Honolulu Blues

by Larry Darter

  "Mike has been asleep since the doctor left two hours ago," Greg said.

  "I'll just sit for a bit then," I said. "I needed to see him, to see he was okay, even if he doesn't know I'm here."

  "Seen the paper this morning?" Greg said.

  "No, I don't read the newspaper," I said.

  "It seems some big-shot Triad boss from Hong Kong took a header off an eighth-floor hotel balcony on Maui yesterday," Greg said.

  "Seriously?" I said.

  "Yes, the Maui cops aren't sure whether the railing gave way, and he fell, or whether someone gave him a little help."

  "How awful," I said.

  "Yes, but that's not all. Later the Maui cops discovered a stiff in an abandoned building with a bullet in his head. He was a local from Honolulu and a known member of the Triads too. But, it isn't clear whether his murder was connected to the guy killed at the hotel."

  I pulled a chair up to Mike's bedside and sat down. Mike seemed peaceful, but his skin was quite pale. He was receiving oxygen via a nasal cannula and had a chest tube and another tube in his mouth. There was an IV bag suspended above his head, and tubing from it attached to a needle in the back of his left hand.

  "I never realized Maui was such a dangerous place," I said.

  "I think what happened there yesterday was unusual," Greg said. "The Maui cops are thinking it must have resulted from some syndicate squabble. But they are still investigating."

  "Makes sense," I said. "Since as you said, both guys had ties to the Triads."

  "You in town all day yesterday?" Greg said.

  The conversation seemed like an interrogation.

  "Yep, my friend Jackie and I were hanging out at my flat. We had those threats I told you about, and we thought it best to stay together."

  "Yeah, you mentioned that. Jackie, she's the helicopter pilot, isn't she?"

  "Yep, she has an inter-island air transportation company over at John Rodgers Field," I said. "We share an office there, actually."

  "Seen Kevin lately?" Greg said. "He told me you left his place and went back to your apartment."

  "Yep, I saw Kevin Friday," I said.

  "But, you didn't see him yesterday?"

  "No, why do you ask, Greg?"

  "Just curious, that's all," Greg said. "Just making conversation."

  "If you think Kevin has any connection to what happened on Maui, he doesn't," I said.

  "Oh no," Greg said. "I've known Kevin a long time. He is a straight up law and order guy, always has been. Kevin wouldn't get involved in anything like that."

  I didn't reply, hoping the conversation would die. I knew what Greg was trying to get at, but wasn't sure where he was trying to go with it. Wherever it was, I wasn't about to confirm his theory or discuss with him anything that had happened on Maui the day before.

  Mike's eyes fluttered open. He turned his head and looked at me, but he looked groggy and seemed to be having difficulty focusing. A weak smile appeared on his lips. His lips started to move, but then his eyes closed and he was asleep again.

  "I guess I'll go," I said. "Maybe when I come back tomorrow, Mike will be awake."

  "Probably best," Greg said. "The doctors told me Mike wouldn't be awake much today."

  "You staying?" I said.

  "Yes, for a while longer."

  "Please tell Mike I came to visit, if he wakes up," I said. "And that I'll be back tomorrow."

  "Sure, I will," Greg said.

  We said goodbye, and I left the hospital.

  After seeing Mike, I rode over to Kevin's house. He was on the deck in back having a beer and got me one. The conversation turned to Maui.

  "That was a bad business over on Maui yesterday," Kevin said. "The guy who went off the balcony, Wong Wei-hsiung, was a vicious criminal and a killer. Seems he was also one of the top Triad bosses in Hong Kong. Maybe you're off the hook now."

  "One can hope," I said. I sipped some beer.

  "I knew a few cops when I was on the job who believed sometimes it was okay do things that were a little wrong to do the right thing," Kevin said. "I never bought into that. When you do that the line between right and wrong gets blurred. It's too easy to come down on the wrong side of things. Good guys become the bad guys."

