He’d not give the woman any reason to think he wasn’t going to show.
Would she even wait around?
At the corner of Dickenson and Waine′e Streets, he turned left and strode past the Maria Lanakila Catholic Church and the cemetery next door. The forest of weathered grave stones turned brown by years of exposure to cane smoke beckoned him to walk among them.
An omen?
He forced the haunting image from his mind and picked up his pace. Each stride increased his nervousness. He was close now.
The intersection loomed a block away.
He reached the corner two minutes ahead of schedule and slowed. A shiny black Yukon sat in a drive-through space at the edge of the parking lot for Ernie’s Tattoo, the engine running. A dark tint on the rear and side windows made it impossible to see inside.
The caller forgot to mention the part about the meeting being held in the side lot of an island ink joint.
For a moment he considered turning around.
The scene had “trouble” written all over it. But to walk away now would get him nothing.
The woman inside had information about Ichiro Makoto. Information important enough for her to go to the effort of finding him to set up a meeting.
He intended to hear her out.
A flock of squabbling Mina birds drew his attention across the street.
Several tourists walked past, heading in the direction of the shops on Front Street.
All very innocent.
He walked to the passenger side and peered in through the dark glass. Shade spilling over the vehicle from a nearby tree didn’t help visibility. All he could make out was the silhouette of a petite individual sitting behind the steering wheel. Obviously female, nothing more.
But there was something familiar about her.
Curiosity getting the best of him, he raised his hand to knock on the window. The driver ran it down several inches before his fingers touched the glass. The air that flowed through the gap had a welcome chill to it. The lone occupant was Japanese, a fashion model’s face. She was the young woman he’d seen at the morgue. Only this time she wore a thin white buttoned top that showed her nipples poking against the fabric and black shorts exposing a pair of exquisite legs.
“Get in,” she said.
The dark glass closed tight between them before he could respond. But he’d seen enough to detect sadness in her dark eyes. He still didn’t like the setup, but figured he could handle one small Japanese woman.
Especially one as pretty as her.
He opened the door and settled onto the seat at the same time she scrambled out on the other side. The huge Japanese man with the Oddjob-type crewcut and dark suit too heavy for the heat, climbed in after her. Followed by two more in similar suits who slid in the back seat. The giant behind him jammed the barrel of a pistol in the back of his head before he could react.
Practiced moves of professionals.
The exchange happened so fast he was sure they had done this trick before.
“What’s this all about?” he asked, doing his best to remain calm.
The automatic door locks clicked closed. Any chance he had for opening the door and rolling out and yelling for help was past.
He was sealed in.
“Can’t we talk about this?”
The man behind the steering wheel held out his hand. “Give me your cellphone.”
“It’s brand new.” Jack handed it over.
Driver ran down the window a few inches and dropped the phone onto the pavement.
“Hey.”
“Shut up,” Driver said.
The man behind Jack nudged the barrel of the gun against the back of his neck.
The car rolled onto the roadway.
Way to go, Jack.
He felt very stupid. The moment he opened his door to get in, he should’ve noticed the pretty lady’s seat was all the way back. There was no way she could have driven there with it in that position. Her feet would never have been able to touch the pedals.
And he’d have had time to move.
Now he had no choice but to go along for the ride.
The question was, where were they taking him?
CHAPTER 13
Robert knocked on the door to Jack’s room expecting him to answer. After a few seconds he pounded again, harder.
All the rooms along the hallway were deathly quiet.
Including Jack’s.
“This doesn’t make sense.” He looked at Kazuko, shaking his head in disbelief. “We haven’t been gone more than a couple of hours. He should be here.”
She looked up at him. “Maybe he’s taking a nap.”
“Doubtful. But if he’s in there, he’s awake now. We’ll give him a minute.”
“What if Dana’s with him? We might be interrupting something.”
He shook his head. “Not likely. She’s supposed to be at work.”
“That’s what he told us. But every day a lot of people are supposed to be at work and aren’t. Maybe she took the afternoon off. It’d make sense, especially if they’re excited to rekindle their relationship.”
“It’s possible.” He shrugged. “You’d think he would have sent a text or something letting us know plans have changed.”
“Nothing came across my phone,” she said.
“Mine either.” He dug his cellular from his pocket, tapped the screen, and raised it to his ear. “I’m calling him.”
After a moment she asked, “No answer?”
He shook his head and returned to voicemail. “Where’d you run off to? We’re at the hotel. Call me.”
When he clicked off, she said, “Knock again, just in case.”
He did as she asked, not really expecting the door to open. There was something slightly sinister about the situation.
His survival instinct twitched.
He glanced around, looking for someone sneaking up behind them.
No one was there, except Kazuko.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“A strange feeling, that’s all.” He motioned at the stairs. “Let’s check the restaurant.”
“The bar, you mean. He’s probably down there nursing a beer wondering what in the heck happened to us.”
