by D. V. Berkom
I threw Red's guns on the ground and, hands raised, stepped into the open. A trooper near Sam was the first to notice. He yelled to an officer closer to me, pointing my direction. They both turned and drew their weapons, followed by every single law enforcement officer on the scene. I braced for the bullet that would come if I couldn't convince them I was surrendering.
"Hands on top of your head. Lace your fingers," the first officer shouted. I did as I was told.
"There's a gun in my waistband. I threw two other weapons on the ground, over there. The other shooter's about a hundred yards in, shot twice." I nodded behind me toward where I'd left Red. "I'm Kate Jones. The deputy on the stretcher-" my breath caught, "was transporting me to the airport when we came under fire."
The officer pulled the gun from my waistband, gripped me by the arm and roughly turned me around. Then he patted me down. Although, I'd have to say 'patted' would be too gentle of a description.
"You have I.D.?"
"It's in my backpack next to the truck."
"Hey, Gordy." The young officer yelled to the first guy who'd seen me, and waved him over.
Gordy said something to the medic who was in the process of strapping Sam's body into the stretcher, and then strode down the ditch toward us, a frown etched across his face.
"Her ID's in the pack by the truck. She says the other shooter's in the woods, shot twice."
Gordy turned and whistled at a group of three officers hovering around the dead gunman next to the black pickup. He met them halfway, had a conversation, and then came back to where I was standing. Two of them took off into the woods while the other moved toward the SUV, apparently to check my I.D.
"Can I put my arms down?" I asked.
"Not until we hear back from Quilete with a positive description."
"The deputy-" I started, but stopped, choking back the tears. "Sam killed the guy on the ground. There was another one. I wounded him, but he was mobile."
"Yeah, we got him. He lost a lot of blood, but he'll be able to stand trial." Gordy looked at the younger guy. "She have a gun?"
"Here." He showed Gordy. "The other shooter's weapons are over there, in the snow."
"Can I see Sam before you- you know, before you take him?"
"Like I said, not until we have word from-" He stopped mid-sentence as a young trooper ran up to where we were standing.
"It's her. Quilete I.D.'d her, says she was on her way to the airport."
Gordy glanced at me. "You can put your arms down now."
Relieved, I lowered my hands. "Can I?" I asked, nodding in Sam's direction.
"Make it quick. We need to get him loaded as soon as possible."
"Why?" Sam was dead. It's not like time was of the essence. I doubted even Alaska State Police were that efficient.
Gordy looked at me like I was seriously dense.
"They have to get him to the hospital, like, now, or he's not gonna make it."
"He's still alive?" My heart leapt in my chest.
"He won't be if he has to wait much longer."
I didn't hear what he said next. I was halfway up the other side of the ditch before he finished. I reached Sam and took hold of his fingers. His hand was cold and his eyes were closed. He opened them at my touch.
"Hey."
"Sam. You're still here." My eyes filled with tears.
"Barely."
"Ma'am, we have to go." A medic tapped me on the shoulder.
"I know. Hold on, please? Just for a second?" I turned to Sam. Happiness coursed through me. Sam was still alive. A brief smile appeared on his face, then was gone. It looked like he'd been given a shot of something.
"Kate- the dream-" He tried to swallow, but couldn't. "I dreamed I was shot. That's why I didn't tell you. Didn't want you to worry."
"Was it the redhead?"
He shook his head. "The only thing else I remember is a red fox and the number fifty-eight."
"Time to go, Ma'am."
With difficulty, I stepped away from the gurney as the medic wheeled Sam to the waiting helicopter.
"Excuse me, Kate?"
I turned at the sound of my name. It was the younger state patrol officer.
"I'm going to need to get a statement from you."
"Sure. No problem." Distracted, I watched the medics load Sam onto the chopper and close the door. I wiped at the tears in my eyes and brought my attention back to the trooper.
He shivered, once, as he pulled out a form and a pen.
