For a Song

by Morales, Rodney;

  “Oh, no? Mr. Midnight Stalker with a golf club. Putting around the neighborhood.”

  Again I had no response. Part of me wanted to get back to Indigo, in a way that wouldn’t attract more attention. Part of me just wanted a good night’s sleep on a nice bed.

  “Who were you expecting? That night, the night we first met?”

  “Whadaya mean?” Her pareu was a bit open below her waist and I could see that she wore light blue panties.

  “When you opened the door, you said”—I pulled out my notebook and pretended to read—“‘I thought you were—’”

  “Did I say that? Really? God, I don’t remember saying that.”

  “Just wondering.”

  She was quiet for a minute, then said, “I thought you knew. Weren’t you watching the house the whole night?”

  “You overrate my capacity for surveillance. I fell asleep.”

  She chuckled and fought off a yawn. “It was just a guy I’d been seeing.”

  “You never mentioned him before.”

  “I don’t see the point. I’m not seeing him anymore.” She looked disheartened.

  “Didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Oh, pry,” she said yawning. “Pry, pry, pry all you want.”

  I went to use the bathroom. Didn’t see her phone. She probably had it with her, tucked in somewhere.

  When I came out I asked, since she had opened that door, “Who gave you that document, the one on the Tinian incident?”

  “I found them in Les’s den, near the computer.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  Mia was silent for a minute, probably weighing the implications of whatever spilled out of her mouth. She looked down. “I swore never to reveal my source.”

  “I just spoke to your source.” I was thinking about Mr. Saipan. Mr. Whistle-Blower.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do.”

  She was quiet for a minute, then she said, “When people tell you things in confidence, you respect that. Otherwise, you lose their trust.”

  “You’re not eliciting much trust lately.”

  “Whatever you think, I’m not a liar. There’s a difference, between lying and … and—”

  “And what? Loyalty? Who you got to be loyal to?”

  “I wasn’t going to say ‘loyalty.’ I was gonna say, ‘protecting someone.’”

  “Doesn’t seem to be working, Mia. You had documents, which you passed on to me. Gerard had documents, and he was killed. Now you’re being followed.”

  “If you’re trying to scare me, you might want to note that I’m already frightened.”

  “I’m trying to protect you, even though I know that you’re not telling me everything.”

  “I’m trying to tell you, there’s a difference—”

  “I know, I know, between lying to deceive and lying to protect … but why would you want to protect anyone from me?”

  “I’m trying to protect you.”

  “From what?”

  “Everyone around me is disappearing and/or dying. And I … I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  That gave me pause. It sounded sincere.

  “Look,” I told her, “I can’t find Kay or do much of anything if you don’t tell me everything you know.”

  “Sorry, I can’t think straight. I’m so tired….”

  “I know. It’s been a very long day.”

  “Just need to close my eyes for a bit. Then I’ll tell you … I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “Agreed.”

  I followed Mia to the den, or a second living room, where she lay on the huge couch. “You can watch TV,” she said. “Just keep it low.” She handed me the remote and seemed to fall instantly asleep. For the next few minutes I stared at the blank sixty-inch flat screen—the appropriate template upon which to cast my thoughts.

  43

  Mia tossed and turned. Though she seemed to doze off at times, she was too revved up for any kind of deep sleep. I let her rest her head on my right leg. I felt the heat of her body. I suggested she take Advil or Tylenol and she refused. My presence wasn’t working in her favor, but I wasn’t inclined just yet to take the long drive home. I clicked the TV on, dialed it so low it was practically on mute. The show was something called Entourage. I let the images wash over me; I had no idea what was going on. By the time a soft porn flick followed on HBO, both my right leg and Mia had fallen asleep. I was relieved when she shifted her body and was now using the armrest as a pillow. She snored softly. Just as the woman on the screen slipped out of her dress and unfastened her bra, Mia snapped awake. She sat upright.

  “Oh. What’s going on? You into this late night stuff?” She seemed disoriented.

  “I don’t have HBO.”

  “You ain’t missing much.” I clicked the preset channel button on the remote and suddenly it was the Turner Classic Movie channel. Oh well. It was a movie that starred a young Robert Mitchum.

