The Poi Predicament

by Lyle Christie

  “No doubt,” I said.

  “You sound as though you’re speaking from experience,” John said.

  “Well, we had a little thing a couple nights ago and having experienced that hellcat I would totally agree with your whole bat-shit crazy summation.”

  “Yeah, so would I, but I kind of liked it,” Doug added.

  “Wait a minute. Is that how you fucked up with Violet? By sleeping with Melissa?” Corn asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Gross, that means that you and John basically touched dicks.”

  “Exactly!” Beeber blurted out.

  Jesus. More man logic. First it was Beebs giving Doug and me shit about Melissa, and now it was Corn giving John and me shit about Melissa. Fucking Melissa was a magnet for trouble and had the inexplicable ability to bridge the metaphorical gap between men’s dicks.

  “Not so fast, Corn. It doesn’t count if it’s been more than five years. Dick particles have a limited lifespan—kind of like the Nexus Six robots in Blade Runner, so John and I are free and clear of the dick to dick conundrum,” I said.

  Of course, John and I had almost shared yet another girl more recently, namely his wife to be, but thankfully Jessica and I only had a night of harmless fun, and it didn’t involve any kind of intercourse.

  “Well, you might get off on a technicality with John, but you definitely connected dicks with Doug,” Beeber said.

  “Easy, Beebsy, it was just a little harmless cock play between a couple of cocksmen,” I countered.

  Suddenly, Corn stood up and slapped his hand on the table.

  “Wow, Corn—are you issuing an official objection, or is there some other reason for your oddly timed hand slap,” I asked.

  He didn’t answer and instead grabbed the television remote control and turned it on and started going through the channels—probably hoping to check on the score of a Notre Dame game, as it was his beloved alma mater. He furiously passed one channel after another until happening upon a local news station, where I saw a familiar face, and I felt my scrot-sense begin to rumble in my undercarriage.

  “Holy shit! Can you go back?” I asked.

  “Dude, seriously? I’m dying to find out the score of the Notre Dame game,” he complained.

  “I know, but I just need you to go back for a second then you can continue on to your precious game.”

  He hit the back button, and there was the face, and I immediately recognized the man, though it was his name and title below him in bold white letters that was triggering the scrot-sense reflex. It turned out that the man on the screen was the Governor of Hawaii, and I remembered exactly where I’d seen him recently, and this, in turn, became the impetus for me to suddenly connect the dots and achieve enlightenment in our current situation.

  “I know who’s behind all this,” I said, which made the entire room instantly go quiet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Resident Evil

  I HAD TO take a moment to steady myself, for my head was spinning as all the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. My heart was also racing, and I decided to pour myself another drink to steady my nerves. With my drink in my hand, I sat down and took a large sip before speaking.

  “Fuck,” I said, before letting out a long pained sigh.

  “Do you mind sharing with the rest of the class?” John asked.

  “Yeah, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Why, is it really that bad?”

  “Yeah, because I think Melissa and Frank Williams are behind this entire thing.”

  “Are you insane? They are some of my oldest, dearest friends and my main political supporters.”

  “Yeah, and you left Melissa hanging at the alter. You know the old adage that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?”

  “Yeah, but trust me. You’re wrong.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. It all fits perfectly, and now I know how it all went down.”

  “I’m telling you right now—it’s going to take a hell of a lot to convince me.”

  “The motive alone is enough. Think about it. You left the most powerful man in Washington DC’s little girl on the alter. What would have happened if the Mathesons and Williams came together through marriage? You would have been the most powerful family in United States history, but you fucked it up my friend—at least in their eyes I imagine.”

  “Bullshit. Frank has been behind me throughout my entire political career.”

  “Until you decided to marry Jessica. I imagine that was the last straw.”

  “Dude, seriously—it can’t be the case. Trust me. I’ve known these people my entire life.”

  “OK, I’ll prove it. Beeber, can you bring up the security footage?”

  Beeber, who had been listening intently, brought his laptop over to the bar and set it in front of us, and everyone else gathered around and watched as he opened the folder that contained all the security footage.

  “OK, Beebs, can you bring up the clip of Jessica leaving her room.”

  He double clicked on an icon, and we saw Jessica appear and walk from her room. Next, it cut to the elevators, where she glanced up at the camera before entering, at which point, it cut to the next floor and showed her walking down the hall towards Steven’s room.

  “Alrighty, play that back and watch her closely,” I said.

  Beeber backed it up, hit play, and everyone watched.

  “I don’t see anything,” Beeber said.

  “Me neither,” John added.

  “Beeber, play it again, and this time, everyone watch her very closely.”

  He played the clip again, but this time Jerasian spoke up.

  “She’s walking funny,” he said.

  “Exactly, but why?” I asked.

  “No idea,” John said.

  “Well, I’ll tell you why. Her shoes are too tight!” I said excitedly.

  “Care to elaborate?” John asked.

  “Yeah, you see, earlier today on the beach, I saw a guy wearing his wife’s sandals and…”

  “Why was he wearing his wife’s sandals?”

