Trifecta

by Pam Richter

  Now Omar didn't know if he could keep Samson with him, even after the plastic surgery. He'd had illegal identity papers made for Samson, when he found him in Bogota, stating that Samson was his own son. It was the only way he could take him out of the country. Now those documents could get him in trouble. Samson had been up to a lot of mischief with him over the years. The police might start checking up on both of them.

  When the police left, Omar decided they would have to move to one of the quieter islands for a while, just until the heat was off and Samson could have his plastic surgery. He thought Kauai would be perfect and decided to investigate rental property over there.

  * * *

  Vincent awakened that morning to another blinding headache. He always woke up with all his faculties abruptly active, and he knew he was in Hawaii. If this was to be his usual awakening experience, he would have to get out of this blighted island paradise. He was in agony.

  Vincent breathed shallowly, because it hurt, and thought maybe he could go back to sleep and the headache would be gone when he woke up. He turned over. His elbow scratched against course sheets, abrading the skin. Vincent frowned and reached for his pillow, but it was all wrong. The pillow was small, lumpy and flat. Then consciousness came to him fully. He remembered the dead girl on the beach, carrying her to the highway and then...that's where his memory ended.

  Vincent finally opened his eyes and looked unbelievingly at gray concrete block wall in front of his face. Excruciating pain radiated like a halo vice in the bright daylight. He felt totally confused and turned over, looking around in disbelief. He was in a cell! In a jail. Prison. Did they believe he had murdered that poor beautiful girl?

  An ungodly clanging of prison bars caused Vincent to grab his head and moan. The sound reverberated through his head, awakening nerves already painful to full assault. He felt like he had the hangover of a lifetime and rubbed his forehead. A lump the size of a golf ball bulged there, between his eyebrows. His light touch provoked new agony and he closed his eyes, running panicked hands over his body to make sure that he was not injured anyplace else. He was wearing prison garb, he guessed, sort of like pajamas, blue and white stripes.

  A guard finally came by and led him to a communal bathroom where he relieved himself and took a long hot shower. The guard told him he would be questioned in a few minutes by the police. When Vincent asked for his clothing the guard said he hadn't been wearing any.

  Later, Vincent fervently wished he had not mentioned the dead girl on the beach, because evidently no body had been found. During the interrogation at the Honolulu Police Station he was treated with every courtesy extended to tourists who have been attacked by muggers.

  Vincent sat beside the desk of Sergeant Fellestein in a large crowded room where minor problems, like thefts, muggings, traffic violations, prostitution and public drunkenness were handled by the municipal police. He had to compete with shrilly ringing phones, the sudden outbursts of emotional people with complaints, and with the general noise in any busy police squad room. It hurt his head.

  Sergeant Fellestein was kind and solicitous, explaining that Vincent had been seen by a doctor at Honolulu General Hospital the night before, when he had been unconscious. Since it was determined that Vincent had not received a concussion and they had no hospital rooms available, and he had been found on the side of the road without identification, indeed without any personal effects, meaning clothes, Vincent thought, he had landed in the city jail. He assumed they had determined other things, too, during the medical exam. Like the fact that he was not intoxicated by drugs or alcohol when he was discovered by a motorist on the roadside and taken back to the city of Honolulu.

  But when Vincent mentioned the ceremonies on the beach, why he had gone there, and the startling denouement, the dead girl, he was taken into a small private room and a Lieutenant Rivers took over the interrogation. His claims were taken seriously because he was a college professor from a respected university, although his professional specialty might have seemed a little odd in their eyes. Lieutenant Rivers was a large overweight man with dark hooded eyes. Vincent couldn't tell if he believed the story or not, because he nodded at everything Vincent said and was totally non-committal in expression or gesture.

  There was a police stenographer in the tiny claustrophobic room with the Lieutenant who took down every spoken word. Finally Vincent was asked to wait while his statement was transcribed. The wait seemed endless, and was indeed about an hour. Then Vincent was asked to read over the contents of his interrogation and to sign it, which he did.

