He was surprised, but it didn’t take him long to rally. We sat there at the bar and kissed deeply, and I felt my dick stiffen even though I was watching Derek and Wayne out of the corner of my eye. When they’d passed, I relaxed and leaned back.
“You sure changed your mind in a hurry,” Gunter said, smiling at me. He put his hand on my thigh.
“Sorry. I saw a couple of guys who are involved in a case, and I didn’t want them to recognize me.”
I thought Gunter could still see them over my shoulder, and I was right. “Not Macho Man and his Chinese love-child?” he asked.
“You know them?”
He took a deep draw from his Corona and then wiped his lips. “I tricked with Derek a couple of times, when he first got back from college. He used to come over here for happy hour by himself. Then Wayne showed up and suggested that I stay away from his boyfriend.” He opened the top two buttons of his shirt and showed me a half-moon shaped scar around his left nipple. “Powerful suggestion, don’t you think? I took him at his word.”
“Wayne cut you? Did you go to the police?”
“Do you really think the police care about two fags squabbling over a boyfriend?” He took another pull on his beer. “You trying to break up their little smuggling ring?”
All my synapses started buzzing, and I didn’t feel drunk at all. “Well, the case isn’t quite pulled together yet,” I said.
“I helped the little shits at first, before Wayne went crazy with his boy scout knife. See, Derek made some connections through trying to get his gallery set up, people who’d find some precious artifacts and then bring them in for resale. Of course, the background on some of those things was a little dodgy, and they had to be sold to the right kind of buyers. The place where I work, I see everything that goes on. The kind of things people have when they move in. You know who’s got taste and who doesn’t. I made a couple of introductions, made myself a few bucks on the side.”
“And it stopped when Wayne cut you?”
“The bastard has a temper! I was just fooling around with Derek one day, had my hand in his pants, nothing more, and Wayne went ballistic! I pulled out right after that.” He smiled. “In more ways than one.”
I remembered the case that Peggy had been working on, the missing artifacts from the Bishop Museum, and the beautiful pieces I’d seen in Derek and Wayne’s apartment. All the puzzle pieces seemed to be coming together.
“But enough talk,” Gunter said. “Kiss me, you fool.”
And I was a fool, because I did.
Dangerous Charm
By the time I stumbled home the next morning, I felt raw in a dozen places. Sex with Gunter was nothing like it had been with Tim. With Tim, it had been slow and easy, building heat between us until it erupted like one of the volcanoes Hawai’i is famous for. With Gunter it was athletic and arduous, sweaty and fast-paced, and ultimately no less volcanic. I could still feel the scrape of his beard against my thighs, strain in unaccustomed muscles, and the memory of the deep hunger he awakened in me.
I crawled into bed at first light but couldn’t sleep, so I went out to surf for about half an hour on my short board, catching a couple of good waves that challenged me, made me concentrate. It was good for me. I was able to shake out a couple of the cobwebs, and forget about my personal troubles and the problems with the case.
I can see why my Hawaiian ancestors were so attached to nature when I get up that early. It’s like you can imagine some god pulling back the night, revealing the day to you. Everything seems new and fresh, and the neon signs on the tourist shops are turned off, and there isn’t much traffic on the streets, and you can actually hear birds in the trees and the sound of the waves without the background of horns and screeching brakes and emergency sirens. Like it always does, the ocean rejuvenated and refreshed me, and enabled me to go on and face another day.
Before I left for work, I found a picture Terri had sent me from her wedding. It was a good, clear shot of Evan Gonsalves. I took it with me to the station, where I got a cup of coffee and wrote up what I remembered of my conversation with Gunter. I was sure Peggy Kaneahe would want to call him in to talk again about the art and artifact smuggling I was sure could be traced to Derek and Wayne, through U.S. Pack and Ship.
Akoni came in then with a cup of coffee and a couple of malasadas. I took a malasada gratefully, and told Akoni what I’d learned.
