Honolulu Blues

by Larry Darter

  "Using a meat cleaver, I reckon."

  "The guy nodded.

  "All right, I guess that's it then," I said.

  I turned to tell Jackie I was leaving, and to tell her to watch the guy until I returned. But, Jackie had walked around and past me. I turned back as she pointed the Beretta at the guy's head and shot him.

  "For fuck's sake," I said. "I promised to let him go if he talked."

  "But, I didn't promise him shit," Jackie said. "If you're going to torture a violent criminal, you’d better be up for killing him when you're done."

  "What about the police?" I said. "You've really complicated things."

  "He would have never stopped looking for us and trying to get even for this. We couldn't let him survive."

  Jackie pulled out a folding knife and cut the electrical ties off the guy's arms, wrists, and ankles. She shoved them into her pocket. Then she scoured the floor for the empty brass from the bullets we had fired. After finding the spent bullet casings, she put them in her pocket. Then she used the knife to cut off the gangster's shirt and held it out.

  "Go wipe down anything you touched in the back of his car. We don't have a way to burn it. I will find something to wipe out the shoe prints in the dirt on the floor."

  Taking the shirt, I went outside. I used the shirt to open the rear passenger door of the Toyota. Then I wiped down everything I could remember touching. I closed the door with the toe of my shoe. By the time I finished, Jackie had walked out of the building carrying a decrepit old broom with only a few bristles still attached.

  "Let's go," Jackie said, getting behind the steering wheel of the car after tossing the broom in the back seat.

  I got in the passenger seat. Jackie started the car and spun the tires as she accelerated down the dirt track towards the motorway.

  "Do you know where the Breakers Resort is?" I said.

  "Yes, it's over near the airport where we landed last night," Jackie said. "Maybe forty minutes from here."

  I glanced at the digital clock on the dash. "Figures," I said. "I will be arriving late."

  Neither of us spoke again during the rest of the drive.

  24

  Jackie drove into the car park of the Breakers Resort. The hotel was an eight-story building in the center of the property. It was an older-looking building, but it appeared the owners had renovated it in the recent past. The beach was only a short walk downhill from the entrance to the hotel. Jackie parked and reached for the door handle to get out of the car.

  "No, please wait in the car," I said. "I don't want you involved in this."

  "How much more involved can I get?" Jackie said. "I just killed that guy."

  "Yep, and I'm sorry that happened," I said. "But, I must do this alone. Please wait in the car."

  "What if that dude lied? What if more of them than just the guy's boss is waiting on you?"

  "I don't believe he lied," I said. "Besides, it is a hotel room, close quarters, we'd just be in each other's way. Please stay in the car."

  Jackie took her hand off the door handle. "I'll wait ten minutes. If you aren't back in ten minutes, I'm coming in."

  "Fair enough," I said. I pulled a pair of thin leather gloves out of my bag, and stuffed them in a front pocket of my pants.

  After getting out of the car, I walked towards the hotel, taking care to avoid the front entrance. I reckoned there were CCTV cameras in the lobby. A six-foot, ginger-haired Kiwi would stand out when the cops came and reviewed the video recordings. Instead, I walked along the side of the building until I came to a side door.

  Looking through the glass door, I saw the lifts. The door was locked but opened after I swiped the key card I'd taken off the gangster. I walked to the lifts and pressed the up button. The doors opened. The lift was empty. I got in and pushed the button for the top floor. When the lift stopped, and the doors opened, there was the expected hallway with doors on both sides. The room closest to the lifts was 816. I turned left and started down the hallway. The numbers got smaller. Room 802 was the last door at the end of the hallway.

  I put my ear to the door but heard nothing. Removing the gloves from my pocket, I pulled them on, and then slid the key card into the slot. The lock clicked and a green light illuminated. I pushed down on the handle with my left hand and pushed inward, opening the door a crack. Holding the Sig Sauer in my right hand, I pushed the door open, keeping the pistol level and close to my body.

