The Poi Predicament

by Lyle Christie

  “Apparently, Harvard grads can be a little ruthless.”

  “Not all of us,” Lux said.

  “I suppose he has to be,” John said.

  “So, now that it’s just the inner inner circle, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “Of course not. Fire away,” John said.

  “Who came over aboard Air Force Two?”

  “You’re looking at them.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, as well as some support staff.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “My assistant Jill and my Secret Service detail. After that, it would be Frank’s aide-de-camp and chief of security Rex as well as a few of his important staff. Speaking of which—you’ll want to meet Rex. He was stationed in Afghanistan at the same time as us, and you two might have crossed paths,” John said.

  “What branch?”

  “Army. He was part of the Joint Special Operations Command.”

  “Oh, we may very well have crossed paths. It could be fun to talk to someone from the bad old days.”

  “He’s got some wild stories,” Frank said.

  “Don’t we all,” I said, patting John on the back.

  “No shit,” John said.

  “Oh, also, I’m curious if there is any kind of manifest for the flight?”

  “I’ll check and see if I can get you a copy. I assume you’re trying to eliminate Air Force Two as an official conduit,” Frank said.

  “Yeah, it would be nice to know that the home team is clean.”

  “Indeed, I’ll get on it first thing in the morning, Frank responded”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, where will you start?”

  “I think I’ll start with the bachelorette party, which means talking to the bartender and wait staff.”

  “Why there?” Jessica asked.

  “You said that you woke up hungover, yet didn’t drink very much.”

  “Yeah, so why talk to the bartender?”

  “Sometimes at special events, like a bachelorette party for instance, we drink more than we think. Perhaps we’ll get lucky and find out that you were too drunk to have killed anyone—except perhaps your liver.”

  “I’m not exaggerating when I say that I only had three drinks at the most.”

  “And how did you feel when you left to go back to your room?”

  “Actually, I was extremely tired.”

  “And that was after your apparent third drink?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Interesting. Well, I’m sure it all happened the way you say, but I just want to verify everything for myself. It might be redundant, but it’s a force of habit.”

  “You’re the investigator.”

  “And I gotta say—I’m very intrigued by the gun.”

  “How it got here?” John asked.

  “Well that’s part of it, but I’m also curious to know how it was found. The police say that a local spear fisherman discovered it just off the beach this morning. I can tell you right now that if I had lost something in the ocean, it would have taken me hours, if not days, to find it. In fact, a friend of mine lost his wedding ring while honeymooning in Jamaica, and it took him and most of the resort staff a full day to find it. Mind you, it was smaller, but Jessica’s Beretta was found on a craggy reef, which is no easy feat in the dim light of dawn, least of all when you’re not even looking for the thing in question.”

  “That is interesting,” Frank said.

  “It is, but first things first, so I’ll start with the bar and see if I can find out anything of interest then give you an update tomorrow. Oh, and I’m going to need to bring in a friend.”

  “Who?”

  “Justin Beeber.”

  “The singer?” John asked.

  “No, the former Agency tech wiz. I could use his help on some technical stuff.”

  “I suppose, as he at least has got top secret security clearance,” Frank said.

  “Great. I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Magnum.”

  “No problem, Robin.”

  “And feel free to come by the house sometime if you want to see the actual place where your television counterpart supposedly lived.”

  “I’d love to. Well I suppose we should be going. Good night, everyone.”

  “Yeah, good night, everyone. It was nice meeting you all,” Violet added.

  We headed out of the Outrigger and made the short walk to the garage and entered my surrogate Subaru. I fired up the engine, and we exited the parking garage and headed back the way we had come on Kalakaua Ave.

  “There’s no reason to go all the way back to the office, so why don’t you drop me off at my place.”

  “What about your car?”

  “It’s my company car. Besides, we’ll be working together tomorrow as well anyway.”

  “Well OK, but are you sure you want me knowing where you live?”

  “I think I can handle it.”

  Instead of heading west back towards Pearl Harbor, we drove east until H1 became Highway 72. About a mile later, Violet directed me to take a left on Laukahi Street, where we wound up the hill before taking a right onto Ihiloa Loop then another right onto Ohawai Place to reach Violet’s house, which was at the very end and separated from the street by a long, narrow driveway.

  “Think you’ll be able to find your way back out of here?” she asked.

  “Well—certainly not by using the street names.”

  I, of course, wasn’t kidding, as all these Hawaiian names could get confusing, which was to be expected when their alphabet only had twelve letters—five vowels and seven consonants along with something called the glottal stop. The glottal stop or quick pause existed to emphasize a vowel sound at the end of a word such as Hawaii, or spoken properly, Hawai with an e sound at the end after a tiny pause. So, with very few letters to work with, the early missionaries who translated the Hawaiian language apparently managed this feat by stringing together a shit load of vowels and consonants, and on occasion, adding a glottal stop for good measure.

  “Nice view, by the way,” I said.

  “It’s home.”

