by Paul Levine
Lila, we don’t do that here, we just wait for him to leave and then suggest to the other guests that he’s gay.
Welcome to polite society, Lila Summers.
A rock clattered down the slope, startling him. He let go of a tree branch and it snapped back and smacked him across the nose. The trail was no more than a drainage gulley now, thick trees blocking out the sun. Lila was far out of sight, clambering up the slope like a mountain goat. Lassiter tried to pick up the pace, but he was distracted, plagued by bizarre thoughts.
What if she found the buried treasure but said it wasn’t there? She could send him on his way, then get it later. Crazy. Estas loco, Berto would’ve said.
Poor Berto. Dead in a swamp, his woman runs off with the guy who snuffed him. Maybe women, like the rich, are different from you and me, Berto, old buddy. Tougher, I guess. The evidence was mounting in support of that case. Maybe not evidence beyond a reasonable doubt, but look at the facts. Lee Hu, there’s some fidelity for you. And Violet the Vulture, cozying up to the old man, then wham, her boyfriend swipes the bonds. And Lila Summers. There’s more to her than kisses and a suntan.
The slope was even steeper near the knob of the Needle. Lassiter’s right knee — ligaments patched, cartilage removed — ached with every step. He was climbing through a fine mist that turned to a light rain. Finally, the trees gave way, and on all fours, he scurried into a clearing at the summit. He rested for a moment, hands on his knees, sucking in air. Time out.
Lila sat cross-legged near a sheer cliff on the far side. Sweat and dirt streaked her face, and her hair was matted with brambles. Beside her was a small hole, the dirt the color of cocoa. In her lap was a yellow waterproof backpack caked with mud.
Ignoring Lassiter, she peeled open the Velcro latches and dug in with both hands. She closed her eyes and let her hands drift unseen inside the pack.
“Feels so good,” she purred. “Come try it.”
“Nah, don’t think I could get off on it.” But he joined her anyway, four hands rummaging through small slips of paper, the prize of eagles. And she was right. It felt damn good, a fortune trickling through their fingers …
East Chicago, Indiana Environmental Improvement Revenue Bond, Youngstown Sheet and Tube Project; Jackson County, Mississippi Pollution Control Bond, International Paper Company Project.
… hundreds spilling out in glorious colors. They played with their treasure, reading aloud the tuneless names of municipal sewage projects.
A bright sun had broken through the clouds and mist. A dewy line of sweat beaded on Lila’s upper lip. She said, “We’ve got to get off the island as soon as possible, and we can’t use the airport. Mikala will have cops everywhere.”
“Just don’t ask me to ride a sailboard to San Francisco.”
“I’m thinking of a larger boat. My girlfriend’s father has an old Hatteras docked at Maalaea, the Crooked Rainbow.” As she said it, they both looked up, because above them was a rainbow, its colors brightly etched against the sky. They laughed and kissed, and rolled on top of each other on the wet ground, and for a moment, he forget about the questions without answers.
When they untangled and stood up, Lila said, “I’ll call my girlfriend and make sure the boat’s gassed up and the keys on board. We’ll leave at sunrise for Oahu, and we can fly out of Honolulu for wherever you want.”
“Miami, of course,” Jake Lassiter said, and Lila sat there looking at him as if she wanted to say something but it could wait.
Lila stuffed the coupons into the pack, and Lassiter walked toward the cliff. Haze filled the valley, but still the view was spectacular. He finally felt at peace with his surroundings. It was starting to sink in.
The bonds and the blonde.
He had them both. Then he felt Lila behind him and started to turn toward her. Something stopped him.
There is a sixth sense, some prehistoric synapse so little used as to be virtually extinct in man. It lets us feel a shadow, a movement unheard and unseen at our back. When man was a hunter, when his knuckles still scraped the forest floor, his senses were honed by constant danger. Today, we are oblivious to the bleat of taxicab horns, much less the cry of a bird in the wilderness.