  There was a bathroom to the right, and I could see the length of the room all the way to the glass doors that opened onto a balcony. Peeking around the open door, I saw a wardrobe behind it. The doors of the wardrobe were open and no one was inside. Stepping into the room, I let the door close behind me. I held the pistol in a two-handed tactical grip close to my body, looking around the room over the front sight. Darting into the bathroom, I found it empty. I walked to the shower, transferred the pistol to my left hand and flung open the door. The shower was empty too.

  I went back into the main room. There were two full-size beds and a lounge area near the balcony doors. I could see another door to the left which I reckoned was a private bedroom. Advancing past the short wall separating the bathroom from the open sleeping area, I made for the other bedroom. Someone grabbed me from behind. A muscular forearm clamped down on my forearms, and the pistol flew out of my hands. I watched it skitter along the carpet and disappear beneath the second bed. Then my attacker slammed me into a bureau against the wall across from the beds, one arm around my waist pinning my left arm, and another over my shoulder and across the front of my neck.

  I got a knee against the bureau and pushed as hard as I could, then got the sole of my right shoe on the edge of the bureau and shoved again, extending my leg. We both went backward and landed on the bed nearest the bathroom wall. I was on my right side, and a stocky, muscular Asian guy was partially astride me.

  He pinned me to the bed with his body weight, grabbed my throat with his left hand, and punched me in the head with his right fist. I squirmed and twisted until I was on my back with my right arm free. He rolled up on top of me, straddling my waist with his knees. He still had me by the throat and was punching at my face.

  When I tried to strike him in the nose with the heel of my right palm, he turned his head, and instead, I connected with his jaw. It rocked him back enough for me to pull both knees up between our bodies. I kept hitting him with my right hand while I used my left to protect my face from his punches. I got the soles of my feet against his stomach, and I pushed with all my might, extending my legs. The man flew backward off the bed and landed on a dressing table, shattering the framed mirror. Then the table gave way beneath his weight, and he went crashing to the floor.

  Leaping off the bed, I tried to retrieve the pistol. But, the guy recovered quick enough to catch my ankle with his hand. I tripped and sprawled forward, frantically clawing forward to reach the pistol just beyond my outstretched fingertips. The man grabbed my legs and hauled me backward on my stomach away from the gun. I rolled onto my side and kicked at his head with my left foot. When he lost his grip on my legs, I dove forward toward the pistol, grabbed it, and tried to get back on my feet.

  The man slammed into me from behind like a rugby forward, grabbing me in a bear hug. I lost the gun again. Then the guy pushed me towards the balcony doors, almost running. We crashed through the plate glass doors, and then he slammed me forward against the metal balcony railing. Glancing down, I saw a paved area around a swimming pool far below. I tried to push off the railing and twist my body so I could punch at his face.

  Just as I turned enough to see his face, I heard the groan of metal, and then a loud popping sound. The top brackets holding the railing in place gave way, and the top of the railing fell outward from the edge of balcony going from vertical to horizontal. My feet flew over my head, and my legs flipped over the far side of the railing. I barely managed to get a grip on what had been the top rail before plummeting eight stories to the pavement below. The balco
ny railing was now parallel with the ground.

  The guy crawled out from the balcony onto the railing on his stomach, and I could see him clearly for the first time. He was about mid-thirties with broad shoulders, and muscular with a thick neck. I could see the head of a dragon tattooed on the side of his neck that extended from beneath his shirt collar. With a sneer on his lips, he tried to pound my fingers with his fist to make me lose my grip on the railing.

  "You die now!" the man growled over and over.

  I kept moving my hands, hand walking along the railing to avoid the blows, moving further to my right. Then there was the sound of groaning metal again, followed by more popping sounds. The central stanchions separated from the balcony, along with the bottom rail clip at one end. The entire railing fell over the side, going from horizontal to vertical again, only now the whole thing was hanging off the balcony at a forty-five degree angle. I looked up and saw the railing was only connected by one remaining bottom rail clip on the side I was clinging to at the bottom of it. The Asian guy had gone over the side of the balcony with the railing and like me was also hanging on for dear life only on the opposite end. We both clawed up the railing. He was strong, but his weight worked against him. I pulled myself higher, hand over hand until I got both feet on a spindle at one end of the railing. Then I climbed the spindles like a ladder.

