The Poi Predicament
Page 20
“I don’t know. I’m kind of turned on,” Rachel said.
“Thank you for your support, Rachel, and for the record, I didn’t start that fight. Special agent fuckface did.”
The three nerds proceeded to walk over and set their laptops on my coffee table and quickly turned my living room into an operations center.
“You going to put some clothes on?” Beeber asked.
“Yeah, right after I shit, shower, and shave,” I said
“Oh, Jesus—you haven’t even shit yet?”
“Nope, and you know the rules. No intrusion once I enter my sanctuary.”
I refilled my coffee cup and entered my sanctuary and took the time to make sure that the door was both fully closed and the lock properly seated. Next, I took a moment to admire the toilet’s clean and simple lines before at last placing my backside in its loving embrace. I took a sip of coffee and relaxed my sphincter in order to signify the opening ceremonies of my personal olympic toilet games. The first event was obviously diving, though these fecal athletes mostly plummeted to complete the short though epic leap into bowl. With hardly a splash, the games came to a close in the cool waters of my commode, and the final ceremony, a shower of liquid gold, began to rain down on the winning athletes. There were no silver or bronze medals, as these competitors all deserved first place. Having completed my business, I entered the shower then emerged a few minutes later feeling clean and ready for the day ahead. I applied pleasantries such as deodorant, sunblock, and cologne then exited the bathroom to get dressed in my usual T-shirt and board shorts. Done, I headed out and refilled my coffee yet again before joining Violet and the nerds.
“Anything exciting happen while I was in the shower?”
“Yeah, Doug and I decided to follow your lead and stripped down to our underwear and wrestled.”
“Who won?”
“The ladies, of course.”
“Isn’t it a little too early for you two to try and be funny? Now, what’s the real news?”
“I was able to find an address for your gunsmith.”
“Hot damn!”
“Yeah, he’s an interesting guy, and get this—he used to work for us.”
“The government?”
“Yeah, but, more specifically, the CIA.”
“No wonder the FBI couldn’t find him,” I said, looking at Violet.
“Yeah, he lives pretty far off the grid on a nice big piece of land up on the North Shore. The address is 59-779 Pupukea Rd, and it sits across the street from Camp Pupukea,” Doug said.
“It’s a good start. Nice work, Doug. Any address for our spear fisherman?”
“I got that one. Danny Keahi lives down in Waimanalo,” Violet said.
“Excellent. Any progress on the email yet, Beebs?”
“Not yet. Government email has a lot of firewalls to get through, but we’ll get there eventually.”
“Well then, I suppose we should go see Danny Keahi. Any of you nerds want to join us?” I asked.
“We were kind of hoping to get in a little D&D,” Beeber said.
“Seriously? You’re in Hawaii—one of the most beautiful places on earth and you’re going to stay inside and play D&D.”
“Only for a few hours—until the barbecue at Robin’s Nest.”
“Well, we’re off then. Hide away in your fantasy world of wizards and elves, and whatever you do, don’t strain your little fingers rolling your twenty sided die.”
Violet and I left the nerds and walked out to find my car, which was mildly tricky at first, as I had forgotten it was now a massive white Suburban. Wondering why the adjacent Subaru wouldn’t unlock, I finally noticed the flashing lights of the white behemoth beside it. Violet and I mounted up and were soon were driving south towards Waimanolo. That part of the island also happened to be one of the areas where Hawaiian homesteading had taken place, which was an attempt by the government to make sure that native Hawaiians had access to their ancestral land. It was therefore a fairly local environment, and that meant plenty of large tan people. We drove through the main part of town and past a group of locals having a barbecue at a park, then turned left and headed for Laumilo Street, which skirted a beautiful section of beach. As we arrived at Danny’s place, we saw a crowd and a number of emergency vehicles at the entrance to the beach, and I parked the Suburban. Violet and I continued the rest of the way on foot, and, as we neared the crowd, I spied a young woman on the fringe. She was wearing a wet bikini and had obviously been down on the beach.
“What’s all the excitement about?” I asked her.
“A body washed up on the beach.”
I was suddenly getting a bad feeling.
“Tourist or local?”
“Local.”
“It wouldn’t happen to be Danny Keahi would it?”
“Yeah, how’d you know? You psychic or something?” she asked.
“No, just very very unlucky.”
“Here he comes now,” she said, pointing at the stretcher.
I looked over and watched as the EMTs carried a young man of around twenty five on a stretcher. He wasn’t moving, and his face looked oddly serene as the emergency workers transferred him into a body bag and zipped it up. Fuck! Another one down. I suddenly heard some rather ominously loud footsteps and turned to see a large Hawaiian looking man walking in our direction, and he didn’t look all that happy at the moment.
“What you want with Danny?” he asked, in Pidgin accented English as he came to a stop well within the polite boundary of personal space.
He was one big imposing son of a bitch, and I felt the need to take a step back before responding.
