The Poi Predicament

by Lyle Christie

  “Do you want to grab the car or follow him on foot?” I asked.

  “Do these look like running shoes?” she asked.

  “Fine,” I said, as I tossed her the car keys then stepped onto the ladder and made my way down to the ground level, where I took up the chase.

  Rudy was young and fit and had a sizable lead, and, while I had a couple more years on this planet, I was probably more fit and, more importantly, very very stubborn and therefore wouldn’t give up. He ran along to the back of the building and emerged onto the next street, which happened to be Kapiolani Boulevard. It wasn’t the brightest move, because it bordered an inland canal and was kind of a dead end. He continued on and headed towards some kind of park that was full of children playing baseball, and I followed at a slightly faster pace, which meant that I was chipping away at his lead. He ran around the outskirts of the baseball diamond and continued on towards the water, where he stopped and turned back to me with a great big shitty smile on his face.

  “I was all state at the University of Hawaii in the two hundred meter freestyle, so this is goodbye,” he said, before turning and diving into the canal.

  When I was a PJ, we trained to operate on sea, air and land, and I was happy in pretty much all three of those environments—especially the sea. Of course, I had also been a swimmer in college, so Roofie Rudy was going to have to do a lot more than jump in a canal to lose me. Without hesitating, I dove in and popped up just off the shore and began a nice steady stroke that allowed me to close in even more quickly on Rudy’s lead. He looked back over his shoulder and was shocked to see me gaining on him.

  “Hey, Rudy, I forgot to tell you—I was all state at Stanford in the four hundred meter freestyle.”

  This news didn’t appear to make him all that happy, and he turned back around and put even more effort into his strokes. He was a definitely a good swimmer and may very well have been all state in college, but, judging by his look of exhaustion, I was guessing he had been out of the pool for a while. He finally reached the other side of the canal and clambered up the bank, and his footsteps were looking labored and inefficient. I reached the shore a second later and again took up the chase, which had now reached Ala Wai Boulevard. In a break between traffic, he dashed across the street and headed towards Waikiki Beach, which would be crowded with people and a hell of a lot better place for him to try and disappear.

  “Rudy! We just want to talk!”

  “Fuck you!” he yelled back, before continuing to run.

  “I’m going to catch up to you, you little Abercrombie and Fitch fuck!”

  I heard a horn and looked up to see Violet in my Subaru. She saw the direction we were headed and made quick right, obviously to head off Rudy at the end of the next block. He was still going at a decent pace, but his lead was rapidly diminishing, and he was getting tired, apparently never imagining the crazy haole might be in better shape. An Asian tour group was coming from the other direction, and Rudy had to slow down as he tried to navigate through the crowd of slow moving people. I used this opportunity to cut out into the street, and I managed to get to within only a few feet of Rudy as we reached a park. He cut left onto the grass, and I put on a quick burst of speed then leapt forward and caught him at the knees. He fell to the ground, and, as he tried to struggle free and stand up, Violet came screeching to a halt a short distance away then exited the Subaru and raced over and pulled out her pistol.

  “Freeze, Rudy, or I swear to God I’ll blow your fucking balls off!” she said.

  He relaxed, and I released my grip so that he could stand up.

  “It’s OK, no need for the gun, as I’m done running,” he said.

  “About fucking time,” I responded.

  He turned to me and shook his head side to side.

  “Dude, seriously now! Who the fuck are you?” he said, looking haggard from our little chase.

  “Just a very dedicated guy with a few questions.”

  “Look, I don’t do the roofie thing anymore. Last night was a one time thing. I swear.”

  “Why Jessica?”

  “Who?”

  “The bride. Why did you pick her?”

  “Because they paid me.”

  “Who are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Rudy—you must have some idea.”

  “I don’t, and even if I did, I wouldn’t say anything.”

  “Why? What have they got on you?”

  “Nothing, but, in addition to the money, they also said they would make my criminal record disappear, and let’s face it, people like that can just as easily make a guy like me disappear.”

  “Well, Rudy, if you want to talk about connections, then you should know that I work for the vice president of the United States, and that fucker is just a bit higher up the food chain than your fuckers.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Oh no, I do.”

  Rudy took a moment to think, and then something in his expression changed, and he abruptly took off again and ran towards the street. I followed, but he had a decent lead as he cleared the sidewalk and headed out into traffic. I suddenly heard the sound of a car’s roaring engine, and I turned just in time to see a large black SUV come racing down the street. Rudy was unaware, and never even saw it as it slammed into him and catapulted him through the air. He landed and rolled to a stop on the side of the road while the big SUV continued on up the street before squealing around the corner and disappearing from view. I ran to Rudy and found him still breathing, but his body looked battered, and blood was pouring out of a nasty looking wound on his forehead.

  “Did you get the license plate number?” I asked Violet.

  “Yeah, how’s Rudy?”

  “Not good.”

  Violet pulled out her phone and called in our location to emergency services while I applied direct pressure to the wound on Rudy’s head. He opened his eyes and looked up at me.

  “What happened?” he asked groggily.

