The Poi Predicament

by Lyle Christie

  “Do you need an icepack?” Beeber asked.

  “No, but my butthole is feeling all tingly, and I’m pretty sure I’m experiencing the onset of postpartum depression.”

  “Have you picked out a name?”

  “I’m thinking something powerful like Odin.”

  “Wait a minute. Here comes the main attraction. Step back and feast your ears on this!” Beeber said.

  He bent over slightly at the waist, clenched his fists, and pushed with all his might.

  “Easy there. Don’t shit your pants,” I said.

  “Dude, this is going to be huge.”

  “Yeah, but I will seriously never stop laughing if you shoot a turd into your shorts.”

  He pushed even harder, and his face was starting to turn red as another fart came out. It was slightly louder than his first, and he appeared to be fairly proud of his efforts.

  “That was a little better, Beebs, but you still sound like a guinea pig.”

  “Fuck you. That sounded like it came from Hogzilla.”

  “More like Babe, so that’ll do pig. That’ll do,” I said.

  I finished up by making sure Tag Junior was free of any urine then used my foot to flush the toilet before walking over to wash my hands at the sink. Beeber joined me a moment later and did the same, all the while smiling as he was obviously still very proud of his little fart. We finished washing our hands and exited to find the girls waiting directly outside.

  “Did you two have fun in there?” Rachel asked.

  “Yeah, why do you ask?”

  “We heard everything,” Violet said.

  “Oh, then I guess you know that Beeber farts like a guinea pig.”

  “That’s so funny! I’ve told him the same thing,” Rachel said.

  “Oh come on. You can’t judge me by the first one. That was the warm up. The second was rich and full of body,” he said.

  “More like a dog’s squeaky toy,” Rachel said, as she patted his behind.

  “So, the foghorn was obviously you,” Violet said, to me.

  “No, that one obviously came from some big ass haole with diarrhea.”

  “Nice try, Odin.”

  “Don’t you girls have anything better to do than hang around outside the men’s bathroom?” I asked.

  “No, not when the god of thunder has the car keys.”

  “Good point.”

  We left the bathrooms and joined in the procession of people that were slowly making their way back up the hill to the parking lot, and, upon reaching the car, we climbed in and headed north onto the winding road that would take us on the scenic route back to our resort. The afternoon traffic was mild as we drove along a spectacular section of road that overlooked a treacherous patch of coastline, and everyone was admiring the view. Suddenly, we felt a very purposeful bump from behind, and I looked in the rearview mirror and saw a tricked-out older model Toyota four by four right on our bumper. It was painted matte black and had one of those ridiculous lift kits that made it look like a baby version of a monster truck, and, annoyingly, its windows were all tinted, so its particularly aggressive driver was hidden from view. We came to a sharp turn, and he made yet another attempt to ram us, only this time the fucker sent us off the road and towards the looming cliff. All of my passengers screamed as I steered back over just in time to keep us from plummeting down hundreds of feet to our certain death. We had a short straight up ahead, and I gunned the Subaru, desperately wishing I was in my Silver Hornet, which would have easily left the cumbersome four by four in the dust. Unfortunately, the standard model sedan just wasn’t all that quick—least of all with four passengers.

  “Goddammit, Finn! Every fucking time I get in a car with you, somebody tries to kill us!”

  Sadly, Beeber was mostly correct with that statement, as we had indeed almost been killed one night back home in San Francisco. In that instance however, my nemesis had been a group of deadly Chinese spies, but this time around, I had no idea who I had pissed off. The truck came up and rammed us yet again, but I was able to keep the car in our lane. Shit! I desperately needed some kind of game plan if I hoped to keep all of us alive. I hazarded a quick glance in the rearview mirror in order to size up the truck and thought about how ridiculously high off the ground it sat. The Subaru may have had lackluster acceleration, but it definitely had the handling advantage with its lower center of gravity. Perfect! I would use physics as my ally. I waited until there was a break in oncoming traffic then turned the wheel and yanked up on the parking brake. It brought the car into a full one hundred and eighty degree spin, and now that we were facing the opposite direction, I gunned it and headed back towards Hanauma Bay with the intention of continuing on to the busy Hawaii Kai shopping center. It stood to reason we’d be safe there, as I was fairly certain that the deranged driver in the truck would give up the chase once we were in a crowd.

  The truck was a lot slower to turn around due to its top heavy nature and wide turning radius, and it gave us a decent lead. We passed Hanauma, and the road wound around and onto a long downhill stretch that ended at a traffic light. The light turned red, and I stopped and kept my eyes on the rearview mirror as I desperately hoped that the truck was still far behind. No such luck. It came barreling over the hill at dangerously high speed, and I glanced back at the light and desperately hoped it would change. Beeber, who was entirely focused on the approaching vehicle, started to panic.

  “Dude, he’s going to ram us. You’re going to have to turn or run the light.”

