The Poi Predicament

by Lyle Christie

  “Hello, Tag, how nice to see you again. Oh, and hello, Agent Kalili. We didn’t get to officially meet the other morning,” she said, turning her gaze to Violet.

  “Yeah, nice to officially meet you,” Violet said, without an ounce of sincerity.

  Next, I introduced the nerd contingent, with the last being Doug, who I feared might have a panic attack when he laid eyes on Melissa. He generally had a thing for Asians, but a girl as hot as Melissa could quickly melt away any of his preconceived notions of attraction. With the introductions concluded, the lovely, though troublesome, Melissa turned and strutted back to the pool, thus presenting her backside as a taunting ornament of female curvature for all to see and enjoy.

  “Sweet Jesus is she hot,” Doug said.

  “She is, but trust me when I say that it’s not worth it. She’s got some baggage.”

  “Yeah, and it’s totally giving me a boner.”

  “Wait, how do you know so much about her?” Beeber asked.

  “Um, well…”

  I could suddenly sense Violet looking at me.

  “He fucked her,” she said.

  “No way! When?”

  “Two nights ago,” Violet said.

  “Dude, high-five,” Doug said, holding up his hand.

  I high-fived him out of courtesy but instantly regretted it when I saw Violet’s scornful stare.

  “Men,” she said.

  We continued over to the bar, and everyone got a drink, then Frank took us on a tour of the house, which had obviously been drastically remodeled since the show. First, was the living room, and it was lavishly adorned with modern Scandinavian style furniture, and the centerpiece was a massive beige leather multi sectional sofa that probably cost more than my houseboat, though that would make perfect sense—as the sofa was substantially larger than my houseboat. After that, came the kitchen, family, and dining rooms, and all were nicely appointed and equally austere. On the second floor was a sort of family room with a massive flat screen television as well as a number of bedrooms, and, as we ventured down the hall, I saw that one of them was occupied by a young man in his twenties, who was working on his laptop. I said hello, and he turned and smiled.

  “Hello, youngster. You must be Frank’s son.”

  “Correct, I’m Richard.”

  “My name’s Finn, Tag Finn. Nice to meet you.”

  He stood and held out his hand.

  “Nice to meet you too,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me you’re working when the rest of us are downstairs drinking,” I said.

  “I am. I got saddled with a last minute work project from the mainland, but I’m almost done.”

  I gazed at his screen and saw that he was outlining a car and removing it from a background.

  “Ah, rotoscoping job.”

  Rotoscoping was the process of isolating something in film, often so that it could be altered or placed on a different background. I knew the term, because I had friends who worked for Industrial Light and Magic and performed the very same job.

  “Yeah, you know about special effects?”

  “A bit. I have several friends at ILM back in San Francisco. Where do you work? Los Angeles?”

  “Yeah, but who knows for how long. A lot of my industry is moving overseas, as the labor is cheaper.”

  “Outsourcing—making America strong by giving away all of our jobs.”

  “No shit.”

  “Maybe your Dad could help by putting a little pressure on the film industry. He is the most powerful man in Washington after all.”

  “Perhaps, but I suspect he’s probably hoping this outsourcing might hasten my following him into the family business.”

  “Like every father, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, but my heart is in special effects.”

  “Well, follow your heart, padawan, and remember—it’s your life, not his.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Finn.”

  “Finn is fine. No need to add a Mr.”

  “Finn it is.”

  “I’m going to catch up the tour. You keep going, you rotoscoping son of a bitch you.”

  Richard smiled and instantly returned his attention to his screen as I left the room and rejoined the tour. The second floor was officially over, so we were on our way downstairs to the famous wine cellar. Back on the main floor, our route segued through the kitchen and down another stairwell before at last coming to a large oak door. Frank lifted a little wrought iron latch, and in we went to find the room looking a lot like I remembered in the TV show.

  “So, how do you keep Magnum out of here?” I asked.