  “It’s fucking amazing. No wonder you’re stripping in your free time to pay for this place.”

  “I suppose, though I was lucky and bought at the bottom of the market, so I’ll have it paid off pretty soon.”

  She opened her door and stepped out, though she paused just outside and looked at me as though she wanted to say something.

  “So, I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Do you need me to come pick you up?”

  “No, I can drive my own car up there. It’s more fun to drive than my company car anyway.”

  “So, we can talk in the morning, which I suppose means that we have to exchange numbers now.”

  “Indeed we do,” she said, pulling out her iPhone.

  I gave her my number, and she quickly dialed it, then we both saved each other’s contact info.

  “Alrighty then—I’ll see you later,” I said.

  “Good night.”

  I waited for her to walk inside her house while she waited for me to drive away, though neither of us moved.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Well what?”

  “You going in?”

  “Yeah, are you leaving?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you first.”

  “No, you first. I want to make sure you get safely inside your house before I leave.”

  “I think you just want another look at my ass.”

  “Nah, I’ve been looking at that all day. I’ve pretty much put it to memory.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. You have quite an incredible ass.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  We headed into yet another awkward silence until Violet spoke.

  “Look, I really would like to invite you in, but I can’t.”

&nbs
p; “I understand. Our situation is very—complicated.”

  “That it is.”

  “You know, this is starting to feel like one of those phone calls you made in high school,” I said.

  “The kind where neither of you wants to be the first to hang up.”

  “Exactly.”

  There was another long moment with neither of us talking or apparently moving, so we were again at a stalemate.

  “You should go inside your house now.”

  “You should drive away.”

  “How about this. If you’re still standing there when I count to five, I’m going to get out of the car and kiss you good night. One, two, three…”

  She looked conflicted, and a hint of a smile formed at the corner of her mouth.

  “OK, I’m going in, but seriously now, last night was a one time thing, so we really need to keep our relationship all business,” she said.

  “Too bad.”

  She smiled, turned, and walked towards her house, and, just as she reached the front door, I called out.

  “You were right.”

  “About what?”

  “I did just want another look at your ass.”

  She smiled.

  “Good night, Bart.”

  “Good night, Viola.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Partners in Fornication

  IT TOOK ME a good twenty minutes to drive back to the resort and pull into a parking spot, and, instead of going to my room, I decided to swing by the patio bar for a nightcap. There, I discovered a number of the other wedding guests apparently had the same idea, and, sitting at a table beside the pool were Lux, Corn, Lux’s little sister Bridgette and her boyfriend Adrien Babineux, and, last but not least, Melissa Williams. They were all talking animatedly and doing what people were supposed to do in Hawaii—namely, enjoying themselves. Corn and Babineux, or Babs as I called him, were of course in shorts and a T-shirt, but Lux, Melissa, and Bridgette were all wearing bikini’s and looking particularly lovely in the dancing light of the nearby tiki torches.

  “I didn’t know you guys all knew each other?”

  “Everybody knows everybody in Washington,” Melissa said.

  “Apparently.”

  “I take it you’ve met the best man?” Lux asked Melissa.

  “Oh yeah—in fact, he introduced himself by smacking my ass at the luau last night.”

  “Not too surprising,” Lux said, scowling at me.

  “Not surprising at all,” Babs added.

  “I thought she was someone else.”

  “Really, so whose ass did you think you were smacking?” Lux asked.

  “Jessica’s.”

  “The bride to be? Classy guy,” Lux said.

  “Indeed,” Babs added.

  “It’s just this stupid thing we do. A joke between friends. Now, let’s discuss something more important—namely what are we drinking?”

  “Mai Tai’s. Take a seat,” Corn said, as he stood up and went to the bar for another glass.

  He returned a moment later and filled my glass from the pitcher on their table then took a seat beside Lux.

  “So, this is all looking pretty bad,” Lux said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuck—John’s never going to get married, is he,” Corn said.

  “God only knows at this point.”

  I lifted my glass to toast.

  “May Sasquatch get to the alter,” I said.

  “And in turn, the White House,” Corn added.

  We all clinked glasses then sipped our drinks, and I found the cool beverage to be a decidedly lovely counterpoint to the eighty degree evening.

  “Wait—Sasquatch?” Melissa asked.

  “You’ve never heard that nickname for John?”

  “No.”

  “It came from Afghanistan. It’s what Finn called him the night he rescued him from his downed helicopter,” Corn said.

  “Oh, I see, but, in that part of the world, wouldn’t it be Yeti?”

  “That’s exactly what John said at the time.”

  “It makes sense, as we did grow up together.”

  “What was his majesty like as a youth?”

  “Same.”

  “He was an asshole?”

  “No, he was sweet.”

  “Well, that’s enough about Sasquatch, so why don’t you tell me about what you do back in Washington?” I asked Melissa.

  “I run a nationwide educational foundation that raises money to provide scholarships for underprivileged children.”

  “Wow, that sounds very—altruistic.”

  “Something you perhaps might not understand,” Babineux said.