  The Asian guy moved toward me while pulling himself up. He got a grip on my left ankle and pulled hard. My gloved hands slipped loose. I slid back down the surface of the railing and almost fell off again before I grabbed hold of the next-to-last spindle. The Asian guy was above me, kicking downward at my hands and head. I was knackered, but my adrenaline was pumping, I hated heights. I tried to clamber back up the railing, getting to where my head was a little above the man's hips. He was still kicking at me and swung a fist at my head. I hooked my left arm over a spindle, stuck my right arm through the railing and then punched the guy in the groin as hard as I could. He let go of the railing to protect his groin. I reached up and grabbed his waistband and jerked hard. The guy lost his grip and fell.

  At the last moment, he grabbed onto the last spindle. I couldn't take any more kicks and punches. I was already feeling dizzy. Summoning the last of my strength and energy, I clamored up the railing, step by step, and hand over hand. Reaching the edge of the balcony, I grabbed hold of two twisted, broken metal stubs where the stanchions had snapped off. I felt the guy grabbing at my left ankle. Then there was a loud shriek and pop of snapping metal again, one final loud pop, and the railing slipped away beneath me. I glanced down and watched the guy plummet toward the pavement below still clinging to the useless railing.

  There was a sickening thump when he hit the pavement. People screamed and shouted. I chinned myself up, getting my chest level with the edge of the balcony. I hooked my right heel on the edge of the balcony and somehow levered myself up and over the edge.

  Coming to rest on the balcony on my back, oblivious to the shards of broken glass littering it, I gulped in breaths of air. The screaming and shouting below grew louder. I knew I had to get out of the hotel and fast. I rolled over and pushed myself to my feet, then staggered back into the room. Spotting the pistol on the floor, I scooped it up and tucked it into my waistband at the back.

  Moving to the front door in a hurry, I opened it and lurched out into the hallway. I reckoned hotel security would be on the way up in the lifts by now. So, I stumbled down the hallway to the stairway. I flung open the door, and started down the steps, as fast as I could. When I got to the ground floor and came out of the stairwell, I was only a few meters from the side door I'd entered through earlier. I walked unsteadily to the door and went out, then followed the side of the building back towards the car park. As I came around the corner, I almost ran head-on into Jackie who was on her way into the building. I looked her in the eye.

  "Run," I said.

  Jackie wheeled around, and we both jogged back to the car. We got in. Jackie started the engine, backed out of the parking space, and accelerated toward the exit.

  "Did you kill him?" Jackie said. "I heard screaming and shouting but couldn't tell for sure where it was coming from."

  "Sort of," I said. "But it was self-defense. I'd love to tell you all about it, later."

  I focused on catching my breath and getting over the terror of almost falling eight stories to my death. Jackie drove us back to the airport on the west side of Maui. She grabbed the broom out of the back seat, locked the car, and replaced the magnetic box with the key back beneath the front tire well.

  We jogged out to the helicopter and got inside. Jackie fired up the engine and swiftly ticked off the pre-flight checklist. We belted up and put on our headsets. Less than five minutes after parking the car, we were in the air, headed back to Oahu.

  "I guess I better get rid of my pistol," I said. "The cops will recover the bullet from that guy's knee."

  Jackie looked over at me. "No, they won't. I dug it out before we left. Might have been a few fragments left, but I got most of it."

  Jackie reached into a pocket and held out her hand. She opened the hand revealing a deformed bullet with dried blood and bits of flesh still on it.

  "Ugh, that's grotty," I said.

  "Take it," Jackie said.

  I held out my hand, and she dropped the bullet into my palm. Then she dug in her pocket again and produced the two brass bullet casings. Dropping them into my hand, she then reached beneath her seat and pulled out the Beretta we had taken off the first thug. She handed me the pistol.