  “The sand was too hot for bare feet, so he borrowed his wife’s sandals and looked, more or less, similar to our mystery woman in the video. It’s funny, but now that I think about it—the first time I watched the footage, I saw something odd, but it didn’t really sink in until I saw that guy today. So, based on the police evidence, we know for a fact they’re Jessica’s shoes, but they obviously don’t fit, which means it’s not Jessica.”

  “So, why did the person in the footage wear them?”

  “It created more items for the evidence chain,” I said.

  “And if the shoes don’t fit, you must acquit,” Doug said.

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “That still doesn’t mean it’s Melissa,” John said.

  “Just wait, as there’s more. On the night of your engagement party, I walked up and accidentally slapped Melissa’s ass at the bar, because I thought she was Jessica.”

  “So, you thought you were slapping my bride-to-be’s ass. Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “It will, because I learned at that moment that Melissa and Jessica are very similar looking. They have the same height, build, hair color, and sensational backsides, with the only major difference, excluding their faces, being their feet.”

  “And how would you know that little fact? Do you happen to have a foot fetish amongst all your other neuroses?” John asked.

  “No, but I did go swimming with Melissa and noticed that she could swim like a fish, and can you guess why?”

  “Because of her large feet?” John replied.

  “Yep, and having seen both Melissa and Jessica’s feet, I can safely say that Melissa is at least a size or two larger—especially judging by her discomfort in that video.”

  “Be that as it may, it still isn’t enough proof.”

  “So, how do you explain the fact that my software came up with an absolutely positive
ID on Jessica?” Beeber asked, sounding a bit defensive.

  “Because it was working perfectly. The face on the footage is Jessica’s.”

  “I’m getting confused. You just said it was Melissa,” John said.

  “No, I said the woman is Melissa, but the face is Jessica’s.”

  “So, you think someone Photoshopped it?”

  “In a manner of speaking, but in film they call it rotoscoping. They isolate the actual person’s face, then they go frame by frame and replace it with a new one. They did it in the movie Blue Crush when they needed a close up of Kate Bosworth surfing a big wave. They could have used a green screen, but instead they placed her face over a professional surfer’s body.”

  “Yeah, but you can still tell it’s a special effect,” Doug said.

  “Yeah, but remember that was a moving shot. A static one like the security footage would be a hell of a lot easier.”

  “And just who in the hell did they get to do that on such short notice?”

  “Frank’s son Richard Williams. He does special effects for a living and just happens to be visiting from the mainland.”

  “Wouldn’t it take too much time to get it done?”

  “Unlikely, as the footage is already digital, so all they’d have to do is alter the few seconds where she looks into the camera. That would be a piece of cake for someone who knows what their doing.”

  “True, but they’d also need to gain access to the security office,” Beeber said.

  “Which probably isn’t an obstacle for people who have already managed to draw the vice president’s soon to be wife into a murder investigation.”

  Everyone quietly pondered that, until John spoke up.

  “How can you prove the footage was altered?” he asked.

  “Beebs, can you bring up the still frame from the security footage.”

  He brought up the picture of Jessica, and everyone scrutinized it closely.

  “It looks legit to me,” Beeber said.

  “It does. In fact, it looks a lot better than the shot in Blue Crush, but there’s one problem. The lighting is wrong. It’s off by a hundred and eighty degrees, which I know because I took a video of myself in the same spot. When I played it back, there was something about it that made my scrot-sense tingle, and now I finally understand the reason.”

  “Scrot-sense?” John asked.

  “His little voice,” Beeber said.

  “Oh, I get it. Like Magnum P.I..”

  “Can you fuckers focus?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but it’d be a lot easier if you didn’t call your intuition scrot-sense.”

  “Fine, let’s forget about my scrot-sense for the moment, because I’m going to grab my iPhone and show you fuckers what I’m talking about.”

  I went to my room and grabbed my iPhone, and, as I hadn’t checked it since I went to the beach, I saw that I had a missed call, a voicemail message, three emails, and two apps to update. That would have to wait, however, as I was on a roll and about to break this case wide open. I returned to the bar and brought up the video I had taken by the elevator. It showed me looking at the camera and then speaking my short quip at the end where I said Beeber massages my balls with his chin. Everyone laughed except Beeber, who looked confused.

  “What’s the point of saying I’m massaging your balls with my chin?” he asked.

  “It means his dick is in your mouth,” Doug responded.

  “Oh, I get it now,” Beeber said, finally laughing.

  “Um, you probably shouldn’t be laughing, as this is usually the part where a better man would have made a witty comeback,” Doug said.

  “Oh, then how about this—I’m only laughing because…”

  “You just love sucking my dick. Now, it’s obviously too late for a comeback, so enough talk about sucking my dick! Come, children, let’s focus on the problem at hand,” I said.

  I scrolled back on my video and paused it where the lighting was most prominent.

  “See, my face and body are lit from the right. In the still frame of Jessica, the light on her face is coming from the left, but here you can clearly see the light on her body is coming from the right.”

  “Holy shit! You’re totally right!” Beeber said.

  Beebs, you said you used Jessica’s Facebook profile pic for comparison. Can you bring it up?”