  “Why don’t you go to bed?” I told her.

  “This is how I go to bed,” she said as she turned herself around and twisted herself into a fetal position, again using my leg as a pillow.

  Still lying down, she suddenly took the remote out of my hand and turned up the sound. I identified the film as one of those crime thrillers from the late ’40s or early ’50s; it was mildly engrossing, but fatigue was now hitting me hard. I nodded off, then snapped awake. At one point Mia sat upright, then rested her head against my shoulder. Brenda used to do that. I listened to her breathing. Her pareu was partly unraveled, revealing a lot of skin. I felt a strange mix of fatigue and frustration, arousal and trepidation. After a while, the soft pressure of her head began to hurt my shoulder; I gently rearranged her pareu so she’d be covered, stood up, eased her into a standing position, and led her—she in full zombie mode—to a bedroom. I returned to the couch, sat watching a scene that featured Kirk Douglas and wondering if it was the same movie. It was. My lids were getting heavier and heavier….

  Confetti falling, or dribbles of blood. I rolled the dice. Kay, on my left, wearing a bit too much makeup and a loose-fitting dress, played a stack of chips, hedging her bets. Matthew, wearing a Boston Red Sox cap, backwards, was moving through the casino, picking up cigarette stubs with a stick. Mia was yelling, I won, I won. Then a masculine voice from behind me: Hey. Hey, buddy. Get up.

  Hey. Buddy.

  I opened up my eyes and found myself gazing into the sunburned face of a man who had to be Les Biden. The nine iron stood flush with his right leg, his palm pressed onto the clubhead. It all came back to me in a flash. Mia’s in the bedroom. He had arrived at his residence—from where, I could only guess; there was a piece of carry-on luggage by the door—and saw a stranger on his couch snoring away. I resisted the urge to say “Hi, Les.”

  I stood up. My mouth tasted like I had licked an ashtray. I needed water.

  “Sorry. I’m a friend of Mia’s. Fell asleep.”

  He reached out a hand. “I’m Les.”

  “I figured that. The name’s David.” I stood up and we shook hands. His were quite clammy.

  “Where is she?”

  “Sleeping. In her bedroom.”

  He paused, looked around, assessing. “My plane got in late. Usually, I get Mia to pick me up, but I knew she’d be recovering from her bloody triathlon. Last thing I’d want to do was bother her. She did great, by the way; I saw her time online. This your club?” He lifted the nine iron.

  “Uh, yeah. What time is it?” I felt dumb the moment I said that, since I wore a watch and there was a clock on the wall staring at me, showing 1:15 a.m. Les handed me the club.

  “Been playing golf?”

  “No. I just use this for protection.”

  “If you want something that’ll really knock people out I suggest a one wood. Maybe a Calloway X460 driver. That sonuvagun’s got power.”

  I turned my wrist as I grabbed it. My watch said 1:38 a.m. I wondered which time was right.

  “Mia s
hould know I don’t like my guests sleeping on the couch.”

  “I’m sorry, I—She did offer—”

  He held a hand up. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re very welcome here. She should’ve had the presence of mind to share the bed with you—that’s if you’re lovers. And if you’re not her lover, there’s enough empty bedrooms to go around.”

  “I should just leave.”

  “In the middle of the night? Don’t be ridiculous. Just take one of the bedrooms on the left.” He pointed. “I got dibs on the master bedroom. And I need a shower something awful. Those damn plane rides. We got delayed at LAX. Oh, I love hanging out at LAX.”

  Flying business class must be tough, I wanted to say.

  “Hi, Les.” We both turned. It was Mia. She wore a long t-shirt that she had changed into. She stood framed by the hallway entrance, her hair loose and a bit of a mess.

  “Good god. I hope we didn’t wake you with all our racket, dear. You must be exhausted. Just met David here.”

  “I think he prefers Kawika.”

  Les looked at me. “You prefer Kawika?”

  “It’s a little less formal.”

  “I’m always Les. Always been Les.”

  Mia walked up to him and gave him a hug. He hugged back, patting her just above her ass.