Not knowing why, Lassiter stopped and turned the other way. He felt Lila brush by him, gasp, and stumble against his planted leg. He whirled back and watched her fall into the vast open space; then his right arm shot toward her. He didn’t know how his right hand closed over her wrist. He didn’t tell it what to do, it just reacted. Once, in his rookie year against the Bills, he’d let the tight end breeze by him over the middle. Never seeing the ball, Lassiter had stuck out his hand. The pass was underthrown and smacked flat into his palm and stuck. Brilliant interception, the papers said.
He held her wrist tight, her body dangling into space. Their eyes locked, and Lila looked up at him, her mouth twisted into a spasm of fear. Far below her the stream trickled over volcanic rocks, and mist rose from the ancient burial ground. Chilled, Lassiter hauled her back onto firm ground with one solid tug.
Lila sprawled onto the grass, rubbing the shoulder that had held all her weight. “I don’t know how I could have been so clumsy.” She smiled weakly. “This time you saved my life, Jake. I was so frightened that…”
“No way I could have dropped you. I had you solid.”
She picked up the pack and tossed it over an arm. “For a second I thought… you know … if I were gone, all the bonds would be yours. If it had been Keaka instead of you, he might have just let go, then laughed about it.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not Keaka.”
* * *
Lila used a pay phone at a tourist information booth to call her girlfriend. Then they drove out of the Iao Valley and through Wailuku, passing only a few blocks from the County Police Department. Inside the building at that moment, Captain Mikala Kalehauwehe was reviewing transcripts of wiretaps on half a dozen telephones. He had no warrant for the taps, but he had a friend at the telephone company who owed him a favor for looking the other way when the evidence had disappeared in his son’s cocaine case. Nothing had turned up on any of the lines from the windsurfing crash pads around Paia on the north shore. Nothing from the girlfriend Lila used to hang around with in Kihei. Nothing anywhere until the phone rang. They’d just picked up a call.
CHAPTER 35
Slashback
Signing the register as “Mr. and Mrs. R. Bonds,”Jake Lassiter and Lila Summers checked into a small motel in Maalaea, a tiny town wrapped around the shoreline of a flat bay. They looked over the Crooked Rainbow at the marina. Twin diesel engines ready to power them out of Maui at first light. With Lila on the flying bridge checking the console, Lassiter crawled into the engine compartment.
“Clean, tanks full, fuel lines in good shape,” he called out. “Let’s see if the battery is topped up.”
He popped the battery cover and inspected the chambers. “Everything fine down here.”
He hoisted himself out of the engine compartment onto the deck. Lila was above him on the bridge, staring at the horizon. “Great boat,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get one like it. Catch some grouper and snapper in the Keys. Find an uninhabited island, watch the sun set in the Gulf — “
“Jake,” she interrupted him, “I was thinking it might not be such a good idea to go to Miami.”
“What?”
“If we go to Miami, you’ll have to give back the bonds.”
He crawled the ladder to the bridge. Lila settled demurely in the captain’s chair, knees tucked under her chin, the picture of innocence. She swiveled the chair toward him and cocked her head, waiting.
“I give back half, we keep half,” he said. “That’s my deal.”
Her smile was backed by iron. “No, Jake, you keep half. That’s your deal. The half is yours, not ours.”
“What do you mean? If it weren’t for you, there’d be no coupons at all, none. What’s mine is yours.”
“What if you get tired of me?
What if you do what Keaka did, find someone else, and all of a sudden the money’s yours, not ours?”
Jake Lassiter took a moment. “That’s what happened? I thought you left Keaka because of the violence, the murders. That’s what you told me.”
She was silent. The jury shall not infer guilt from the fact that the defendant remains silent. That’s what a judge would say. But in the real world, it’s just the opposite. Cum tacent clamant, Charlie Riggs used to tell him. When they remain silent, they cry out with guilt.
“You lied to me,” Lassiter said.
She looked past him, toward the open sea. “A white lie. I wanted to stop you from going after Keaka, to keep you from being killed. I thought if you knew how dangerous he was …”
“So what did happen with you and Keaka?”
“He was flipping out on his Hawaiian king crap. He wanted to have twenty-one wahines to serve him like Kamehameha the Great. Lee Hu and I were the start of the harem. I told him thanks but no thanks, I didn’t think he was that hot one-on-one.”
First the killings, then a lie, now the bonds, he thought. What other surprises would there be? Time for cross-examine, starting with a leading question. “So what do you want to do with the bonds, keep them?”