  I followed Beeber’s advice and made a right at the intersection and headed into a local neighborhood. The truck did the same a moment later and was soon on our bumper yet again. It accelerated and hit us, and, as the car lurched, my passengers cried out. I made a left at the next street, and the back end pitched sideways before I corrective steered and brought the car straight again. Up ahead, kids were playing roller hockey in the street, so I hit the horn, and all of them thankfully scattered and ran for cover. Unfortunately, they left their net, and it bounced up and over the car and landed in the path of the truck and managed to get caught in its grill. I turned right at the next block and again sent the car sideways before straightening out in time to see a car suddenly come backing out of a driveway. I managed to swerve around it, and the driver hit the horn and gave me the finger. The truck wasn’t as lucky and was forced to swerve up onto the opposite sidewalk, where it took out a mailbox before having to slow down to use the next driveway to return to the street.

  We had finally gained a little breathing room, and I made a right on the next street and headed out of the neighborhood and back to the main highway. There was only one car between us and the light, and it was a fucking white Toyota Prius, and, as I raced around it, I again got the horn and an angry hand gesture from its driver, who, not surprisingly, was an older hippie woman wearing a muumuu dress.

  “I think I’m going to puke,” Beeber said.

  “Just hold on a little longer, Beebs.”

  I reached the light just as it turned green and roared through the turn, again sending the car sideways.

  “Not helping,” Beeber moaned.

  The truck was caught behind the Prius, and it was one of the few times in my life that I was actually happy to see the great beacon of smugness blocking the road. It gave us enough time to safely leave the highway and enter the crowded Hawaii Kai mall, where I parked in a loading zone in front of an ice cream parlor packed with people. Safe at last, we had a moment to catch our breath, and, soon thereafter, the truck appeared and slowed down ominously as it passed by our car. I waved, then it accelerated, and its tires chirped as it roared out of the mall.

  “Well, that was fun,” I said.

  Beeber, who happened to be sitting on the curb side of the car, suddenly opened his door, leaned out, and began puking his guts out all over the sidewalk. The crowd of people all eating their ice cream a short distance away watched in horror until Beeber finished up and leaned back up into the car and
closed his door. After such an awkward arrival, I figured I should deliver some parting words.

  “Sorry about that, folks, but I’m sure you’ll all be fine as long as you didn’t get any chocolate sprinkles on your ice cream.”

  “He’s kidding,” Violet said, before punching me in the arm.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Beeber mumbled.

  “No problem.”

  I pulled out, and we left behind a small puddle of Beeber barf as we headed back towards the main highway.

  Anyone get the license plate number of that fucking truck?” Beeber asked, still looking a bit peaked.

  “I did,” Violet and I both said, at the exact same moment.

  “Jinx! You owe me a blowjob!” I said.

  “Hmm—blowjob eh? Well, after you plugged that skank, I wouldn’t spit on your dick if it were on fire.”

  “Well, technically smothering it with your vagina would be more effective.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re an insufferable optimist?” she asked.

  “No, but I can’t help thinking that makes me sound like a Jane Austin character.”

  “Yeah, the one who doesn’t get the girl.”

  “Wouldn’t that make me an insufferable pessimist?”

  “No, and either way you don’t get the girl.”

  “Ouch,” Rachel said, from the back seat.

  I headed back the way we had started and took the scenic route north to our resort, and the black four by four never reappeared, thus making the ride mostly uneventful except for a peculiar smell that surfaced, but went unclaimed. My money was on Beeber, but you could never write off the girls, as they tended to use their feminine charms to get away with unclaimed flatulence. Within twenty minutes we were back at the resort, and Beeber and Rachel went to his room while Violet and I went to mine.

  “Is it OK if I use your shower?” Violet asked.

  “Not at all—but what if I need to pee?”

  “You can wait.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, and if anyone enters that bathroom before I’m done, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

  Again, it was obvious that Violet and I were stuck firmly in the friends zone, although it was probably a good thing, as I had more than enough on my plate without having any romantic entanglements. I took a seat on the couch and looked at my watch and realized that Doug would be landing in about two more hours, and I was starting to get excited. The three of us hadn’t been in the same actual place in about five years, so I was really looking forward to our impromptu reunion. We’d been close during our time at the Agency, and this would be our first face to face gathering since Beeber and I left. About ten minutes passed, and Violet emerged from the bathroom looking utterly beautiful. Her long hair was down, and she was wearing some kind of casual dress that made quite a point of emphasizing her spectacular figure.

  “Of all the dresses, you had to bring that one?”

  “Oh, do you like it?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Well then, I suppose it’s too bad that you turned out to be a man-whore. Otherwise you might have been peeling it off of me later tonight.”

  “You know that you did tell me we’d never have a romantic relationship.”

  “It’s not my fault you were too stupid to know it was test.”

  “You should have known I was that stupid.”

  “I guess I’m also just an insufferable optimist.”

  “Touché, Jane.”

  Violet pulled out her phone, took a seat on one of the couches, and crossed her long legs, inadvertently, or even purposefully, providing me with a view of her supple upper thighs that bordered on painful. She pressed the send button then gave her name and soon was relaying the details of our little encounter, so she was obviously calling in to her office. The last detail was the license plate number of the truck, then she paused and listened for a moment and said thank you and hung up.

  “Truck is stolen.”

  “Of course.”

  Violet’s phone suddenly rang, and I saw her look at the caller’s name then sigh.