“We just wanted to talk to him.”
“About what?”
“About the gun he found when he was out spear fishing. That same gun just happened to have been involved in a murder.”
“Danny wouldn’t hurt nobody.”
“I know, and that’s why I wanted to talk to him.”
“It’s too late now I guess.”
“Do you mind if I ask you some questions.”
“Depends on the questions.”
“Do you think it’s possible that Danny actually drowned?”
“Hell no. He spent his whole life in these waters. Swimming, surfing, fishing, you name it.”
“Then it’s pretty likely that your friend Danny was also murdered.”
“Because of the gun he found?”
“Yeah.”
The man thought a moment.
“So, you think it’s possible that the same person who committed the other murder also killed Danny?”
“Most definitely, and I suspect they arranged for him to conveniently find that pistol, then they eliminated him once the job was done.”
“Danny was young and had his whole life ahead of him. That’s pretty fucked up,” the man said, sadly.
“Yeah, it’s as fucked up as it gets.”
The guy took a moment to think, and I could see a real sadness overtake his features. He might have been big and intimidating, but he apparently also had a big heart and cared for his neighbors, so I gave him a moment to himself before asking another question.
“I’m sorry if this isn’t the right time, but I have another question that might help me find Danny’s killer.”
“No problem. Ask away.”
“Do you know if he might have been seen with any strangers recently? A haole perhaps?”
The man thought for a moment before answering.
“No idea—but I do know that Danny often hung out at the bar across from the Seven Eleven on the north end of town. Place is called the Blow Hole. You might learn something there. It’s kind of a local’s only place, so, if dey give you any trouble, tell them Johnny Kamoahoa sent you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate your help.”
“And if you find da guy who done this and need a little local help, just give me a call. Danny was like a brudda.”
“How do I get in touch with you?”
So, Johnny had heart and a sense of humor, which made him a good guy in my book. Of course, it never hurt to have a little local muscle, so I put Johnny’s number in my phone then said goodbye and climbed back into the Suburban. We drove back to the main highway and headed north and soon found the Seven Eleven, and there across the street was the Blow Hole. It was indeed a locals only kind of place, as there were several large tan and tattooed dudes chilling and smoking off to the side of the front. We parked the car and ventured over to the entrance, and the men near the door gave us rather unfriendly stares, which wasn’t exactly a warm welcome or good omen that we might learn anything useful.
Inside, we found a typical dive bar, with the overall design aesthetic being varying degrees of darkness. Places like this were always kept dimly lit, perhaps to provide respite from the harsh light of day or to make customers feel that timeless five o’clock desire to empty your troubles into a glass. I gave the place a quick three-sixty and saw that this effect was achieved by windows tinted to the point that almost no ambient light reached inside, and the only illumination was coming from fixtures mounted to the ceiling via chains. They were those classic bar lights, and their shades were adorned with beer logos, and all of them swayed in the subtle breeze supplied by the two ceiling fans. Of course, the moving air did nothing to cool the place, and instead swirled the stench of spilled beer and sweat, and I immediately felt at home.
Violet and I exchanged a nod then continued deeper into this alcoholic heart of darkness, where the only sounds filling the air were the quiet murmurings of the nearby patrons and the melodious notes of Hawaiian music coming from the jukebox. The place was obviously pretty popular to attract this many people so early in the day, and, as a consummate optimist, I’d describe it as being about half full. We approached the bar and took a seat on a couple of cracked vinyl covered stools, whose cushioning had become thin and lumpy from years of use and abuse. A heavyset man somewhere in his fifties or sixties, who kind of looked like an older version of Johnny Kamoahoa, came over and stood before us and glowered without uttering a single word.
“Aloha,” I said.
“Very funny. What do you want, haole?” he asked.
“Information.”
“You should try that thing they call the internet. I hear you can find out practically anything,” he said, earning a laugh from the nearby patrons.
Violet stepped up to the bar.
“Look, we’re investigating a murder here, so cut the locals only crap.”
“Step off, girl. Don’t think that you looking local means you can talk shit in my bar.”
Two of the patrons, a couple of massive dudes, stood up from their stools and stared menacingly at us.
“Lou, Jimmy—do you mind escorting these nice haoles outside?”
Violet, looking frustrated, pulled out her ID and flashed it at the bartender.
“Look, asshole. I’m an FBI agent, and unless you feel like doing a little jailhouse bartending, you’re going to answer our fucking questions.”
“Lady, do you really think I give a fuck about de FBI?”
Lou and Jimmy walked over and stood directly beside us, and now, up close, I realized that they were both well over six feet tall and together weighed about as much as a Volkswagen bus.
“Easy, everyone. Johnny Kamoahoa sent us.”
“How the fuck do you know Johnny Kamoahoa?”
Just then, the door to the bar opened and light spilled in around a large, lone figure. The person walked closer, but the door closed behind him, leaving his face still obscured by shadows. As he reached the bar and stood directly beneath one of the lights, I finally recognized our latest visitor.