  While Kevin didn't interrogate me the way I felt Greg had, it seemed clear he felt he had worked out what had happened on Maui and who was responsible. It was also clear Kevin didn't approve, and yet it seemed on some level he understood why what had happened had been necessary. I was happy he asked no direct questions because it would have been hard to lie to Kevin. He had become a good friend.

  "You think they’ll leave me alone now?" I said.

  "Since Wong Wei-hsiung came to Honolulu to deal with you himself, it suggests it was more a personal vendetta than an organizational matter."

  "I see," I said. "Well, I don't feel any sympathy for him. I'm sure the Triads were behind the hit on Mike. Not to mention, the threats against my other friends and my family were way over the top."

  "I knew of the other guy, the local the cops found dead in the abandoned building," Kevin said. "I'd seen him around in Chinatown. He was definitely a Triad. Still, he probably didn't deserve to be executed."

  I couldn't think of anything to say about that, so I didn't. We talked a while longer, and then I left Kevin's place and went home.

  Epilogue

  A few days later, the governor of Hawaii announced he had launched a law enforcement task force in response to the incident on Maui, to quash what seemed a resurgence of organized criminal activity in Hawaii. That was a worry, as it seemed the investigation into the deaths of the two Triad gangsters would continue. But, weeks passed, and the police didn't show up at my door.

  The most unsettling thing was that airline records existed of the ticket I'd purchased for a flight from Maui to Honolulu the same day the men were killed. Those records would easily turn up if someone bothered to look, and it would prove I was on Maui that day. But, another month went by, and still there had been no fallout. I tried not to think about it since there was nothing to be done about it. I could only hope the ticket would never become an issue.

  Mike spent four weeks on convalescence leave after being released from the hospital. I moved into his apartment to help care for him while he recovered. We had been intimate a few times, but things weren't what they had been between us, and possibly never would be again. I felt conflicted about that. Once the doctors cleared Mike to return to duty, I moved out and went back to my flat.

  Jackie seemed more her old self again, and I was grateful for that. We never talked about that Saturday on Maui. Jackie was back to banging on about us taking a holiday together somewhere away from Hawaii, but we had organized no firm plans.

  I'd only spoken with Greg Yu once since I'd seen him at the hospital that day he had asked me the awkward questions. He rang me to let me know the Honolulu police had recovered Madison Edwards' jewelry during the raid in Chinatown, and Madison had made arrangements to have it couriered back to her in Los Angeles. I hadn't heard from Madison, so perhaps she had really meant it when she told me that day at the hotel she didn't care about getting the jewelry back.

  The court sentenced Bernie Clements to nine years in prison when he went to trial. He was back in Oahu Correctional Center and wouldn't be bilking any other wealthy, lonely women out of their jewelry any time soon.

  Believing I had finally turned the corner on the Triad matter, I slipped back into normal life again, at least as normal as life ever seemed to be. I'd been getting new clients and cases on a regular basis. Business was brisk. Each new case took me further away from the memories of the aftermath of the case I'd done for Madison Edwards.

  More than once I'd picked up my mobile to ring Malone in Los Angeles. But each time I didn't go through with it. It seemed talking with Malone wouldn't provide any solutions and would only make things more complicated. At times I missed what I'd had with Mike, but mostly I thought it had turned out for the best
. I had always believed Mike deserved someone ready to make a full commitment, and I knew I wasn't ready to do that.

  When I sometimes thought about Malone and my feelings for him, increasingly I knew that hanging on to memories would never lead to happiness. Just as Mike deserved so much more than I could offer him, when I thought about being in love with Malone, a man who was not available, I felt I deserved a good bit more than that too.

  More than once I'd picked up my mobile to ring Malone in Los Angeles. But, each time I didn't go through with it. It seemed talking with Malone wouldn't provide any solutions, but would only make things more complicated. At times I missed what I'd had with Mike. But, mostly I thought it had turned out for the best. I had always believed Mike deserved someone ready to make a full commitment, and I knew I wasn't ready to do that.

