by Tyler Colins
“What are you up to?”
“Surely you could care less.” I sauntered to the counter to grab a mug of freshly brewed coffee.
“Open your door.”
I could feel my face grow as pale as a slice of Wonderbread Classic White. “Please don't tell me you're out there.”
“All right, I won't.”
After doing my duty as a helpful/helping citizen nearly two weeks ago I'd attempted to consign Mr. Aloha Shirt to memory (with an 80 % success factor, I was sadly embarrassed to admit). Uneasily, I unlocked the door.
Dressed in True Religion jeans, Converse runners, and a white T-shirt that accentuated muscles and six-pack abs, the man looked annoyingly good. His hair was pulled back in a man bun and the two diamond studs he normally wore had been replaced by tiny gold hoops.
His tanned face sported faded bruises and small scabs, and an ugly puckered line on his upper arm would serve as a permanent reminder of that grim beating. Ironically, the battle scars added a “bad boy” quality that was very appealing. Just what I needed – to [still] be drawn to a manipulative [married] government agent. I swallowed a curse.
He gestured my braids. “What's with the Pippi Longstocking look?”
“It's hot.” It had grown hot and humid inside the condo as well as out, due to an A/C issue. Building management promised to resolve it as “exponentially as possible”, which meant thirty minutes as easily as thirty hours, or even thirty days. The light tank top and short shorts I wore felt thick and heavy.
“And the Birkenstocks? Man, those really aren't you, Fonne.”
“What's wrong with them?”
“They're not you.”
I looked down at the gold double-strap sandals. “They're very comfy, Mr. Fashion Whore. I suppose you'd prefer ruby-red stilettos.”
“Candy-pink, actually.” Cash peered at my chin and shook his head. “Like, really?”
Self-consciously, I fingered the stitches.
“I'm guessing that's a consequence of putting the Picolo case to bed.” He greeted Button as she all but flew into his arms. “How's my girlfriend?”
“She's doing well, though she seems to possess exceptionally questionable taste in boyfriends.” I closed the door and returned to the kitchen to pour more coffee. He'd either request it or help himself, so why not save time and annoyance, and simply do it?
“Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning … a sadly empty one because I wasn't in it?” he asked cheerily, continuing to pat Button.
Instinctively, I stuck out my tongue and passed coffee.
“I can think of more useful actions for that tongue than childish gestures.” He noticed the roses and baby's breath on one of the end tables. “They're holding up nicely.”
Mystery solved re sender. “I'd been giving them water with lemon juice and sugar, as Rey had suggested.” I padded into the living room and sat on the sofa that would be re-upholstered next week. “What brings you to my humble abode?”
“The Camaro, which is bringing us to the Ke'ehi Boat Harbor.” He sat alongside.
Pensively, I regarded him over the rim of my mug. The man was proving as cocksure as always.
“We're taking the day off and going boating.” He clinked his mug against mine. “Put on runners and a hat. Grab sunscreen and a bikini, and maybe a change of clothes and sweater for later.”
Before I could provide a snarky response, he pressed a finger to my lips. “There's no room for argument. If you get surly or don't agree, I'll simply pack a bag for you and carry you over my shoulder down the rear stairs to the garage. Donnie's on duty today, so I got a prime spot.”
“Just like that? Off we go? Why are you worming yourself back into my life?” A touch of testiness was rising like high tide. “Please wriggle yourself back out the building.”
“I'm not liking this side of you, Fonne,” he said with a dry smile.
I drew a long, deep breath. “What about Colt? What about that night? Are we pretending that you didn't have the crap kicked out of you … that you didn't leave me a warning?”
His gaze darkened.
“My bad. Cash Layton Jones doesn't get the crap kicked out of him, does he? He just – momentarily – loses the upper hand.” I smiled tartly. “Thanks for the invite, but I have plans –”
“They can wait, so can your colleagues.” He traipsed over to the mobile and brought it over. “Give Linda a call to pick up Button and grab your gear, or I'll grab you.”
