Three to Get Lei'd

by Jill Marie Landis

  “We’ll worry about it later. Right now, if you can’t convince them to leave, at least get them to move back and stay out of the way.” He walked away, headed for the growing ring of police cruisers outside the clubhouse. Uniformed officers were crouched behind the cars parked nearest the low building. The captain in charge kept issuing demands that Benton give up and come out or at least release his hostages.

  Em turned around and went to join the Maidens. Big Estelle had already moved the van to a position behind the speed hump. Traffic entering the road behind them had been halted. People were pulling over, leaving their cars and walking up the road. The parking lot near the main entrance had been blocked off to everyone except police, fire, and ambulance personnel.

  A herd of golf carts were slowly gathering off to one side of the road near Big Estelle’s van. Kimo’s truck was there too. As more and more foursomes finished their golf rounds, they drove up, expecting to turn their carts in.

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, there was a hint of excitement in the air fueled by adrenaline and curiosity.

  It wasn’t long before the beverage cart came putting up, and the attendant was soon selling beer out of a cooler strapped on the back. Big Estelle opened the van doors and had taken out a couple of folding spectator chairs that she always carried and set them up on the road just behind the quickly erected KPD barricade.

  Em had almost returned to the van when a resident from one of the houses fronting the golf course came running out. She was dressed in a flowing green and orange caftan and matching orange flip flops with green bows on the toes. When she raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, the row of gold bangle bracelets on her arm clinked together.

  “Do you know what’s happening?” she asked Em. Before Em could say anything, she went on. “My neighbor called and said it’s a terrorist attack. An Arabian terror cell is trying to take over all of Princeville. Should I start packing?”

  “It’s not a terrorist attack,” Em said.

  “Someone saw a bunch of women wearing those puffy belly dancer pants running across the golf course. She said they looked really strange. Foreign even.”

  At least the really strange part was right.

  “All I can say is there’s a man in the clubhouse with a gun. He’s got the starters and one of the concession ladies in there with him.”

  “Well, that’s good,” the woman said.

  “Good?” Em wondered what exactly was good about it.

  “At least it’s just some crazy person and not a bunch of terrorists. That could really drive down the value of our home.” Her gaze strayed to the gaggle of golfers swilling beer near the golf carts. “Oh, there’s my husband. Freddy! Freddy!” She started waving and hurried away.

  When Em reached the van she realized the Maidens were settling in for the long haul.

  Pat had retrieved her SUV and was back. Suzi was on her cell phone but for once wasn’t working real estate.

  “Right,” Suzi said. “We’d like four large combo pizzas, a case of Diet Pepsi, six bottles of Cabot Pinot Grigio. Yes. We have valid IDs. Oh, you’ll find us. Just take the back entrance to Princeville, Hanalei River Road, the one that goes by the police station. Right. We’re closest to the police barricade in the white van.”

  “Food?” Em said when Suzi hung up.

  “We’re hungry,” Trish said. “We’ve been at this since early this morning, and it’s already one thirty. Tiki Man Pizza said they’d deliver for twenty bucks.”

  Suzi tapped out some figures on her phone calculator then announced, “I’ll be collecting twenty-two fifty from each of you,” she said.

  “Twenty-two fifty?” Big Estelle’s brows shot up.

  “That includes tax, tip, and delivery.”

  “Okay, I guess,” Big Estelle shrugged.

  “You’re not going to pass up pizza,” Suzi said.

  By now the back road into the resort was backed up past the golf course, lined with cars parked in front of the newer luxury town homes behind security gates. Looky-loos were walking in on foot. Em realized there was no getting out unless she left on foot. From the sound of the bullhorn blaring near the KPD mobile command center that had just arrived, Tom Benton wasn’t budging.

  Em called Sophie on her cell and told her what was happening.

  “I have no idea when I’ll be back,” Em said. “Kimo was part of the chase, and he’s being questioned by the police. When they’re done with him, hopefully he’ll go back to work and won’t want to hang around here like the rest of the world. Did you have to turn away a lot of lunch business?”

