Motive ; One Last Day ; Going Viral

by Dustin Stevens

Rip shoved the passenger door open. “I would argue a man has to be really confident in himself to drive a van.” He paused, looking through the open door at her. “Besides, she’s a classic, dammit.”

  Biting back a smile, Kalani climbed out and the two of them headed for the house. As they drew near, Rip fell back a step, allowing her to take the lead and go to the door.

  At the top she curled her hand into a fist and pounded on the outer frame. She struck the wood five times before stepping back and waiting, the house completely silent. After several moments she raised her fist and pounded again, this time even harder than the first.

  Somewhere inside the sound of movement could be heard, consistent with someone being pulled from a deep sleep. Turning once to glance at Rip, Kalani stepped back and waited.

  The footsteps grew closer before stopping just short of the door as whoever was on the other side stood looking through the peephole. Out of habit Kalani pulled her badge from her hip and held it up for the person on the other side to see.

  “Leo Reyes, we’d like to ask you some questions,” she said, her voice raised so anybody else in the house could also hear. She kept the badge out, turning her body so her weapon was also visible.

  Finally, the door opened with an audible gasp, the sound of wood and rubber fused by humidity, pulling apart. Behind it stood a young woman no more than 20, her hair a mess. Her eyes were turned down into narrow slits, morning having come far earlier than she wanted. A thin blanket was wrapped around her as she stood blinking at the harsh morning sunlight.

  “Leo’s not here,” she said, the words sounding pained.

  “It’s barely 7:00 a.m., and his truck is in the driveway,” Kalani said, fighting back an eye-roll. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” the girl said. “But he’s not here.”

  From the side of the house the creak of a door could be heard, jerking Kalani’s head to the side, her senses on alert.

  Rip took off at a dead run, his wet denim making a whishing sound as he sprinted across the lawn. Kalani stood rooted in place, watching him tear across the dead grass, before a short man with dark brown skin darted from the side of the house. A key ring dangling from his hand, he was dressed only in cargo shorts and sneakers, pumping hard for his truck.

  Watching the two intersect was like seeing two animals collide on a nature documentary. Kalani waited as Rip intercepted him two steps away from the hood, hefting his small body up from the ground and depositing him chest-first against the grille.

  “Man, what the hell you doing?” Reyes yelled, thrashing beneath Rip’s grip, his feet swinging, trying in vain to find the ground beneath him. “You can’t just show up and start tossing me around at my own house!”

  Behind him, Rip pressed his forearm into Reyes’s back, pinning his body against the chrome. “Shut up. From where I’m standing it looks like I can do whatever I want.”

  He turned and looked back at Kalani, shaking his head. “Why do they always try to run?”

  Kalani turned toward the girl standing just inside the door, her mouth hanging open. “Put some clothes on, we’re going to need to talk to you, too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  A single wooden chair was brought in from the dining room and placed in front of the television. It was old and rickety, the varnish faded from years of use. Still, it was in better shape than the threadbare carpet it rested on, once beige but now an indeterminate color somewhere between brown and grey, splotched with stains representing spilled food, beverages, and various other things.

  Leo Reyes sat there, his mouth clamped shut, his nostrils flaring. His hands were clenched into tight balls, the veins on his arms standing out beneath his skin as he stared from Rip to Kalani and back again.

  The earlier comment by Rip about the truck being overcompensation for something had turned out to be truer than either could have guessed. Reyes was no more than 5’4”, his body a svelte 125. A lack of body fat made his abs stand out beneath smooth brown skin, though there was no muscle.

  “Man, what the hell you guys think you’re doing?” Reyes snapped. “I’ve got rights, you know.”

  “Your rights went out the window when you tried to run,” Rip said, standing in front of Reyes with his arms folded over his chest. Behind him sat the girl who had answered the door a few minutes before, her waif-like body wrapped in a beach cover and pressed back into a lumpy plaid couch.

  “We just have some questions for you,” Kalani said, keeping her tone neutral, standing far enough to the side that Reyes couldn’t look at her and Rip at the same time.

