Mahu Box Set

by Neil S. Plakcy

I thought for a minute. The only incriminating thing I had was my laptop, with my notes about the murders, and I had that with me. All Dario would find at Hibiscus House was a pile of books, dirty laundry and sports equipment. I dug the key to my room out of my pants pocket, and handed it to him. “Thanks, Dario.” I transferred everything else to the pockets of the new board shorts.

  My erection had finally started to go down as Dario came back around the desk again. “I can’t leave here until I close at nine,” he said. “So you probably won’t see me until ten.” As he passed, he slid his hand under the drawstring and tried to cop a quick feel, but I grabbed his wrist.

  “Uh-uh-uh,” I said.

  Dario smiled and shrugged. “Can’t blame a boy for trying.”

  I struggled, as I left The Next Wave for my truck, to bring my focus back to the case, but I just couldn’t. My brain was still buzzing from Dario’s overture. I gave up the case for a moment and tried to figure out how I felt about Dario as I drove to meet Ari. Did I want to have sex with him? Or was my dick just responding to any old stimulus?

  It was a complicated situation, all tied up with the past as well as my new sexual emancipation. Had I subconsciously wanted to have sex with Dario all those years ago, but kept pushing it below the surface until he finally made the move? He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and his figure was trim. I knew now that he had a shapely, smooth ass, and an average-sized, uncircumcised dick. He was a passionate kisser, and his body made mine feel good.

  I couldn’t have done it at his office. Even with him pushing his ass up against me, then ripping open the condom wrapper for me. The way the whole situation had played out was like some rape scenario from a porn movie, and I didn’t like that. He’d raped me, all those years ago, because I was powerless to resist, and trying to get me to act out the situation again, in reverse, wasn’t going to make the past go away. And I couldn’t do anything as long as I still had a case to investigate, and as long as there was any indication that The Next Wave, or possibly Dario himself, could be involved.

  I wasn’t opposed to a power struggle as part of a sexual situation. A pair of tongues vying for dominance, a little wrestling, one person taking the lead. All of that was good, it was part of the fun. But there was something weirder about our situation, and I would have to think about it for a while to figure it out.

  The address Dario had given me was up in the hills above Hale’iwa, and dusk had just begun to fall as I left the Kam for a narrow, climbing road. I had to stop before an iron gate and a big sign which welcomed me to Cane Landing. Through the bars I saw a winding street, lined with tall royal palms, and a series of big houses set back from the road in a swale of landscaping. Almost as soon as I arrived, Ari pulled up behind me. He left his car running behind my truck, got out, and walked up to my window.

  “Here’s the opener,” he said, handing me a black remote control. “And here are the keys. It’s the third house on the right, and the code for the alarm is two-five-one-five.”

  “I don’t know that I can afford to stay in some place so fancy.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ari said. “We’ll make an arrangement about the utilities. Most of these places sit empty forty-eight weeks a year. The owners rent them out for a week or two at a time and make enough to cover their costs.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Nice to have money, isn’t it?” he asked. “Anyway, make yourself at home. You should be pretty safe from the press back there.”

  He turned away, but I got out of my truck and called, “Hey, Ari, can I ask you a question?” He turned back to me, framed in his own headlights. “You told me you saw Brad at Sugar’s on Sunday night, before I got there.”

  “Yeah. He was pretty steamed.”

  “How’d he meet that kid—Tommy Singer?”

  The night was quiet but for the low hum of both of our engines, and the chirp of a cricket somewhere behind us. I saw Ari close his eyes, trying to remember. “I was sitting there with Jeremy when Brad came in. He didn’t even stop for a drink first, just came right over to us. He told Jeremy something like, ‘You were right. He really is a sleaze ball.’”

  I felt an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. “That would be me.”

  “Yup.”

  “So Jeremy’s the one who told George and Larry I was at the Drainpipe, and then he told Brad that I’d gone off with them.”

  “Jeremy’s a sad guy.” Ari leaned back against his car. “Don’t blame him too much. He gets off on manipulating people because he doesn’t have much of a life of his own.”