  Beeber tapped a few keys, and brought up her profile pic. He then placed it side by side with the security frame grab, and the pics were absolutely identical and very likely one and the same.

  “Your software got a perfect match, because it was looking at the same picture. Young Richard must have used the same pic when he did the work, as it would have been more than good enough resolution to blend into a grainy security camera shot.”

  “OK, I’ll admit that the video is very likely doctored, but what about all the other evidence. How did they fake the gun powder residue and blood spatter report?”

  “Good point, and it’s elementary, my dear Sasquatch. Violet’s father said something interesting the yesterday. He quoted that old Sherlock Holmes adage that said once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. So, let’s assume Jessica actually did fire the gun—or at least was manipulated to have fired it.”

  “You can’t just fire a gun at a crowded resort—even if it is silenced. The bullet would make a lot of noise on impact, and you can’t go firing it out the window without the possibility of somebody seeing or hearing it,” Doug said.

  “Exactly, so I asked myself how that feat could have been accomplished? Well, last night I couldn’t sleep and went on YouTube and watched an episode of that show about the family that owned a gun store.”

  “Oh yeah, the one with the hot mother and daughter with the big tits! I loved that show!” Beeber blurted out.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Fuck, it’s too bad it’s not on the air anymore.”

  “Yeah, now part of last night’s rerun had the gunsmiths test firing a rifle into a little chamber, and I believe our killers could have used a similar contraption. All they’d have to do is roll it in to Jessica’s room, hold the gun in her hand, pull the trigger, and voila! Perfect gun splatter residue.”

  “And with the roofies, she’d never even know what happened,” Beeber said.

  “Correct.”

  The evidence against Jessica was beginning to pile up around Melissa, and John was starting to look particularly uncomfortable. He downed the remainder of his drink, refilled it immediately, then took another sip before letting out a long pained sigh. I couldn’t blame him, as he had spent a lifetime with the Williams Family, so all this would be extremely hard to process.

  “So, how did they get the test-fire chamber into her room?” John asked.

  “Beeber, can you go back farther in the security footage?”

  “Yeah, which camera and how far?”

  “Eleven thirty—main lobby.”

  At ten minutes to twelve, a woman appeared with a large house keeping cart. It had the usual bin for laundry in the middle, and was piled high with various sheets and towels. She had short dark curly hair and wore the hotel’s standard maid’s uniform. After a minute, she entered an elevator and disappeared from sight.

  “Can you bring up the footage from the camera on Jessica’s floor?” I asked Beebs.

  A second later, the same maid was moving down the hall and out of view.

  “That’s it. That’s how they brought the firing chamber in, and I’d bet a hundred pounds of poi that it’s in the cart, and that’s Melissa pushing it.”

  “I’m sure a maid on Jessica’s floor is by no means an unusual occurrence,” John said.

  “Actually it is. Maids don’t come to work until six a.m.,” Jerasian said.

  John thought for a moment.

  “OK, suppose it’s Melissa. It still doesn’t explain where Frank comes into all this,” John said.

  “I understand this can’t be easy to
hear, but I’m sorry to say that I have even more to tell you. The nerds tracked the email from the Governor’s office right to the Governor himself. That wasn’t as meaningful, however, until I saw the Governor on the television tonight and realized I’d seen him before—at the Outrigger Canoe Club. Frank was leading us into the first damage control meeting when he excused himself to talk to some dude. I now realize that the dude was the Governor. In fact, Frank even thanked him for some favor—probably the email he sent to the police commissioner that informed him that he wanted the investigation fast-tracked.”

  “But what about all the people that have been murdered? There’s no way in hell the governor of Hawaii or Frank would have been a party to that.”

  “I don’t know about the Governor, but I’m afraid your good buddy Frank is clearly the mastermind. Of course, he didn’t personally kill Steven Green, Roofie Rudy, or Danny the spear fisherman, but he did order Rex to do the job for him.”

  “Rex? Seriously?”

  “Yeah—along with the other members of Frank’s personal security team—a team that I’m betting are all ex Delta and likely served together.”

  “Rex seems like such a nice guy.”

  “I agree, but the last thing I asked Rudy before he died was what the man who hired him looked like. Oddly, he looked up at my face and said you. It got even weirder when I talked to the bartender at the restaurant where Steven had his official last meal. She said the guy with him reminded her of me, though it wasn’t necessarily a physical thing. It was his bearing and posture, and what do all people who have been in the armed services share?”

  “Posture and the military bearing that is hammered into you from the first day of basic training all the way through OCS. Try as I might, I’ve never been able to lose mine either,” John said.

  “Indeed, so our bad guys were in the service and clearly not average soldiers, and these fuckers have been using their formidable skills to conduct a highly sophisticated operation without leaving any clues or traces behind.”

  “Which is the kind of thing that Delta Force does on a daily basis. Those fuckers know their shit backwards and forwards,” Corn said, chiming in.

  “Oh sweet fucking Jesus! Maybe it’s about time we brought my father in on all this, though he’s going to be equally surprised and may very well have a heart attack,” John said, pulling out his phone.