“The pieces are starting to come together,” he said. He finished the last of the malasadas and washed it down with the dregs of his coffee. “Let’s get this show on the road. You got the picture of Gonsalves?”
I held it up to him. It was only a five by seven, but it would do. I called Derek Pang and told him I had a photo I wanted him to identify. “I’ve got to go down to the club,” he said. “Can you meet me there?”
“Sure,” I said. “How about Wayne? Will he be there too?”
“He has to stay here,” Derek said. “We’re expecting a delivery, and then he has to take that package out to the airport.”
“I’d like to get you both to identify the picture,” I said. “Hold on.” I put my hand over the phone and explained to Akoni.
“I’ll get a color Xerox of the photo and go to the club,” he said. “You take that copy and go meet Wayne.”
I told Derek what we wanted to do and he agreed. A half hour later I was on my way to their apartment. The door was ajar when I knocked, and a voice from inside called, “Come on in, the door’s open.”
When I walked in, I found Wayne Gallagher in the living room, wearing the same kimono he’d worn before, only this time he hadn’t bothered to tie it. The sides hung open, revealing a swath of hairy blond chest, a patch of groin and a long leg covered with fine light-colored hairs.
I got hard almost immediately. There was something incredibly sexy about him standing there. My mouth was dry; I had to swallow before I could say, “I’d like you to take a look at this picture and see if you can identify it.”
He sat down on the sofa, casually arranging the open robe to cover his groin, and then patted the seat next to him. When I hesitated, he said, “Come on, I won’t bite.” Then he grinned. “Not unless you want me to.”
I was sure he could tell I had an erection—my dick was straining against my pant leg, rubbing against the fabric as I moved across the room. I sat down next to him, not touching him, and I had to reach down and adjust myself. “Let me see,” he said.
I handed him the picture. “Hunky. That’s him all right. That’s the cop Tommy was paying off.”
“That’s the man who was at the club the night Tommy was killed?”
“That’s him.”
He adjusted his robe a little so that the head of his penis peeked out the side. “You’re very sexy, do you know that?” He put his hand on my arm and my flesh tingled.
I took the picture from him and put it back in the envelope, gently shrugging his hand off. “Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.” I started to get up.
“Hold on a minute.” He pulled on my sleeve and I sat back down next to him. He looked directly at me, and I felt a shiver of sexual tension run through me. I didn’t know what to do.
He took my right hand and slid it under his kimono, leaving it to rest on his cock, which began to harden at my touch. My mouth was dry again. I couldn’t say anything. He leaned over and kissed me.
I started to stroke his dick, which was fully erect by then. He kissed me harder, pressing his tongue into my mouth, then kissing my upper lip and running his tongue behind it. I kissed him back, though I knew it was wrong.
He pushed me back on the sofa and started unbuttoning my shirt, continuing to kiss me and then, when he could, tweaking my nipples until they were hard and sore. I was totally swept up in the passion of the moment, more passion than I could ever remember feeling, and couldn’t resist him at all. Soon my aloha shirt was open and he’d undone my pants. It was an incredible rush when he freed my cock from my shorts and then leaned down and put his mouth on it.
I wanted to get away, but I couldn’t. He had me totally in his control. Even as he kept calling me names, he licked and squeezed and teased me and I couldn’t do anything about it. He went down on me again and this time I thought I’d never felt such exquisite agony. Then there was a heavy knock on the door, which I had closed behind me.
“That’s my delivery,” Wayne said. “Don’t move.”
He got up and went to the door. I knew this was my only chance. I stood up, buttoning my pants and shirt hurriedly. My whole groin was wet with his saliva and my sweat. My hair was tousled and I’d missed a button on my shirt.
Wayne came back from the door holding a box the size of a small computer. “You can’t leave yet,” he said. “We’ve hardly started.”
He put the box down and came toward me, but I ducked around him and headed for the door. “Thanks for your help,” I said. I made it out into the hallway and to the elevator, where I pressed the down button.