  I shook my head. He’d manipulated Brad right into his grave. “So what happened after that?”

  “Jeremy went up to the bar and got us all a round. When he came back, he told Brad he’d seen a cute guy up at the bar. We all looked around and we saw that boy, Tommy. He was wearing a motorcycle jacket, trying to look tough, but you just had to look in his eyes to see he was scared stiff.”

  I knew that feeling well.

  Ari shifted around. “We talked for a couple of minutes, and Jeremy encouraged Brad to pick the guy up. Not really Brad’s usual type, as you know, but Jeremy kept insisting it would be good for him. That old get-back-on-the-horse routine after you’ve fallen off.”

  “So Brad took his advice?”

  “Brad bought the next round. He chatted the boy up while he was at the bar, and after he brought Jeremy and me our drinks, he went back up there. Rik came in a little later, said hello to Brad and the boy, then came back to our table. He was telling us a story about something he saw at the park—some couple having sex in a tree, if I remember correctly—and the next time we looked up, Brad was gone. Jeremy and Rik left a little later, and then shortly after that you showed up.”

  He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go. Take care, Kimo.”

  He got into his car, and I pressed the remote to open the gate. I drove in, and the gate closed behind me as Ari made a U-turn and headed back down the road.

  I drove into the third driveway. The house was vaguely Mediterranean in style, white stucco with a sloping tile roof. I picked up my laptop and my cum-stained shorts and boxers and walked up to the front door. The big square key opened it, and I immediately punched the four numbers Ari had given me into the keypad right inside. The system beeped softly and showed a green light.

  I closed the door behind me and began to explore. I didn’t get more than a few feet, though, before my cell phone rang. I checked the digital display and recognized my oldest brother’s cell number.

  “Hey, brah, must be real convenient for you having a source you can exploit right in your own family.”

  “Hey, Kimo.”

  “You could at least have called me, you know. Let me know I was hitting the news again.”

  “Things were crazy around here. It was just before air time when I saw a picture of the two victims and I recognized the guy you were talking to at the park.”

  “And let me guess. Now you’re calling because you want to set me up with an exclusive interview with Ralph Kim.”

  “I always said you were the smartest of the three of us.”

  I walked over to a plush leather sofa and sat down. “No, you always said you were the smartest. What’s in it for me? Why should I spill my guts for Ralphie?”

  “Family loyalty?”

  I laughed, stretched my legs out to the coffee table, and then made a buzzer sound. “Try again.”

  “What do you want?”

  “How about a little respect,” I said. “Family loyalty. Think of us before you think of KVOL.”

  “You’re sounding like Mom.”

  “Jesus, insults upon insults,” I said. “Listen, Lui, you’re my brother, I love you, you’ve been there in the past when I needed you. Just try and be a little more considerate in the future?”

  “I will. Can I give Ralph your cell number?”

  “No. I don’t want everybody in the world to have it.” I looked outside, through sliding glass doors that le
d to a lanai edged with hibiscus and bougainvillea. It was already dark. I stalled for time, trying to think of a way to turn this situation to my advantage, to move forward my investigation. I knew that the press would hound me until I gave them something, and if I wanted to be able to investigate without having a reporter trailing me looking for a story, I would have to take control of the situation.

  “What time is your morning news tomorrow?”

  “We go live at 5:30.”

  “Sunrise is about six,” I said. “Have Ralph and a camera crew meet me at Pipeline at 6:30, and I’ll give him an interview there. Scene of the crime and all.”

  “You’re the best, Kimo.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you say that to Haoa too. If there’s any problem, all communications go through you, right?”

  “Right.” He hung up, and I figured I had better call my parents before they called me. My mother was worried, of course, but pleased that I had spoken to Lui.

  “Of course, he could have called me, or you, before he put my face on TV,” I said. That was a sore spot for Lui; in his zeal to put on the best news show he could, he had neglected to call and tell either me, or our parents, that his TV station was outing me after I had been suspended from the force on my last case.