  “You had a little trouble with an SUV, but you’re going to be OK.”

  “No, I’m not,” he said, as he tried to get up.

  I gently held him back.

  “It’s better if you stay where you are. Now, relax—you’re going to be fine.”

  “Fuck, this is all going to violate my parole.”

  His heart was pounding, and he was looking disoriented, so I was pretty sure he was starting to go into shock.

  “Rudy, who paid you to dose the bride?”

  “I—I don’t know. I only ever met a guy…”

  “What guy? Come on, Rudy. This is important.”

  “I feel so—cold.”

  “Come on, Rudy! Help us get these people.”

  He thought for a moment, then his eyes appeared to momentarily clear up.

  “He—he kind of looked like you,” he said, before closing his eyes and passing out.

  What the hell did that mean? I checked his pulse and realized that Rudy was dead, as the combination of his head injury, shock, and blood loss were too much for his body to bear. I gently laid his head back down and stood up and looked at the young man before me.

  “What a waste,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Violet added.

  “So, what do you think about all this now, Agent Kalili? Any chance that you believe me when I say that things are not as they appear?”

  “I’m definitely starting to see your point, Bart.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Leave it to Beeber

  THE AMBULANCE ARRIVED, and the EMTs tried to revive Rudy, but it was obviously too late, and they called in the coroner. In the meantime, the Police arrived, and Violet and I gave our statement, which included our interest in Rudy as well as the make, model, and license plate number of the SUV that ran him down. About forty minutes later, we were finally free to leave, and the mood was a bit somber.

  “Well, what now?” Violet asked.

  “The airport, I suppose. We have to pick up Just
in Beeber.”

  “So, you seriously have a friend named Justin Beeber?”

  “I do, though he’s not anything like the Justin Beeber you’re probably imagining. This one is actually talented—though not at singing.”

  “I believe you called him a tech wiz last night?”

  “Yeah—anything to do with computers and software. He used to work for the CIA, but now he develops security software for big corporations, the government, and anyone who needs to protect their shit. I figure he can help track down some of our electronic leads and perhaps even take a look at the surveillance footage.”

  “Can’t imagine going through life with that name.”

  “Well, I suppose it wasn’t so bad until the other one arrived.”

  “Luckily your Beeber is out of school or the other kids would have tortured the shit of him.”

  “No doubt.”

  We headed west to Honolulu International Airport’s private terminal to find the Vandenberg Jet had already landed, but there was no one on the tarmac except for ground crew, who were securing the jet’s wheels with blocks as well as connecting the various ground cables. We exited the car and walked over in time to see an overly tan pilot come strutting down the stairs.

  “He’s cute. What’s his name?” Violet asked.

  “Biscuit.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, and don’t even think about trying to make me jealous by dating that fucker.”

  Biscuit, real name Brett, spotted us and headed our way and immediately started sizing up Violet. It was strange, but I think he actually appeared more tan around attractive women—almost as though he were a human version of a chameleon, though his color change was intended to help him mate rather than hide from danger. Only ten feet away, he smiled, and I found myself unintentionally shielding my eyes from the glare of his brilliantly bright teeth.

  “Hey, Finn, who’s your friend?”

  “Agent Kalili of the American Dental Association, and she’s here to cite you for offenses against excessive tooth whitening.”

  “Very funny.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Biscuit,” Violet said, reaching out her hand to shake.

  “It’s Brett, actually, and it’s nice to meet you too.”

  Violet gave me a look then hit me in the shoulder.

  “So, where are your passengers?” I asked.

  “They’ll be out in a second.”

  Just then, Rachel, or Lizbeth in Beeber’s sordid little mind, appeared at the door of the plane, and she was looking as pale as ever.

  “Hey, Finn! Thanks for the invite!” she said, as she descended the stairs and came over and hugged me.

  “How was the flight?”

  “Fucking awesome. It was my first time on a private jet—and hopefully won’t be my last.”

  “This is Agent Violet Kalili of the FBI, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Rachel said.

  Beeber suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs, and he was smiling from ear to ear.

  “Aloha, bitches!” he said.

  “Aloha, my precocious little menehune,” I responded.

  “What the hell is a menehune?” he asked.

  “It’s a Hawaiian version of a leprechaun, but they write code, masturbate nonstop, and steal socks out of the dryer.”

  “I’ve never stolen any of your socks.”

  “Two out of three ain’t bad.”

  “Yeah yeah—whatever, dude. Have you ridden on this fucking jet?”

  “Several times.”

  “Well, I’m going to buy a private jet when I get back home. This is the way to travel.”

  “Yeah, it’s not bad.”

  “Not bad? Fuck you—it’s amazing.”

  “Yeah, it is amazing, actually, but enough about jets. Are you fuckers hungry?”

  “A little. Why?”

  “I figure we can have lunch, and I’ll get you up to speed and explain why you’re here.”

  We loaded up into my rental car, and I was happy to see that Beeber and Rachel were both light travelers, and their luggage easily fit in the trunk. We then drove to the Gordon Biersch Brewery out on the water in Honolulu and got an outdoor table and were soon ordering drinks, though everyone abstained from any alcohol for the moment.