He came to the door and stood there, his robe hanging open, his large dick hard and standing straight away from his body. “You want it,” he said. “Come back, baby. Let me give it to you.” He put his hand on his dick.
My mouth was dry again. The elevator came and I got in. As the doors closed I heard the phone ringing in the apartment and I could see Wayne still standing in the doorway, holding his dick and licking his lips. I felt like Little Red Riding Hood escaping from the wolf.
All the way back to Waikiki I kept thinking about Wayne Gallagher. It wasn’t supposed to be like that, was it—one person taking such control. There was a meanness under his sexuality that scared me—those names he called me, the roughness he’d used when he’d tweaked my nipples. It scared me to think that I liked that, that I had responded to that kind of treatment. What if that was really what turned me on—guys in leather harnesses with chains and handcuffs, hurting me in the name of pleasure? I had what I considered an essential belief in human dignity, in the need to treat everyone with respect. It was one of the cornerstones of my life as a cop. What if in my personal life I couldn’t hold on to that?
Akoni had gotten a positive ID from Derek, and we met back at the station to complete the paperwork for Evan’s arrest. We had gotten a fax of the autopsy for the body found in Kapiolani Park, but we had to shelve it until we finished with Tommy Pang’s murder. It took the rest of the morning, and it was almost two o’clock before I called Evan’s office to say I needed to meet with him. “He’s not in today,” the unit secretary told me. “A personal day. His wife had to fly to Maui for the day, so he’s home with his son.” She paused, and I could hear her sucking on the straw in the giant-sized water bottle I knew she kept by her desk. “He’s taking calls out there, though,” she continued. “I’ve already referred a couple of people out to him already.”
I relayed the news to Akoni. I didn’t want to have to arrest Evan in front of Danny, but once we got to the Gonsalves house in Wailupe, we’d deal with that.
We drove out in his Taurus, with Saunders and Alvy Greenberg in a black and white behind us for backup. We pulled up in the half-round driveway, behind Evan’s Saturn, and rang the doorbell.
No one answered. I put my ear up to the door and listened. I heard what sounded like a child crying, though at the time I thought it might have been Evan. “Evan!” I called. “It’s Kimo. Let me in.”
No answer. I looked at Akoni. Without saying anything, we split up and walked around the house in opposite directions. There was a lot of landscaping and it was hard to get close to the building. We met again in the backyard, where there was a stone lanai with a hibiscus hedge. From there we could see into the living room through sliding glass doors.
Danny Gonsalves was sitting in the middle of the living room floor crying. There was no sign of Evan anywhere. “I’ve got a screwdriver in the car,” Akoni said, and walked toward the driveway. While he was gone I tried to communicate to Danny, to get him to come to the door, but I couldn’t reach him. Akoni returned a moment later with the screwdriver, which he used to jimmy the lock on the sliding door.
I stepped in first. “Evan!” I called. There was no answer.
Danny didn’t move. He was dead scared, rocking back and forth and crying. I squatted down next to him. “What’s the matter, Danny?” I asked. “You remember me, don’t you? Kimo? I’m a friend of your mom and dad.”
He didn’t talk, but he grabbed onto my shirt with his fists and held on fiercely. “Something’s wrong here,” Akoni said. “I’m gonna take a look.”
Greenberg and Saunders stood outside, waiting, in case Evan came back, and I stayed in the living room with Danny while Akoni explored the house. He was gone a few minutes when he came back, a grim look on his face. “He’s in the study,” he said. “The room just behind here. He’s dead.”
I looked at him, not really believing. “Evan?”
Akoni nodded. “We got a pile of shit here.”
End of Things
I disengaged Danny from my shirt and left him sitting on the sofa, with Akoni watching him. He had stopped crying but he still wasn’t talking. We had Alvy Greenberg radio in for a crime scene team, and I walked into the study to see Evan Gonsalves. He was sitting behind a modern computer desk, and his five-shot Smith and Wesson Undercover .38 in his right hand. The hand lay on the desk and his body was slumped forward. There was a hole in the side of his head where the bullet had gone in, and a lot of blood around him, on the desk, the chair, his body and the floor.