  Everyone laughed.

  “A very advanced security system. As you can see, there are only two ways in—the door and the small window in the corner, and should anyone get through either of those, right up there on the wall is an infrared security sensor. No one will drink my wine before it’s time.”

  Frank proceeded to show us a few rare wines, then he turned and led the group back upstairs, while I stayed back, because I noticed that the window latch wasn’t closed all the way. Nothing like having an obsessive compulsive personality to make me notice the most unnecessary and mundane of details. I moved closer and tried to close the latch, but the person who had painted the room had obviously gotten lazy and slopped some over the edge, so the window subsequently wouldn’t close far enough to lock completely into place. I gave it one more try, then gave up before turning and hurrying to catch up with the group.

  Just beyond the wine cellar, I noticed another door slightly ajar, and I took a peek inside. It was a small security room, and a lone man was sitting behind a bank of flat screen monitors, which each showed a different area of the estate. Frank was obviously a careful guy and liked to know what was happening on his property. I left the man in peace and slithered away from the door and headed upstairs and managed to catch up with the tail end of the tour. We were done with the main house and therefore headed outside and made our way across the property and over to the guest house, which was Magnum’s supposed domicile as part of Robin Master’s security detail. Frank paused in front of the building, smiled, then proceeded to give us a little television insider knowledge. The building looked exactly as it had in the show, though the reality was that it was in fact, a boat house. They had used it as an exterior but obviously did their interior filming in a studio somewhere else on the island. We gave it a quick once over then left for the beach to get a close up view of the famous tide pool where Magnum swam every morning.

  “Do you have two Doberman pinschers?” I asked.

  “Sadly, no, but the wife does have three miniature dachshunds, though they are only aggressive when it comes to begging for treats.”

  I took a minute to look around and admire the view, and my gaze fell upon one of Frank’s security men standing in the shadows. He saw me looking and waved, so I returned the gesture and waved back. It must be weird having armed guards around all the time, but people like Frank made a lot of enemies and therefore needed a lot of security. The tour was now complete, and we headed off back towards the barbecue to refill our drinks and relax by the pool. Along the way, I heard a horn and turned to see John and his entourage approaching the main house. His Limousine came to stop, and out came John, Jessica, Corn, Lux, Babs, Bridgette, and Matheson senior. Just behind them were two Secret Service Suburbans, and their occupants were stepping out and moving to the periphery while Sandra, as usual, stayed close to John.

  “Don’t tell me you’re on time!” John said.

  “Free food and alcohol. What would you expect?”

  “Nothing less, of course.”

  “Enough talk, let’s get you all to the bar,” Frank said, jovially.

  Everyone turned and walked to the small bar, and the young man behind it was suddenly inundated with drink orders. He knew his shit, however, and soon he had everyone properly loaded up with their favorite alcoholic beverage. With the rush having passed, I got a refill of my Mai Tai then joined the others.
r />   “How goes the investigation?” Frank asked.

  “Well, we have good news and bad news.”

  “The good being?” John asked.

  “Well, it’s incredibly clear that Jessica obviously isn’t our killer.”

  “Wow, when did you figure that one out?” Jessica asked in an annoyed tone.

  “I knew you were innocent from the start, but now we have a lot of circumstantial evidence to prove it. Even our FBI liaison would agree.”

  “True,” Violet said.

  “Such as?” Jessica asked.

  “I’m pretty sure you were roofied and therefore out cold at the time of the murder.”

  “And when and how in the hell did that happen?”

  “I believe a guy named Roofie Rudy slipped it into your drink during your bachelorette party.”

  “I did talk to someone at the bar. A young, good looking guy. Was that Rudy?”

  “Yep, the bartender saw the entire exchange.”

  “Really?”

  John suddenly looked bothered.

  “Wait a minute. What the hell were you doing talking to a strange guy at the bar?” he asked.

  “Trying to get lucky at my bachelorette party, obviously,” she said.

