Motive ; One Last Day ; Going Viral

by Dustin Stevens

  By providing to clientele who catered to wealthy tourists, Takamini was able to charge a premium for its products, allowing for annual profit sharing among all workers, making it one of the most beloved employers in the state.

  It wasn’t their status as a company that had drawn Kimo to the North Shore on a rainy morning, though, but rather someone currently drawing a paycheck from Takamini.

  It was not the first time Kimo had been to the warehouse, though the efficiency of the workers never ceased to amaze him. He stood and watched as the room swirled in a mass of organized chaos, sniffing at the sweet smell of fruit in the air, none of the workers so much as glancing his way.

  “Aw, hell, what do you want?” a deep-throated voice called, shifting Kimo’s attention to the right.

  The sound drew a toothy smile from Kimo’s face.

  Across from him stood Sam Nakoa, a matching smile on his face. He extended a hand out in front of him as he approached, before retracting it and spreading his arms wide.

  Kimo returned the gesture, the oversized bear of a man almost swallowing him in the embrace. They held it a moment before stepping back, each assessing the other.

  “You looking good, Sam,” Kimo said, scanning his friend up and down. It had been almost a year since Kimo had seen him. He stood an even 6’ tall and carried his 260 pounds with surprising ease. His hair was just starting to show gray at the temples and was cut short, his face still unlined, despite 51 years in the sun.

  “Getting away from the capitol and back out here where I belong has a way of doing that,” Sam said, spreading his arms wide at the warehouse behind him.

  “I can tell,” Kimo replied, nodding in agreement. “You look 10 years younger than the guy I used to bump into working on the gov’s security detail.”

  A deep belly laugh rumbled up from within Sam, shaking his entire body. The sound drew a few looks from the workers nearby as their hands continued to move.

  “And there it is,” he said, shaking his head from side to side. “I should have known my old friend, Kimo, was here for work.”

  Kimo looked at the ground, nudging at a pebble with the toe of his sandal. “Come on now, you can’t take it personally. I’m never off the clock, so all visits can be blamed on work.”

  “True enough,” Sam said, reaching over and clamping a ham-size hand on Kimo’s shoulder. He left the meaty paw there and used it to steer them toward the open doorway. The weight of it tugged the left side of Kimo’s body down as he walked. Anybody else, and he may have taken exception to the gesture, though he knew Sam well enough to know there was no malice intended.

  He was simply a man unaware of his considerable strength.

  Once they were well beyond earshot of the room, Sam released the grip and turned to Kimo, folding his arms across his chest.

  “So, Mr. Mata, what can I do for you today?”

  The smile fell away from Kimo’s face as he glanced around once more to make sure they were alone. He knew the information he was about to share could be trusted with Sam, but anybody beyond that and it could be explosive.

  “How close are you with Randle’s security unit?” Kimo asked.

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know that I would use the word close. I stayed on for the first two years of his term as a favor to Duke, but since I got out, I’ve made a point to stay away.”

  Kimo pursed his lips, chewing on the information. There were certainly other ways to confirm the news Mary-Ann Harris had dropped on him, though they would all be significantly more difficult. And expensive.

  “Why? What’s going on? This about the election?” Sam asked.

  “I’m trying to confirm something that was given to me off-the-record yesterday.”

  “Big?”

  “If it didn’t get Randle impeached outright, it would all but guarantee he doesn’t win a second term.”

  The words were out before Kimo even realized it, his mouth relaying what his mind had concluded almost a day before.

  “Damn,” Sam said, whistling between his teeth. “And you’re going after him?”

  Kimo shook his head. “I never deliberately go after anybody. I just report what I find and let people draw their own conclusions.”

  The line sounded contrived even to Kimo’s own ears, but he stood, meeting Sam’s gaze as the big man sized him up.

  He finally nodded, content that Kimo was being honest.

  “What’s the news?”

  Kimo started to ask that it go no further, but stopped himself. There was no need to insult his friend.