My mouth opened, then closed. In truth, a break from work did sound agreeable. And I was curious to learn whatever I could about Colt, not that Cash would necessarily provide it. But did I want to spend the day with Cash? Rational JJ screamed “hell no!” while Curious & Obviously Senseless JJ declared “sounds like a plan”. Truly, the best course of action was to steer clear of this enigmatic family man who'd stomped out of my life with an abrupt bang. Why wasn't I pointing that out? Because apparently, to Mr. Aloha Shirt, this was of no consequence.
If I refused to go, though, he'd make certain I accompanied him, willingly or otherwise. “You're an ass,” I grumbled, dialing Linda.
“I've been called worse,” he said with a smug smile, standing. “And leave the cell behind. No agency business allowed today.”
“What if there's an emergency?”
“Fine. You can check now and again, but no calling or texting. We don't need your colleagues playing cavalry. As much as I like your lovely pals, there's only one lovely lady I intend to spend the day with.” He yanked me to my feet. “You've got five minutes, Fonne. The timer's ticking.”
* * *
Hiding behind Ray-Bans, we listened to a Brandon Flowers CD during the twenty-minute drive to the harbor. Cash began to sing along when “Can't Deny my Love”, a great tune sung by The Killers' talented lead vocalist.
Dang, if the man didn't have an awesome voice. “Is there anything you're not good at?” I scowled.
His response was an arrogant smile before he gunned it along Ala Moana.
* * *
As I watched passing scenery, Linda's expression upon finding Cash in the condo returned to mind. While obviously knocked for six, she'd not uttered one word when he requested she mind Button. She'd merely nodded like a Bobblehead as she grabbed a leash, treats and food, and sauntered into the corridor with her temporary charge happily trailing behind. Undoubtedly, Button and Bonzo would have a fun-filled day; Linda and Rey would have a tongue-wagging one.
Once parked in the marina lot, Cash retrieved a duffel bag from the trunk of the jazzed-up, cherry-red Chevy Camaro while I grabbed a bag filled with too many just-in-case items, including the wolf-pendant necklace and Beretta with silencer (with his profession and recent drubbing, you never knew who or what lurked around a corner). He motioned left and started in that direction. I followed a few hesitant steps, wondering if it might not be simpler to turn tail; a decent runner, I could give the man a run (ha, ha) for his money.
As if sensing my thoughts, he stopped and turned. Even if we couldn't see each other's eyes through the dark shades, we were locked in an optical power struggle. It appeared neither would relent, so we stood there monopolizing a parking lot lane – until a Thunderbird pulled behind. The amiable owner of the gleaming-clean convertible requested we step aside so that he could park in his designated spot.
Slinging the duffel bag over one shoulder, Cash hooked an arm firmly around my waist, and onward we strolled … to an Alerion 41.
“Being an agent has its perks,” I commented wryly, scanning the handsome coastal cruiser from bow to stern.
“Being a drug dealer, you mean,” he said with equal wryness. “It belongs to Richie J.”
“Richie J has awesome taste,” I said with a sour smile, scanning his profile as he regarded the vessel. “I take it Richie J is an excellent sailor, among other things.”
“He's pretty good.”
“…The Nathison?” I was referring to the name of the boat.
&nbs
p; “Nathan's my son and Madison's my daughter,” he explained with evident parental love and pride.
For a fleeting second, I saw a loving father and not a smug agent. Interesting.
“What?” he asked, scanning my expression.
I swallowed a smile and motioned the Nathison. “Is this your home away from home?”
“This … and a place on the North Shore,” he replied lightly and gestured. “After you.”
I hesitated. Not being overly experienced when it came to boating, I hoped I wouldn't trip or stumble … or worse.
Cash seemed to read my thoughts. “Do you need Dramamine?”
“Don't be silly,” I scoffed, elbowing him aside and boarding (gratefully, without falling).
“You're sure?” he called after.
“Very,” I replied icily, moving to the helm and placing my bag on a settee.