“Hey! Why you treating my friends like shit?” Johnny asked.
Apparently, our new friend Johnny had decided to come join us at the bar.
“Johnny, you know these two?”
“Of course, we belong to the same country club.”
Everyone laughed, including me, and suddenly all was well in the bar. Lou and Jimmy returned to their seats, and I bought Johnny a pint of his favorite beer, which turned out to be Coors Light. He held up his glass, thanked me, and proceeded to drink it in one single gulp.
“Give him another,” I said.
The bartender refilled Johnny’s glass then came back and smiled like we were old friends.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
“Danny Keahi. You know him?”
“Yeah.”
“You know he supposedly drowned today?”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Well, I believe he was murdered, which is why I need some information. I believe that the person or persons who killed Danny are also responsible for at least two other murders on Oahu.”
“I take not that you’re also FBI?” he asked.
“Fuck no, I’m just a independent investigator trying to help out a friend.”
“OK, so, how can I help?”
“Did you ever see Danny meet anyone here that you didn’t recognize? Possibly a haole?”
The man thought for a moment.
“Funny, but now that I think about it—he did. It was last week.”
“Do you remember what the person looked like?”
“Not really.”
“Height, weight, or hair color? Anything would help.”
“They sat over on the other side of the bar, so I never really saw the guy’s face.”
“But he was a haole?”
“Yeah.”
The bartender thought for a moment.
“Actually, he kind of reminded me of you.”
Violet and I looked at each other, as we both remembered that those were Rudy’s final words.
“Well, thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Remember to call if you need any help,” Johnny said.
“I will,” I said, as Violet and I turned and left the bar.
We headed outside and climbed into the Suburban and continued north back up to the resort, where I wanted to check in with the nerds, as I was hoping that they had uncovered something—other than a raiding party of orcs. Fifteen minutes later, we were parking the behemoth, and five minutes after that we were in my room and watching as the nerds engaged in an epic battle against a twentieth level wizard. Beeber was looking anxious as he blew on his twenty sided die for good luck.
“Come on, let’s get this done,” he said, as he tossed it onto the table.
The die stopped on nineteen.
“Yes!” he screamed!
Doug rolled his dice to calculate damage then smiled.
“Killed him! Let me see your character sheets,” he said.
“Are we interrupting anything important?” I asked.
“No, we just finished.”
“The entire game?”
“No, just this last battle. What’s up?”
“We have another murder.”
“Holy shit. The spear fisherman?”
“Yeah, and he was only twenty-five. Supposedly he drowned, but I’m pretty sure they killed him.”
“That’s terrible. So, what now?” Rachel asked.
“Oh shit, I realize I still haven’t done the first thing on my list.”
I pulled out my iPhone and dialed Steven Green’s office back in San Francisco. It was luckily still in my contacts, inspite of the fact that I hadn’t dialed it since I had dropped his case six months previously. Three rings later, a woman answered on the other end.
“Steven Green’s office,” she said.
“Yeah, hello, I’m calling from Hawaii—um—sadly concerning Mr. Green’s murder. Is Lucy available?”
“What do you want, Finn?”
“Excuse me?”
“We have caller ID. I know exactly who you are. What the hell do you want?”
Lucy was the law clerk with whom St
even had been having an affair when I had been working for him, so it would appear that they were still together, and she obviously held a grudge against me because I sided with his ex-wife.
“Oh, well might I say that I am deeply sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah—sure,” she said, coldly.
“No really, I mean it. Steven was an asshole, but he didn’t deserve to get murdered.”
“Well, thank you for such warm sentiments. Mind telling me why you called?”
“I’m trying to find Steven’s murderer.”
“The police told me they already found the murderer.”
“The police have it all wrong and don’t know shit at the moment.”
Lucy was quiet, and all I could hear was her breathing until she spoke.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want to know if you have any information on what Steven was doing in Hawaii.”
Again she was quiet.
“Look, I understand that you believe you’re protecting him in some way, but the sad reality is that he’s gone, and I need your help if I’m going to find the people who did this.”
She sighed and took a moment to think before responding.
“Steven met with a new client about a month ago, but he didn’t keep any written accounts. Every communication happened in person or on the phone.”
“And this is the same person he supposedly met in Hawaii?”
“Yeah, he said this would be his retirement and that we were going to be set for life and live happily ever after.”
“So, you don’t have any names or anything?”
“No, but Steven and I talked the day he was murdered. He said he was going to go have lunch with his client and that he’d call me later that night.”
“Did he tell you where he was going?”
“No, but he said it was near his hotel.”
“OK, interesting. So, did he call later that night?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he say anything interesting about the client?”
“No, he just wanted to say good night and tell me he loved me, and that was the last time I spoke to him.”
“I’m really sorry, Lucy. I know it’s not easy losing someone you love.”
“Did you know we had gotten married?”
“No.”