Photo Finish

by Terry Ambrose

  So much for somewhere. I cleared my throat. How did I explain that I was a newspaper reporter without a car? “Um, well, I’m sorry if I came on too strong. Can you just tell me if you’ve had any new planes come in since yesterday?” I hated begging, but I wanted that intimate dinner with Harris. If I needed to play a part, so be it.

  “Persistent, aren’t you? Since this morning, we only had one. Two guys flew in a Cessna from Kauai.”

  Two guys? I remembered what Leung had said. The pilot of the plane had announced his destination as Kauai. “You’re sure it was Kauai?”

  “That’s it. Lau was the name. I remember that one cause I got a cousin, Larry, same last name. I gotta go, another line ringing.”

  Well, I’ll be. Lau had flown to Kauai, then back to Oahu in his dead boss’s plane? Why in the world? Oh, I’d been right. Lau was doing something illegal. I couldn’t go back to Harris already, she was probably still asleep. And unfortunately, I didn’t know the password she’d used for the tip report. And speaking of asleep, I was still feeling like a whipped puppy myself. It was almost four, so I settled in on the couch, turned on the TV, and took a vote.

  “All in favor of giving me the rest of the day off? Aye. All opposed? Hearing none, this day is officially adjourned.”

  I drifted in and out a couple of times and then woke up to see a Breaking News banner splashed across the screen. The reporter on scene spoke in a solemn tone. “. . . and so it appears that, despite the efforts of administrators over the past few years, violence, or at least the threat of violence, in Hawaii schools is still real. While we don’t know yet if what the other students are saying is true, that the student who has barricaded himself into one of the classrooms is on drugs and has a gun and is dangerous, we do know that police are taking every precaution to ensure that no one is injured. Back to you, Jack.”

  “Ruben, so authorities aren’t sure if drugs are involved?”

  “That’s right, Jack. What they are saying is that they have to assume that the student is impaired and that he may be part of a gang. They’re quick to point out that students in general are more aware of the dangers of doing drugs, but that many ignore the dangers and become involved anyway. Back to you.”

  A sharp chill gripped my spine. It was another painful memory of Jenny and Michael. I’d failed him, his mother, and most of all, myself. I’d been sorry ever since. My left hand twitched over the off button on the remote, but for some reason I couldn’t press it.

  Ruben tipped his microphone towards the camera and Jack jumped right back in. Another question, probably one the reporter had already covered. “And they’re also not sure if the student has a gun? What about a bomb?”

  Despite the warmth of the apartment, I shivered again. This report was just way too dèjá vu. How could something like this happen here? In paradise?

  “No, Jack, they’re being very tight-lipped about what weapons they suspect the student may, or may not, have with him. Most likely, we won’t know until, well, they bring him out.”

  Jack didn’t waste any time, the screen blipped, Ruben was gone and Jack was into his wrap-up. I realized that my eyes were moist. Drugs. Gangs. Danger for innocent kids. I’m sorry, Michael. What more could I say? Or do?

  I swiped at my eyes and nose, then sniffled and sat up. I couldn’t erase the overwhelming feeling that even this island paradise was going straight to hell. It was LA all over again. I thought about Harris’s example—how she cared enough to follow this through—and compared that to my own moral code. Better safe than sorry was what my parents had taught me. But, what was safe? Besides, I couldn’t get any sorrier than I’d been for the past five years.

  Maybe Harris was right. We didn’t have to put ourselves in danger, we could just help the process a bit. I’d helped file one report with CrimeStoppers. Why not another? If I was honest with myself, it felt good. I wasn’t as grumpy. I’d enjoyed the day and the company. And then, there was that thousand-dollar reward. I got up off the couch and grabbed my phone. Time to get busy if I wanted that date with Harris.

  Chapter 11

  My plan for wrapping up the investigation and getting my date with Harris was simple: pick Alexander’s brain. He was a walking encyclopedia about this island. It didn’t hurt that he was related to half the people on this rock, either. If there was something, or someone, he didn’t know, he could find out in less time than it took to spend fifty bucks at the gas pump. He’d married Kira right out of high school. Where Alexander was laid back, Kira was like a big-game hunter in the information forest; she never gave up on her prey until she ran out of ammo or bagged her quarry.