“If you puke, don't do it on me.”
“If I puke, trust me, I'll make sure it's on you,” I said drolly.
He laughed – arrogantly – and slipped below deck with the duffel bag. A minute later he was back, still bearing an arrogant cast. “We'll head to the Ko'alina coast. Do you like snorkeling?”
I peered at him over my Ray-Bans and confessed something I'd have preferred to keep secret. “I'm sure I would … if I could swim better.”
“Better?”
“Not everyone can be as accomplished as you, Mr. Expert Scuba Diver,” I sneered.
If he was surprised by my knowing about his scuba diving, he concealed it well. “But you can swim?”
“I do a pretty mean dog-paddle,” I replied snippily. The truth was that while I could travel a few yards, I couldn't float. Rey and I, possessing the same level of aquatic ability, had vowed we'd learn one day so that we could climb a surfboard or boogie board without worries or life vests.
He laughed. Heartily. “You can't live on an island and not swim.”
“I said I can dog-paddle.”
“What happens if the boat sinks when we're out there?”
I offered a saccharin smile. “You'll play hero and save me.”
He exhaled noisily. “Let's see what we can do to advance those dog-paddling skills.”
“Don't even consider, for one second, of throwing me in the briny deep,” I warned.
He laughed again.
I sighed and watched him prepare to motor into tranquil waters.
With Cash at the pedestal-mounted steering wheel and me on a settee, we navigated Ewa (west), towards Ko'alina. The day was perfect for boating. A lemon-yellow sun lounged in a cloudless, azure sky while trades blew steadily, diminishing heat and humidity. It was easy to understand why this remote part of the world was called paradise.
I had to be crazy for having come along, but Cash wouldn't have yielded and I hadn't been up for a longwinded battle that would have surely been lost by yours truly. In truth, arrogance and attitude aside, I was enjoying the outing. He seemed serenely focused playing helmsman and I had my own space to reflect and mellow.
I considered the case that was now closed and wondered if Buddy would be able to live with her deadly deed. I suspected she would, without a blink or a care. So be it. One day, she'd have a higher authority to answer to. As for Colt, well, as Gail recommended, we'd hold off. He was an entirely different kettle of fish from those we'd yet lured or hooked. Could you even catch a piranha? With the right bait probably, but we weren't experienced enough fishermen – yet.
“Penny for your thoughts?” He slipped alongside and pressed one of two icy bottles of Coke into my hand.
I provided a similar response to the last time he'd asked that during our first civil powwow. “I'd prefer a Benjamin and a Jackson.”
“Care to talk?” Casually, he draped an arm around my shoulders.
“Sure.” I shrugged free. “Nice weather we're having.”
He sighed and brushed aside hair that had loosened and blown into my face.
I flinched from the contact.
He frowned and clinked his bottle against mine. “Here's to better days.”
“I'll go with that,” I said with a casual tone and smile as I returned my gaze to the ocean.
“…I saw you by the house that morning.”
I stiffened. He'd mentioned that at the condo that night. I'd hoped I'd misunderstood. “I underestimated your spying capabilities, or overestimated ours.”
“How'd you get the address?”
“Ve haff our vays and connections,” I replied with a not-so-great Greta Garbo accent.
“Why don't I explain –”
“I don't want to hear about your personal life,” I interrupted coolly. “You get pummeled – and knifed – and leave a clue with no follow-up, then swagger back into my life as if nothing happened. Why don't you explain that?”
His lips drew into a tight line.
“The “T” stood for traitor, right?”
Silence.
“Come on, Jones, you can't not enlighten me.”
“…It stood for traitor.”
“You have eyes everywhere,” I prodded. “You must know what's transpired since.”
“To a point.” He sighed. “I'm sorry I got you involved. At the time, not knowing if I'd survive –”
“You're an Autobot, Cash Jones,” I admonished. “You'd survive any attack.”
“Not knowing if I'd survive,” he continued crisply, “I had to take a chance. I knew you'd eventually get it. You're like a dog with a bone, Fonne.”