"Sure gets cold when the sun goes down, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," I said. The helicopter rose, hung suspended for a moment, then headed toward Anchorage. "Dead of winter's like that."
THE END
DEATH RITES
Book 3 in the Kate Jones Thriller Series
Copyright 2011 by
DV Berkom
August 2011
DEATH RITES
ONE
North Shore, Hawaii
The walkway between the vendor stalls was packed with tourists and locals. Fresh pineapple, bread, organic meats and cheeses, soap, lawn ornaments, t-shirts; you name it, it was offered here. Being around people was like handing a lifeline to a drowning woman. I hadn't realized how starved for conversation I'd been. I suppose talking back to the television the night before should have given me an idea.
I filled my bag with fresh greens, a couple of bars of soap and some banana bread. The dark clouds building in the distance and uptick in humidity signaled one of the North Shore's infamous winter squalls was about to unleash its fury, so I reluctantly headed for my scooter. I had just locked my purchases in one of the side compartments when I felt the skin on the back of my neck crawl. I turned, but saw no one.
Shaking it off, I straddled the scooter and started the engine. As I began to ease out of my spot, I glanced behind me toward the crowded market. A dark haired man stared back at me, his arms covered in what looked like prison art. At least, I thought that's what he was doing. He wore a pair of dark sunglasses and might have been looking at something else. He took out his cell phone, punched in some numbers and turned his back. Despite the eighty-plus degrees I felt a cold chill skitter down my back.
Stop it, Kate. You don't know he was looking at you. Have you ever seen him before? Besides, you don't look like Kate anymore. He couldn't possibly know it's you. As for recognizing him, it was hard enough to identify someone in sunglasses. I didn't get a decent look at the tats so positive identification wasn't possible. Salazar's people used very specific designs. They'd be easy to recognize.
Unless he was an outside pro.
I kept an eye on the rear view during the ride home.
***
"So then what happened?" Gabby leaned forward, absorbed, and took a drink of his Mai Tai, complete with a tiny yellow umbrella.
"They airlifted Sam to Anchorage, took my statement and brought me to the airport in time for my flight." Touching down in Honolulu felt like a death sentence reprieve in paradise.
"Did Sam survive?"
"He's on life support." I stared into space, despair being the only emotion I allowed myself to feel these days. True, Sam had lived, but not long after I left Alaska, they found Chief Miller's naked body in a shallow grave near an abandoned cannery. He'd had several digits severed and other things done to him I didn't want to think about.
Gabby patted my arm and signaled the waitress to bring us two more. I looked at my almost empty Piña Colada. Maybe getting drunk would help.
Then again, maybe not. I needed my wits about me. Stumbling back to my rental didn't sound like the smartest thing to do at this point.
Not with a price on my head.
The outdoor patio at Panama Bob's glowed with lit tiki torches that ringed the perimeter and candles flickering in hurricane lamps on the tables. The soothing waves of the Pacific Ocean crashed nearby, and the temperature hovered around a balmy seventy-eight degrees. I was dressed in less clothing than I'd ever had to wear in Alaska, and the geckos
had taken care of the mosquitos.
Any other time, this would be a perfect evening. Tonight's meal was marred because it would be the only time I could allow the two of us to be together. Gabby was a breath of fresh air, even though I vowed to never get in touch with him. I told him it wasn't safe, but safety never mattered to Gabby.
I did.
For five years in Alaska I'd been able to live a somewhat normal life, but eventually my luck ran out. Salazar's killers found me, and Sam and I had barely escaped with our lives. I didn't want to tempt fate.
"And why aren't you staying at my place? You know I cook a mean pineapple chicken." Gabby's wiry gray hair surrounded his tan, unlined face like the mane of an old lion. Apparently he'd had a little work done since I'd been gone. His diametrically opposed love of the sun and endearing vanity required some serious upkeep.
