“I really don’t know where you’re going here. I was hired to find Kay, your brother’s girlfriend, who may happen to be with your brother…. Who did that to you?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I just told you. I’m the PI Kay’s mom hired. I’ve also been in touch with your mom. Call her if you don’t believe me.”
“So what are you doing on this boat? You act like you fucking live here.”
“I do live here.”
“This ain’t your boat.”
“It is now. I won it in a poker game.”
“Man, you gotta have a better story than that.”
“I’m not shitting you, Dominic. I moved in less than three weeks ago.”
My comment on the length of time seemed to give Donny pause. He looked at me, then oceanward, and said, more to himself than to me, “This isn’t the boat.”
“But why’d you come here? Why’d you think it was ‘the boat’?
Donny looked bewildered.
Tough as he looked, he was shivering. I took him into the cabin and gave him a flannel shirt. Ignoring the only chair, Donny sank onto the cabin floor and sat cross-legged; I did the same, except that I kept my knees up, and listened as Donny told me a story of how Matt and Kay had gone to Baja to deliver a boat to Catalina Island. They had been told that one of the investors for their film needed this favor done, and since Matt had some experience moving boats, he and Kay were asked to pick up a passenger at Catalina and take him or her with them. This was the deal-breaker.
It was an unusual request, no doubt, but not entirely unreasonable.
“It sure sounds suspicious,” I had to say.
“You telling me. Matt’s no idiot. He knew something was up. That’s why he made his counter move.”
“Which was?”
“Going to the Feds.”
“Why’d he do that?”
“For leverage. To cut a deal. My kid braddah’s a lawyer, in case you don’t know.”
“What kind of deal?”
He snickered. “A get-out-of-jail pass for me. In return, he told ’em he’d facilitate a drug bust.”
“Were there drugs on the boat he was moving?”
“That’s the question, huh? Were there drugs on board, or did those guys anticipate Matt’s move?”
“Setting some kind of trap, you mean?”
Donny went quiet. I watched his eyes move from left to right, suggesting he was watching some imagined scenario, tracing steps.
“If it was intended as a trap,” he finally said, “they escaped that one. But then again, what happened after? After they got some powerful people pretty pissed off.”
“You know which entity he went to? FBI? DEA?”
Donny went into the story in more detail. He said that Matt and Kay were already in Baja when they figured something peculiar was up. Desperate, they called the FBI. Matthew took the lead. He told the Feds he had some important information regarding drug running. Before he said anything further, Matthew expressed concern about his brother. He said if they caught the culprits, and learned of Matthew’s role, his brother, sitting in jail with just a few months left on a drug charge, could be in danger. Of course they said no deal. That should have been the end of the story. But of course, the Feebs were intrigued. What if this was something big? Before you know it, a guy from the Justice Department was there in that same Baja port, right in their faces. He probably thought he’d get the information the Feebs wanted and not give up anything in return. He didn’t know he’d be meeting up with someone who had such nuanced knowledge of drug sentencing laws, someone who could not only cite precedent after precedent, but do it verbatim. Matthew made such a strong case for his brother’s release that by the next day Donny had received it. Donny then hitched his way to Catalina, hoping to rendezvous with Kay and his brother, but when he got there he learned that Matthew and Kay never made it to Catalina, but that two other, very similar boats did land there. Authorities confiscated the boats. Didn’t find any drugs. Donny was then told that his get-out-of-jail card came with expressed conditions, the main one being he get his ass on back to Hawai‘i. So Kay and Matt are missing, and there’s a lot of ice on the street, and somebody’s profiting in a huge way.
“Fucking kid, he should have let me take my chances in Lompoc. That was a huge mistake.”
“Why?”
“Alarms went off. Those guys are so well connected. They knew I had gotten out. Wasn’t much for them to figure out who’s the one who had cut a deal.”
“Which put them in some real danger. You think they made it out alive?”
“I tell you, if anything’s happened to my kid braddah, heads are gonna fucking roll. They dunno who the fuck they’re fooling with.”