I didn’t touch him, but I did lean down and see that the powder burns matched what I saw, death at close range. It seemed clearly a suicide, even though there was no note anywhere.
I looked around the room, trying to get some sort of psychic sense of what had happened there. What was Evan doing in his study? Had Danny been napping, maybe, and then walked in to discover his father’s body? I’d seen a lot of bodies during my years on the force, but the first couple had wrenched my stomach and torn at the linings of my heart. I wasn’t surprised Danny was nearly catatonic.
I looked around. The rest of the room was neatly organized—books on the bookshelves along one wall, the stereo and the TV off, Danny’s Nintendo sitting on a shelf with the cords neatly wrapped. I knew Evan had been in trouble, and I hadn’t reached out to him—I had been too careful, waited too long, because I thought I was protecting him and his family. Fat lot of good that had done.
There was something in the room, some kind of negative energy, and finally I had to walk back out to the living room. Akoni was sitting on the floor next to Danny, talking to him gently, but Danny was not responding. I watched Akoni reach out to stroke the boy’s shoulder, and Danny flinched and moved away. I rarely saw Akoni being gentle, and it was always a surprising sight. For such a big man, he was light on his feet, a great dancer, and he had something sweet and kind inside him that he rarely let out, usually only around kids and animals.
It was the same with Danny. Akoni responded to whatever was hurt inside him, and wanted to make it better. I hoped he and Mealoha would have children soon, though Akoni often pooh-poohed the idea. I knew he would make a good father.
I had thought Evan was a good father, too, and I didn’t believe he’d kill himself when Danny was around. He’d been a cop long enough to see what death looked like, and how it hurt those who saw it. What if this wasn’t suicide at all, but just a carefully constructed replica?
Akoni looked up and saw me, and got up from the floor. “You think he knew we were coming for him?”
“Must have,” I said. “Though I didn’t say anything to him. Maybe he knew somebody in the Prosecuting Attorney’s office, who tipped him off.”
“Damn shame,” Akoni said.
&n
bsp; We searched the house until we found a list in the kitchen, places Terri was going to be, and their phone numbers, in case anything happened to Danny and Evan needed to reach her. Her flight from Maui was due in at three, so she was probably on her way home.
The crime scene techs arrived and got to work. We notified District 4 and claimed jurisdiction because of our investigation into Evan, and a couple of the local cops came out to give us a hand. Even though we thought it was a suicide, it was still a crime scene, and Akoni and I took careful notes regarding the condition of the study and the house itself.
Terri arrived as we were finishing up, and Alvy Greenberg held her outside and called for me. “What is it, Kimo?” she asked. “What happened? Is Danny okay? Where’s Evan?”
“Danny’s okay,” I said. “It’s Evan.” I paused. “It looks like he killed himself.”
She crumpled. I put my arms around her and she cried. Then Akoni brought Danny to the front door, and when he saw his mother he ran for her. She cried even more, kneeling on the ground holding her son. It was a beautiful day in Wailupe, high seventies, mauka trades, a light scent of plumeria on the breeze, but there was something hard in my throat, and all I could think of was Terri on our graduation day from Punahou, how pretty she’d looked holding down her cap as the wind lifted the black gown and her brown hair flew back from her face.
It was a scene that happened all too often in the islands, and I was sure, even more often on the mainland. The lives of ordinary people were touched by tragedy, and they would never be the same again. I felt worse than I ever had before. I didn’t kill Evan, and I didn’t make him turn bad, but I had put the events in motion that had led us to this point, from the day I first heard about black tar and made arrangements for the bust.
I spent a while with Terri, holding her, letting her cry. While my brain ran forward at a hundred miles an hour, I said I was sorry, and promised her it would be all right, though I knew I was lying. Police and technicians ebbed and flowed around us, Akoni managing them, coordinating with the local cops.
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