  Since Vincent didn't have any money to get back to the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, the Lieutenant found a squad car going into Waikiki and Vincent got a ride. All in all, it was terrible, in a very polite way. He was exhausted by the ordeal and took a nap in his room.

  The moon was still in its full phase tonight. He was determined to go to Three Tables Beach to see if there were to be any witch ceremonies tonight. He would certainly be safe. With the information he had given in his statement, the police would be attending in force.

  CHAPTER 18

  "That was a stupid thing to do," Heather said, looking annoyed as Michelle hung up. The police had just left Michelle's apartment to go question Omar.

  Michelle, agitated, got up and paced the kitchen, back and forth. "Omar would have found out I told on his employee. This way he won't be angry at me."

  "Oh." Heather nodded and gave a little shudder. "I wouldn't want Omar angry at me, either. You just look in those weird, creepy eyes and understand he could be very dangerous when aroused."

  "His eyes are kind of frightening, but you have to admit, he's glorious looking." Michelle paused a moment before she dropped the bomb. "I decided to have an affair with him."

  "Listen," Heather said, looking alarmed, "I imagine Omar can be very charming, when he wants to. But I have a strange feeling about him. I can't explain it. And really, I don't understand you at all, Michelle. Why sleep with Omar when you have Rod?"

  "Rod, as you call him, happens to be my boss. And I like him," Michelle said. "I don't have him."

  "Well, that certainly explains it," Heather answered sarcastically. "You can sleep with Omar, whom you don't like so much. Who employs a bank robber and who actually scares you enough that you have to call and tell him the police are coming. And, on the other hand, there's this wonderful man, who, by the way is mad for you, but you can't see it, and you won't sleep with him."

  Michelle shook her head and laughed. "I wanted to practice on someone I found attractive, but that I wouldn't be emotionally involved with."

  "So you are involved with Rod." Heather didn't make it a question. "And it isn't something you have to practice, Michelle. It's an innate human behavior."

  "Okay. I take your point. But Nakamura's my boss. I like him a lot. I'm not going to jeopardize my whole career by sleeping with him. It's ludicrous. I can't even imagine it."

  "Try," Heather said.

  Michelle laughed and decided not to tell Heather that Omar was a warlock. She was determined to go through with her plan, regardless of freezing hands that gave weird electrical shocks. Omar seemed to understand that she couldn't go through with the act the first time. He had been patient and even asked to see her tonight. Telling Heather that Omar was a warlock would just fuel her preposterous notion that she should have an affair with Nakamura.

  When they left the apartment Michelle was wearing shorts over a bathing suit and she carried a bag with her purse and a towel. Both of them wore thong sandals. Nowhere else in the world could they go out so scantily dressed and be totally accepted. It gave the people living in the islands a physical freedom seldom enjoyed anywhere on earth.

  The sun was bright and hot as they walked, not caring about anything but the feel of the rays on their limbs and the warm trade winds scudding puffy clouds around in the sky, knowing they had a whole lazy day to bask in the sun.

  Tourists in Honolulu are instantly recognizable. They sport l
obster red sunburns or a brand new bronze tan. The residents of the islands with normal mundane jobs have to go to work and usually don't have tinted skin, except for those who work in the tourist industry. Michelle planned to get very tan during the time she had left to live here.

  Michelle and Heather browsed along Kalakowa, passing almost as many Sushi bars as Italian ice stands. They went through the gigantic International Marketplace, where cheap Hawaiian artifacts and souvenirs were sold from Asian style pushcarts.

  They gazed at coral jewelry, authentic wooden bowls and carvings made by local artisans from koa wood and monkeypod, along with aloha wear T-shirts and muu muus, stands selling macadamia nuts, pineapples and kona coffee. They had lunch under an enormous spreading Banyan tree at an outside restaurant, watching as the throngs moved around them.