  “Aloha.” The greeting was sweet and lilting. Yippie, the Huntress was in a good mood.

  “It’s McKenna, is Alexander there?”

  “What no good you up to now?”

  “You’re still mad at me?”

  She snickered, “Just wary. Every time you call you want something, so what you want this time?”

  Round one off, time for her to reload. In the background, I could hear the TV and one of the kids crying. It was probably Maile because she was the youngest and prone to crying jags when she didn’t get to watch her cartoons. I thought I heard something about Nanakuli High School, so I asked, “Is that a news report I hear in the background?”

  “Cartoons keep getting interrupted. Maile’s not happy.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Kira didn’t speak for a moment, “This is McKenna, yah?”

  “I saw that report earlier and it just upset me. Brings back some old memories. Anything new in the past ten minutes?” It was McKenna’s Fifth Skip Tracing Secret: the best defense was a good offense.

  She filled me in with a few concise sentences, something I thought the news folks should learn to do, then went back into question mode. “So why you want Alexander?”

  “I just wanted to talk to him for a few minutes.”

  “What? About that wahine he smuggled into the park?”

  “Alexander told you about her?”

  “He had to after that BS you fed me when he didn’t come home all night. After your story, his make perfect sense. If there anything left of the body by the time the storm blows in, it gonna get washed away. Kalanui Stream floods big time when we get lotta rain.”

  “I just wanted to tell him about my trip to Dillingham.” And ask some questions of my own.

  “So what you doing on the North side? You don’t drive.”

  So far, I hadn’t been injured in our question and answer shoot out. How long could I dodge questions? I should have just called Alexander’s cell. Ah, cell phone. I grabbed mine from my hip. I tried to sound interested in a long conversation as I worked the cell with my free hand. “We went to the North side because there was a man we needed to talk to—”

  I fumbled with the phone for a few seconds, then pushed the volume button. The phone rang so loud I almost dropped it, but the ring had the desired effect.

  “You got another call?”

  Hey, pretty good. “Yah, looks like a possible tenant.” I jabbed the button again. Even louder this time. “I can tell you about this later. Have Alexander call me, okay?”

  “Yah.” Kira chuckled. “And McKenna, next time you gonna try the fake cell phone ring trick, remember to push the button a bit more regular, yah? And don’t hold it so close to the phone, you almost broke my eardrum that time.”

  Ouch. The Huntress had bagged another trophy, me.

  So today I’d pushed Harris into a drive that had nearly landed her in the hospital, gotten caught trying to peep at her underwear, and blown the old “fake cell phone ring trick.” What else could I accomplish? Get arrested? Nah, been there, done that. Better just to stick to the basics.

  Instead of calling Alexander’s cell and appearing like an ingrate after I’d already left a message with Kira, I picked up the remote and turned the TV back on. The local news hadn’t given up on the high school incident. As sunset approached, the cam
eraman was fortunate enough to catch the cops bringing out the boy who had caused the near-disaster.

  The bottom line was that there was no bomb, no gun, and no drugs. The only danger was psychological and I couldn’t help but wonder how many innocent kids would wear the scars of today’s worry for years to come. The police did a good job of keeping the boy’s face hidden from the cameras. He probably had longish hair and a bad case of acne, but all the camera picked up was his “Kill the Haoles!” tee shirt and his shorts. Even so, by tomorrow every kid in school would know who’d gone crazy today.

  The scene included a choked-up mom and dad who waved off the cameras. The reporter shot questions at the distraught couple while Mom wept.

  Finally, Dad spewed venom. “Haoles caused this. They took away everything we love!”

  Mom grabbed Dad by the shirt-sleeve and tugged on his shoulder. She cried out, “Our boy would never do something like this.”

  They held each other while a policeman guided them to their vehicle. The station played it all again and did the snappy exchanges between on-scene reporter and anchor. I realized that it was now nearly dark outside, and I’d missed dinner.