“Doesn’t explain why he didn’t answer his phone, but we can hope.”
They hurried downstairs to street level, followed the sidewalk to the corner of Wharf and Hotel Streets and stopped. From there, they studied the dim interior of the open-air restaurant. The Pioneer Inn Grill and Bar was crowded.
“See him,” Kazuko asked.
“Still looking.”
He scanned the dozen people sipping drinks at the long koa-wood counter and then the customers seated at tables. A couple of patrons dressed in matching floral print island wear sat overlooking the street. They cast a casual glance in his direction before redirecting their attention to the two people sitting with them.
He sighed. “Not there.”
“You’re sure?”
“Look for yourself.”
Kazuko stepped over the wood curb, past the old ship’s anchor, and walked to the row of planter boxes separating the restaurant from the sidewalk. She rested her hands on the top edge of the one closest to her and leaned forward.
He waited.
She rejoined him on the sidewalk. “It doesn’t make sense. I was sure he’d be there.”
From the tone of her voice, he could tell she shared his concern. He scanned the crowded establishment one more time, then swiveled and studied the people under the banyan tree and on the sidewalk along the wharf. He tried not to imagine the worst. Even so, the possibility remained. Only they weren’t involved in a solitary thing that would put any of them in danger.
Unless . . .
He met her gaze. “I don’t like this one bit.”
She gripped his arm above the elbow. “He told us he’d wait here until we got back. He can’t be far.”
There had to be a rational explan
ation.
Then again, maybe not.
“Think again,” he said. “This is Jack we’re talking about. He’s capable of anything.”
“You thinking he’s gotten himself into trouble?”
“Like I said, this is Jack we’re talking about.”
She glanced around, apprehension etched in her expression. “What do you think we should do?”
He clenched his jaw in frustration. Something was wrong . . . terribly wrong. The nervous itch on the back of his neck told him so.
It wasn’t the first time he felt it when Jack was concerned.
“Nothing we can do but wait,” he said. “And hope he hasn’t run off and done something stupid.”
CHAPTER 14
They traveled in silence.
The gun at the back of Jack’s head, kept it that way.
He faced straight ahead as ordered. He doubted the thugs would shoot him with so many potential witnesses around, but he wouldn’t take that chance. With the gun pointed at the back of his head even an accidental shot would scatter his brains all over the windshield.
He’d not let that happen.
The Yukon rolled to a stop for the red traffic light at Honoapiilani Highway. The windows were shut, but the air conditioner was keeping up nicely. Even with three huge men sucking up the coolness as fast as it spewed from the vents on the dash. The advantage of a luxury vehicle with all the extras. He had an idea where they were taking him.
The end of the road.
And a perfect place to take someone if you didn’t want to be seen.
That’s what he was afraid of.
“There’s no need for all this cloak-and-dagger stuff. I’m sure that whatever you think is happening, isn’t.”
Crewcut didn’t answer.
Without even a glance in Jack’s direction, the driver continued on through the green light.
The big SUV rolled across Honoapiilani Highway, past the Pioneer Mill Company Store, the rundown smoke stack, the old Pioneer Mill Company office, a tract of houses and into an undeveloped slope of the West Maui Mountains. There were more buildings a quarter of a mile away. But beyond them lay the end of the road.
Exactly where he feared they were headed.
“I’m sure you’re making a mistake,” Jack said with more urgency.
His words meant nothing.
He searched his mind for something more to say. Anything to get them to let him go.
He had to come up with something quick.
“Please tell me what this is all about.”
His words seemed pitifully inadequate. His heart quickened when the driver steered the Yukon into a gravel area behind a fenced-in water storage tank a couple of hundred yards below the developed area at the top of the hill, and stopped.
Not quite the end of the road, but close enough.
He tensed.
“Out.” Crewcut pressed a button on his door, releasing the electronic locks with a loud click.
Jack was hesitant to move.
“Call off your goon in the back seat,” he said, gathering his nerve. “It makes me nervous having a gun pressed to the back of my head.”
The pressure exerted on the base of his skull by the muzzle disappeared when the two men in the back seat opened their doors and climbed out.
“Now,” Crewcut said.
Jack reached for the door latch and peered through the side window at the man with the handgun. A semi-automatic, large caliber, black steel frame. The second man had a similar semi-automatic concealed in a holster visible on his belt when his jacket flapped back. They both stood several paces away from the passenger’s door where they had time to react to anything he might try.
Experienced and careful.
He knew he had no choice but to comply.
And pray.
“Really, guys, this is not necessary.” He turned at the crunch of the third man’s shoes on the gravel.
Immediately, a huge right fist hammered his solar plexus.
His legs buckled, sending him to his knees.
He doubled over and struggled to catch his breath.
Crewcut shoved him the rest of the way to the ground with the heel of his shoe. “Why are you asking questions about Ichiro Makoto? What is it you seek?”
