Forever Poi

by Tyler Colins

  Another titter. Cholla was certainly enjoying her demented self. “There was no time to construct a bomb, but not to worry. I'll think of something suitable.” She stood and motioned us to do the same.

  “I don't think we can manage it, given we're manacled like chain-gang convicts,” Linda stated flatly.

  “Of course you can.” She walked over and pressed the Taser to Linda's forehead. “Get up.”

  Growling, Linda rose.

  I did the same. “I need to use the ladies. At least let me die with dignity.”

  Removing a key from her jean pocket, she passed it to Linda. “Unlock it slowly and carefully. I have my eye on you.”

  But not on me. After Linda unfastened the manacles, I provided a firm jab and solid right hook. The Taser flew across the room. She banged her face on a wooden armrest of the sofa before sprawling across the floor.

  Flinging aside chains and grabbing the Taser … we almost made it.

  A shot sailed over our heads.

  “Enough!” James-Henri bellowed.

  Yup, we were definitely screwed.

  * * *

  That gnarly episode netted us stinging slaps from p'o'd Cholla (she likely hadn't sported many black eyes in her life, but she was about to develop a doozy).

  I swallowed a smug smile as I rubbed my cheek and regarded James-Henri, who appeared edgy and displeased. “You nearly had me fooled.”

  “Nearly?” Linda huffed.

  I gazed at her balefully.

  “You were so persistent, you left me—us—no choice.” He pushed back the hood of a zip hoodie. The chrome dome was suffering from five o'clock shadow. “You should have walked away and minded your own business.”

  “We're P.I.s,” Linda pointed out flatly, leaning back into the wall.

  “Dead ones,” he said ruefully, eyeing his 9mm Sig P320.

  Linda glowered.

  “What now?” I asked.

  James-Henri looked at his half-sister and they held a quick exchange in French.

  My French was pretty limited, but I thought I caught something about him asking whether they should shoot and run. I glanced at Linda and she appeared as edgy as James-Henri had a moment ago.

  “Well?”

  Cholla regarded me, an odd mix of boredom and wrath reflected in those platinum-gray orbs.

  “We should stuff their bodies under the crawl space,” James-Henri muttered.

  “Killing them now would definitely be preferable, but they may prove useful if someone comes looking before we've had a chance to leave the island.”

  “If we leave right now—”

  “Did you help Cholla with the killings?” Linda broke in.

  “Don't be absurd,” he scoffed, giving his half-sister the evil eye.

  “You really had no idea what she'd done?”

  He exhaled noisily. “Not until a few days ago.”

  I turned to Cholla. “You've certainly screwed up his future.”

  Her eyes rolled heavenward. “He's blood. Family sticks together, no matter what.”

  “Pshaw!”

  I glanced at Linda with a cynical smile. “An accessory-to-murder rap goes up and beyond familial duties.”

  James-Henri's full lips drew into a taut line.

  “Don't listen to them. I've got enough money for us to live happily ever after,” she snapped. “We'll be more than fine.”

  “For a while, maybe, but they'll find you,” Linda stated.

  “Sure.” She laughed and grabbed the Taser from the floor. “Time to take a drive.”

  “Anywhere in particular?” I asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “In the grand scheme of things, I suppose not,” I said with feigned cheer. The woman wasn't about to see me sweat. Too much.

  She motioned us forward.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  After handcuffing Linda and me together, Cholla barked at her half-brother to get the car ready, then hurried to the rear.

  Sullen-faced, James-Henri led the way into a garage illuminated by harsh fluorescent lighting. Lining the left and right walls was granite-shell cabinetry while slat-wall panels and two lockers took up the back one. A covered gas grill sat to the side of the lockers while a recently washed and waxed black Range Rover was parked smack dab in the middle.

  “How'd you get here?” I asked nonchalantly, taking care as I climbed into the vehicle so as not to inadvertently jerk Linda.

  “Does it matter?”

  “I'm guessing you don't want to leave any trails or traces,” I replied cordially, shifting to allow room for my colleague.

