Forever Poi

by Tyler Colins

  “Be careful not to set them on fire.”

  “Don't worry. They'll be able to escape via the rear.”

  “Good, but let's ensure they can't escape via the Jeep.” I left Linda to her mission and focused on mine.

  * * *

  “There they go.” Linda grabbed my arm.

  “Heading right to the Jeep.”

  “But not heading anywhere anytime soon,” she snickered.

  From behind a banyan tree, not far from the hedges, we watched the two sprint with bulky tote bags slung from shoulders.

  I grinned as Cholla and James-Henri leapt into the Jeep like jackrabbits spooked by a fox. The attempt to start it proved futile.

  “Here.” She passed a can of expanding foam and held a T-grip open-eye insert from a tire repair kit.

  Okay, they weren't exactly the best weapons for subduing two villains, but they were the best we could do. Hopefully, the “Sinister Siblings” had forgotten theirs in the haste to flee quickly spreading flames.

  “We meet again.” I smiled cordially and held up the can.

  Holding the T-grip near her face, Linda stood beside Cholla seated in the passenger seat. A bright amber sheen displayed astonished expressions.

  James-Henri smirked. “My dear Linda, surely you jest?”

  “Surely I don't, my not-so-darling James-Henri.”

  He exchanged entertained glances with Cholla.

  “You two are terribly amusing.” Orchestral-bell laughter ensued. Normally rather pretty, at the moment it sounded ominous if not creepy.

  More sirens shrilled in the distance, which spurred everyone into action. James-Henri's fist caught me on the chin while Cholla whipped out the Taser from beneath a lightweight windbreaker and stunned Linda.

  I kicked James-Henri in the thigh as he wrenched me upward and threw me into the rear of the Jeep like a bag of groceries. The man was stronger than he looked, and that was pretty damn strong—as was the second punch. I was pretty sure I didn't see stars, but something exploded within my head and what happened in the next wee while was anyone's guess.

  * * *

  “Dang,” Linda muttered. “Why does my head feel like a cinder block?”

  I pried open heavy eyes and saw we were in a galley lit by two leaf-shaped nightlights. The boat rocked like a pendulum amusement-park ride.

  “Maybe we were injected with a drug… The expression 'once bitten, twice shy' has to apply here in some twisted way. Damn, I was so not expecting them to get us again.”

  “We both weren't.” She frowned upon seeing her hands bound with double-knotted nylon rope, then swore softly when she realized her feet were as well. “Well, kudos to us for trying.”

  I sighed. “Where do you suppose the Gruesome Twosome—or Sinister Siblings—are?”

  “Who'd have ever imagined we'd encounter so many Gruesome Twosomes in this line of work?” She bah-hah-hahed loudly and at length, and for a twinkling I wondered if the poor woman might have lost it.

  “Don't worry, I'm okay,” she finally stated with a bittersweet smile. “Except for the aches and scrapes, of course. You look like hell by the way.”

  “You're not looking much better, hon-bun.” I gazed around. Viewable through bronze-tinted windows were tall swaying palms and a wave-drenched dock. The only exterior light came from a star-filled sky.

  I struggled with the fairly tight rope. Fortunately, there was a bit of wiggle room that—with persistent perseverance—might be loosened.

  “How'd we get here? They couldn't drive the Jeep. And where's 'here'?”

  “I'm guessing James-Henri retrieved the rental car he'd hidden. And here would likely be somewhere on the vast Ko'olauloa coast. There may be some cottages, houses or businesses within walking distance,” I said, taking a long deep breath. The rocking was starting to create havoc with my stomach.

  She cursed. “What do you suppose they're doing?”

  “Getting ready to make a grand escape,” I replied. “There's probably no one in the immediate vicinity or they'd have taped our mouths.”

  “Why haven't they killed us?”

  “Like she said earlier, we could prove useful if someone comes looking before they get away. We're bargaining chips until they get out on the high seas.”

  Linda sighed. “Hey, it's 2:55 according to a clock over that small worktop. Rey and Gail must know we're in trouble.”