  Michelle realized with a nostalgic pang that she would miss living in such a beautiful place when she moved to Japan. Whichever way one turned there was a vision of the splendid white beaches or one encountered exotic volcanic mountains. Waikiki itself was cheap, commercial, and filled with tourists in its 34,000 hotel rooms, but Michelle had made it her home. She loved the beautiful island.

  "You can stay with me when you go to Japan for modeling work," Michelle said, feeling worse about leaving her best friend than leaving the island.

  "I know, but it won't be the same. I can't come over with my coffee cup in the morning."

  They didn't want to discuss it and went down to the beach. Michelle thought she should get in all the swimming that she could during the brief time left. She loved the warm water and rented a board to practice surfing. She had never had time to become really proficient, but she caught some good waves that afternoon. Of course her white skin was not getting tan. She was annoyed that she tended to become a bright, screaming lobster red color and then peel in large unattractive blotches. She noticed her shoulders were already almost blistering when she got out of the water.

  "This has been a perfect afternoon," Heather said, as the sun started to fall into the ocean, a big orange balloon deflating into the sea. Michelle just nodded, feeling sad. She could come here for vacations, but she would probably never live here again.

  They walked to the Ala Mauna Motel and sat on the lanai, watching day turn to twilight over the water. The sunset over the ocean was magnificent and Michelle tried to see the green spark that accompanies the sun into the water. Her eyes watered and she somehow missed it again. Heather had several drinks and got giggly. Michelle asked her to go to the party that night at Henry's. She realized she was afraid for Heather when she was alone in the apartment building.

  As they began walking home the lights were finally starting to brighten the large hotels around them. They strolled along the sunset beach toward their building because it was more scenic, although the longer way around. Michelle remembered that at Christmas time the condominium she lived in vied with all the others in the vicinity for the most brightly decorated building. All the apartment dwellers adorned their lanai with Christmas lights and the condominiums appeared like gigantic Christmas trees marching down the beach. When Hawaiians celebrated they did it big time. Which reminded her again of the party tonight. Henry would be roasting a whole pig with an apple in its mouth in his backyard. She found it a gruesome sight, but it was tradition.

  "Did you notice those women following us?" Heather asked.

  Michelle glanced around, but there were lots of people walking on the twilight beach. Then she saw the four women. They were about half a block away.

  "They were on the terrace while we were drinking," Heather said. She started picking up the pace.

  "Why are you rushing? They're just some tourists," Michelle protested. Her sunburn was making her warm as the beach cooled and she didn't want to walk fast. She was feeling hot and uncomfortably prickly all over from the effect of too much sun.

  "They're Omar's sisters," Heather said, moving even faster. "They all had this weird expression when they were sitting on the lanai with us. Like they're spaced out. They were riveted on us the whole time. It's creepy."

  Michelle glanced around again. Heather was right. She recognized Ginger. And there was a skinny white haired girl with her, the one Heather had described helping Omar move into his apartment. There was also a dark woman whom she did not recognize. Suzanne was with them.

  "Slow down," Michelle said. "You're almost running."

  "They give me the willies, stalking us like that."

  "They're not stalking us," Michelle said, glancing at the women, who were also hurrying, as though to close the gap.

  Heather abruptly cut away from the ocean and started rushing toward the side of one of the monolithic hotels. There was a gap between the hotels where you could walk to Kalakowa Avenue. "If they're following us, we'll know it soon."

  Michelle sighed and went with her.

  Even the bottom of Michelle's feet were sun burned from lying on her stomach on the surf-board. She finally stopped to brush out the sand which was causing minor agony on the soles of her feet. Heather, in her headlong rush, hadn't noticed and was about fifty feet ahead.

  Michelle was surprised when she saw the women only a few steps from her as she propped herself against a wall, facing the beach, to put on her sandals. She smiled at Suzanne and said hello, but Suzanne was looking straight ahead of her, wild and intent, and passed Michelle, hurrying toward the quickly retreating Heather.