  “Three nights ago, a body was found on the mosaic of the capitol floor.”

  Confusion passed over Sam’s face. “That’s impossible. Something like that would have made the rounds by now.”

  “Exactly,” Kimo said, nodding for emphasis. “If this is true, we’re talking cover-up of the highest order.”

  Sam raised a thumb to his mouth and gnawed on the nail, processing the information. “The kind of thing that would either get him impeached, or at the least voted out.”

  “Yup,” Kimo said, nodding once more.

  Sam glanced over at the workers still going about their jobs, the occasional whine of a forklift splitting the air. Content that they were too busy to pay attention to the stranger, he shifted back to Kimo and nodded.

  “Let me make a few calls. I’ll tell you flat out, I think it’s bullshit, but you’ve intrigued me enough that I’d like to know too.”

  Kimo let out a large breath, relief flooding through him. Right now, he had two clear lines of inquiry he needed to follow up on, and having Sam take over one of them made his life infinitely easier.

  “Thank you, Sam,” Kimo said. “Seriously, I appreciate it.”

  “Tell me,” Sam said, ignoring the comment, “where’d you hear this?”

  Reflexively, Kimo took a half step closer and dropped his voice. “That’s the damnedest part of it. Mary-Ann Harris called me in and told me about it.”

  Sam’s arms dropped by his sides at the mention of Harris, letting his palms slap against his thighs. “Well, damn. And you believe her?”

  “I know, I know,” Kimo said, holding up his hands to show he was in agreement. “Since you’ve agreed to ask a few questions on this side, my next job is figuring out what the hell she’s up to.”

  “Yeah, cause there’s no ulterior motive on her part,” Sam said, letting sarcasm drip from his words.

  “That may be,” Kimo said, “but if I don’t at least poke around a little on this...”

  Sam swiped a hand across his chin, nodding. “Yeah, that’s too big not to take a look.” He paused a moment, “Give me a day or two, yeah? I get off here at 5:00, and I’ll try to get a hold of some of the guys, maybe try to meet for a beer tomorrow.”

  “Thanks again, Sam, I’ll be happy to double the usual information fee for this.”

  “Ha!” Sam said, slapping at his thighs, his jovial nature returning. “If I end up finding out this is legit, you’re going to owe me two days’ work here on the farm.”

  Kimo looked over at the workers shuffling pineapples into crates. “I don’t know, that doesn’t look so bad.”

  “Oh, no,” Sam said, stepping away from Kimo, “not here. Out in the fields.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Danilo Cruz could see his reflection in the girl’s eyes as she stared back at him, her pupils dilated to the size of saucers. What substance put her in such a state, he could only guess, but the effects were undeniable.

  “My name’s Cherry,” she said, sticking the straw from her drink into her mouth and sucking on it, looking up at Danilo expectantly.

  He wasn’t quite sure what response he was supposed to give. “Hector,” he said, offering a shy smile and glancing back over his shoulder.

  The lingering clouds of a day-long storm had brought an early evening to Oahu. The streetlights of Chinatown were practically useless. From where he stood, Danilo could see only three working on the next block
with vast spaces of darkness between.

  Danilo had canvassed the area enough to know that even in full daylight, there wasn’t a lot to see. The district was little more than five blocks square, dotted with open-air markets, small eateries, and bars, but that did nothing to stem the tide of tourists that arrived each day expecting to find the type of Chinatown housed in New York or San Francisco.

  They were more likely to find girls like Cherry, and access to whatever she had ingested earlier.

  “Is this your first time, Hector?” Cherry asked, keeping her head tilted to the side with the straw just an inch from her mouth. The outside of the bottle said Diet Coke, though the smell told Danilo there was more than a little rum in it as well.