  “I really need a shower,” he told her. “Get back to bed. And take your friend with you, or give him his own room.”

  Mia looked at me. I raised my eyebrows.

  As Les started to walk away, he said, “Seen Kay lately? Heard her mom’s having a fit trying to locate her.”

  “Haven’t seen her, Les,” Mia said, raising her eyebrows. “This guy’s looking for her,” she added, indicating me. Les stopped in his tracks.

  “Minerva Alter hired me.”

  “Damn. This is serious.”

  “Especially with an acquaintance of hers turning up dead.”

  He looked stunned. “What?”

  “Gerard Plotkin.”

  “Oh, yeah…. Terrible thing, about Gerard.”

  “You knew him?”

  “We were acquaintances. You think his death and her disappearance are related?”

  “I’m looking into that possibility.”

  “They travel, you know, Kay and Matt. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re in Peru, or Goa, or Singapore. Having a blast.”

  “But she would call, Les,” Mia stated. “She hasn’t called.”

  “What’s she got, Verizon? Doesn’t work in some places.”

  “You know that’s a crock, Les,” Mia said. “You can always get to a phone, if you want to.”

  “I—I need a shower.” He started to walk away, then turned again. “You’re right. She should have called her mom, at least.” He looked at me. “You staying?”

  “I really should get back to my place. I want to get an early start….”

  “It’s so goddamn late. Can’t you start from here? We got everything you need.”

  That was true. And there was no point in trying to get anything else done tonight, since tonight was long over. “If you put it that way….”

  “I’ll get your bed ready,” Mia said and walked away.

  I looked at Les. “Can I ask you one quick question?”

  He blinked and nodded.

  “When did you last see Kay?”

  “She and her boyfriend Matthew visited me on the set in Spring Valley.”

  “Before or after Cinco de Mayo?”

  “Before. May third or fourth. I flew out of Phoenix the night of May fourth, so it had to have been May fourth. Kay and Matt dropped me off at the airport. Yeah, I remember it perfectly now. They were headed to Vegas.”

  “To attend the De La Hoya—Mayweather fight?”

  “As far as I know, they were going there to meet with investors. For their film.”

  “Was Jerry Herblach one of the investors?”

  “Hmm. This is beginning to sound like an interrogation.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

  “Let’s talk another time.” He started to walk away.

  Shit.

  Suddenly he turned around. “No, let’s finish this.” He was gesturing with his index finger. “Yes, Jerry was key. And Kay drove me crazy about this. After everything I did to set it up, she wanted to walk away.”

  “Why?”

  “She told me ‘the guy is bad news.’ And you know what I told her? I said who the fuck in Hollywood isn’t? It’s the friggin’ nature of the friggin’ beast.”

  Remembering what Mrs. Loo had said about an argument, I wondered how often they argued. Wondered if he knew more than he was letting on.

  “You better take that shower, Les.”

  Les gave a nod and trudged away.

  Mia showed me the room I’d sleep in. Luxurious. “You said you’d tell me everything,” I said to her as she dropped blankets and pillows on the bed.

  “Can we do this in the morning? I’m, I’m not in a—”

  “Sorry. Forgot myself for a moment.”

  “I’m just so fucking tired.”

  “Better get some sleep.” While I felt sorry for being insistent, it was frustrating to keep putting things on hold. Mia gave me a quick hug and then left the room.

  44

  (Day 14—Sunday, June 3) I got up a few hours later; I felt amazingly refreshed. The bed, the soft breeze coming through the jalousies and blinds, the sounds of birds in conversation—it had been a surprisingly restful night. Best night of sleep in, like, ever. Since the room Mia had put me in had its own bathroom and a nice stack of towels, I washed up and took a quick shower. I didn’t want to put on the same shirt and jeans I wore last night, so I pulled a robe off its hanger and stepped into the living room area, thinking I could go to my car and get a change of clothes. Didn’t know if they were up yet. Didn’t know what I was expecting at 8:45 in the morning. Maybe I’d see Les and Mia talking about his movie over coffee and toast? Maybe Kay and Matthew are sitting with them while Mrs. Loo is cooking up a scrumptious breakfast?