“Of course. We earned them.”
“Like Hitter earned Poland.”
“Jake, don’t be foolish. We’ve got them. Why would we give them back?”
“Because they’re not ours!” he thundered in his courtroom voice.
She looked at him as if he were a slow learner. “Jake, we killed two men to get them.”
The we hung there, taunting him, but he ignored it and went back to basics. “Lila, we’ll get half, maybe eight hundred thousand. Isn’t that enough?”
“How much would that be after taxes? And how much income would we earn on what’s left if we just invested it?”
Now she’s angling for an M.B.A. from Wharton. “I don’t know, Lila, I’ll ask my accountant. What difference does it make?”
“It wouldn’t be much, would it, I mean for two people to live on.”
“Maybe enough for a boat, some papayas and wine. Just drift to wherever the trade winds take us.”
“Oh, Jake.” She moved next to him and touched her fingers to his lips. Her warm breath brushed his cheek. “I want more than that. Sometimes you just see me in a bikini on the beach.”
Her breasts pressed against his rib cage. He fought off the distraction. “What’s wrong with that? It’s a glorious lifestyle and you fit there, outdoors, au naturel.”
Lila Summers smiled, an indulgent smile. “All of us have to grow up. Keaka understood. What he did wasn’t legal, but there are worse things than growing pakalolo. Then he started looking for a big score, and frankly, so did I.”
“Why? For the money? For material things?”
“Jake, it’s such a big world. There’s Paris and London and wonderful hotels and restaurants and shops.”
So that’s what the money means to her, he thought. Not just the time to read great books and drop a line in the water to catch your supper. No, she wants supper served by white-gloved waiters.
“Look, Lila, if you’re worried about us, about me, let’s make a deal. When we get the money, the half, let’s split it down the middle, four hundred thousand for you, four hundred thousand for me. Fair enough?”
She wrinkled her forehead and walked to the rail, turning her back and staring again at the horizon. Lassiter’s mind raced. What if she says no? They’re ours, Jake. We earned them. All of them.
He didn’t want to face the question. Would he give it up for her, turn his back on Tubby, who died helping him, and on Sam, who trusted him? Overhead a half dozen black-crowned herons circled the shoreline, their bleats mocking him.
But then Lila turned back to him and said, “Okay, Jake. We’ll do it your way. We’ll take the boat to Honolulu, then fly to Miami. The eight hundred thousand is all yours. And so am I, for as long as you want me.”
A quick turn, Lassiter thought. Slashback. One second she’s going one way, up a wave, then slash, she jibes and rockets down again. First she’s the Goddess of Desire, sun-drenched hair flying in an ocean breeze, then with a blade or hot rock in her hand, she’s a one-way ticket to the morgue. Another turn, the air calm after a squall, all sweetness and springtime.
He reached for her, and she kissed him, and he closed his eyes and lost himself in the kiss. When their lips parted, she smiled and laughed. “Hey, what’s a girl got to do to get some dinner around here?”
* * *
They showered and ate at a small restaurant, feasting on seafood Provençale — shrimp, scallops, and calamari cooked in a casserole with tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, and wine — and Lassiter had the waiter dust off a bottle of Cristal champagne.
When they returned to the room, Lila’s cheeks were glowing and she kissed him with an exploring tongue. They were both exhausted, but they made love as they had in the crater. She locked her heels behind his buttocks and demanded all of him, her grip loosening only when her moans built to a crescendo and she exhaled a series of short cries that caught in her throat.
When she lay next to him, her head on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck, his mind took over from his loins. So much she had kept from him. Why? Lassiter held her in his arms and pushed back the questions. He told himself he should be happy. He had the bonds and Lila Summers, too. But his mind wouldn’t let it go, kept asking questions. “Committing crimes,” he whispered in the dark, “doesn’t it bother you?”
“Taking the bonds from the little man after he had stolen them didn’t seem like a crime.”
“And the killing?”
She sighed. “Keaka was going to kill you, maybe me too. He had to die. Lomio killed your friend. He deserved to die. The Cuban would have sent Keaka and me to prison if he could. He deserved…” Lila stopped in midsentence, a cloud crossing her face. Her eyes darted quickly to Lassiter lying next to her. He saw the look and let it pass. Then it sunk in.