  “That obvious?” Danilo said, glancing down at the ground and back up at Cherry. She was several inches shorter, her dark hair teased out three times its normal size. She wore a pink and white striped tank top above a denim skirt that was probably better described as a belt. Heavy lipstick and eye shadow gave her the appearance of a young girl playing dress-up.

  “You don’t have to be nervous, Sweetie,” Cherry purred. “I’ll take good care of you. What’s your pleasure?”

  Danilo bit his lip once for effect before giving a bashful grin. “This is going to sound kind of weird...”

  A knowing smile grew across Cherry’s face. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, Honey. I can tell you that.”

  Several sharp retorts sprang to Danilo’s mind, but he continued playing the shy rube. “I was wondering if you knew where I could find...” he began, letting his voice trail off.

  “Let me guess,” Cherry jumped in, “Smack? Blow? Ice?”

  Repulsion filled Danilo at the notion she would immediately assume he was looking for drugs, but once more he let it pass. “Hapai – a pregnant woman.”

  The words hung between them as Cherry lowered the soda, her jaw falling open. “Pregnant. You want a girl that’s pregnant.”

  When he approached her, he knew this would be a long shot at best. The previous victim, he’d been tipped off to weeks in advance and had the opportunity to scout. He knew where she would be, her routines, even the best time to nab her.

  Now he was flying blind. While there were certainly more working girls on the streets of Waikiki, most of them had pimps or roommates or somebody who might eventually start asking questions.

  There was no such concern with women walking the streets of Chinatown. If any of them had somewhere else to call home or somebody to ask for help, they would have already done it. For somebody in his line of work, this place was practically one-stop shopping.

  “Yeah, I guess it is pretty weird, huh?” Danilo said, taking a step back toward the rented Mazda on the street.

  “No, weird is wanting to lick my toes,” Cherry corrected. “What you just said is straight messed up.”

  Despite her words, Danilo could see the faintest flicker of curiosity on the girl’s face. Clearly, she didn’t fit the mold he was looking for, but there was a chance she might know somebody who did.

  Still, he had to wait and let her get there on her own. She had to believe she was the one to initiate the idea.

  “You’re right,” Danilo said, taking another step. He shoved his hands into the front of his cargo shorts and moved away. Deep in his right pocket he pressed the unlock button on his key ring, the headlights of the car flashing twice in front of him. “Sorry to have bothered you. Have a good evening.”

  Danilo made it three steps before she called to him.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, her platform heels smacking against the concrete as she moved to catch up with him. “Maybe we can work something out.”

  The corner of Danilo’s mouth twitched before he turned back to her. “I know, I’m a weirdo.”

  “No no no,” Cherry said, waving cheap press-on nails at him. “I never said that. You just surprised me a little at first, that’s all.”

  Danilo knew he had hit pay dirt. He kept his hands in his shorts and stared back at her, doing his best to relay hopeful curiosity. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Cherry said. The same air of confidence she’d displayed when he first approached her returned, a woman in her element, back in control. “Obviously, I don’t match what you’re looking for, but I might know somebody that does.”

  “Yeah?” Danilo asked again, taking a half step toward her, needing her to feel his underlying enthusiasm.

  “Yeah,” Cherry said. “For a small fee, of course.”

  “Of course,” Danilo agreed with a smile. The two stood looking at each other before Danilo again pressed the unlock button in his pocket, the headlights cutting through the darkness. “Why don’t you climb in, and we’ll see what we can work out?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Three hours after sliding beneath the sheets of the queen-size bed Walter Tseng shared with his wife, the work-issued cell phone on the nightstand began to buzz. In a state of sleep that was near total blackout, he never once heard it. Not until Sharon slapped the back of her hand across his chest did he register anything at all.

  “Tell the damn governor to stop calling in the middle of the night,” she groaned, rolling away, pulling most of the covers with her.

  Rising in silence, Tseng took the phone and left the room, his eyes still crusted together. He let it continue to vibrate until he reached the kitchen, already picturing the governor in his bathrobe on the other end, forcing himself not to display any open animosity.