  When I thought about Malone and my feelings for him, increasingly I accepted that would never lead to happiness. Just as Mike deserved so much more than I could offer him, when I thought about being in love with Malone, a man who was not available, I felt I deserved a good bit more than that too.

  About the Author

  Larry Darter was born in Oklahoma. He is a veteran of the United States Navy and holds a Bachelor of Science Degree from the University of Central Oklahoma. Darter is a retired police officer with more than twenty-three years of law enforcement service. As a retired crime fighter turned crime fiction writer, he leverages his real life law enforcement experience to create the kind of realistic and compelling crime novels that mystery and crime thriller fans love to read. Connect with Larry by visiting his website or find him on social media.

  Website: larrydarter.com

  Other Books by Larry Darter

  T.J. O'Sullivan Novels

  Mare's Nest

  Malone Novels

  Come What May

  Fair Is Foul and Foul Is Fair

  Cold Comfort

  Foregone Conclusion

  FOREGONE CONCLUSION

  A Malone Novel #4

  by

  LARRY DARTER

  Foregone Conclusion Copyright © 2018 by Larry Darter

  Prologue

  It was 4:45 on a Friday afternoon in 2003. A black Ford cargo van stopped out front of the Los Angeles Diamond Exchange on South Hill Street. Three men wearing expensive business suits got out of the vehicle. After glancing around, they walked into the showroom. Concealed under the suits, their automatic weapons aroused no suspicion. The diamond wholesaler was due to close for the day in 15 minutes. The expensive suits helped deflect any suspicion about that too. Each member of the trio carried two spare magazines for their weapons. They planned to do a lot of shooting during the next few minutes.

  Once inside the lobby, two of the men took up the positions planned in advance. Both stood near the armed guard stationed at one end of the showroom. The men pretended to examine the loose diamonds displayed in long glass and metal cases. The third man walked up to an employee standing behind one of the display counters near the front. He asked to speak to the manager on duty. The employee nodded and left the counter to get the manager. The man at the counter gave a small cough. That was the prearranged signal for the three to don the black ski masks they had brought with them.

  The security guard was eyeing the man at the front counter. After slipping on his ski mask, the man closest to the security guard pulled a small sap from his hip pocket. Without warning, he whirled around and struck the guard on the side of the head. The guard dropped unconscious to the floor. At the same moment, the other two men whipped out their Heckler & Koch MP5 sub-machine guns. Both turned to face the few remaining customers and the exchange employees. They fired long uninterrupted bursts over their heads.

  The men fired weapons having a cyclical rate of fire of eight hundred rounds per minute. It required only about 2 seconds for the men to empty the 30-round magazines. The noise of the two sub-machine guns firing inside the enclosed space was deafening. Spent brass cartridge cases skittered along the marble floor. One of the men shouted for everyone to get on the floor. Most of those in the showroom had already done that when the shooting had started. The rest followed suit in a hurry. The two shooters reloaded their sub-machine guns with fresh magazines. The third man menaced the customers and employees on the floor, waving his MP5 at them.

  One of the men disarmed the unconscious security guard. He tucked the guard’s service revolver into his waistband. Then he bound the guard’s hands behind his back with a plastic zip tie. Another of the men strode to the glass front doors. He locked the doors, and then closed the mini blinds installed on them. In less than a minute, he had closed all the blinds over the plate glass windows at the front of the showroom too. Afterward, there was no risk of passersby seeing inside the showroom. No one would alert the police to three armed men wearing ski masks inside the diamond exchange.

  The man who had asked to speak with the manager announced the trio did not intend to harm anyone. That was as long as everyone stayed on the floor and kept quiet. He was the one who seemed to be in charge witnesses told the police later. He then walked over to the manager and demanded the woman’s keys. She removed a blue plastic wrist coil wristband that held a ring full of keys and handed it to the man.

