“Hey, bruddah,” a voice from behind me said. It was a guy leaning against a limo. “You get one light?” He was holding up a cigarette, which danced between his index and middle fingers.
I put my hand in my jeans pocket, felt my lucky poker chip, tried the other pocket, and found and handed him my lighter.
“You one of the drivers?” I said as he lit then inhaled the cigarette.
“Yeah. You one of the extras?”
He held his cigarette pack out toward me. As I waved it off I said, “Yeah, I play a bar patron in a later scene. No speaking lines, of course.”
“Hey, brah, you say one line and it’s double, no triple, da money. Dass how you roll in this business. Gotta get a foot in da door, right?”
“Gotta,” I said with a smile while thinking, And I gotta look into your fucking union’s dealings one of these days. I took my lighter back and pocketed it. I angled back toward the set and then ducked behind a truck, a place where the light didn’t reach, scoped the area to make sure Mia wouldn’t see me, and then stealthily crossed over the thick wires and walked away from the scene.
32
FOLLOW YOU, FOLLOW ME
(Day 9—Tuesday, May 29) I stayed three or four cars behind Mia as she drove down Beretania. The streets were wet, the residue of an early morning downpour. A few hours ago I had staked out the apartment building she lived in. I wanted to see where she was going. I knew she had done some acting in the past, but in the present? Previously, I wasn’t curious about what kind of job or jobs she worked. Now I was.
She turned left into Pensacola, went through Young and King, and headed toward Kapi‘olani. When the road split both right and left, she took the left, toward Ala Moana Shopping Center. Not working today? She then made a quick right into Pi‘ikoi.
She was heading toward the park.
Damn, when does she not exercise?
She parallel-parked on the west end of the beach park. Pulled her bike out of the copper Mini Cooper, put on her bike shoes, helmet, and shades, then headed out.
I gave her a moment, then followed.
As she headed west down Ala Moana Boulevard, a car pulled out in front of me. I could still observe her, and it was better this way—as long as I didn’t lose her.
She turned up Ward Avenue and it wasn’t long before I surmised that she was headed toward Tantalus.
The car that had come between us? It still was there.
We kept going, first to the top of Ward, then right on Prospect, which became Nehoa, then left into Makiki Heights Drive.
The car still followed. I had pulled back a little, hoping whoever was in the car didn’t see that I was following him. I assumed it was a he.
As Mia pedaled her way up the winding road, perhaps headed for its summit, I waited for the right moment. When the road plateaued, I phoned her cell.
She answered on the second ring.
“What’s up, Kawika?” she said.
“Nothing, except that Tantalus can be dangerous and you might think about altering your course, albeit discreetly.”
She looked around. “Where are you?”
“Don’t do anything crazy. Just trust me. You’re being followed.”
“By you.”
“By someone else. Someone I’m following.”
She was approaching a curve and a steeper hill. “What should I do?”
“As naturally as you can, turn around. Get onto a trail if you have to. He’ll probably turn around and follow you, so get to a one-way street, where he can’t follow. Pi‘ikoi is the closest.”
“Got it.” She clicked the phone before I got to tell her to meet me at Magic Island.
I saw her turn. I pulled alongside the road. She saw me as she passed. Nodded discreetly and took off.
The Chrysler Sebring, driven by a male driver, probably in his twenties, hair and face obscured by hat and shades, sped by moments later. I give him five seconds, then followed.
He followed Mia down Makiki Street, turned when she turned into Wilder.
When she turned left into Pi‘ikoi, doing a slight wheelie to get onto the sidewalk and avoid oncoming cars, I wondered if he’d be crazy enough to follow.
He wasn’t.
He continued on Wilder and did not take the anticipated left turn into Pensacola. What was he up to? Maybe he was going to take a later left.
But he took a right instead and went up toward Prospect. He wasn’t going back to the park. It appeared he had simply given up.
He might have followed her because she was a woman on a bike, heading into an area where she’d be vulnerable. Or he was after Mia, knowing that Tantalus was the perfect place to stage a bike accident. Or….
Any way you look at it, this spelled danger. I took his plates and called McMichaels. Promised him a bottle of his favorite scotch if he could run the plates to track the owner.
As I drove toward Ala Moana Beach Park, exploring the variables, I called Mia. I got her voicemail. I said, Don’t go to your car. Go to Magic Island.
I hoped she got the message.
After verifying that she hadn’t gone back to her car, I drove over to the Magic Island parking lot. There I saw Mia at the drinking fountain, refilling her bottle. As I approached her, she gave me a look that said, What the fuck was that about? I put a hand on her shoulder. Her jersey was soaked from sweat.
“What just happened?” she said nervously, her voice barely audible.
“I don’t know yet.”
I led her across the field to the lagoon. No one could get near us without having to traverse a grassy field and/or a jogging path. We were so close to the Ala Wai Harbor I could swim to my boat, if need be. Like I’d ever want to swim in all that diesel- and garbage-infused crap.