  I wasn’t very hungry, but did want a little snack and some wine. In Hawaii, we call appetizers pupus. My current “order” consisted of little bits of steak and chicken that I’d cooked up, some sushi from a restaurant down the street and a couple of pieces of cheese. I turned off the TV and went out to the lanai with my wine and pupus. The ocean reflected the dark reds, grays, and blues of the day’s end. The tide was high, so the water was considerably closer than this morning.

  Streetlights glowed, hotel towers sparkled, and tourists would now be roaming the streets in search of a place for dinner or entertainment. I settled down into my chair, happy with my little ocean-front view. For the first time in years, I felt like I had something important to do. I hadn’t intended to get into this mess, and caring for Harris had never been on my radar. I’d intended to keep the status quo, and keep my life in order and not get consumed by someone else’s drama. But now, order seemed irrelevant. There was a flame starting to burn, and it warmed my cold insides.

  I munched, drank wine, and eventually decided that I was bored. Tomorrow, I could ask Alexander what he knew about Kalaeloa Airport, and how we might get some cooperation in finding the Cessna. If I could just see the plane, just once—even from a distance, I’d feel like—what? A moron? A do-gooder? Face it, I was a rubber-necking driver who just couldn’t help but stare at the accident scene. Well, in any case, if I did see the plane, I could get the password from Harris, file an update on the tip report, and be one step closer to dinner.

  I was still on the lanai debating my moron/do-gooder status when Suzie Wong came in from the parking lot. She looked extremely tired but, as usual, sensational. “Evening,” I said.

  “Hi. Rough day?”

  Her concern embarrassed me. Why hadn’t I asked her about her day first? I grumbled, “Too much going on.”

  She looked like she might make a snide remark, but after a short silence, said, “I hear you on that one.”

  “You had a bad day, too?”

  “You heard about that kid at Nanakuli?”

  “Yah. I feel bad for the kid and his parents.”

  She nodded, “A negotiator talked him out. Now, my boss wants to represent him.”

  “Maybe it’s a full moon—no, that’s next week. Crap, I’ve had two glasses of wine, and I’m beat.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. You know that new tenant?”

  The tone in her voice told me there was a catty remark coming. “Harris? What about her?”

  “Something’s not right with her.”

  Ooh, nasty. I tried to keep an edge out of my voice. “Why do you say that?”

  “Isn’t she supposed to be, like, from LA?”

  “Yeah, El Monte.”

  “Then why’s she a Giants fan?”

  I remembered the tee shirt Harris had worn to bed. Jeez, talk about petty. “You saw her tee shirt?”

  “In the laundry room. She started in about how the Giants were so gonna go all the way this year.”

  “Julia, come on, she’s fine. She’s got a twin sister that needs a kidney transplant. Hell, even I rooted for the Cowboys one season.”

  “That’s football.”

  “It was the uniforms. The cheerleader uniforms to be exact.”

  She laughed. “You are so bad. Okay, I’ll put away the claws. But, she should wear more clothes.”

  I guess you could say I painted the stripes on the zebra because she caught me smiling. I made a feeble attempt to cover my embarrassment, “I’m just the landlord—I can’t control what people wear.”

  Julia jumped all over that one with a high falsetto and a fake Pidgin accent. “Poor McKenna, he got no control over nuttin’, not even where his eyes go when de pretty wahine walk by.”

  First Harris, now Julia. Talk about being called out. Jeez. I drained the last of my glass.

  Julia started to walk away, tee-heeing to herself. She stopped after a few steps and turned, suddenly serious. “Hey, did you ever get those new security cameras installed?”

  “I got them in, but forgot to see whether anything recorded.”

  “Do it tomorrow, you look pretty tired.”

  Julia continued on to her apartment. She was a nice girl and, for the first time since I’d met her, I thought of her as Julia, not Suzie Wong. Christ, what was happening to me? Next thing you know, I’d be getting a cat.