  “Man, I’m not answering shit,” Reyes said, putting extra emphasis on the last word. “I didn’t do nothing, I don’t know nothing.”

  “Then why’d you run?” Rip asked, inching a half step closer.

  Reyes pressed his lips together tight and peered up at Rip, giving the impression that he might leap out of his chair at any moment. “Because you’re cops! Everybody knows a cop comes banging on your door at the crack ass of dawn, means they about to pin something on you.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Rip said, turning to look at Kalani. “You know that?”

  After watching Rip slam Reyes onto the hood of his own truck, Kalani was content to let him take the role of bad cop. She stared down at the shirtless young man. “We have some questions about Lauren Mann.”

  “Don’t know her,” Reyes said, keeping his eyes aimed at Rip, the words coming too fast to be believable.

  Expecting the answer, Kalani slid the photo of Mann out from the file in her bag. She took two steps forward, holding the photo just a few feet from his face. “How about now?”

  “Said I don’t know her,” Reyes said, still glaring at Rip, never once looking at the picture.

  There were two ways the next few minutes could play out. The first was to let Rip flex some more muscle on Reyes, forcing him to look at the picture, demanding he give a straight answer to a question. The move would no doubt further bruise his already wounded pride, making anything he said suspect at best.

  The second was to do something totally unexpected.

  Turning to the girl, Kalani kept the picture extended at arm’s length and held it in front of her. “How about you? Do you know this girl?”

  Without even realizing it, her eyes widened, and her mouth turned up in a smile. “Oh yeah, Bunny. I like her, she’s nice.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth when Reyes jumped to his feet. “Shut the hell up!”

  The soles of his sneakers just barely touched down before Rip slammed a hand into his chest, forcing him back into his chair. “Listen here, Leo. We’re going to get the information we came for. We can do this here, or we can drag you both to the station and do it.”

  Hostility rolled off the smaller man as he sat and seethed, staring up at Rip. “Man, you ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

  “We’ve got a witness said you were last seen arguing with a girl who was murdered two nights ago,” Rip said. “And we’ve got you trying to run this morning. I’d say that’s more than enough to earn you a weekend pass to the clink.”

  Reyes opened his mouth to speak, but for the first time thought better of it, instead just continuing to fume on the chair.

  “Who’s Bunny?” Kalani asked, shifting the conversation back to the girl on the couch.

  She stared across at Reyes, fear plain on her face, saying nothing.

  “It’s okay,” Kalani added. “You’re not in any trouble, we’re just trying to figure out who did this.”

  Again, the girl looked over at Reyes, unsure how to proceed. After a moment Rip took a step to the side, interrupting the sightline between the two, arms still folded across his chest. “It’s okay, Honey. Just tell us what you know.”

  Without Leo staring daggers at her, she seemed to gain a bit more resolve. She looked at Rip before shifting her attention to Kalani. “We called her Bunny, short for Snow Bunny. You know, because she was haole.”

  Kal
ani knew what she meant, but said nothing. She now had the girl talking, and she needed to keep it that way without interrupting.

  “I didn’t even know her name was Lauren,” she said, looking off and nodding. “It makes sense though. She seemed like a Lauren.”

  “She never told you her name?” Rip asked, his eyebrows pinched together in surprise.

  “None of us use our real names here. Leo gives us new ones when we join the team. Says it’s easier that way.”

  Kalani felt her eyelids slide shut for just a moment, an involuntary reaction to the girl’s admission. Given what Dr. Song had said about the amount of sexual trauma Lauren had endured, and the appearances of Reyes and the girl, it was clear that he was a low-level pimp. The jolt wasn’t in hearing the words, it was in witnessing the spell that the girl was under.

  She had no idea what had been done to her, of the peril her situation had put her in.

  “Easier, huh?” Rip asked. “And what do they call you?”

  “Lo Mein,” the girl answered, not a trace of irony in her voice, “because I’m Chinese.”