  Michelle said hello to Ginger too, but Ginger just brushed by her as though she hadn't heard. The look in her eyes was very strange, her pupils gigantic, as though she was in a daze. Michelle watched the white haired waif pass her with the same numb look in her blue eyes. The effect was otherworldly and chilling.

  Suddenly Michelle was sure the women were on drugs. They were after Heather. She didn't know how she knew it. It was as though the thoughts of the women passing had brushed her in some unimaginable way. Heather was in danger from these four beautiful women. Michelle was never wrong when she had strong feelings like this.

  Michelle started running after them, but now a whole bunch of sunburned and overweight tourists, out for a stroll on the beach, suddenly came out of a side door of the Outrigger Reef Hotel on her right and she lost sight of them. She skipped sideways around the people and finally saw the four women surrounding Heather, who was only a few feet from the bright lights of Kalakowa Avenue.

  The night was becoming darker and the women seemed to be leading Heather back toward her. Then more people were in the little alleyway, moving around the women, and they were lost from view for a few seconds. When Michelle got to the place where she had last seen them they had disappeared.

  Michelle turned around several times, wondering what to do. If they planned to harm Heather, where would they go? Certainly not to the bright, crowded streets of Waikiki. They might have gone into one of the hotels on either side of her. But which one? They couldn't have disappeared so quickly except by going into a hotel.

  Michelle hurried around the side of the Halekulani Hotel and up the front steps, into a large cool green and white lobby. There was a gurgling fountain in the middle. To the right was the front desk area, where guests checked in. She went around the large fountain, through a group of Japanese tourists sporting expensive and complicated cameras, and toward the back lobby area. It opened directly into an outside lounge where people were having drinks, overlooking the beach.

  Michelle rushed through the glass doors into the lounge and hurried to the railing. Her eyes darted around the beach. Finally she saw the women in the distance. Heather was with them. Michelle couldn't tell if she was going voluntarily, but she didn't believe she was. Heather had been frightened when she thought the women were shadowing them. She wouldn't be with them unless she was physically coerced.

  Michelle looked for a door or stairway that would lead to the beach, but couldn't find one immediately. The women were moving toward Diamond Head and there were too many people around the beach for them to harm Heather
immediately.

  Michelle hurried back to the front entrance of the hotel and ran down the alley again, back to the beach. She thought she could see the women about a half mile away, but it was rapidly becoming dark. Michelle started running. Heather was such a little thing, she would be no match for a woman the size of Ginger, if they really meant to harm her.

  Michelle was in good shape from her karate practice, but the sand seemed to engulf each step, making her sink down and she felt like she was jumping up and down instead of making any progress forward. Finally, she stopped, threw her thongs away and dropped her purse, veering down near the ocean where the sand was hard packed and damp. She started making better time. She felt like she was in a nightmare, a surrealist dream, guided by the scary emotions that accompany such night visions.

  As Michelle got closer she thought she would catch them. Heather was obviously slowing them down, because Michelle was close enough to see Heather pulling back. The two women on either side of her, Ginger and Suzanne, the largest women, were holding her wrists and trying to hurry her forward.

  If they took Heather in the water she wouldn't have a chance. Heather was a good swimmer, but she could never get away from all four of them.

  They must be conked to the eyeballs on coke, speed balls or some kind of amphetamine, to try to abduct someone in a crowded tourist-trap like Waikiki. Michelle could see some of the people they went past, mostly tourists taking a leisurely stroll, staring at the women oddly. When this would happen, the four women would start giggling hysterically, like they were playing a game. But you would think someone would protest because Heather was so small that she looked like a little girl between Ginger and Suzanne. And maybe that was the problem. Passers by probably thought Heather was one of the women's little sister.

  Still, Michelle thought angrily, you would think that someone would decide the game had gone too far when Heather started yelling her head off, like she did every now and then, when she could get the breath, because she was struggling heroically.