  “No doubt, but given they don't know where we are—and they can't zero in on a GPS—it's unlikely they'll come to our rescue in the nick of time.”

  She swore under her breath. “Keep working on those ropes of yours. I'm going to play worm and wiggle my way to the drawers over there to find a knife.”

  “Happy wiggling.” With a grim smile, I focused on loosening my fastenings.

  * * *

  “You did good, kid,” I said as I helped Linda slice through the binding rope with a fairly sharp paring knife.

  “You didn't do so bad yourself.”

  “Did you happen to see a gun or Taser in your knife-searching travels?”

  She shook her head. “More knives, a few forks and spoons, cooking implements, and a corkscrew.”

  “Some of those could prove handy.”

  “As long as brudah and sistah don't have guns.” She cut the ropes around our ankles.

  “Let's get out of here.”

  “What if they're on deck?”

  “Then we take them by surprise.” I pulled two knives and forks from the drawer, noted how dull they were, and frowned. “Or jump overboard.”

  “Or a combination thereof.” She tucked two lengthy pieces of rope into a pocket.

  I gestured the exit. Cautiously, we peered around. Given the brilliant stars and waxing gibbous moon, it was fairly easy to see several yards. The only sounds were waves striking the boat and dock, night creatures making rounds, and distant dogs.

  Moving furtively up teak-surfaced stairs, we stepped outside and crouched by a side deck. A boxy shadow loomed on the foredeck, facing the ocean. Given the stature, it could only be James-Henri.

  My colleague gestured that she'd head forward and I should sneak around from the other side.

  “Weapons” poised, the intention was to stun and disable. There was no way we'd be caught unawares a third time, because if we were, it would surely be the last.

  Linda knifed James-Henri in the shoulder while I drove a fork into his calf.

  Surprisingly, James-Henri made no sound, just crumbled like an Antarctic ice shelf. Before he could recover from the shock, she clamped a hand over his mouth and held the blade an inch from his rounded eyes. “Get the rope!”

  I yanked it from her pockets and tied his hands. Sighting folded rags draped over the anchor roller, I grabbed one and crammed it his mouth. “Is that crazy half-sister of yours nearby? Just nod or shake your head.”

  Hazel eyes merely glared in reply.

  “This guy's not going to be very cooperative.”

  Linda jabbed the blade into his cheek. “I'm going to guess you're fond of your looks, but I'd be happy to change them.”

  He winced.

  I leaned close, teasing his nose with fork prongs. “I repeat: nod or shake your head. Is Cholla nearby?”

  He shook his head.

  “But she's returning?”

  He nodded once.

  “Soon?”

  One more nod.

  “Within a few minutes?”

  Shake.

  “An hour or more?”

  Nod.

  Linda and I gazed at each other.

  “What's our plan of attack?” she asked. “Take the boat to get help? Or wait here?”

  I scanned wind-whipped foliage. “Both. You take the boat with Mr. Soon-to-Get-25-to-Life. Relay how his beloved partner in crime was going to blow the three of us up in the Range Rover. I'll wait here for Ms. J'adore Money.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Fortunately, Linda and I had located two 12-gauge flare guns and a four-pack
of flares. Hopefully, two flares each would prove more than ample.

  Ensuring the “prisoner” was bound like a super villain ensnared in Wonder Woman's lasso, I triple-checked the flare gun, grabbed a beach towel advertising local beer, and waved Linda off. Once she informed him about the bomb, he'd likely prove no trouble. Maybe he'd even be inspired (angry enough) to spill all.

  To stave off the increasingly cool temperature while awaiting Cholla Poniard's return, I sat behind a palm with the fleecy towel draped around my shoulders.

  An approaching car could be heard through whistling winds, I heard a car drive up and park. If I were melodramatic like my cousin, I'd have sing-songed that the moment of truth had arrived, which I supposed it had … though it would be far from trifling.

  A small sharp beam from a cellphone flashlight was visible through gamboling foliage. She wouldn't notice the boat was gone until she rounded a large downy Kuluī shrub not far from where I stood.