  The comment drew the expected response from Rip, his entire body seeming to clench in anger.

  Ignoring questions about the arrangement Reyes had with the girls, Kalani honed in on Lauren Mann. She would tell Tseng about Reyes and let him handle it however he saw fit. At the moment, he wasn’t her main concern, and it wasn’t like he was going anywhere. They knew where he lived and what he drove, coming back for him wouldn’t be a problem.

  “When was the last time you saw Lauren?” Kalani asked.

  The girl’s eyes bunched up tight as she thought about it. “Maybe a week or two ago?”

  “Where was this?” Rip asked.

  “Outside her apartment,” the girl replied. “She owed Leo money, and we stopped by to get it.”

  Kalani cast a quick glance over to Rip. The timeframe seemed consistent with what the neighbor had told them the day before. “Were the two of them arguing?”

  “Some, I think. I had worked late the night before, so I was dozing in the truck. It wasn’t too bad though. I’ve seen worse.”

  “He hit her?” Rip asked.

  “Hell no, I didn’t hit her!” Reyes snapped, again trying to take to his feet.

  Once more Rip was on him before he made it to full height, forcing him back into the chair. “Do not move again,” Rip warned, sticking a beefy finger in his face.

  “Why the hell don’t you just ask me the questions? Yeah, I went over there. Yeah, she owed me money. No, I didn’t hit her, but I should have.”

  Kalani could see a cloud pass over Rip’s face, a dark storm that threatened to unleash itself on Reyes. She could see his left hand bunch into a fist, ready to strike. It was a far cry from the good natured Texan she was used to, a peek into the other half, the career military lawman.

  “Was that the last time you saw her?” Kalani asked.

  “Yeah, it was the last time I saw her,” Reyes said. “I told her she had until Saturday to get me my money, or I’d be back.”

  “And then what would happen?” Rip asked, leaning in a few inches toward Reyes.

  “I don’t know. Nobody’s ever been dumb enough to find out.”

  The two glared at each other like feral animals, ready to lash out. Kalani could feel the situation slipping away.

  “Did Lauren have any enemies?” Kalani asked, raising her voice, hoping it would break the standoff between Rip and Reyes. “Anybody who would want her dead?”

  “No,” the girl managed, shaking her head. “Like I said, she was nice. The men liked her. Everybody liked her.”

  “What about working girls in general?” Kalani asked. “Anybody out there giving you a hard time?”

  “Better not be,” Reyes muttered, disdain in his voice.

  Kalani ignored him, focusing in on the girl. “How about it? Anybody out there giving you ladies a hard time?”

  “No,” she finally said, her voice detached, her mind still trying to wrestle with the question. “The men who hate us stay away. The ones who come around love us.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Picking a spot for the meeting was a no-brainer. The beer garden at Gordon Biersch had been a favorite watering hole for members of the governor’s security detail since it opened a decade and a half before. Located in the far corner of the Aloha Tower Marketplace, it was a short walk from the capitol, backing right up against Honolulu Harbor.

  Most of the people who worked in the capitol preferred the places downtown. The young interns tended to congregate at Indigo, the trendy new place with art deco lighting and overpriced martinis. Lifers who had made a career of chasing deadlines and catering to the whims of their congressional delegates, flocked to places like Jack’s, a dive on the edge of Chinatown that specialized in serving bottles of beer by the bucket. The legislators themselves opted for venues such as the Hukilau, upscale places that were safe from the prying eyes of the media.

  Housed a stone’s throw from the iconic tower, the beer garden was tucked away in the shade of whatever cruise liner was in port, disembarking tourists into the city, tourists who provided the perfect cover for the men who spent their work lives roaming the capitol grounds, never having to worry about running into anybody from the office.

  The fact that it wasn’t a local hangout was exactly why the men had chosen it years before, a tradition that had been passed from one administration to the next.