  “Very funny,” John responded.

  “Yeah, and be thankful I haven’t asked for any details from your little bachelor party,” Jessica said.

  Violet and I shared an uncomfortable smile.

  “So, that would explain the hangover,” Jessica said.

  “You got it.”

  “So, what exactly is the bad news here?” John asked.

  “When we went to question Rudy, he did a runner and got hit by a car—and it wasn’t an accident. Rudy was killed because he was a part of all this.”

  “A dead man tells no tales,” John said.

  “Exactly, and our next stop didn’t go much better. We went to talk to the spear fisherman who found the gun and guess what?”

  “Was he hit by a car?” Jessica asked.

  “Not exactly. Any more guesses?”

  “Was he hit by a boat?” John asked.

  “Close—he drowned, which is a little too coincidental in my book. The guy spent his entire life in the ocean and suddenly drowns the day after Roofie Rudy was hit by a car.”

  “So, to recap. We have a very obvious conspiracy but still no way in hell to prove it.”

  “Yeah, but we also have a very good lead. I have absolutely irrefutable evidence that points to a local gunsmith who made the silencer.”

  “I suppose that is good news! Anything else you have that might cheer us up?” John asked.

  “Well, we are pursuing some other avenues in this investigation.”

  “Sounds cryptic. Can you be more specific?” John asked.

  Of course, my other good news was that Beeber was working his way into the governor of Hawaii’s email system and would eventually be able to trace the chain of communiques that trickled down to the Honolulu Police Department. Once we knew specifically where it originated then we might just find a link to our conspirators. Unfortunately, as this entire part of the investigation was highly illegal, I decided it best to keep it as vague and non-specific as possible.

  “I could, but it’s best you not know too much. I can, however, tell you that we have some inquiries out concerning our police investigation timeline.”

  “Why do we care about that?” Frank asked.

  “We have an interesting chain of events—timewise.”

  “Sounds, intriguing. Care to explain?” John asked.

  “But, of course. You see—the Police Chief received an email from the Commissioner at seven fifty in the morning telling him to fast-track the investigation.”

  “So?”

  “So, the commissioner did that after receiving a similar email from someone in the Governor’s office at seven thirty.”

  “OK, but how is that significant?” Frank asked.

  “The maid only reported the murder at seven forty, so the email from the Governor’s office was sent out ten minutes before anyone even knew about the murder. Whoever initiated that chain of emails knew a hell of a lot more than he or she should.”

  “I see your point,” John said.

  “You’re definitely onto something here, Finn, but how do you move forward?” Frank asked.

  “That’s the million dollar question, and one I don’t yet know how to answer, so, for the moment we’re focusing on the gunsmith.”

  Technically, I was lying my ass off, but I figured John and his people needed plausible deniability.

  “So, that’s it for now,” I said.

  Jessica looked at John and tried to smile, but I could tell that the emotional strain was starting to wear her down. Thankfully, Lux, who was sitting beside her, placed a reassuring hand on Jessica’s shoulder.

  “I’m really sorry you guys are having to deal with this shit,” Lux said.

  “Thanks, but I’m confident Tag will get us through this,” Jessica said, trying to be stoic.

  Everyone sat and quietly pondered the gravity of the latest developments until Frank suddenly held up his glass.

  “Enough lamenting. Let’s focus on the positive here, people. I say to hell with whoever is behind this. It’s only a matter of time before Tag and Agent Kalili prove that Jessica is innocent, and then she and John are going to be the best Goddamn president and first lady this country has ever seen.”

  “Agreed,” I said, holding up my glass.

  Everyone toasted, and the mood improved for the moment as our attention was drawn to our drinks. Soon thereafter, platters of food started appearing on the nearby buffet table, and we had all the distraction we needed to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Violet and I stood up and headed over for food and ended up just behind Lux and Corn.