  “I can’t believe we just flew two thousand miles to eat at the same place where I eat back home.”

  “Today you get the view and the weather.”

  “Same thing back home—except for the weather.”

  Rachel backhanded Beeber in the arm, and he made a sound not unlike the squeal a guinea pig might make if you stuck your finger up its butt. Beeber’s statement, while seemingly innocent, was actually related to the fact that he used to eat at the Gordon Biersch Brewery back home in order to gaze at the many attractive female Gap employees who frequented it at lunchtime. As Beeber was now in a serious relationship with Rachel, he was no longer allowed to let his eyes wander—at least not officially, anyway. Our waitress returned and took our lunch order, and, with that out of the way, I began filling Beeber in on all the exciting events of the last forty-eight hours.

  “So, you flew us here just to do a little digital snooping?”

  “Yeah, and I want your opinion on some of the evidence, namely the surveillance camera footage.”

  “I can definitely help you there. We’ve developed the most sophisticated software for facial recognition in the world, and I’ll be able to tell you unequivocally whether or not it’s actually Jessica in the footage.”

  Our food arrived, and the four of us enjoyed a pleasant lunch and conversation during which I learned that Rachel had never been to Hawaii. I therefore made a point of telling her about all the things she had to do while here, with the first and foremost on the list being snorkeling. I of course recommended Hanauma Bay, which, in spite of its touristy nature, still afforded an excellent variety of fish. Next on the list was Shark’s Cove up on the north shore, and, unlike its name would suggest, it was not full of sharks. Rather, it had an abundance of native fish species as well as sea turtles, and it was easily my second favorite snorkeling spot.

  “That’s a lot of sun for a native San Franciscan,” Rachel said.

  “You can wear a rash guard. That way you only have to put sunblock on your face and legs.”

  “Are you getting kickbacks from the board of tourism?” Rachel asked.

  “Nope, I’m just someone who loves the islands.”

  We paid our check and drove to the resort, so that Beeber and Rachel could check in to the hotel. They managed to get the suite next door to mine, and then we adjourned to my room, so that Beeber could digitize the security footage and give it a preliminary viewing.

  “Shit. Just glancing at the footage, I have to say that it really does look like her,” Beeber said.

  “I know, but it can’t be.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll soon find out. So, what else did you bring me here for?”

  “I also want to know who fast-tracked the investigation. It’ll entail a little phone work on my part and some electronic snooping on yours, though we might also have to bring Doug in on this as well.”

  Doug was an old Agency friend and third member of our esteemed CIA super group the Three Amigos, but, while Beeber and I had left that life behind, Doug had remained and slowly worked his way up the ladder at Langley. Now, he was one of their chief technical strategists and had access to pretty much all of the government databases, so whatever Beeber couldn’t find out would fall under Doug’s purview.

  “Oh, are you going to try and get him to fly to Hawaii?” Beeber asked.

  “I would love to, but we both know that jackass is way too afraid to fly.”

  “Yeah, no shit.”

  “I can’t imagine every vacation being a road trip. Pretty fucking boring,” I said.

  “Do you know he spent last year’s vacation sitting in front of his home computer and using Google street view to travel Europe,” Beeber sai
d.

  “It’s just plain sad.”

  I left Beeber to his laptop and walked out onto my deck and pulled out my iPhone in the hope of letting my fingers do a little of the walking. Using my web browser, I found the number for the Police Commissioner, and I dialed and, three rings later, reached his assistant. She took my name and details before putting me on hold, and I listened to Don Ho singing Tiny Bubbles for nearly a minute before the assistant transferred me to the Commissioner.

  “Commissioner O’Brien here,” an authoritative voice said.

  “Hello, sir. My name is Tag Finn, and I’m a special investigator to the vice president of the United States.”

  “How can I help you, Mr. Finn?”

  “As you probably already know, we have a little problem at the moment with a murder case involving the future Mrs. Vice President, and I could use your help.”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I’m a little curious about the timing and efficiency of the police in this matter, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind telling me who fast-tracked the investigation?”

  “It’s definitely not a secret. I got an email from the governor’s office at seven thirty on the morning of the murder, and it stated that we had a potentially very sensitive case and were to proceed as quickly as possible.”

  “Was it from the Governor himself?”

  “I’m not sure. There wasn’t a name attached, so all I know is that it came from his office.”

  “Well, thank you, sir.”

  “Is that it?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Well, it’s not often that I have any direct dealings with the vice president of the United States, so, if you need anything else, please feel free to call.”

  “Thank you, I will,” I said, before hanging up.

  I walked back inside to find Violet, Rachel, and Beeber hovering behind Beeber’s laptop.

  “What did I miss?” I asked.

  “You’re going to want to see this,” Violet said.

  I walked over and looked at the screen, and there before my eyes was the frame grab from the security footage. Beeber had plugged it into his software, which now showed it beside another similar image of Jessica with the words 100% match in red letters.