towels and laundry hung from several of the balconies on the upper floors. I glanced at the address. Joseph lived on the second floor.

  “We’re on the back side of the building. Why didn’t you park out front?”

  “This isn’t the Ritz. Parking’s limited.” Steward glared at me over the rims of his mirrored sunglasses. “How long you lived here?”

  “Over six years,” I said proudly.

  “Six years?” He snorted. “How can you not know your way around?” He shook his head and thrust open the driver’s door. “Come on. I’ll lead the way.”

  I pulled on the handle and opened the door, now determined to contact Chance at my first opportunity. Steward strode toward the front of the building with me tagging along a short distance behind. I no longer felt like a kidnap victim, but more like his protector. What was he going to do? What would he say? I hurried to catch up.

  “Look, um, Steward. Why don’t you let me do the talking? I was a professional skip tracer and spent a lot of years finding people.”

  He stopped, turned, and stared at me. Even with the sunglasses, I could see his face had gone blank for a moment. “That’s why I brought you along. You’re the translator, Pri…McKenna.”

  “Got it,” I said. “I’ll do the talking.” I took the lead, and Steward followed. If I wasn’t so sure the old boy was harmless, it might have bothered me having my back exposed, but this way I could handle anyone we met.

  We first went to Joseph’s apartment. There were only nine units in this complex, three on each floor. Joseph supposedly lived in Apartment E, the middle one. The second-floor walkway felt a little spongy, causing me to wonder how long it might have gone without maintenance at some point in the past. At the Sunsetter Apartments, I spent a good deal of time waging a war against water damage. Obviously, someone here hadn’t done the same.

  On this side of the building, I also noticed the windows and doors were all locked. I’d noticed a couple of open windows on t
he back side. Because the temperature was climbing toward the low eighties, I had to wonder about security. Were the windows closed because the tenants were afraid? The neighborhood didn’t look bad, but who knew what went on in the surrounding older homes and apartments?

  I knocked on the door for Apartment E and waited. When there was no answer, Steward leaned over and rapped harder. To make matters worse, he barked in my ear.

  “Joseph Sato! Open up! I know you’re in there.” He glanced at me and gave me a quick nod. “That’s how you do it.”

  No, it’s not, I thought.

  There was still no answer from behind Joseph’s door, but the door to Apartment F opened and a bleary-eyed man stumbled out. He wore a soiled white T-shirt and baggy shorts. “What goin’ on here, brah?”

  Terrific, we’d woken the local drug addict. The man’s dark eyes were glazed over and he hadn’t shaved in days, making his black goatee look like a dead rat hanging on his jaw. He was high as a kite and reeked of pakalolo. Now I was getting the picture as to why the apartments were all locked.

  “Let me handle this,” I said. “Please.”

  Edging past Steward, I sized up the neighbor standing before us. In addition to his bleary eyes, he had pasty white skin from spending too much time indoors. He also had several tattoos on his neck and forearms. One was a stick figure on a surfboard.

  “You surf?” I asked.

  He blinked a few times as though he was trying to figure out why we were here. “For sure, brah.”

  It sounded more like an obsequious attempt to curry favor than the truth. “We’re looking for Joseph,” I said matter-of-factly.

  He stroked the rat on his chin, squinted at me, then Steward. “Who are you guys?”

  “McKenna, and Johnson,” I said with a tilt of my head. “And for the record, you are?”

  “Record, brah? You cops?”

  To my right, Steward shifted position, leaning forward in a manner suggesting he might be getting impatient. I reached out and put my hand against his chest.

  “This isn’t an official visit. Not yet.” I stared at the man confronting us, holding eye contact until he blinked.

  The trick seemed to work, and there was a subtle shift in his posture. At first he crossed his arms over his chest, then must have realized he looked defensive, so he dropped them to his sides. A moment later, he crooked his neck to the left and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Look, brah, I don’t want no trouble. It’s all medicinal, you know?”

  I ignored his excuse. We’d established the power structure—he was bottom rung on the ladder, we were above. Enough said. “You didn’t tell me your name.” With a little edge to my voice, I added, “Brah.”

  He cleared his throat and fingered the rat again as he glanced back-and-forth between us. “Eddie Hamilton. Do you guys have, like, identification or something?”

  Steward pushed forward, his bulk nearly shoving me into the building. “Enough of this mollycoddling, McKenna.”

  He grabbed Eddie by his T-shirt and pulled him forward until he was forced to stand on his tiptoes. Eddie’s eyes widened and he looked like he might pee his pants.

  “Whoa, Johnson,” I said. “I think Eddie gets the point. We don’t have a lot of time for niceties. Do you want to reconsider your answer, Eddie?”

  A few eye blinks, a hard swallow, and a nod of the head later, and Eddie wanted to talk. Apparently he was not in the mood to have someone beat the crap out of him.

  Eddie faked a smile, and attempted to watch me instead of the man holding him in a very uncomfortable position. “Whadaya wanna know, brah?”

  “When was the last time you saw Joseph?” I motioned for Steward to relax his grip.

  “I don’t like that guy much, brah. He’s bad news. All I know is he came in late last night, packed a bag, and left.”

  “How do you know he packed a bag?” I asked.

  “Cause he came over and borrowed mine, man.”

  Something wasn’t tracking. If Eddie didn’t like Joseph, why would he loan him a suitcase? “What kind of bag?”