  “Not too much,” Sophie said. “We made do. Buzzy fried up a bunch of burgers. Louie waited tables and charmed almost everyone into staying even though we only had one choice.”

  “Unless I walk down the road and get a ride out of Princeville, I’ll be here for a while.”

  “I can have Buzzy come pick you up. Things will slow down after lunch.”

  Em turned her back to the van and lowered her voice. “I’m kind of afraid to leave the Maidens. Someone has to be the voice of reason. Roland’s pretty upset.”

  “Seriously? He’s really pissed at you?”

  “He hasn’t said much, but I can tell he’s not happy with me. I’ll call and let you know if I need a ride back. Just make sure to tell Uncle Louie I’m all right.”

  46

  Hangin’ at the Standoff

  Seven hours later, beneath a sliver of a moon and a starry sky, the standoff was still underway. The scene on the Princeville golf course surrounding the clubhouse had become a carnival. Em suspected everyone was secretly waiting to see if there would be a shootout and if so, they weren’t about to miss it.

  Porta Pottys provided by Princeville Corporation had been set up in a neat row along the far end of the parking lot near the main road. Earlier in the afternoon a group of hippies had arrived and spread blankets under the trees. Now they were dancing beneath the stars, long hair flowing, dreadlocks bouncing as they swayed to lilting flute music and the jingling beat of tambourines.

  Golf carts that couldn’t be returned to the starter shack had been carefully parked in neat rows and then abandoned. Before the sun set, Princeville residents walked out of their homes with beach chairs, cocktails, and pupus and set up an impromptu party on the green.

  The Mayor of Kilauea, the nearest town just down the road, commandeered a huge portable grill, hustled for donations from local stores, and called in Lion’s Club volunteers to barbecue hamburgers and hot dogs to sell for a fundraiser. He had borrowed the police bullhorn to announce that they had nearly sold out of food.

  Sometime that afternoon Precious and Flora had arrived and joined the other Maidens. Binky had driven them in on the security cart. He still wasn’t convinced they weren’t secretly filming an episode of Trouble in Paradise.

  Em hadn’t talked to Roland again though every forty-five minutes or so an officer would come by and inform the crowd what was going on. So far none of their efforts to extract Tom Benton from the clubhouse had worked. He’d demanded a helicopter and safe passage, but he intended to take the chili dog cook with him.

  Little Estelle and Lars kept disappearing into the shrubbery. They’d just returned with smiles on their faces. Flora was lying on her back, a shadowy ruffled mound in a muumuu, with Precious beside her. Precious was pointing out the Big Dipper and the North Star until she abruptly stopped talking. She stacked her hands beneath her head and continued to stare at the night sky.

  “Are you all right?” Em asked her.

  “I’m just thinking of ways to get Tom Benton out of the clubhouse,” she said. “We need to do something.”

  “Oh, I think we’ve done enough,” Em said.

  “I agree.” Roland’s voice came out of the dark. The Maidens gathered around
when they heard him.

  “Is Benton going to give up?” Big Estelle wanted to know. “I need a shower.”

  “Not any time soon, I’m afraid,” Roland said. “We’re worried that he had nothing to lose and would shoot a hostage if we didn’t meet his demands, then he let one of the starters go because the guy is on medication.”

  “That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” Em wanted to cling to any positive shred of hope even though she was convinced the spark between her and Roland had been all but extinguished.

  Precious edged closer to Roland and tugged on the hem of his Aloha shirt. He looked down at her and gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Marilyn Lockhart’s maid of honor,” he said.

  “Precious Cottrell. I’m a new Maiden.” She sounded so proud, as if joining the group was her life’s greatest accomplishment to date.

  “Can I help you?” He crossed his arms.

  “I’ve been thinking about how to get Benton out of there. Have you thought of smoking him out with tear gas?”