  A French curse was audible, as was a thump. Obviously, she'd noticed and was not happy. Another couple of curses soared through the air as she came into view. She was sporting the same attire as earlier, except a cuffed beanie now concealed her hair and forehead.

  It was now or never. I dove over, knocking the woman flat and we hit the pebbly ground like chopped trees.

  The flare gun kissed her long slender neck. “So nice to see you again, Ms. Poniard.”

  She turned as best she could and laughed. “Did I tell you were terribly amusing?”

  “You did.”

  She laughed again. “Did your friend kidnap James-Henri and the boat?”

  “She did. When he hears how you were going to blow him up along with us, he'll tell all.”

  “No doubt. May I get up? Eating dirt is not my thing.”

  “You can park yourself on your posterior, but do it carefully. I have no qualms about sending this flare your way.”

  “You're not a killer, mon amie.”

  “No, cherie, but I'll do what I have to,” I said matter-of-factly. “Like take a chunk of your arm off.”

  She arched a shoulder, fumbled a bit, and slowly sat up. “What now? Do we await your friend and the police?”

  Good question. Although Linda and I had decided that my remaining by the dock was the best course of action, who knew how long she'd be? I didn't fancy staying here with Cholla for hours on end, but what option was there, other than walking in darkness or taking her car? And if we drove, who was to say we'd arrive in one piece? The woman might well be crazy enough to steer us into a tree or off a cliff.

  “I know what you're thinking—”

  “I bet you do,” I said snidely, pointing the flare gun in her face. “What do you consider the best option?”

  “If I were you, I'd take the car.” She simpered. “Maybe I'll drive us to safety. Maybe I won't. If we walk, maybe I'll find an opportunity to knock you aside—or kill you.”

  I smirked. “In your dreams, honey.”

  “In yours.” She twittered. “So, my dear, which is it?”

  She had a phone. How could I forget that? “Let's use your cell to call 911.”

  “This broken one?” With a sinister smile, she held up the Smartphone. It was indeed broken—purposely so. What was French for “stupid cow”?

  Refusing to show apprehension, I motioned. “Let's drive. And as they say in the movies: don't do anything foolish.”

  We ambled to a silver Volkswagen Passat and climbed in from the passenger's side, Cholla first. As I slid in, I noticed the tote bag she'd had when escaping the burning house. Peeking from it were two familiar bags.

  “I grabbed your bags instinctively,” she said with a casual shrug. “But I happily confess that I broke both your cell phones.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” I asked flatly, keeping a wary eye as she removed the car key from her jacket. “Will you finally tell me about the baby?”

  She scanned my face and sighed. “Bella was—is—my daughter. She was born challenged … no doubt due to a careless, stupid husband who drank and smoked too much. I was young and couldn't care for her properly, so I put her up for adoption. A lovely Swiss couple had adopted her, but both were killed when the gondola they were in fell down an Alp. Another couple, fortunately, took her in. Unfortunately, the husband died of pancreatic cancer two years later, but the wife has been raising Bella on her own. She attends a special-needs school.”

  “You've kept in touch.”

  “I have.” Her smile was first rueful and then proud. “I ensure she receives the best of everything. Whatever that dear girl needs or wants is hers.”

  Who'd have thought a coldblooded murderess could have a heart?

  She read my mind. “She's the reason I do what I do. Yes, I love money, but a lot of it goes to making her life as easy as possible. She has a good future.”

  “You're a surprising woman, Cholla Poniard.”

  Quite out of character, she provided a Reynalda Fonne-Werde buffalo snort. “Where are we driving?”

  Another good question. Who knew where the road led—possibly a rainforest if we traveled mauka or cliffs if we traveled makai.

  “Drive that way.” I gestured.

  “Into the trees?”

  “South.”

  “Really?” she smirked.

  I held up the flare gun.

  “If you shoot that in here, you'll damage more than my face and the car.”

  “I'm willing to chance it,” I said pertly.

  More laughter. “As you wish, dearheart.”

  She pulled onto a stony road.