  Eddie’s eyes ping-ponged around a bit before he answered. “It was one he loaned me.” He faked another stupid smile. “For shopping, brah.”

  I snorted. Shopping. “Is that a euphemism for the last time you bought pakalolo?”

  “A what, man?”

  “Never mind.” I rolled my eyes. “Was this a duffle bag?”

  “Yeah, man. That’s the kind. About this big.” He indicated something about two feet long and half that height.

  I glared at him. What a moron. “And then he took off?”

  “It was like, about a half hour later. He slammed the door on the way out, so I looked out the peephole and saw him going. He had the bag. I kinda came out and watched him leave. He didn’t look happy at all.”

  “Enough with this loser,” Steward snapped. “Let’s go.”

  “Hang on.” I peered at Eddie. “You’re not a loser, are you, Eddie?”

  “No, man. I ain’t no loser.”

  I nodded at him and pursed my lips. “So why do you think Joseph was so upset?”

  “I dunno, brah. Joseph’s, like, a mean dude. You don’t wanna get on his bad side. That’s why I didn’t say nothing when he cost me a bunch of money.”

  It would have been nice to feel sorry for poor old Eddie, but he’d probably succumbed to the you-gotta-believe mentality just like Grace. For a guy like Eddie, that was probably a daily thing. “What happened?”

  “Joseph suggested we go into business together. You know, brah? Like a partnership-type thing.”

  Clearing my throat was the only way I could keep from laughing out loud. Next thing you know these guys would be filing incorporation papers. “What kind of business?”

  Eddie’s dark eyes, beady as they were, widened. It was my guess he’d realized whatever business arrangement he had with Joseph could land him in jail.

  “Tell you what, Eddie,” I said. “We’ll keep this just between us.” I glanced at Steward. “That okay with you, partner?”

  The mirrored sunglasses grunted. I’d take that as a yes. I angled my head in Steward’s direction.

  “See, Eddie, my partner’s in. No harm. No foul. What kind of business deal did you have with Joseph?”

  Eddie ran a hand through his mop of curly, black hair. His eyes narrowed. “For real, brah? I won’t get in no trouble?”

  I made a zipping motion across my lips, that made Eddie smile. “Awesome, brah. Well, Joseph had these email lists. You know, the kind he bought off the dark net. It was, like 10,000 names and I was supposed to send this email. He said I was gonna make back ten times my investment.”

  “Nice,” I said. “Ten times. That’s huge.”

  “Yeah, yeah, man. It was like, too good to pass up.”

  “So, did he give you an email to send out, too?”

  “For sure.” Eddie’s head bobbed up and down. He quickly added, “It was all part of the deal.”

  “A regular full-service provider. You said he cost you money. Did you send out the emails?”

  “I sent them all, brah. Twice to make sure they got through.”

  “Brilliant,” I said, then turned to Steward.

  He scowled while shaking his head. “Genius.”

  “So the deal failed because of Joseph, not because of anything you did. I’m glad to hear it, Eddie. So you’d like to get even with Joseph for selling you a bum list. Is that about it?”

  “That would be awesome, man.” Eddie was practically nodding with his entire body. Even his torso moved up and down with the effort.

  “When we find him, we’ll be sure to give him your regards. So where would we find him?”

  Eddie gave me a blank stare. “I dunno.”

  “Seriously, Eddie? I don’t know—that’s the best you’ve got? If you want our help, you have to give a little in return.”

  “You could try his girlfriend. Angie something or other. I think he said she lives in
the Honolulu Sands.”

  “Let’s go,” Steward said. “I know the complex.”

  So did I. And I didn’t want to go there without Chance. The problem was, how did I reach him with Steward watching my every move?

  CHAPTER 19

  Steward hadn’t bothered with saying goodbye, he’d just taken off and left me standing alone with Eddie. I caught up to him at the bottom of the stairs and made sure to be ready when he popped the passenger’s door open. Old Bessie complained when we piled into the car, but we were soon weaving in-and-out of traffic once again. After making another of his last-second turns and nearly running down a kid on a skateboard, I’d had enough of Steward’s manic approach to transportation.

  “You’re going to kill somebody if you don’t slow down,” I said.

  “Never killed anyone with a vehicle.”

  He glanced sideways at me and my image stared back from the mirrored lenses. A chill ran through me as I wondered if he’d killed people using a different, more conventional, weapon. I wasn’t about to ask.

  “This is a covert mission, Steward. If you keep driving like this, you’ll call attention to us. They’ll find us.”

  “Got a point there.” He grunted, then went from full throttle to half, keeping us at a more sane speed for the duration of the trip.

  Although Steward seemed to be settling down, I still felt the need to contact Chance. To do that, I needed a moment’s privacy—not a likely occurrence. The other alternative was to get very creative and sneaky. Now that was something I could do.

  Steward ignored convention and parked on the side of the street in front of a bright blue dumpster. If what he’d told me was true, and he’d driven a delivery truck on the island for twenty years, his choice of parking proved once again that old habits died hard.

  He got out of the car, slammed the door, and started walking. “Entrance is on the other side.”

  Pushing open the door, I stood, stretched, and surveyed the area. There were no police or other vehicles, so apparently the cops had completed their investigation. I may not have needed to worry about running into the cops, but I had to get Steward back to his keepers. “I don’t know about you, but I need a restroom.”