  “Your brother always has to be the best,” my mother said. “He was born first, and he has been struggling to stay first ever since.”

  “And I was born third, so that means I always have to stay in third place?”

  “You know what I mean. Kimo, your father and I have been talking. We think you should come home for a while, until everything settles down. You need your family around you at a time like this.”

  How could I tell my mother I couldn’t come home until I had found out who killed Brad Jacobson and the four surfers, especially when she thought I was no longer a policeman? How could I keep lying to her and my father? The pressures just kept building on me, without any relief in sight. I ran a hand through my hair and thought about what I could say.

  “I can’t run away and hide,” I said finally. “And that’s how it would look if I came home now. I have to face whatever problems come up. And I’m going to do that by talking to Lui’s reporter tomorrow morning.”

  “Al, you talk to him,” I heard my mother say. “He’s going back on TV.”

  My father got on the phone. “Don’t you worry about Lui,” he said. “You don’t have to keep on talking on TV just because your brother asks you to.”

  “I already have a public profile, Dad, you know that. If I don’t take control of it, set my own interviews and my own agendas, the media will twist things around again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned lately, it’s that I need to manage the way the media treat me, as much as I can.”

  “What can we do to help you?”

  “You just have to go on believing in me,” I said, knowing as I said it that I was really asking them to believe a lie. “Just knowing that you’re there and that you love me really helps.”

  My mother got back on the phone. “It was nice to see you yesterday,” she said. “All the way home, all the kids wanted to talk about was how good you surf. They all want to be like you.”

  “Let’s hope they can all stay out of the headlines. I love you guys. I’ll see you soon, all right?”

  My parents told me that they loved me, too, and I hung up. I knew that they would stand by me, no matter what—but when they learned that I had been lying to them, they would not be happy. That, I knew, was a problem I would have to face eventually.

  Moving Up

  I resumed my exploration of the house. I was in a living room that was bigger than my apartment back on Waikiki, with a flat-panel TV with VCR and DVD player. I could finally watch the video tapes Lui had brought me of Mexpipe.

  The living room flowed into an expensively appointed kitchen, with European appliances and stone countertops. A rack of gleaming copper pans that I was sure had never been used hung over an island in the middle of the room.

  There were a few staples in the cabinets, but the refrigerator was empty. At least I’d have a chance to cook, I thought, happy to get away from the lonely restaurant meals I’d been eating since coming to the North Shore. There was a powder room on that level, too, and a curving staircase led up to the second floor.

  Up there, I found two small bedrooms and a nice bathroom, as well as a large master suite, with a king-sized bed and a bathroom with a glassed-in shower stall and a Roman tub. A balcony looked out to the dark ocean.

  I opened the sliding door and stepped out. A necklace of streetlamps outlined the community’s single, curving street. I looked up and down the street, and saw lights in only a couple of the dozen houses, and only a few parked cars. Cane Landing felt like a protective cocoon, one I had spun around me to keep away horny ghosts from my past, inquisitive reporters, crazed murderers and everybody else who wanted a piece of me.

  My stomach grumbled and I realized I had hardly eaten all day. I made a quick trip down to Fujioka’s for chicken breasts, vegetables and rice, and a big chocolate cake for dessert. I figured I deserved that much.

  Back at Cane Landing, I turned on the TV, which had a satellite linkup, and used the Food Channel for background noise while I cooked. One program segued into the next as I ate, then slumped onto the couch. I was startled a little after ten when the house phone rang. I picked it up gingerly, not knowing who could be calling.

  “Kimo, it’s Dario. I’m at the front gate. Let me in.”

  I had no idea what to do. But I’m a detective, right? I can figure things out. I started randomly pressing buttons until I hit nine and heard a buzzing sound. When it ended I hung up and went out to the driveway.

  Dario had packed my suitcase, which sat on his back seat, and my boards were lashed to his roof rack. He climbed up to untie them, then handed them down to me. “Wish I could stay,” he said, “but I’ve got a situation at home.”