  Waving the P320 dismissively, he smiled dully. “I rented a car and concealed it down the road. It won't be found anytime soon.”

  “Awesome. You've promoted yourself from art-gallery owner to murder accessory,” Linda stated nonchalantly. “And soon to murderer.”

  He eyed her with disdain.

  “Simply stating fact.”

  Cursing in French, he leaned into the car and eyed the door.

  “Where are you two headed?” I asked.

  “The high seas.”

  “Is that our final resting place?” I may have appeared outwardly blasé, but inwardly I was churning. If we were going to get out of this mess, it would have to be soon.

  He shrugged and continued eyeing the door. Impatience was beginning to show.

  “It's not too late, you know,” Linda stated. “You can still walk away a relatively free man.”

  With a contemptuous snort, he scanned her disdainfully from head to foot. “Relatively?”

  “Relatively,” she repeated with an emphatic nod.

  “What's Cholla doing? Packing a trunk?” I smirked.

  “Making quick, necessary calls.”

  “Could we tie up a few loose ends while we wait for Her Highness?” I asked amiably. “It's not like we'll be telling anyone.”

  He arched a shoulder and appeared bored.

  “Let's start with that black book you wanted to collect that morning Rey introduced herself outside Carlos' place. What was in it? Something damning?”

  He laughed, but not with cheer. “It was an old small journal listing every patron, client, and contact we'd made since we'd first partnered. Carlos had always been dubious about technology and wanted something tangible. So, we kept physical records.”

  Linda and I exchanged glances and shrugged simultaneously. She asked, “She killed Carlos, didn't she?”

  Glumness traversed that donut-round face and he nodded briskly. “Carlos had had … doubts about her.”

  “Why not share? Get it off your chest,” she suggested softly, her expression leaning toward sympathetic. “Like JJ said, we're not going to be telling anyone.”

  He drew a long, deep breath and shrugged. “There'd been hearsay, rumors about Cholla's business transactions and off-shore banking … as they relate to questionable dealings. Although I'm not one-hundred percent sure, I'm guessing Lolita told Carlos. They'd developed a fairly solid friendship in just a few weeks. I know she didn't like Cholla, so-o … just guessing.” Another long, deep breath. “Carlos always liked to be in the know and would spend hours, days, even weeks to uncover information if he had was so inclined. He chose the night of the 6-tu-8 to confront Cholla. I didn't know that he'd planned to do that.” He rubbed the back of a hand across his eyes. “Not then.”

  “Sucks, doesn't it?” Linda appeared suitably saddened.

  He didn't respond.

  “Tell us more about Lolita.”

  “As I mentioned earlier, she wanted money. Maybe I should have accommodated, but blackmailers always come back for more. Letting her tell everyone what she knew would have been the end of my career, though.” He arched a brawny shoulder and scratched his messy-looking goatee. “She had to be taken care of. If Cholla hadn't stepped in … I suppose, at some point, I'd likely have had to take action.”

  “Why was Carlos' insurance policy in Lolita's safety-deposit box?”

 
“I suspect it was some sort of good-faith or promissory exchange. He had hers, as well as a copy of an artist's insurance policy.”

  “He told you?” Linda asked, surprised.

  “I saw both in his briefcase one evening when I dropped in some invitations.”

  I took a stab. “Is that why you two had the 'ugly' break-up? You confronted him … ?”

  Lips tight, his head tilted to the right, then to the left. “Let's just say … we had a heated discussion.”

  Linda gazed from me to the handcuffs to James-Henri. “It was Cholla that set the gallery fire?”

  “It seemed the best course of action at that time,” he replied wearily.

  “She didn't think the police would figure out Carlos and Lolita had been murdered?”

  His smile was both baleful and rueful. “She was hoping the two would have been burned to cinders.”

  “This goes without saying. For the record, she killed those artists to collect on the insurance, right?” I asked.

  “She adores money.”

  “But she has enough tucked away.”