  * * *

  Cholla drove cautiously, which was surprising. I actually believed she'd whip down the road like Road Runner teasing Wile E. Coyote.

  “All the murders you committed were done for Bella?”

  She slanted her head one way and then the other. “I put away a couple of people for my sweet Bella.”

  Couple? “I get the desire to provide for a child, but not at the cost of lives.”

  “How annoyingly righteous and moral. You'd have done the same.”

  “I'd have found alternatives, like working three jobs if necessary,” I replied dryly, then switched gears. “James-Henri told us you killed Carlos because he'd gotten wind about your dubious dealings and Lolita because of a request for money. You needed to be rid of both, so you iced—er, burned—them.”

  “Carlos never liked me much, strangely enough. What's not to like?” She sniffed. “Lolita, according to James-Henri, had likely fueled that dislike. I believe she was growing worried, not only about herself, but a so-so artist she was managing, Bizz Waxx. Imagine someone with her past actually giving a damn about someone?”

  “Why would she have worried?”

  “Learning what she had. Knowing we had connections. Thinking we might have crushed her burgeoning career, if not her.” The chuckle was cynical. “That woman would have definitely grown into a major threat, much like Carlos.” She stopped at a shadowy intersection. “Do you have a preference?”

  The roads heading east and west were fairly narrow. One had to eventually lead to civilization … didn't it? Pressing the gun to her ear, I considered it. There was a faint glow far to the right. “That way.”

  “As you wish, dearheart,” she said gaily, heading east.

  “Lolita had regular payments in a bank account. Did you perchance pay her blackmail money?”

  She shook her head. “If someone was paying her regularly, it wasn't me and it wasn't James-Henri. She'd only approached him recently.”

  “Any idea who?”

  “Not a clue, honey,” she smirked.

  Another loose end popped into my head. “Did you kill Bizz Waxx?”

  “Bayat did, of course. Bizz Waxx had seen Bayat at the odd event and their paths crossed now and again, and he knew Bayat and I were close. When Bizz Waxx sighted him at a bar, he started asking questions about local artists that were … let's say, no longer active.”

  “Ones you
were beneficiary for?”

  “… Yes.”

  “Bayat didn't tell him anything, did he?”

  “No, which probably made the young man all the more curious. Two days or so before she'd been chargrilled, Lolita had told her artist friend a little about yours truly—this I know, because she'd mentioned it to Carlos, who'd confronted James-Henri.”

  “And it piqued Bizz Waxx's curiosity.”

  “With Bayat not answering questions, Bizz Waxx evidently felt a compelling need to discover the truth. He switched that artist cap for a detective hat and paid James-Henri a visit.” She chuckled dryly. “The imbecile should have been more discreet and much wiser. But if he had, we'd not have learned what we did.”

  “Did he try to blackmail you?”

  “No, but who knows what he might have done, had he learned more. When he came to James-Henri, he only knew what Lolita had shared, but he'd started assuming things, which was evident in the questions asked. It seemed all too probable that he'd begin snooping elsewhere and set off bells. We … I … couldn't chance people becoming curious.”

  “Why the 'death to snoops'?”

  “Because he was a snoop.” She twittered. “It was a fun, silly thing to do at the time.”

  “Hysterical.”

  “You have no sense of humor, JJ.”

  The faint glow grew brighter and more intense as we drew closer. Soon, we pulled up before a closed gas station that doubled as a grocery store. More lights shone a half-mile farther down—houses and/or businesses hopefully.

  Cholla smiled. “I take it we're heading towards those lights?”

  I scanned the front of the gas station and saw no telephone or signs of life. “You take it right … dearheart.”

  * * *

  “What now?”

  Cholla and I were parked in front of a food-processing warehouse with a “For Lease” sign. To the right were two small empty offices that belonged to the warehouse and beyond them five shops, all of an automotive nature. A few security lights were on, but again, no signs of life. Surely people lived somewhere in the vicinity?

  “Just so you know, JJ, we're low on gas,” she stated smugly. “If we drive farther, we may end up in the middle of nowhere, rather like we are now.”