  Two of the men focused their attention and weapons on the employees and customers. The third man unlocked the display cases one by one. He started dumping the trays of loose diamonds into a gray nylon bag that he had pulled from one of his pockets. The man palmed the contents of one small tray and put the gemstones into the front pocket of his pants. He then finished emptying the rest of the cases. It took less than three minutes for him to empty all the display cases. Once all the diamonds in the showroom were in the nylon bag, he announced that the trio was leaving. He warned everyone to remain on the floor. He warned them he would shoot anyone who tried to be a hero by following them out of the building.

  The crew then unlocked the front doors and left the showroom with the diamonds. After exiting the building, all three men took off the ski masks and put on sunglasses. They strode to the van, got in, and the vehicle drove away.

  The driver drove the van to a parking lot six blocks from the diamond wholesaler. He parked the van, and the men got out. One of the men placed a firebomb in the rear of the van. The trio exited the parking lot in three different cars moments before the timer triggered the bomb. They had staged the vehicles in the lot before the robbery. The explosion and fire destroyed the van, weapons, and any evidence left behind. The men had agreed to meet up at a prearranged location in San Diego three days later to divide the diamonds.

  ONE

  Waldo’s restaurant is on North Canyon Drive, a street that runs north from Wilshire Boulevard. It’s just down from the Golden Triangle. It is Beverly Hills in the way that Rodeo Drive and the Greystone Mansion is Beverly Hills. The decor is modernistic. It’s California Chic with a sleek black-and-white dining room and glassed-in patio. The waitstaff wear uniforms that look like tuxedos, minus the jacket. Sans jacket is a nod to the typical warm and balmy Southern California climate.

  Locals regard Waldo’s as one of the best spots in town not only for celebrity sightings but also for luxury dining. It’s a shrine to the excesses of Beverly Hills and a tribute to how exhilarating those excesses can be. I’d never dined at Waldo’s before. The scuttlebutt was it wasn’t uncommon for the check for lunch and drinks for two to run to several hundred bucks. I wondered if they took American Express. Or was the restaurant one of those supercilious establishments that only accepted Visa.

  It didn’t matter. I didn’t need American Express or Visa. I wasn’t paying. Stewart Wilkins was paying. He probably didn’t need a credit card either because he was paying with his company’s money. I ordered the grilled prime rib-eye steak with roasted carrots, grilled haricots vert, and sauce bordelaise. Wilkins ordered the Cod.

  Wilkins’ company was Great Western Marine and Casualty, a commercial insurance company. They made twenty-five billion bucks a year
insuring very valuable, but risky property. They insured things like ocean-going oil tankers and very expensive gems like diamonds.

  “And two more drinks, if you please,” Wilkins said.

  “Certainly, sir,” The server said, before taking our menus and scurrying away.

  Wilkins finished his scotch and soda. “Do you only drink beer, Mr. Malone?”

  “Not always. I’ll have a cocktail or wine sometimes, but not at lunch. Drinking spirits or wine in the middle of the day tends to make me sleepy. Besides I like beer.”

  The server returned with another bottle of Steigl for me and another Chivas and soda for Wilkins.

  “I see,” Wilkins said. “So you’re the kind of man who only does what he likes?”

  “For the most part, except when I can’t.”

  Wilkins sipped some more Chivas. I wondered whether that was his usual manner when drinking liquor or whether he didn’t wish me to think him a lush.

  “Except when you can’t?”

  “In my profession, you can’t always do what you like. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t like to do things that are necessary.”

  Wilkins smiled. “Ah, I see,” he said. I doubted seriously that he did.

  While it seemed he was making small talk, I knew he was sizing me up. I expected that. Most people didn’t have a clue about hiring a private detective. A new prospective client always avoided coming to the point immediately. They delayed getting to the reason why they felt the need to hire someone like me. They avoided that until they decided whether they could trust me to solve their problem.

  “Do you carry a firearm?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  The server brought a salad for me and wild mushroom soup for Wilkins.