  “We’re afraid for the hostages.”

  “They’re probably pretty afraid for themselves by now,” Big Estelle said. “This is taking forever. It’s ridiculous.”

  “He should have taken me hostage,” Little Estelle said. “I’d have devised an escape plan by now. He’d be toast.” She turned to Lars. “Right, babe?”

  “Ya, Cougar. Das goot.”

  “What about sleep deprivation?” Precious wasn’t willing to give up now that she had Roland’s attention. “It’s used to break enemy combatants.”

  Roland surveyed the circus on the course around them. “If this goes on much longer, we’re all going to be suffering sleep deprivation.”

  “She might be onto something.” Kiki stepped up from the shadows. “Flood the place with blinding light to keep him awake. I saw that on a spy series. When he starts to nod off, you blast the place with heavy metal. It’ll drive him insane.”

  “Not to mention all the neighbors,” Em added.

  “What’s worse than heavy metal?” Big Estelle asked.

  “Your singing.” Little Estelle laughed.

  “Hey!” Kiki snapped her fingers. “Now you’re talking.” In her excitement she’d grabbed Roland’s arm. He gave her a frosty look, and she immediately let go, but her enthusiasm wasn’t dimmed.

  “Our singing is just terrible. All we need are a few more of those bull horns. Let us drive him out.”

  “We could dance, too,” Suzi said. “Just for fun.”

  “Better to put the energy into singing,” Kiki said. “If we try to sing and dance, we’ll get winded.”

  “How bad is your singing?” Precious wanted to know.

  “Like a bunch of feral cats screaming in a bag.” Little Estelle shook her head. “Horrible.”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” Em agreed.

  “Could we keep it up long enough to drive someone crazy, though?” Suzi wondered.

  Kiki laughed. “You actually think it would take that long? We don’t know any heavy metal, but we could sing some of our hula songs, and if he doesn’t come out we can try some campfire tunes like ‘Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.’”

  Roland turned to Em. “Tell me they’re not serious.”

  “Their singing is pretty horrible. It makes their dancing look like they’re ready to be pros on Dancing with the Stars. What have you got to lose?”

  “I seriously want you to think about seeking professional help. You’re getting as nutty as they are.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing else has worked. Do you want to end up giving Benton a helicopter ride out of here? How’s that going to reflect on the KPD?”

  “Of course we’re not doing that.”

  She figured whatever they had going between them was long gone. She had nothing to lose, so she asked, “Got any better ideas?”

  He studied the crowd and then all the cars lining both sides of every road.

  “I’d be happy if they just cleared the crowd on the golf course.” He shrugged. “Crazier things have been suggested today, believe me.”

  “Are you really thinking of letting them try it?” Em couldn’t believe it.

  “Is it a go?” Kiki wanted to know. “If so, we need to open that last bottle of wine wikiwiki.”

  Roland nodded. “Okay, go ahead and get tuned up, ladies. I’ll go run it by the captain and see how many bull horns we have.”

  47

  Employing Torture Tactics

  For the first time since Tom Benton tossed her in his closet that morning, Kiki felt back in control. Though the KPD had taken Roland’s suggestion and agreed to let them try their caterwauling, she didn’t actually hold much hope for success. But at the very least, the effort might make up for her having ignited this whole powder keg.

  “Okay, girls, it’s show time.” She instructed Pat to line the Maidens up near Big Estelle’s van. From there they would march down the road to the KPD mobile command and control van.

  “We started this thing,” Kiki said. “With any luck we can end it. I’m counting on you ladies to sing loud and stay off-key. Got it?”

  “Loud and off-key, laaadeez!” Pat shouted in case any of them missed the directive.

  “Right.” Precious was all smiles.

  “Ya. Goot.” Lars had donned night vision goggles.

  “We don’t sing in any known key anyway,” Trish said.

  Kiki turned to Little Estelle. The Gadabout was charged up and ready to go. “Can Lars carry a tune?”