  “Says the arms dealer.”

  Babineux just happened to be an arms dealer as well as a French aristocrat, though he was also a member of a secret powerful secret society and president of the oddly named Caribbean paradise Soft Taco Island. When we first met, we were enemies, but he turned out to be a decent guy—in spite of being incredibly French.

  “Well, I’ve got to raise money for my various charitable causes somehow,” he said.

  “Indeed.”

  I finished my drink and saw that the pitcher was empty and went to the bar for another before returning to the table to fill everyone’s glasses.

  “So, how did you get into your line of work?” I asked Melissa.

  “I always wanted to be a teacher, so I taught high school for about a year after grad school then created the foundation so that I could reach more children, and it just sort of grew from there.”

  “You make my profession as a private investigator seem kind of lame and meaningless by comparison.”

  “No need to feel bad. Everyone has their calling.”

  Lux abruptly laughed.

  “Face it, Finn, your true calling is obviously being a world class man-whore,” Lux said.

  “At least I’m world class.”

  “And don’t forget that he’s also a world class trou du cul,” Babs added.

  “Which is?” Melissa asked.

  “An asshole,” Babs answered.

  “Well, once again—at least I’m world class.”

  Everyone had a nice laugh, then the table grew quiet for a brief moment, so I steered the conversation away from me and over to Lux and Corn.

  “How have you two been?” I asked, knowing that Lux and Corn had been having a little marital trouble and had recently begun going to couple’s counseling.

  They exchanged a knowing smile then turned back to me.

  “Good,” Lux said, placing her hand on Corn’s knee.

  “And how about you two love bears?” I said, to Babs and Bridgette.

  Babs and Bridgette were an interesting couple, as the two love bears had met and fallen in love during Lux’s covert mission to thwart Babs’s arms deal that was taking place on his oddly named Soft Taco Island. Unfortunately, at that point, Babs was still believed to be the bad guy, so Bridgette’s little lapse in judgement was kind of a sore spot—for Lux anyway.

  “We’re engaged, and you’ll be getting another wedding invitation in the mail soon.”

  “So, Lux, I assume you’re her maid of honor?” I asked.

  “Correct.”

  “Have you seen the movie Bridesmaids?”

  “Of course, and, if I have my way, I’ll make sure Bridgette gets food poisoned and suffers a pretty good case of explosive diarrhea.”

  “Ahhh—sisters.”

  Lux obviously still held a grudge against Bridgette for screwing up her operation—in spite of the fact that it all turned out fine in the end. Unfortunately for those close to Lux, myself included, she had a memory like an elephant and held on to grudges the way most women held on to their Coach purses. The conversation thankfully moved on to happier subjects, and the five of us continued to chit chat well into the evening. By eleven, everyone was thoroughly drunk and tired, and Lux, Corn, Babs, and Bridgette excused themselves and left the very lovely Melissa Williams and me alone beside the p
ool.

  “I guess it’s just the two of us,” I said.

  “So, Tag, I’ve been meaning to ask you if you have any romantic entanglements at the moment?”

  I instantly thought about the lovely FBI Special Agent Violet Kalili, but she had made it abundantly clear that our relationship was to remain all business.

  “None at the moment, sadly. How about you?”

  “I have a part-time boyfriend back in Washington, but we’re taking a break at the moment.”

  “So, you’re single-ish?”

  “I am,” she said, as she placed her hand on my knee.

  She started slowly inching it up my leg and towards my manhood, which was in turn growing and gently inching it’s way towards her delicate finger tips. Drunk guys almost always hit on women, but drunk women hitting on guys was far less common, so it was more than a little exciting to be the object of Melissa’s affection. Perhaps this was turning out to be a proper Hawaiian vacation after all.

  “How about a dip in the pool?” she asked.

  “I could use a little frolicking at the moment,” I said.

  We moved to the pool’s edge, and I took off my shirt and walked down the steps until my feet were submerged enough to feel the water’s cool embrace. Melissa, however, skipped the steps and dove in the deep end then swam over and stood in the shallows and smiled lasciviously as she reached around her neck and pulled off her bikini top to reveal her large wet glistening breasts. Sweet mother of God! They were glorious, but the moment annoyingly brought about thoughts of Violet, and I wondered if I were perhaps on the cusp of doing something stupid. But, why would it be stupid? How could it be wrong to have a little adult fun with another woman, if the original woman made it very clear that we were not going to have any kind of romantic entanglement? Unfortunately, my brain was feeling conflicted, but my penis was practically yelling at me to get my ass into the water. I decided to throw caution to the wind and descended further into the pool but couldn’t shake the uncertainty that it might very well be the metaphorical first level of hell.

  “I prefer to swim in the nude. I hope you’re not offended,” she said, as she slipped off her bikini bottom.

  “Not at all. I find female nudity soothing.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, but I hate to be the only naked person in the pool,” she said, as she came over and pulled off my shorts.

  “Well, you’ve officially freed Willy,” I said.