  Sam Nakoa arrived at the beer garden at five minutes before 1:00, claiming an elevated stool at a small table a few feet from the bar. He ordered a Longboard Summer Ale in a glass and sat sipping it, feigning interest in an episode of Sportscenter on one of the big-screen TVs. Beyond him he could see a pair of ocean trawlers heading back into the harbor, their fishing nets tied high, sterns sitting low from the weight of a full load stowed away below deck. The smell of diesel fumes accompanied them.

  “Big Sam,” a voice said from behind him, stopping the Longboard halfway to his lips.

  Sam lowered the glass to the table and smiled, sliding from his chair, arms extended. “Daniel-San.”

  Dany Pogi matched the smile, the two men embracing, mashing together almost 600 pounds of flesh wrapped in aloha shirts. They bear hugged before stepping back and going to either side of the table, both climbing up onto stools.

  “Get you a beer, brah?” Sam asked.

  “Eh, no t’anks,” Dany replied, waving a thick hand at him. “I’m on the clock, yeah.”

  Sam nodded, aware that it was still the middle of the day. He, himself, had not yet decided if he was returning to the warehouse for the afternoon, letting the flow of the discussion dictate his next move. Meeting so early was not his first choice, preferring to wait until the evening so he could order some beers and the two men could talk story. This was the only time Dany had available, though, so Sam went with it.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” Sam opened. “I know this time of year is crazy.”

  “Naw, no need for t’anks,” Dany said, the Pidgin sliding effortlessly into his speech. “One old friend, Sam Nakoa calls, asks to meet, you meet.”

  A large smile stretched across Sam’s face. He and Dany had spent two years working together for the new administration, Sam showing him the ropes to ascend into the position he had held for almost a decade.

  Fifteen years younger than Sam, Dany had made his way onto the detail from the private sector. A product of American Samoa, football had brought him to the island as an oversized boy of 17. Perfect weather and gainful employment had kept him around for nearly 20 years.

  In conforming to the code for all security detail members, Dany’s hair was short and neat, the black locks just starting to show the stray gray. Weighing right at 300 pounds, his neck and face were fleshy without being flabby, his bulk carried well for a man his size.

  “Howzit over there?” Sam asked. “Duke still driving you guys into the ground?”

  A deep, hearty laugh rolled out of Dany
, shaking his enormous body. “Oh, you know Duke. All t’ese people show up for legislative session present a threat, need to be on high alert, yada yada.”

  A wistful smile tugged at Sam’s lips, having heard the same speech every spring for a decade himself. “Not to mention all da fundraisers and such at night. Poor guy’s going to give himself a heart attack one t’ese years.”

  “Ha! One Duke, a heart?” Dany replied, slapping the table with a ham-sized hand. His impact was stronger than intended, Sam’s glass bouncing from the blow, a few drops of the orange-tinted beer spilling out onto the table.

  Lifting the glass, Sam used the napkin it was sitting on to wipe the table clean, taking a long drink before setting it back down.

  For a solid day and a half, he had wrestled with the news Kimo had given him. At its core, the information was patently absurd. No politician - not even one as self-deluded as Randle - would have the nerve to cover a murder. Election year or not, it was a heinous offense. Hiding it would get him crucified in both the judicial court, and the court of public opinion.

  For whatever reason, though, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the story was just crazy enough to maybe have some truth in it. At first glance it was nothing short of blasphemy, but that very same reason made it too outlandish for somebody to just make up.

  It also made the subject quite sensitive and tricky in determining the best way to approach it with Dany.

  “You want anything to eat or drink?” Sam asked, motioning to the open-air bar nearby, the young bartender looking bored, polishing glasses in anticipation of the afternoon’s happy hour.

  “Naw, I’m good. Only got half hour, yeah, but figured whatever was big enough to bring my old friend out of hiding was worth coming, check out.”

  Warning bells went off inside Sam’s head. He had heard nothing of the situation prior to Kimo showing up a day before, though apparently, he wasn’t the first person to have been asking questions. If others were also poking around, it may be that Dany had known all along what the meeting was about.