Well, from their perspective, they were dealing with an idealistic young couple, aka a nuisance, and a petty criminal.
“Those guys you talked with on Catalina, the Feds. Did they tell you anything about Matt and Kay’s whereabouts?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out. You got a smoke?”
I handed him my half-empty cigarette pack. “Keep it.” I got up and grabbed a lighter. He stood up and took it from me, and lit up. We remained standing.
Donny took a deep drag and exhaled. “The Feebs do know something. But those fuckers ain’t telling me shit. Still treating me like I’m the fucking criminal. As if the fucking CIA ain’t the worst criminal enterprise in history.” He took another drag. “I’ve been trying to find Matt’s boat. Been searching every harbor, trying to find either his boat or one that looked like the ones they showed me.”
“I did see Matt’s boat at He‘eia Kea when I first got hired. Two days later, it’s gone.”
That got his attention. “When was this?”
“May twenty-third, two days after Kay’s mom hired me…. Who did that to your face?”
He shook his head, like a pitcher shaking off a catcher’s sign.
“You said they showed you some boats that looked like mine.”
“Yeah. Dig this. Three boats. Each one a thirty-two-footer with 350-horsepower outboard motors. Your boat not only fit the description, but the name on it—”
“Suze.”
“—Yeah. And the names on the other two boats: Zeus and Suez.”
“Somebody’s having fun with anagrams.” Shades of Gerard.
“It’s a fucking shell game.”
“Why a shell game?”
“That’s how they move their shit. They use decoys. In this case, it was three boats and only one of them carried the ice. None of the mules knew which boat.”
Ice? “You’re talking about crystal meth?” I knew that sounded dumb, but I had to be sure.
“Yeah. Batu, clear, whatever you wanna call it.”
“Is this some, some Mexican cartel thing?”
He took a last drag, dropped the cigarette on the deck and mashed it with his heel. “I kept hearing the name Eleazar Caballero. That’s who the Feebs kept talking about. Not a real name, is my guess.”
“Eleazar Caballero?”
“Yeah. That’s the guy who owned all three boats. I name-checked the guy and learned he’s connected to a Sinaloa operation.”
“So this could be one of those boats? I won the boat from a guy named Andrew Geary. Makes me wonder if he bought it from Caballero.”
“Passed through his hands like a hot coal.”
“A very hot coal.”
“Fuck, I thought you were Eleazar.”
That was as funny as it was sad.
“Say, Dominic, how could Matt not know whether there were or weren’t drugs aboard?”
“Don’t know…. My thinking now is that all three boats were distractions, leading the Feds everywhere except where the ice was actually being moved. But I tell you, the shit really did get moved, ’cause, man, there’s a lotta shit on the street right now.”
“Earlier you mentioned a passenger. They were being asked to move a person. Not drugs.”<
br />
“Yeah. Doubly confusing. All I know is … well, I don’t know.”
“You think they could still be on a boat?” I was thinking about the untimely disappearance of Matthew’s little runabout.
“I fricken doubt it. Matt can out-navigate anybody, but not without resources. And with Kay, he would have to land. They would have had to dock somewhere. And even with my braddah’s skills, if guys with bigger boats and guns caught up with them—shit!”
“The Feds should be—”
“Fuck the Feds. They’re hopeless. Stupid kid shouldn’t-a made that deal!” He looked at me funny, probing. Then he rubbed his nose and said, “Happen to have some blow?”
I slowly shook my head. “Your mom know you’re out of jail?”
“Not yet. I don’t want her to flip out. I’ll tell her soon, when I’m good and ready.” Donny began unbuttoning the flannel shirt.
“Keep it. Looks good on you.” Again I saw the ugly scars on his chest. “Who did that to you?”
“Nobody’s business. Gotta go.” We shook hands and embraced.
“How do I get in touch with you?”
“You don’t.”
“C’mon, man. Just wanna help.”