  “Not even in a bucket.”

  “Great,” Kiki nodded.

  “He doesn’t know what we’re saying, let alone the words to any of our songs,” Big Estelle said.

  “Exactly,” Little Estelle said. “And I mean to keep it that way.”

  “No matter,” Kiki decided. “Let him sing in Norwegian or Finnish or whatever language he speaks. Let him sing a whole other tune, in fact. That’ll just add to the confusion. Get him to sing loud.”

  “Can you sing, Em?” Kiki noticed Em standing off to the side of the group looking worried.

  “Kind of,” Em said.

  “Then you can’t join us. I don’t want anyone who is remotely on key near those bullhorns.”

  “How long do you think they’ll let us go on?” Suzi was looking at the time on her cell phone. “I really need to get back to work tomorrow. I’ve got houses to show and escrows to close.”

  “Depends on how well this works,” Kiki told them. “All we can do is our worst.”

  They marched down the hill with Little Estelle leading the way on her scooter. The spectators scattered all around the course noticed that something was finally happening. Observers swarmed to the side of the road to watch.

  When they reached the KPD mobile command and control van, Roland walked over to Kiki with one of the uniformed officers. He introduced them and said he’d already explained what the women were going to do and why.

  “Hope it works, Auntie,” the captain told Kiki. “Some fun today, eh? But it’s time to end this thing. We’re all ready to go home.” He waved two younger officers forward. Between them they had rounded up five bullhorns which they passed out to the Maidens.

  Kiki and the others pressed the buttons and familiarized themselves with the horns, then she decided they should get as close to the clubhouse as possible while staying out of range of Benton’s handgun.

  “What are we going to sing first?” Trish wanted to know.

  “Let’s start with all the old hapa-haole songs like ‘Tiny Bubbles’ and ‘Little Grass Shack’ and ‘We’re Going to a Hukilau.’”

  “How about ‘Sweet Leilani’?” Flora had huffed up the road with her Gatorade bottle in hand, bringing up the rear. “I hate that one.”
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  Kiki picked up her bullhorn and held it out so that two of the others could sing into it with her. Down the line they all shared the other four horns. She raised her right hand, mouthed the words “Tiny Bubbles,” and then motioned for them to start singing.

  Amplified, their collective sound was worse than she’d ever imagined. The looky-loos on the golf course pulled back. Even the hippies held their hands to their ears.

  The Maidens sang all the hapa-haole songs Kiki had mentioned and then some, so they launched into “She’ll Be Comin’ Around the Mountain” and then “Kumbaya.” By now they were all leaning against police cruisers. Singing at the top of one’s lungs after a tense day was not for the weak of heart.

  Finally Kiki decided they were about done in. Halfway through their fifth song, a uniformed officer had passed out bottled water. She took another swig now, cleared her throat, and noticed she was getting hoarse.

  “Time for the last resort. Let’s go with ‘Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.’” She lifted the bullhorn to her lips for what she hoped was the last time.

  They’d just hit seventy-three bottles when the side door of the clubhouse slammed open. The police raised their weapons. The Maidens ducked behind the cruisers. There were no gunshots, just the cries of the chili dog vendor as she came tearing out into the night.

  “Don’t shoot! It’s me!” the woman hollered. “Don’t shoot.” She ran toward the police cars. When she was out of Benton’s range, an officer in riot gear ran out to grab her and pull her to safety.

  “What’s happening? What’s going on?” Kiki yelled to the closest cop. He held up his hands and shrugged. Then Kiki heard the woman’s voice again.

  “Tell them to keep singing,” the concessionaire waved. She called out to the Maidens, “Don’t stop, Aunties. It’s driving him crazy. He’s in the corner with his gun in his lap, staring at it and sobbing. He was fine until you started singing ‘Kumbaya,’ then he slid down the wall and cracked up. I finally took a chance and slipped out of the main room and ran out the side door. He didn’t try to stop me.”