"Legendary. I know, and I'm heartbroken I won't be graced with your culinary excellence." I pushed my drink to the side and leaned forward, resting my hand on his forearm. "Gabby. I want you to listen to me. It's too dangerous. You will die. This isn't a joke. If you're in the way when they try to kill me the next time, they will kill you."
Gabby waved my warning away. "Oh, pish. I'm not worried. My home is protected by ancient Hawaiian gods and one big motherfucking Samoan named Henry. I don’t think there'll be a problem." His eyes locked onto mine. "How many times have you been out since you got here?"
"A couple of times. Mainly at night."
Gabby raised his bushy eyebrows, reminding me of a middle-aged Einstein.
"No wonder you look so pale. How about I have Henry meet you in the morning with a couple of surfboards? He loves being on the beach at dawn and he can look out for you at the same time." He leaned back in his chair. "Not going out in daylight's a tad vampiric, if you ask me."
"Cautious, Gabs, cautious. I've got a fenced backyard, so I can get out and play. I just want to limit my exposure to old friends."
Gabby smirked. "Tell me. I had a hell of a time finding you. If it wasn't for Jimmie, I probably wouldn't have known you were in town."
"Jimmie?"
"You remember, the guy who owns Smiley's? His delivery kid mentioned a good looking brunette had rented McCallum's old place. One who had a tat of Honu on the back of her shoulder. Said it was some of the best ink he'd seen. He also liked the saying underneath it. Reminded him of Star Wars. That's when I knew it was you, brunette or not."
So that was how he'd found me.
I really needed to get the thing removed. I'd gotten the tattoo the last time I'd been on the North Shore. The sea turtle was small, but unusual. The most distinctive part was the intricate Maori design along its shell with the words 'There is no try' written below. I'd never run across another one like it. Not a good thing when you're trying to hide from contract killers.
Gabby swatted at a fly buzzing near his drink. "Come and stay with Henry and me. I know he'd love to take care of you, not to mention I'd have somebody to talk to about something other than surfing."
"Sorry. Much as I'd love to, I won't chance putting either of you in danger. It's risky enough being here with you."
Gabby sighed. "Fine. But I'm going to dog you anyway. That way, it's all on me. You can't feel responsible if anything happens."
I couldn't tell if it was heartburn from the drink or anxiety that lanced through my stomach.
Maybe coming to Hawaii hadn't been such a good idea.
TWO
The next day I woke up early and headed for the water. I'd rented a two bedroom house in the middle of several other rentals a couple of blocks off the beach, and getting to the ocean was easy.
Gabby was right. I couldn't live my life in fear. Besides, this time of day was probably safer than most.
Not that killers slept in.
The way I figured it, the less crowds, the more I'd notice anything unusual. Of course it cut both ways- it would be harder for me to blend.
The pink light of dawn still painted the sky even though two days earlier the Kona winds had changed direction and the fog from Kilauea, or vog, cast a thick, gray haze over most of Oahu.
The beach was all but deserted. I counted two surfers bobbing in the waves forty or fifty yards out. I dropped my towel on the sand and left my t-shirt on to cover my tattoo. The gentle breeze and soothing sound of the waves reached deep, melting the layers of cold steel I'd had to create inside of myself in order to function. The numbing grief of these past weeks slid away, my tears mixing with the ocean as I dove beneath the surface.
North Shore waves were known to be challenging for swimmers during the winter, but this morning they lifted and dropped me in gently rolling swells. I swam from one end of the beach to the other, enjoying the sun as it crested the palms, sending golden beams to dance on my skin through the salty water. I floated further from shore and was rewarded with the company of a playful pod of spinner dolphins. I stopped to watch them, treading water, wishing the moment would go on forever.
Too soon, their fins sliced past me as they swam toward open ocean and I was once again alone. I stayed out a while longer, hoping they'd make another appearance, but they were long gone.