He rolled over to look her squarely in the eyes. “Why the mention of Berto? You had nothing to do with that.”
“Of course. But… I don’t know. He’s dead, too.”
And dead is dead.
Lassiter was still trying to focus, to see something tucked in the shadows of his mind. That night on Molokai. Everything had happened so fast then. What was it Keaka had said? Then he remembered.
“Lila, on the beach that night, I asked Keaka to fight me, mano a mano, like he did with Berto in the swamp.”
“Yeah?”
“Why was Keaka so confused? He looked like he didn’t know what I was talking about, finally said something about haoles still being stupid after two hundred years.”
“Did he say that?” she asked, yawning and stretching like a tawny cat.
“Yeah, he did. And one other thing. He said Lee Hu doesn’t care for you. Why not? What’d you ever do to her?”
Lila didn’t raise her head from the pillow. “I don’t know, Jake, maybe she’s jealous because I was Keaka’s old girlfriend.”
“Yeah, maybe. It’s just funny. Keaka kills Berto and walks off with his girlfriend, but she ends up hating you.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Berto was my friend, a guy soft as a dish of flan. Who killed him?”
She sat up. “What difference does it make now?”
Lassiter rolled onto his back, his lawyer’s mind racing, the evasive witness all but admitting the crime. Maybe she was right. What difference does it make now?
Dead is dead.
The words kept pounding at him. She already was a killer, sending Keaka and Lomio off to the happy hunting ground. But he still had to know.
“Lila, did you kill Berto?”
Lila ran a hand through the thick mane of her hair and looked away. “All right. Most of what I told you already is true. Keaka and I were going to bring coke in from Bimini in a hollowed-out board. Mikala tipped us. The Cuban, your
friend, was a DEA snitch. Keaka was going to take care of it himself, get the money, and you know, kill him. But Keaka was being followed. On the beach he saw a man watching him through binoculars. Keaka doesn’t, or didn’t, miss those things.”
“That was Franklin, the DEA agent. He was guarding Berto.”
“Maybe sometimes. But once we hit town, he stuck to Keaka like a sunburn. On the beach, in the hotel lobby, everywhere. So a small change in plans. Keaka spent the better part of the night in the hotel bar, with the DEA agent two tables away watching him. I went to the swamp and took care of the Cuban. There wasn’t much to it, one karate punch to the throat, then I crushed his windpipe.”
Jake Lassiter closed his eyes and saw Lila squeezing the life out of Berto, showing no more emotion than if she were cracking a coconut on the beach. He stood up, but all the stuffing was out of him, his bones filled with mush. He sat down again and studied the top of his bare feet.
“Jake, now I’ve told you everything, why I left Keaka, the killing in the swamp. Don’t worry, that’s all there is, nothing more, really.”
That’s all, Lassiter thought. A homicide in Miami, conspiracy to transport drugs, receiving stolen property, two homicides here. At least she hadn’t tried to overthrow the government. He looked at her. She’d just confessed to first-degree murder but didn’t beg for forgiveness, didn’t shed a tear. You could grow old waiting for Lila Summers to cry over spilled blood.
“Jake, besides the fact that Keaka was getting to be a pain with his Hawaiian macho crap, there was another reason I left him.”
“Yeah?”
She rolled onto her knees and hugged him from behind, her breasts warming his back. “I wanted you.”
Jake Lassiter was silent.
“And I still do,” she said. “I care for you. You’re like an overgrown puppy that needs protection.”
Sure I need protection, Jake Lassiter thought. Who wouldn’t after hanging out with a woman who strangles, slices, and buries them, one after another? He thought about it some more. The violence hadn’t bothered her at all. Should have figured that, the way she’d dispatched Keaka and Lomio in the past two days. A man dies and her missing orgasm roars into town like a runaway train. Another man dead, her engine heats to the red line. Keeping her satisfied could decimate the male gender. And what did she see in him, Lassiter wondered, a dreamer in wing tips and button-down shirts who thinks he can take this strong, beautiful, violent woman and wrap her up in a pink ribbon.