  “Save some for the rest of us,” I said, to Corn as he piled up his plate with a king’s ransom of barbecued pork ribs, potato, and macaroni salad.

  “Don’t tease Corn, or I might have to bring up your little indiscretion in the women’s room the other night,” Lux said.

  “Wait, is this the same indiscretion you alluded to on the beach?” Violet asked.

  “No, so let’s drop it,” I said, giving Lux an icy glare as I filled my plate with food.

  “Yeah, and you’ll be shocked to learn that this dipshit accidentally walked into the women’s restroom at John and Jessica’s engagement party,” Lux said.

  “Oh my God, I hope he didn’t actually have to take a dump or anything. That scenario would have scarred him for life.”

  Before Lux could respond, I ushered Violet away and back to the table, where we ate and talked with the others, and I made sure she didn’t hear about my embarrassing night at the luau. We finished dinner, and everyone moved to the pool, where the ladies all stripped down to their bikinis and entered via the shallow end. The guys, as guys often do, watched in rapt attention and stared stupidly at the bevy of scantily clad women. Lux, noticing the stupefied male audience, was the first to voice her disapproval.

  “You idiots going to just stand there and stare or are you going to join us?”

  “Join you,” Corn said, as he slid off his shirt and did a cannonball that splashed everyone within twenty square feet.

  It was incredibly childish, but the guys all laughed. The girls, however, thought he was acting like an idiot and proceeded to deliver a torrential onslaught of angry splashes the minute he surfaced. Inundated with a deluge of water, he dove down and resurfaced in the deep end, where he was safely out of reach of the agitated females. Seeing the reaction to Corn’s performance, I did a rather low key dive into the deep end and then swam over to the shallow end to float and frolic amongst the females. I noticed Lux and Violet were talking, and I instantly feared that they were back on the subject of my diarrhea in the ladies room. As it turned out, they were talking about John and Jessica’s predicament, and Lux was asking if the authorities had found the car that ran over Roofie Rudy.<
br />
  “That’s a good question. Any news on that yet?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you about it because it was a dead end. The police found the black suburban in a deserted parking lot up on the North Shore, and it was burned to a crisp and didn’t have even the tiniest shred of evidence to be found.”

  “I’d have been surprised if it had been found in any other condition with the way things are going.”

  “No shit,” Violet said.

  The conversation continued, and we sipped our drinks until enough time passed that I realized the cocktails were having an impact on my bladder, and I desperately needed to pee. I exited the pool and walked over to the outdoor baño only to find it occupied. I therefore ventured into the house, where I was hoping to use the main one on the first floor. It lay between the living room and the kitchen and, like its pool counterpart, was fucking occupied. Lovely. Now, I was starting to panic and getting ever more aware of my impending need for release. I ran back across to the other side of the house and walked through the kitchen to what was likely originally intended as some kind of servants bathroom. As it turned out, it was full and therefore yet one more linchpin in the rapidly approaching flood of urine that was going to be flowing forth down my legs. Apparently, everyone at the party had suddenly chosen this exact moment to get busy on the porcelain.

  I stood there wondering if I was going to be forced to piss in the kitchen sink, but thankfully Frank appeared, and I explained my dilemma. He told me to go ahead and use one of the upstairs bathrooms. Salvation at last! I thanked him and raced up to the second floor, where I was soon standing before an unoccupied toilet and giddily releasing a great torrent of urine. Three cocktails and a plate of barbecue was a lot to pack into my body, and I was now feeling the sweet relief of emptying my bladder. Having released what felt like the entire contents of Frank’s bar into the bowl, I flushed, washed my hands, and was ready to rejoin the party. As I looked around the enormous bathroom, I realized there were actually three doors—the one I came in and two more that presumably went to bedrooms. Thank God I hadn’t needed to drop a deuce, as there were far too many entry points to ever feel completely secure. As I was about to exit back through door number one, I decided to be adventurous and opened door number two, and there to my surprise stood Melissa Williams.