We sat on the low cement wall that separated the jogging path from the lagoon area, our backs to the water.
“I think it’s time you tell me everything you know. Everything. That guy could have easily run you off the road. I need to know why.”
“Maybe it was some guy I dumped.”
“This isn’t a fucking game, Mia.”
“‘Not a fucking game’!” She looked at me now, rage in her eyes. “You were following me! You!”
“Just doing my job.” I gazed at Mount Tantalus, now far in the distance.
“How long …,” she began in a softer tone, one that expressed hurt, “how long have you been following me?”
“Just long enough to have seen you with a guy. Let’s see, shirtless, in white drawstring pants.”
She got up and faced me, her eyes watery, her arms folded. I figured a lecture was coming. Her face went through several contortions but she said nothing.
So I spoke: “I just happened to be in Chinatown last night when I saw you. I wasn’t following you then.”
She still said nothing.
“This guy appeared to be tailing you. He may have meant you harm. Or just wanted directions. Thing is, I couldn’t tell.”
She sat back down, arms still folded, and after a fat minute spoke in a flat voice. “Kay was supposed to meet with some guy who had insider’s knowledge about what happened in Tinian.”
“So she was here?”
“That’s precisely what I’m trying to figure out. When I talked with her three weeks ago, they were driving through Arizona.”
“To see Les?” Was he back there yet?
“This had nothing to do with Les; she was talking about them going to Nogales.”
“And you didn’t tell me this because—”
“—because she told me these things in confidence.”
“Have you seriously considered what you’ve risked by keeping your mouth shut?”
“It seemed disloyal to tell you. To tell anyone.”
“Why Nogales?”
“All I know is Matt was supposed to deliver a boat.”
“You know that Nogales is landlocked.”
“I fucking know that. They were going to cross the border at Nogales, then get t
o some harbor in the Baja Peninsula. I don’t know where exactly. They were supposed to sail a boat to California. That was their plan, and I’m positive they didn’t carry it through; either that or they got burned in some way.”
“Why are you positive?”
“Because they would’ve been back by now! They wouldn’t be missing!”
Mexico. “Were they moving drugs, by any chance?”
“All I know is it all seemed very clandestine. Like I told you, who were those guys she was meeting with? And then he shows up, you know, that big fucker that chased us away? When we talked I said to her, ‘What you getting yourself into, girl? This isn’t like you.’ And she just said ‘It’s something I gotta do.’ It was too creepy and I didn’t want any part of what was going on. In retrospect, I was the selfish one. Gerard was the one who stepped up. And look what happened to him.”
“Stepped up to do what?”
“I don’t know! Really!”
“With all this going on, didn’t it occur to you that riding your bike in isolated places is not—”
“I was just doing what I always do…. Why would anyone follow me? I’m not involved.”
“You’re a friend of Kay, and you were residing at the same house.”
“So I am involved.” Mia clasped her hands, weighing the situation. “Great.”
“The car that was following you, it was a light blue Chrysler Sebring. Any idea who that might be?”
“I don’t even know what a Sebring looks like.”
“It’s a very common rental. Which makes me think that whoever was tailing you was careful not to use his own car. I have someone checking on that.”
“Can I go to my car now?”
“I’ll follow you.”
“That, apparently, is what you do….” She looked at me. “Sorry, that just slipped out.”
“Then maybe I won’t follow you.”
She said nothing. She put on her helmet and shades, mounted her bike, and pedaled to her car. I did follow. I watched as she got in and drove off.
Within an hour my phone was vibrating. It was McMichaels.
—It’s a rental, from Enterprise, at the airport.
—Name he used?
—Joseph Smith. Fake name, obviously.
—Either that, or the Mighty Mormon has returned.
—I’ve heard of weirder shit happening.
—Thanks for the info.
—Anything else you need? I’m gonna be off duty till next week.
—I could use a revelation.
—I think Joseph Smith uttered those very words, and guess what happened? If you want a revelation, you know who to talk to. Someone in your line—excuse me, former line—of work.
—No French words for me?
—Au revoir.
33
While driving back to the boat I called Sal. “Did you know that Lino Johnson was a hot shit ‘ukulele player?”
“Yeah, the guy used to strum a mean ‘ukulele on the beach—outside of Duke’s, usually, sometimes at Kuhio Beach. Always drew a crowd. Here’s a story for ya. His dream was to replace Sterling Mossman at the Barefoot Bar in the Queen’s Surf when everyone’s favorite singing cop retired, but then Lino shows up one day and the whole fucking building’s gone. Remember that?”
“Little before my time.”
“One of those classic Frank Fasi moves. But get this, Lino kept going there, where the Queen’s Surf used to be—he was still in his teens then—and he kept playing.”
“That’s one for the ages. By the way, heard anything about the governor’s chief of staff?”
“You mean the latest guy that can’t keep it in his pants? All I know is what I read.”
“Who’d have the inside scoop on this?”
“Other than Orse?”
“Orse.” Of course.
“Tell him he owes me. He had too much faith in his Spurs.”