  “Fuck.”

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Dave.”

  “As in Dave your charming ex?”

  “That’s the one.”

  She hit the answer button and said hello then remained quiet for some time. Obviously, Dave had a lot to say before Violet finally managed to interrupt.

  “Look, Dave, I’m a trained FBI Agent. Believe me, I can handle myself.”

  She was quiet for a short while then looked decidedly annoyed as she told him that she had to go and that they could talk later. She hit the end button then let out a long pained groan.

  “I get the impression he’s concerned about you.”

  “Yeah, apparently he heard about our little run-in on the road and wants me to dump this assignment.”

  “Could you actually do that if you wanted to?”

  “Doubtful, and it wouldn’t look good.”

  “Would you choose to dump it if you could?”

  She looked at me a moment then smiled.

  “No, this has turned out to be the most exciting case I’ve had in a long time, and besides, every minute I get to torture you is just icing on the cake.”

  “Lovely. Well I guess I should call the rental company and see if I can get a replacement—maybe something with a little more horsepower.”

  Five minutes later, Violet and I were going to the closest Hertz office to get me a new car. It turned out to be a white Chevy Suburban, or, in layman’s terms, a Prius killer. Normally I preferred small cars in the islands because of the abundance of tiny backroads, but, after recent events, I was happy to get a little more steel around my body. Better still, it had a V8 engine and supposedly got around twenty-one miles to the gallon, which was something I doubted, though only time would tell. I grabbed the remainder of my things from the beleaguered Subaru, then gently patted its hood.

  “What was all that?” Violet asked.

  “I believe in what I like to call—Carma. And that’s Carma with a C, not a K.”

  “What?”

  “I kind of assign feelings and a personality to my cars and therefore treat them as though they were family members, and they, in turn, provide me with loving transportation.”

  “Even rentals?”

  “Even rentals. In fact, I once washed and detailed a rental car, because I felt as though it didn’t receive adequate love in its sad existence as a veritable mechanical prostitute.”

  Violet looked perplexed.

  “I’m not sure whether that’s sweet or idiotic.”

  “Probably a little of both.”

  We mounted up in the goliath Suburban, and I took a moment to sinc my phone with its bluetooth system, then headed back to the resort to get Beeber and Rachel before going to pick up Doug. We swung in to the front of the hotel and found them waiting beside the valet, and Beeber had an annoying smile on his face as he looked at the vehicle.

  “What are you—a fucking soccer mom now?” he asked.

  “Would you rather be in this or the Subaru the next time some asshole tries to run us off the road?”

  “This.”

  “Exactly, now sit the fuck down and put on your seat belt. Mom’s had a long day and doesn’t want to hear any more of your shit.”

  Beeber and Rachel piled in and took up residence in the back seat while I pulled the goliath out of the resort and headed south until turning onto the H3, which would then take us west towards the airport. The ride was surprisingly smooth in the massive car, and it was kind of fun to drive something so different from my usual vehicles. As much of an inefficient spectacle as it might have been, there was something to be said for driving a battleship sized car. Other motorists made a point of getting out of the way, and the large V8 engine had plenty of power, which meant this might actually be fun.

  We reached the airport about a half hour before Doug’s plane was due in
and decided to park and meet him in the terminal. The four of us took a seat just beyond the security checkpoint and waited for the second nerdiest man in the world to make his glorious appearance. The first nerdiest man was obviously Beeber, but their official ranking could change at any moment depending upon the circumstances. Bring up Star Wars or Lord of the Rings, and you would be hard pressed to discern the greater nerd. Ten minutes passed, and out walked Doug Griffith looking exactly as I remembered the fucker. He was about five eleven, lanky, and was sporting a reddish brown mop top hairdo, with the only visible change being that he had some very purposeful scruff that every two-bit hipster and reader of GQ seemed to have as of late. He had also stupidly worn his usual brown pants in spite of the fact I told him to wear shorts. Oh well, I suppose he would just have to learn his lesson when his balls overheated and dropped to his knees. He saw us and smiled as he walked over and hugged Beeber then me before setting his eyes upon the women. He went to Rachel first, and he looked legitimately surprised.

  “Holy shit!” he exclaimed.

  “Nice to meet you too,” Rachel said.

  “Wait a minute. You’re seriously dating Beeber?”

  “Yeah, why do you sound so surprised?”

  “Because you’re totally out of his league.”

  “Fuck you,” Beeber said.

  “No, he’s right, honey, but you make up for it with personality,” Rachel said.

  “Seriously? Personality?” I asked.

  Before anyone responded, Doug turned to Violet and instantly fell in love. He had a thing for Asian women, and Violet being half Hawaiian was more than enough to capture Doug’s heart.

  “I’m Doug, nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Violet.”

  “Technically she’s Special Agent Violet Kalili of the FBI,” I said.

  “Yes, and she’s very special indeed,” he said.

  “Well, thank you, Doug. It’s nice someone thinks so,” Violet said, giving me a snarky little smile.

  “Oh there’s no doubt you’re special, and especially cruel. Now, let’s get Doug the fuck out of here, so he can lose those fucking awful city clothes.”