  Chapter 12

  I woke up at six-thirty with energy that I hadn’t had in years. I felt like a much younger me this morning with only a bit of grumpiness and just a pinch of self-confidence. With all this newfound joy and happiness stuff going on in my head, I might even need a larger hat size. Unfortunately, I still hadn’t heard from Alexander and it was way too early to be calling his house. In our last exchange, Kira the Huntress had taken me down with her quick insight about my lame attempt at escaping the Q&A. So, my best bet was to watch the local news for a few minutes. Maybe I could pick up the weather report. I did a little channel surfing and found out that, sure enough, Kira was right. The crack meteorologist predicted a “major storm” that would bring 60% chance of “significant” amounts of rainfall later today. Who was that guy kidding? He didn’t know squat. He should just say, “Your guess is as good as mine.” But, then he wouldn’t get paid. So, the guy used his 60% fudge factor.

  It’s too bad that people, for instance, people like Robert M. Shapiro, Jr., didn’t have a fudge factor. He had only a 100% chance of being dead. And what about Harris’s sister? What were her chances of getting a transplant? And what about Harris? I should check on her. My guess was that she was still asleep, so I’d do that after breakfast.

  I poked my head out the sliding glass door and glanced up. Clear blue. Oh, goodie, we had a 100% chance of no rain for the next five minutes. I had my cereal and juice on the lanai and waved my spoon as a way of saying goodbye to a couple of the tenants as they left to fight the traffic.

  After I finished breakfast, I still felt like I needed to kill a few minutes before calling Alexander or disturbing Harris, so I logged into my computer and checked the security cameras as Julia had suggested. All four sides of the building as well as the roof checked out, so this was turning into a boring morning. It was now 7:45 and I was about to go visit Bosco. He could probably use a good cleaning because I’d been a bit lax on that task lately. I’d hire a maid, but I was too cheap. I’d clean myself, but I was too busy—or so I said. I pursed my lips and thought for a moment. Could I put that to music? Maybe it would make a good Country/Western song.

  I started a little verse in my head, then said, screw it. I don’t like Country/Western music anyway. Too much “twang” and “y’all.” I shifted in my chair. This was starting to give me gas. Ah, the old McKenna was back. Grumpy-pants and all. The phone rang in time to save me from creating more verses for my song. Alex
ander didn’t even say hello, but launched right in.

  “What happened yesterday? Why’d you go to Dillingham Field?”

  “We’re trying to locate the plane to help the cops.”

  “Help the— We? Who’s we?”

  “Harris and me. We. As in working together.”

  Alexander let out a groan. “You leaving me out of this, right?”

  I remembered his concerns from yesterday. “We didn’t mention you in our tip report, if that’s what you mean. All we want to do is find the plane, file another tip report, and get this Lau guy brought to justice.”

  “Lau? Who’s he? I got a lotta cousins named Lau.”

  “Roger Lau. He was Shapiro’s maintenance man. He’s flying the plane around now. He probably killed Shapiro so he could do a few drug deals, some smuggling—you know, something criminal. If we can find where that plane is, we can put a bow on this and give the cops an early Christmas present.”

  “I’ll be there, half an hour, forty-five minutes tops.”

  “Why? Harris and I can handle this. I just wanted to know if you knew someone at the airport who could help us.”

  “I do. And I’m going with you. Roger’s a cousin. From what I know he ain’t done nothin’ illegal. If you gonna try to pin something on him, I gonna make sure he really did it.”

  I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. “You don’t trust me?”

  “You ain’t the one I’m worried about.” And he hung up.

  Whew, talk about hitting someone’s buttons. I’d never seen Alexander get worked up so quickly. Thirty-nine minutes later, he was at my door. During that time, instead of writing another song verse I cleaned up Bosco. I even made it out to the lanai before Alexander’s truck rumbled into the parking lot. Today, he had the Tundra, a shiny beauty with a tricked-out exhaust system that sounds like a Ferrari on steroids. You’ve practically got to have a stepladder to get into the thing.

  “Kira let you have the tank today, huh?” The one time I’d seen her tackle driving the truck, she'd had to climb up and in. From outside, you could barely see a little head, much like a hand puppet, behind the wheel. She’d driven off as though she could actually see where she was going.