“I'm glad you think I'm capable of eventually getting it.” I took a sip of soda and returned my gaze to the beach.
“I had no idea you'd check around as determinedly as you did. That was pretty…”
“Stupid?” I asked sarcastically.
“Focused. And gutsy.”
I scanned his face and saw nothing to suggest condescension or criticism. “In case you're wondering what we have planned, we're waiting to see what the police uncover about the bombings.”
“Bombings? You mean Picolo's companies?”
“Yes, the places Colt blew up.”
Surprise flashed in those jade-green eyes. “Colt? You're sure?”
I nodded.
“Tell me.” A hand pressed mine gently. “Please?”
I gave a quick rundown about the “visit” to the Diamond Head condo, the box of cells located in the washroom, and the early morning confrontation near my building.
Concern lined his forehead. “You should have contacted me.”
“Firstly, even if I'd wanted to, you've never provided a number,” I pointed out dryly. “Secondly, even if I could have, it would have endangered your family. I couldn't put your kids at risk.” A grimace tugged at my face as a fleeting image of Colt flashed before me. “Does he know you suspect? And just what type of traitor is he? One to our country, his agency … you?”
“I've been discreet, but I suppose there's always a possibility.” He scanned my face and I sensed he was hesitant to reveal much more. “…To the agency.”
“How long have you had doubts about him?”
“About a year, but nothing concrete ever materialized, so three months back I let it drop for the interim. A few weeks ago, just after I met you at the Hilton and got him to have drinks with your cousin, I stumbled across new information.”
When he didn't continue, I poked his arm. “Don't leave me hanging.”
“That's all I can share.”
I sighed. “Will you at least confirm whether he was on Picolo's payroll?”
“There's a distinct probability he was – a few years back when he was on organized crime detail.”
“Was he responsible for what happened to you that night?”
“He screwed up a major deal,” was all he offered with a sour smile.
Maybe Rey, Linda and I would luck in and find out, should we decide to pursue Colt … and I suspected we would.
“About my wife –”
“Let's not go there.”
“Let's.”
My lips drew into a taut line and I focused on the seals. I really didn't want to know … well, not that much.
“I was planning on divorcing Rayna a couple of years ago.”
I recalled the smile and the “luv you” at the Hawai'i Kai house. Sure. Whatever.
“We were married after high school and had several awesome years, but my career had started coming between us more and more. We were developing different interests and social circles … and, of course, I wasn't home often. Around the time I was seriously contemplating a divorce – as she was – she got really sick and it didn't seem an appropriate time to pursue one. She needed support and the kids needed me to be there as much as possible. There was enough drama with the illness, never mind a break-up.”
“Okay.” I wasn't sure what I was feeling, but comfortable was definitely not it.
“We still love each other, but not in a romantic way, not like it once was.” He scanned the shoreline and sighed softly. “We're…”
“Best friends?” I smiled darkly.
“Yes. We are best friends.” His expression contrite, he scanned my face. “I should have been honest.”
“Yes, you should have been.” Placing the bottle aside, I got up and ambled to the transom, aware he was directly behind.
I felt extremely ambivalent – and the last place I suddenly wanted to be was on the Alerion.
Chapter Forty-One
Within the crystal-clear azure-blue ocean were an abundance of cool-looking, beautifully-colored fish including the famous humuhumu-nukunuku-apua'a with its distinctive clown face, the mamo or Hawaiian Sergeant, reminiscent of perch, and the brilliant yellow, uniquely shaped lauwiliwilinukunuku'oi'oi or forceps fish. Several yards away, a majestic sea turtle poked its cubic head from the Pacific. The water was fairly tranquil and looked far from deep, but it was way over my head … much as I felt I was right now.
Cash parked himself alongside and I could smell Bleu de Chanel, a cologne he favored. “Are you up for a swimming lesson?”
Of course I wanted to learn how to swim like a pro, but I didn't want him as instructor. Before I could respond, however, he'd pitched me overboard.