  “Tseng,” he sighed, running a hand over his face.

  “Chief, it’s Sturgis,” a gruff voice replied. “Sorry to wake you like this.”

  Tseng’s hand stopped, his eyes opening wide. He’d been so certain that the call was coming from the capitol, a different voice surprised him.

  “Yeah?” Tseng asked, the question coming out a bit harsher than intended.

  “Normally, I wouldn’t bother you at this hour,” Sturgis said, “but this is one we need your say-so on.”

  There was an actual list at the Honolulu Police Department of situations that needed his stamp of approval before being handled. They ranged from hostage situations to closing the H-1 for visiting dignitaries to any number of other things that could end up being high-profile for the media and the public.

  From where Tseng stood, none of the situations on the list were good.

  “What happened?” he muttered.

  “We’ve got two bodies down at Ala Moana Beach,” Sturgis said. Tseng could hear the ocean breeze coming through the phone as Sturgis talked.

  “Shit,” Tseng muttered. “How bad?”

  “I just got here,” Sturgis said. “They’re both cut up pretty bad. Need your approval to close the beach and tape off the scene.”

  Closing a public beach was one of the seemingly more innocuous things on the list, but one that rarely ever stood alone. There was always some reason for it, whether it be an infestation of jellyfish or a pair of bodies left sprawled in the sand.

  “Christ,” Tseng muttered. “How big a mess?”

  “That’s the thing,” Sturgis said. “There isn’t one. Both girls have huge slashes across their throats and stomachs, but there isn’t a spot of blood here anywhere. Seems like a dump job, but we still need to take a look.”

  The last words failed to register with Tseng. His mind seized on the victim’s wounds. His mouth went dry as he thought back to a few nights before, to the girl lying in a twisted heap on the capitol floor.

  “I’ll call you back…” Tseng said.

  Sturgis interrupted, “Come again? Li’s already setting up a perimeter.”

  “Tell him to stop right now,” Tseng said. “I’ll call you back.”

  He could hear Sturgis protesting as he disconnected the call. Tseng opened his phone book and thumbed down to the number for Tim Hall, before thinking better of it and moving directly to Governor Randle.

  There was no point in talking to the Chief of Staff when he couldn’t offer the answers Tseng nee
ded anyway.

  A long, slow breath slid out as he hit send. Tseng closed his eyes and pressed the phone to his face. Already, he could feel himself growing nauseated, his t-shirt wet with sweat.

  The phone rang seven times, enough that Tseng was certain it would be sent to voicemail, before the voice of the governor came on. Equal parts exhaustion and aggravation, he answered with a simple, “What?”

  “Good morning, sir,” Tseng said, steeling himself for the berating he knew he was about to receive. “I’m sorry to be calling so early…”

  “So why the hell are you?” Randle shouted.

  “We’ve found two more bodies,” Tseng said. He shoved the words out before the governor could say anything else, hoping they would stem any further hostility.

  “Shit,” Randle muttered. “Same place as before?”

  “No,” Tseng said, “these two were dumped on Ala Moana Beach, but the wounds are exact matches for the girl found the other night.”

  “Ala Moana?” Randle snapped. “You woke me up in the middle of the night for Ala Moana? Do you know how many people die in this state every year? Do you think somebody calls and tells me about it every time?”

  “I do know,” Tseng said, feeling rage rise within him again, “but how many of those have the exact MO of a body found at the capitol three days ago? A murder kept silent, so it was repeated on a public beach?”

  The words seemed to have found their target, stopping the governor before he could protest any further. Silence fell over the line as Tseng stood in his kitchen, his backside leaning against the counter.

  “Sir, I need to know how you’d like this handled,” Tseng said. “I can treat it like a regular homicide…”

  “No, you’re right,” Randle said. Gone was any trace of his previous anger, replaced by a deep-seated weariness. “The odds are, this is the same person, trying to make sure they’re not ignored again.”