  He chuckled wryly. “I believe the dear woman would say: you can never have enough.”

  Speaking of, Cholla stepped into the doorframe sporting a lightweight cotton windbreaker. Make-up had been retouched and that glossy red lipstick reapplied. Not one strand of hair peered from the hat. “I have to move the Jeep. Give me ten minutes and pick me up by that enormous banyan before the Pennys' driveway entrance.”

  James-Henri frowned, then nodded.

  Feeling a need to have all loose ends tied, I continued when I heard a door slam. “What about Bayat?”

  “He was a pleasant enough distraction—her words—and he served a purpose, but in the end, she simply did not want to share.”

  “What makes you think she'll share with you? Because you're 'blood'?” Once again, Linda gazed from me to the handcuffs to James-Henri.

  I could only guess that she wanted us to attack our captor by hitting him with the metal restraints; I'd wait for the cue.

  Those intense hazel eyes wavered between anger and arrogance. “I'm smart enough to put away evidence that—should anything happen to me—would not be in her favor.”

  “But that evidence would be of no value if she's out of reach on an island on another ocean.”

  His high forehead crinkled like linen.

  It was time to return to a question that hadn't yet been answered. “What about the baby?”

  He eyed me blankly.

  “She had a child in and around college days,” Linda declared.

  “I have no idea what you're talking about.” He rubbed his temple.

  Linda's elbow crashed into my ribs: that was a cue if ever there was one. Then her Salming runner flew into James-Henri's groin.

  We dived forward as he, taken unawares, stumbled into cabinetry. Linda clasped the P320 while I lobbed a fist into his fleshy nose. Blood spurted like chemical agents from an engaged fire extinguisher. With the element of surprise still on our side, Linda walloped him upside the head. The dumbfounded man hit the concrete floor and embraced darkness.

  Hurriedly, I fumbled through pockets and found keys for both the handcuffs and Range Rover. Free, Linda and I fastened our inert bleeding friend to the cabinetry and hopped in the front seat.

  “Gun it!” Linda ordered as I started the engine.

  And gun it I did—right through the garage door.

  Who knew what schemes fruit-loopy Cholla had formulated in that fruit-loopy mind? We'd return properly prepped—with police.

  * * *

  “We'll have to come back to collect our stuff,” Linda stated breathlessly as we careened around the first corner.

  I nodded, keeping my eyes on the shadowy road.

  “Let's get a hold of Rey and Gail as soon as an opportunity presents itself.”

  A mile away, I pulled into a huge clearing. Except for encircling trees, dense bushes and desiccated weeds, there was nothing within immediate view.

  “What's up?”

  “I hate running away, especially when we're so close.”

  Linda murmured agreement. “We do have James-Henri's gun.” She checked the magazine. “It's loaded.”

  “That's a start. They're probably not expecting us to return, so we might luck in and snare them.” I gestured. “Is there anything in the glove compartment?”

  She rooted through. “Ownership. A change purse with considerable change. A Swiss army knife—that'll prove handy—and a mini flashlight. No cell phone, unfortunately.”

  “The one thing we need the most,” I said ruefully.

  “I guess we shouldn't have texted Rey and Gail to relax and enjoy their ox tail.” She chuckled dryly. “I wonder if they're worried about us.”

  “They probably think we're having Mai-Tais on the beach.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Clasping my hands behind my head, I wistfully scanned star clusters. “Common sense dictates we drive to the nearest town and call the police, and wait like good little P.I.s.”

  “But?”

  “Instinct, intuition, foolishness—call it what you will, Lindy-Loo—says go back and get 'em.”

  Linda slapped my thigh. “Let's do it.”

  We stared at each other.

  “Do you think we can?” she asked quietly.

  “We have a gun and an army knife. Maybe there's a jack or lug wrench in the back with the spare. The more weapons, the better.”

  “Let me check.”

  I unlatched the trunk and watched my colleague slip into the darkness.

  Within five seconds she was at my door, wrenching it open and hauling me out. There was no need to ask if something was wrong.