He pulled a piece of paper out of his shorts pocket and handed it to me, saying “Text me so I’ll have your number.” And off he went.
Almost immediately after Donny left, I got a call. Though the caller didn’t identify himself I immediately recognized the voice of the whistle-blower.
“They were watching the hotel.”
“Who?”
“You’ll find out. In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk with you about.”
“I’m in Honolulu, just so you know.”
“I know exactly where you are. You got the photos?”
“Yeah.”
“I got the names.”
He gave me instructions to go to the end of Lagoon Drive. Change cars somewhere. Make sure I’m not followed. Told me to be there in an hour.
I was figuring I could rent a car at the airport, but when I passed the Jaguar dealership on Nimitz, I remembered that Lex, one of my long-time poker playing buddies, worked there.
I pulled in. Luckily he was working.
“Just lost a bundle,” he said as we shook hands. Same old Lex. “I gotta work fucking double shifts just to make it up.”
“Can I drive one of these?” I was gazing at a trio of sparkling showroom cars.
“I heard you won money—but not that much.”
“Maybe I could trade in my boat.”
“We don’t do trade-ins with boats.”
“Then I’ll sell the fucking boat.”
“That might be enough for the down payment.”
“Good enough. Shall we test-drive?”
“You serious?”
“Just to the end of Lagoon Drive and back.”
“Thass all? Thought you’d wanna go around the island…. Shit, man, let’s do it.”
Another customer had come by. Lex directed him to the main office.
“Looks like a paying customer.”
“I get those all the time. When do I get to ride with you?”
When he asked which car I’d like to drive, I pointed to a Jaguar X-K. He couldn’t help but talk up its features: V-8 engine, the Alpine audio system, heated seats for those cold Hawaiian nights, and, of course, Bluetooth.
“I hate Bluetooth,” I told him, and accelerated.
“You know what?” I said as I accelerated on Nimitz. “I gotta pick up a package.”
“Ooh … sinister.”
“Seriously. We might get shot at.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Kawiks.”
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure this’ll go down smoothly, but there’s always that, you know, one percent chance. These guys I’m dealing with—”
Lex suddenly looked ill.
“Tell you what, brah. Lemme drop you off at Andy’s, make my pick up, and then come back for you. What you think?”
“I dunno, man. These cars—”
“C’mon. I guarantee the safety of the car. Even if I have to play secret service and take a bullet for it.”
“Eh, fuck. Go ahead. I need a snack anyway.”
I pulled into the drive-in. “Lemme give you a number,” I told him. He pulled out his phone. “If I’m not back in five—no, make it ten—minutes, call this guy.” I pulled out my wallet and pulled out a card with Norm McMichaels’ name and number on it.
“Captain,” he read when he looked at the card. “Vice? Oh, shit!”
“You need to keep your line open until then. In case I need to call you. Capisce?”
“Just, just … please don’t damage the car” was all he said.
When I got to the turnaround at the end of the drive, I put the Jag in park. I saw two cars parked between the parallel lines. No one stepped out of either. I waited a few minutes; glad I told Lex ten minutes.
I was about to pull out when a guy walked out of one of the parked cars. “Apana?” he said.
I nodded.
“ID?”
I showed him my two licenses. He pulled an 8½ × 11 manila envelope that had been tucked into the inner pocket of his windbreaker. Said nothing else and left. Fucker didn’t even say nice wheels. I drove back, stopped at the drive-in to pick up Lex, who had treated himself to french fries and a large diet Pepsi. I drove the car back to the lot, eating a couple of Lex’s fries while doing so.
“With your name, you should work for Lexus.”
“I haven’t had fries in, like, a year, Kawiks. Figured since you’re gonna give me a fricken heart attack anyway, why the fuck not.”
When we returned to the dealership I said, “Hope I didn’t cost you a sale,” and handed him a twenty. “Your next lunch is on me.”
Lex took the bill with considerable reluctance.
“And I was never here.”
Lex nodded. “Motherfucker.”