My arms started to tire, and I swam for shore. As I walked back to my towel I passed a good looking surfer with his board, headed for the water. He smiled and tipped his head my direction. I returned the gesture, noticing the carved necklace he wore; mother of pearl glinted from inside intricately carved bone. A complex tattoo decorated his bicep, running along his shoulder onto his chest. It had the hallmarks of Hawaiian, rather than Maori or Samoan, art.
I turned to watch as he launched himself into the surf. Like most in the sport, he had a powerful stroke. Unlike many except the best, his movements had an elegance that made it seem effortless.
The beach had started to fill with people. I made it back to my towel and shook off the sand, ready to leave. A large shadow near a bench by the tree line caught my attention. I smiled to myself as I sauntered over to say hello.
Henry's brilliant white teeth glowed in his koa-colored face as he enveloped me in a fierce, Henry-style bear hug, lifting me off my feet. I hugged him back, laughing as he lowered me gently to the ground.
"Aloha, Sistah. Good to see you."
"Thanks, Henry. You too."
He picked up a strand of my hair and inspected it. "How long you been a brunette?"
"A while." His comment reminded me of the reason I'd changed my look. Salazar's people would be looking for a blonde. Henry lowered his large, sequoia-sized body onto the bench. I hesitated, then took a seat next to him.
"You can't be seen with me, Henry. I told Gabby it was too dangerous."
Henry snorted. "You think I'm afraid of a bunch of gun-toting cholos?" He shook his head as though the idea was ludicrous. "Besides, Gabby told me you and your police bruddah took care of the three they sent after you. Ain't that easy to find good killers."
"I don't think it'll be too hard for the guys that are after me. Their business is like an incubator for murderers." That was a sobering thought. "How'd you know where to find me?"
Henry laid his massive arm across the back of the bench and squeezed my shoulder. "Gabby told me to watch you. I been hanging outside your place every morning. Got your board in the back of the truck." He nodded behind us, toward the parking lot. "You sure took your sweet time, woman. I knew you'd go crazy if you didn't get to play in the water."
I smiled, remembering the times I pestered Henry to teach me to surf. He finally relented and I learned the basics, but only because he had the patience of a saint. After that, you couldn't keep me out of the water.
Henry's attention had drifted to the dozen or so surfers waiting for the next set. A large swell rose behind them, and several kicked out to catch it, riding its face as it curled in on itself. Two dropped out right away, followed by all but one, who rode it to the end. It was the surfer I'd seen earlier.
"Who's that?"
"Local dude. Name's Alek
."
"He's good."
Henry turned and gave me an appraising look. "You thinkin' about maybe gettin' some?" He made a lewd gesture and wiggled his eyebrows.
I laughed. "Yeah. Maybe I should sleep with every good looking guy I see? Get a little reputation going?" I shook my head. "What is it about you islanders? All you think about is sex, surfing, food and sex."
"Don’t forget sex." Henry's dimples deepened with his grin.
I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "God, Henry. It's good to see you." I stood and pointed my finger at him for emphasis. "But stop shadowing me. It's not safe. I don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to you or Gabby." I reached over and ruffled his hair, then turned and left him sitting on the bench.
***
After a couple of days and a heavy dose of cabin fever, I stopped worrying about my imminent death and reacquainted myself with Oahu by taking a drive around the island. On my way home, I stopped at Ted's Bakery to pick up lunch and a chocolate haupia cream pie. Addiction would be too tame a word to explain my deep, burning need for the coconut-chocolate cream slice of paradise. That, warm water and hot sand, and I'm done.
As I stood in line waiting my turn, I had the peculiar feeling of being watched again. I scanned the other customers, but no one maintained eye contact. My turn came and I stepped up to the register to pay for my order. A few minutes later, my sandwich in hand, I stopped at the refrigerated case to pick out a pie. As I reached for the container, I realized someone was standing directly behind me. Thinking it was someone who wanted the pie as much as I did, I slid one out and backed away to give them room.
"Is that all for you?"
It was the surfer from that morning. Alek. His disarming smile caught me off guard and I felt myself getting flustered.