  We sprinted several yards, then soared onto dry, stony terrain when the Range Rover exploded like a non-oven-safe glass container in a microwave.

  * * *

  “She never planned to share with James-Henri.” Linda's eyes, as round as Lindor truffles, watched crackling flames claw the sky.

  “He was merely another loose end.”

  “But, presently, a very much alive one.”

  “He owes us for that,” I declared flatly, then winced. I peered down and saw a long thin slice on one palm, courtesy of a jagged rock. Ugh. I'd also opened my chin. Double ugh. “Do I need stitches?”

  Linda peered closely. “You should be okay. But you'll end up with a scar on top of the old one. Man, by the time this night is over, we'll have enough bumps and bruises to last a lifetime.” Pulling a crumpled tissue from a jeans pocket, she passed it and looked back at the burning Range Rover. “So much for the gun and knife.”

  “Maybe we'll find something useful at the house.”

  Sighing, she nodded and pushed hair from her face. “We'd better start back.”

  “Fortunately, it's not that far.”

  “Just like Cholla won't get that far,” Linda announced crisply. “James-Henri will spill all when he learns of her deadly deceit.”

  I smiled wryly. “Stated with Cousin Reynalda's P.I. resolve.”

  “And a bit of her hammy acting.”

  Laughing, we hooked arms and began a determined march back to the “getaway”.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “Your Jeep's still here. Looks like Cholla wasn't actually planning on ditching it.” Linda's lips tickled my ear as we watched from behind a tall koa tree twenty yards away. For the fourth time in two minutes, she cursed and pushed hair from her eyes.

  Strengthening southwest winds tousled hair and propelled dirt and grit into our faces as they careened around dwellings and nature. They were so intense, they nearly drowned out sirens in the distance. Clearly, someone had sighted and reported the burning Range Rover.

  The shattered garage door hung in fragments, courtesy of our harried escape not an hour before. Diffused light was visible through side window blinds.

  “You think they'd have left by now. What do you suppose they're waiting for?” I asked,
perplexed.

  “For her to finish berating him for letting us get away.”

  I smiled wryly. “Too bad we put a crimp in her plans.”

  “Let's put another crimp in them.”

  “Great idea… You don't happen to have a lighter or matches, do you?”

  “Are you thinking of starting a fire?”

  “Why not? She seems to have a thing for them.”

  Linda gestured the garage. “When we were fastening James-Henri to cabinetry, a couple of doors swung open. I noticed cans and artist stuff, like turpentine and linseed oil. Maybe we can find enough flammable items to start a little blaze.”

  “We should aim for an out-and-out inferno.”

  She motioned the tall naio hedges along the driveway. “Let's stick close to those, just in case those sinister 'half' siblings happen to peek outside.”

  With a soft slap to her back, I started forward.

  There was enough illumination to make out labels. Flammable items such as paint thinner, turpentine, and rust-prevention solvent were in the lockers and one cabinet held a full barbecue propane tank. Contrary to popular belief, the tank wouldn't explode simply by being shaken, smashed into a wall, or held near a flame. For it to explode—or rather the pressure inside—continuous extreme heat was required. Pouring paint thinner and setting it alight would prove effectual, but locating an igniting device was proving difficult.

  “We're so close,” I sighed, discouraged.

  “Enough that we can't give up now.” Linda squeezed my shoulder and nodded to the side. “We haven't eyeballed those last three drawers. I'll go through them and you double-check the lockers, bottom to top and then top to bottom.”

  Two minutes later, she slipped alongside and held up a three-pack of emergency candles.

  I smiled dolefully. “We've got all we need to start that inferno, except for a flame.”

  “You mean like this?” She held up a BBQ igniter.

  “I could kiss you!”

  “Later.”

  I placed the propane tank in the middle of the garage and Linda poured turpentine and paint thinner on the walls and floor.

  “I want to make certain they aren't tempted to play firefighters and extinguish the fire, so I'm going to pour gasoline in front, too,” she whispered. “That'll have them bolting.”