  He jumped down, gave me a quick and unexpected kiss on the lips, and then he was backing down the driveway, leaving me on the lawn surrounded by my belongings. I shook my head and started ferrying stuff inside.

  Before I went to sleep, I opened up my laptop, plugged into the phone jack in the bedroom, and dialed up my internet service provider. Hibiscus House hadn’t bothered to install phone jacks in the guest rooms, so I’d had to stop by The Next Wave every time I wanted to get my email. It would be nice to be able to sit up in bed instead.

  I fired off an email to Lieutenant Sampson letting him know I’d be on TV the next morning. I told him I hoped that once the media saw there was no story about Brad and me, that it would free me up to continue my investigation without hindrance. There was a message from Terri, asking me if I’d check on her uncle, Bishop Clark. Her father seemed to think that Bishop was acting stranger than usual.

  I’d met Bishop once, years before, at a party at Terri’s. He was her father’s older brother, and his name came from a maternal connection to the Hawaiian royal family rather than any religious affiliation. I wrote back to Terri and told her I’d check him out as soon as I could.

  Harry had also sent me a message, telling me he was backed up between his course at UH, Arleen and Brandon, and some issues that had come up with one of his patents. He promised to research the bank accounts of the victims, and the mysterious Harry Pincus, as soon as he could.

  Emails finished, I turned to the issue of Ralph Kim. I knew from watching KVOL occasionally that Kim was a bulldog when it came to getting his stories, and specialized in ambushing subjects. I hadn’t been worried when he talked to me on the beach, because I had been able to distract him with the idea of another series he could star in. But it was likely that Kim might have some embarrassing questions for me the next morning, and I wanted to be prepared.

  I knew my brother wouldn’t let me come off as a fool, but I thought if Ralph asked me an embarrassing question and I fumbled around for a while, Lui might just let that on the air, in the name of engaging television
. I needed some fumble insurance, and I thought I remembered something about Ralph that would help.

  I went to Google and typed in “Ralph Kim” as a phrase, with “mistress” after it. Sure enough, I came up with a couple of hits, the most promising from a blog written by an ex-staffer at the station. Ralph had married a demure Korean girl after he graduated from college, and they had a son together, but these days he spent most of his time with his mistress, a blonde haole girl he’d met when she was a production assistant at KVOL.

  That piece of information snugly nested in my brain, I stripped down, did my daily check for any new bumps and bruises, and then headed for the shower.

  My dreams were restless and creepy, even though the bed was comfortable. In one, I walked alone down a darkened beach that I knew was Pipeline, knowing somehow that if I could just climb that ridge, I would be able to stop Brad’s murder—but I couldn’t. No amount of effort or willpower could get me over it.

  I woke just before dawn, covered in sweat, and knew I couldn’t go back to sleep. There was too much to do.

  Pipeline wasn’t as crowded as usual. I managed to get a little surfing in before I saw the KVOL truck pull up on Ke Nui Road. I walked up the beach in my wetsuit as the cameraman was getting his B roll, shots of the beach that could play under Ralph’s voice. I hoisted my board back onto the roof rack, uncertain of what I’d do after the interview, then walked over to Ralph, who greeted me warmly, filling me in on how the interview would work. He positioned me so that the spot where the bodies had been found, still roped off with yellow police tape, was visible behind me.

  Ralph listened to his earpiece, then said, “There’s an overturned tanker truck on the H1, so they’re giving the traffic guy an extra minute. After that, they go to a commercial, then they come to us. You okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “After the last few weeks, I’m getting to be a pro at this.”

  “And you’re doing a great job,” he said. Then we stood, a little awkwardly, waiting for the voice in his ear to get us started. All at once, he looked alert, and I took a deep breath as the camera began to run. Ralph began with a rundown on what had happened to me—how I’d been a championship surfer before attending the police academy, and then a decorated officer and detective in Waikiki. All true, though a little exaggerated. He went on to describe how I’d come out of the closet, how the department had responded, and how I’d decided to give up my career, returning to my first love, surfing.