• • •
Orse Levinson had a reputation for knowing more about the goings-on in the Hawaiian Islands than anyone else. In his thirty years covering politics he had acquired an assortment of contacts who gave him the dirt, the skinny, and the lowdown on everything from who’s screwing who, to where the cockfights are happening, to who’s involved in the shadiest of deals.
“Governor’s aide, what’s the story on that?”
“That jerk-off’s being blackmailed. The guy who hacked into his e-mail account claims he’s the boyfriend of the alleged accuser. Don’t you love this shit? Wish I was still working at the capitol.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re right. I don’t. How’s your case going?”
I filled Orse in on my encounter with Plotkin and his tenuous relation to Kay Johnson. “Before Plotkin died,” I told him at the end of my rambling narrative, “he popped out an e-mail to the missing girl. All he wrote was forget the queen, save the bishop. In the meantime I’m learning that our friend Derego has been at it again, this time representing Bishop Estate and some unknown parties in that cabin scheme in East Honolulu. I’m starting to see the estate’s tracks all over this.”
“Remember that lease-to-fee scam in Hawai‘i Kai?”
“Yeah, vaguely.”
“Devil’s in the details, Kawika. The developer was Clarence Biletnikoff.”
“I remember that name.”
“Derego’s his lawyer too. I have no doubt that that fucker is involved with that cabin shit in some way. Maybe advisory, ’cause these guys know all the tricks…. You know that he’s the one who brokered some sweet land deal between Kamana and Genaro Blankenship?
“Blankenship? That name keeps coming up. It was on a scrap of paper I found at the Serrano residence. Matt Serrano’s Caroline’s boyfriend. He’s missing too, as you probably know.”
“Kamana and Blankenship are tight as thieves, which they are. They’re not only cut from the same cloth, they seem to like each other’s company.”
“So what was this deal?”
“The way it worked was, both Kamana and Blankenship bought houses under market price, sold them to Biletnikoff way over market, then used the proceeds to invest in ag land, worked the system to get the zoning they wanted, then hired the contracting firm that Biletnikoff’s tied with to build their respective dream houses…. If those kids you’re looking for were trying to take them on, boy, talk about living dangerously.”
“What else do you know about Blankenship?”
“Like I said, he and Kamana are cut from the same cloth. They both come off as men of integrity. Blankenship positions himself as protector of the rights of working men. Union insiders know he’s scum, fucking around with their pension fund. Same thing with Kamana.”
“Mr. Integrity.”
“Right. He’s the first to decry ethics violations among his fellow senators. If people knew the real Kamana, it would totally derail his next political move.”
“You mean the governorship? McMichaels called it a rumor.”
“It’s more than a rumor now. He’s making moves. I’ve heard he’s having meetings with various players, building up his campaign staff, calling in debts.”
“Just the thought of it makes me nauseous.”
“Sounds like you need an antidote, some anti-nausea remedy…. Maybe you should do what I did.”
“What? Bet on the Spurs?”
“I see you been talking to Sal. No, I mean you should get a dog. Helps you forget how cruel the world can be.”
Orse had five or six dogs at his home in Kahalu‘u. I think he originally got one for protection, since he was always getting phone threats. Then he found he liked the dog so much, he got another. And another. Picked up a few stray cats along the way. Plus, he feeds all the birds that come through his hilly abode.
“Shit, right now I can’t even take care of a plant.”
“Dogs are easier. And they give something back.”
• • •
Well into the rain-splashed afternoon I sat on my deck thinking a
bout a dog. She’d be like Lassie. I’d give her a piece of Kay’s clothing, say “Here, girl, go find her,” and she’d lead me up a remote trail in the Ko‘olaus. We’d cross streams and fight off wild boar and finally we’d come across an abandoned shack and, voilá … mission accomplished. I’d give her a treat and we’d return to the boat. She’d be at my side when I sat on the deck. When I’d fallen asleep in my bed, she’d be curled up right next to me on the cabin floor.
“See the rain’s cleared up.”
Rian’s voice interrupted my daydream.
“I was thinking about dogs.”
“Used to have one. Best friend ever. Not ready for another one yet.” The look on his face told me one of two things: Either this Lassie or Fido really was the best dog ever, or this was about more than a dog.
I put that thought aside and began spinning for him the story of the missing girl. There were so many variables bouncing around in my head I thought if I can have them bounce around in someone else’s head maybe we can ping pong them back and forth and I might glean some insight. Right away he offered the crystal meth possibility, speculating that Kay and Matthew had succumbed to that cruel drug and were being forced to make some terrible choices as a consequence. While telling him I thought his theory was far-fetched, I remembered those I knew who had succumbed: a baseball player turned cop, whom I still considered a friend; a musician who hung himself in jail; and a popular state senator who had also been a star athlete. If he had stayed straight, he’d be the one looking at a run for the governorship, not Kamana.
Those images of lives gone wrong and lives lost culminated with a clear image of Lino’s grave.
For a Song Page 25