  "Open your door a crack, and drop that shit into the ocean," Jackie said. "It will be hard with the wind resistance. Lift the lever and push hard with your shoulder. You can get it open far enough to drop the stuff."

  I lifted the handle and pushed. There was the roar of violently rushing air, but I forced the door open a crack. I reached between my legs and scooped up the brass casings and the bullet, then dropped them out of the helicopter. I picked up the pistol, pushed a little harder against the door and, when the crack had widened enough, I dropped the pistol out. I leaned away from the door and it slammed shut.

  Jackie looked at me and smiled. "Bye-bye, physical evidence."

  "To be fair, I feel bad about that guy at the building," I said.

  "That's because you aren't looking at it right," Jackie said. "You think it was murder. That wasn't a murder. That was a preemptive strike. If we had let that bastard go, we would have been looking over our shoulders the rest of our lives. No thank you."

  About forty-five minutes later we touched down at John Rodgers Field. Jackie shut down the helicopter and I helped her secure it. She got the old broom out and tossed it into the dumpster beside the hangar. We went inside where Jackie exchanged the flight suit for her shorts and top and stowed her aviator's helmet. Then we got in her car and headed back to my flat.

  25

  Jackie spent the night at my flat. I was feeling more than a bit guilt-ridden about the guy we'd tortured and killed. And, it seemed Jackie was having more difficulty with the shooting than she let on. She usually never stopped talking, but she had gone quiet, beyond responding when I initiated conversation. As soon as we arrived at my flat, she asked if I had anything to drink. I got a bottle of bourbon from the cupboard and she drank as if she meant to finish the bottle herself.

  I felt she probably needed to talk about the shooting. I asked her if she had ever done anything like that before, shooting someone. Jackie looked at me like she was angry with me. She said she had killed people when she was in Afghanistan in the army.

  "They were the same sort of situations as at that blockhouse on Maui," Jackie said. "Sometimes it had to be done." Then her eyes filled with tears and she said she didn't want to talk about it.

  For me part of the guilt came from knowing I'd put Jackie in the position of doing what she had done. Neither of us was a psychopath. I never wished to become so heartless that it would seem easy to take the life of another human being. Sure, the g
uy at the building had been a thug who wouldn't have thought twice about killing Jackie and me if the tables had been turned. Yet, I couldn't help feeling bad about the way he died.

  The guy at the hotel was different. He had been trying to kill me. I'd been fighting for my life when he fell from the balcony. I just hoped it would all turn out worth it, and that the confrontation with the Triads was over.

  We both woke up early the following morning. I had slept little. Given her tossing and turning, I didn't think Jackie had slept much either. As soon as we got out of bed and got dressed Jackie said she was going home. She left without having coffee.

  When I checked my phone, I had four missed calls from Kevin Laanui and two others from Greg Yu. I hadn't bothered to look at the phone since arriving at the airport in Maui the previous morning.

  Kevin was gone when Jackie and I arrived back at the flat. I decided Kevin could wait and rang Greg, who told me that Mike was out of intensive care and in a room. He said Mike could have visitors, but he was so doped up on pain medication he slept more than he was awake. I told Greg I wanted to see Mike regardless, and I'd leave for the hospital as soon as I could.

  After showering and getting dressed, I grabbed my helmet and rode the motorbike to Princess Kaiulani Medical Center. The room number Greg had given me was on the fourth floor. I took the lift and found the room. Greg was sitting in a chair beside the window reading a newspaper when I walked in. I saw the look of surprise on his face when he looked at me.

  "What the hell happened to you?" Greg said.

  "Banged into a door," I said. "I can be a bit clumsy."

  While getting dressed, I'd noticed what Greg had referred to. I had bruises and scratches on my face, and my left eye was swollen and going black. There were small cuts on my face and forehead from the glass balcony doors I'd gone through. I'd tried to cover it all with makeup, but that hadn't worked out well. I could tell from Greg's expression he wasn't buying my explanation. But, at least he didn't call me out on it.