“Was a great ride, braddah. These things should sell themselves.”
I got in my car, which wasn’t as smooth as the Jag, but got me where I needed to go and I drove toward downtown. Soon after I passed Sand Island Access Road on Nimitz I made a U-ey at the first opportunity.
I parked near La Mariana and pulled out the documents. Included among them was a flash drive, which was precariously attached to the papers with a square yellow Post-it, upon which were scrawled some barely legible words. I deciphered it to read: This is what your murdered friend was trying to deliver to the reporter.
The reporter?
Deliver what? The flash drive or the papers? Both?
I peeled off the cover page and began to read what appeared to be the whole spiel on abbacus’s modus operandi.
There were names, dates, and locations. Drugs, women, outrageous land deals, all were handled by this entity. Protected by the top brass at HPD, union leaders, and a couple of state supreme court appointees, abbacus was known only to its membership for the first few years. But leaks happen. Somehow, the whistle-blower had gotten hold of these documents, and since Kay and Matt were out of town, he had worked it out to get it to them by passing them on to Gerard. The copy that went to Gerard disappeared, of course, but there were other copies as well; he had made sure of this.
On another Post-it, this one a couple pages in, he had scrawled, “my ticket back to Saipan.” Fucker had such bad handwriting.
Seems his primary motive was to find his way back home.
abbacus, according to this document, enlisted attorneys as needed. Not just Derego and his firm, but other firms as well. And non-firm-affiliated attorneys. I recognized a few names. Lawyers I had encountered through the years.
After making sure no one was watching I put the envelope in my trunk and went into La Mariana.
It was the old Tahitian Lanai and then it wasn’t. Unapologetically kitschy, it seemed eerily out of place. What had worked in depraved and decadent Waikiki seemed oddly surreal in this industrial area, especiall
y once you noted where you were. I had a quick drink, umbrella and all, paid for it, and walked out to the Ke‘ehi Marina.
This marina had more boats than He‘eia Kea Small Boat Harbor and I decided to walk along the dock and have a look.
In the middle of the third row of slips I saw a boat the same size as Matthew’s. The name was different. In fact, it had no name. Just a number: HA 0867. I got closer and could see that the name Ku‘ulei had been painted over.
Holy boat dock, Batman.
No harbormaster or marina master to talk to in the evening—they close shop in the late afternoon—so I hopped aboard the HA 0867-Ku‘ulei. The cabin was locked with a kryptonite lock, the type even Superman would have a hard time with. Speaking of Superman, why doesn’t he go back in time for all of his cases? Fucker can time travel; he can undo every murder, every major crime. He could go way back in time to where the Joker was a wee little white-faced smirky toddler and set that fucker right early on.
The boat had been brought here. But by whom?
More Twilight Zoney: Why had the whistle-blower put me close to this spot?
I texted Donny: Found the boat at Ke‘ehi Lagoon Harbor.
46
More concerned than ever that Mia was in danger, I tried again phoning her. Still no answer. I tried Les a couple more times. No voicemail or anything. I drove to Mia’s apartment. I didn’t have the key to enter the building, so I picked up a discarded chair that lay among other crap on the side of the road, dusted it off with my t-shirt, and waited near the entrance. When I saw a couple approaching I picked up the chair and walked toward the door so we’d arrive at the same time. They were kissing and in a good mood and seemed glad to help a fellow resident with his hands full get inside the building. The guy even held the door for me. In the elevator, the woman asked what floor and I said “Second.” She pressed the second and third floor buttons.
When I got to Mia’s door I knocked and rang the bell. As expected, no answer. I tried jimmying the lock, though I knew she had a deadbolt. I left the chair by the elevator and went back outside, climbed the railing of the first floor lanai, and squeezed my way into Mia’s tiny lanai—barely two feet wide. I knew from the time I spent there where the lock was engaged and knew she had no alarm system. I jimmied the sliding door and after finding the light I did a walk-through. Everything looked clean, but the place wasn’t cleaned out.
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