Jack looked up at him unable to gather enough air in his lungs to answer. After a moment, he managed a gasping, “Nothing.”
“You lie. What is your mission?”
“Get it through your thick skull, there is no mission.”
The gorilla with his gun in his holster stepped in and lashed out with his foot.
Jack saw the shoe coming at him about an hour late.
He tried to tuck his arms in close, but the highly-polished leather toe caught him squarely in the ribs. He heard a crack, then felt a stabbing pain that made him double over and grip his side.
“Again,” Crewcut said, “why do you seek information about Ichiro Makoto?”
Jack managed to catch his breath through the pain of his cracked rib. Doing his best to talk so that he could be understood, he grimaced, and said, “I pulled his body from the ocean. It seemed odd him being out there with no boats around so I made a couple of inquiries. That’s what I was doing when you saw me at the forensics facility. I see now it’s none of my business.”
“The coordinates of where you found his body,” Crewcut demanded. “What are they?”
Jack wheezed. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
Shoe stepped in and kicked him again.
This time Jack saw the foot coming and took most of the impact on his bicep, dangerously close to his head. He clenched his eyes shut. If they kept this up, he wouldn’t be able to tell them anything.
Especially if they went to work on his skull.
CHAPTER 15
Jack raised his hands in front of him, palms out. Strangely, he felt like a man in a movie begging for his life. Which he was.
And this was no movie.
“I don’t know the coordinates,” he lied. “You have to believe me.”
Shoe and his partner with the holstered gun hauled him to his feet and held him up by his arms. Crewcut stepped forward and backhanded him hard enough on the side of the face to turn his head.
His vision exploded in a burst of stars and his knees buckled. The two men with a tight grip on his arms kept him on his feet.
“Honest,” he gasped through the pain. “There’s nothing more to it.”
Crewcut smiled, smug, confident.
He removed a butterfly knife from his jacket pocket and flipped it open with a snap of the wrist. His eyes were as cold and sharp as the steel in his hand. He nodded at Shoe.
In spite of the heat, Jack felt a prickling chill at the prospect of what that meant. He jerked and tugged and kicked at their knees. Everything he could think of to get loose. Then his left arm was forced up behind him by Shoe’s partner until he felt like his shoulder would dislocate. It became painfully clear that no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t prevent his right arm from being extended in front of him and held there.
He forced aside his fear and reclaimed some of his resolve to get free.
To not give up in spite of the odds.
He stiffened when Crewcut took hold of his index finger and forced it straight. The strength of the giant’s grip was impossible to comprehend. So was his will to do the unthinkable.
“Every time you lie,” he said. “I cut off one of your fingers.”
Jack watched the blade move toward the middle knuckle, powerless to stop what was happening.
He gritted his teeth at the unbelievable pain to come and pinched his eyes closed, unable to watch.
Complete helplessness hollowed his gut.
The vision that formed in his mind didn’t help.
How many fingers will it take?
The sound of an approaching helicopter left the question unanswered. Loud and distinct. It might as well have been a bugle call—the cavalry to the rescue
.
Allowing himself a gasp of relief, he glanced at the knife. The blade remained poised, ready to cut, but several inches from his hand. He looked at Crewcut and saw him peering up at the chopper, his forehead creased in a frown. The whirly-bird made a pass a short distance down the hill from where they stood, turned and hovered a moment the way a hawk does over a field mouse just before he swoops down for the kill. Channel 3 written in large letters was visible on the door.
It didn’t matter why the news crew was there, only that they chose that moment to fly over the location.
An angel from heaven.
He felt the pressure on his hand slacken and jerked free. At that same moment, he locked eyes with Crewcut, ready for what would come next.
The cards had been played.
The big man scowled and returned the knife to his pocket as quickly as he had withdrawn it. And with a wave of his hand, he motioned for the other two men to get in the SUV.
Jack felt an urge to lash out with his fists and feet. Go for the throat and knees. Cripple them while he had the chance. And run. Then the overwhelming desire to see the situation through regardless of the danger facing him, changed his mind.
He’d not flee like a frightened rabbit.
Not now.
He held his ground.
Leaning close, Crewcut said, “Next time, you die.”
Jack didn’t bother answering. One thing was certain. He’d not badmouth channel three’s broadcasts ever again.
Willing strength into his legs, he steadied himself on his feet and watched the thugs speed back down the road the way they’d come. He’d kept all his fingers, still their message had come across loud and clear . . . and painful.
But why the warning?
CHAPTER 16
With much effort, Jack managed to take a few steps. His legs held, but his ribs hurt like hell. Cracked, maybe, but he didn’t think any of them were broken.
The news chopper had moved on. Likely in search of the story that’d brought them there to begin with. Without the whap, whap, whap of the bird’s rotors, the area fell unusually quiet. Far down the hill, the Yukon disappeared from view around a curve. At least the thugs hadn’t made a quick U-turn with the intention of finishing the job.
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