  It seemed desolate: no sign of anyone. It struck me as odd that they’d leave me alone here, to have the run of the place. I walked into the kitchen, noting it was immaculate. The flowers looked watered, the floor looked like it had been steam-cleaned.

  I pulled a bottle of orange juice out of the fridge, poured myself a cup, and sipped at it as I waited.

  It was too quiet. After a while I looked at my watch. Nine-o-nine.

  I cased the house, checking every bedroom and bathroom. Two beds had not been made and towels lay on the bathroom floors. So it wasn’t so immaculate after all. But still, no sign of anyone.

  I found the stairs that led into the garage and opened the door. Both Mini Coopers were gone. I trotted back upstairs and looked at Mia’s room again. No sign of her. Her bed was unmade. I walked into the adjoining bathroom and saw a few stray hairs, a used towel on the floor. She had left in a hurry.

  I changed into last night’s shirt and jeans, grabbed my wallet and keys, got in my car, and took the Pali Highway back into town. I tried calling Mia. No answer. I thought of stopping by her place, but I felt a greater need to regroup and headed toward my houseboat instead. I lucked out with parking, finding a spot right next to my slip, hopped onto the boat, and got into the cabin. It looked smaller and lonelier than ever.

  I sat on the bed, then felt the irrepressible urge to lie down and shut my eyes for a bit. Could use some coffee.

  My ringing phone snapped me awake. “Hello, hello,” I said into it, thinking it was Mia. It wasn’t. It was some guy with one of those run-of-the-mill, I think-my-wife-may-be-fooling-around scenarios. I told him I had a pretty full caseload and referred him to another PI, telling him to call me back if that didn’t work. He didn’t seem too pleased with my suggestion. Well, fuck you, I thought. Who the fuck calls a PI on a Sunday morning when it isn’t even an emergency? I walked over to the McDonald’s just across the boulevard to get a coffee and a hamburger, and picked up th
e Sunday paper at the newsstand. I returned to my boat and sat at the wheelhouse.

  What the fuck had just happened?

  I didn’t want to think. Instead I skimmed the news, the sports results, and the obits. I pulled out the “Island Life” section and saw a profile on Josiah Kamana. He was being asked if the rumors that he was running for governor in 2010 were true. His reply was that all he was concerned with right now was serving his constituents as a senator. He said roads needed fixing and crime was getting out of hand. He blamed the current governor for cutting funds for social services. He said he’d like to see more cooperation between the city and the state regarding the deteriorating infrastructure, especially all the bad roads, and he’d like to see the Feds get involved with fighting the drug problem.

  I got the solution for you, Josiah, I said to his photo in the newspaper. Hire your abbacus buddies to fix it all; they’re good with cleaning up.

  I put the newspaper down. Mean motherfuckers, the whistle-blower had written. Guys with no sense of boundaries doing dirty shit. And now we have HPD, represented by Detective Mel Richards. Maybe there’s a link here. Maybe his appearance at Les’s house was enough to scare both Mia and the Hollywood director off. Something sent them running.

  Or they do this every Sunday; I just didn’t get the memo. They’re at some cozy café having quite the spread now that Mia’s got her appetite back.

  I decided I had better check out her place.

  As I turned from Kalakaua onto Monsarrat I realized that I was being followed. This follower wasn’t very good at it. He drove a light-blue Chrysler, a little too close on my tail. I hastily decided to see what this guy was made of. I hung a left on Campbell, then took another left on Kapahulu, then a quick right onto the Ala Wai. After a minute I pulled up on the canal side of the road to parallel park and watched the car go by me. I waited a moment, then followed this vehicle. When the driver reached McCully, he turned right, crossing the bridge, then pulled up alongside the road. I drove past him. He began to follow me again.

  I made sure he or she didn’t lose me as I headed toward Gerard’s house. I slowed down by the entrance to the cul de sac, where the yellow crime scene tape was already in tatters, then picked up speed, making a right, then another right, and found myself going back to where I had come from, all the time wondering, who the fuck is tailing me? Some bloody amateur? Or maybe it’s a pro, someone who wants me to know I’m being followed.