“You know Amy?”
“’Course I do. We go way back.”
“You work for Ridley too?”
“Now you got it. Where’s Amy?”
“Bitch split. This morning. Ran off with this Tongan she met in a bar over on the access road. Told me they was goin’ back to Tonga so they could get in touch with his roots. Only root she wantsta get in touch with is his dick!” He paused, eyes narrowing. “How come you didn’t know? I told Chip that when he come by before.”
“I haven’t seen Chip.”
“He didn’t go back to the house?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Damn! I ask him to talk to Ridley, tell him I’m not happy here. That’s what I get for trustin’ a fuckin’ houseboy.”
Chip, the male in employee status at the Ridley house, and most likely the man on the motorcycle.
I asked, “Why aren’t you happy here, Buzzy?”
“Well, look at this dump!” He swept his arm out and his fingers encountered the vodka bottle. Grabbing it by the neck, he tipped it up and drank.
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad. And you must be lonely here without Amy.”
“Bitch! I was takin’ real good care a her. Brought her over here after Tommy died, got us on movin’ stuff for Ridley. The idea was, if we did good, we was gonna go back to Kauai, take over Tommy’s territory.”
“I heard about Tommy. Did it happen at that old sugar mill?”
“Yeah. Man, was it scary!”
“You there when he died?”
“Shit, no! The way it was, Tommy’d got us this job makin’ trouble for a film company was shootin’ a movie on the island. Nothin’ big, just little stuff—stealin’, eh?”
“Who hired you?”
“Don’ know. Postcards tellin’ us when and where showed up at Amy’s P.O. box, but she didn’t even know who from. Tommy didn’t tell none a us nothin’. The way he was, he hadda be the boss a everything. By now he’s probably in charge a hell. Anyway, then he gets this idea he’s gonna make the guy hired us pay big-time.”
“The guy? It was a man?”
“Don’ know. Coulda been a woman, I guess.”
“So Tommy decided to blackmail this person…”
“And he set up a meet at the mill. Sent the rest of us out to the cane field, told us to come back in fifteen minutes. He figgered the guy’d cave in right away, but if he gave trouble, us showin’ up would do the trick. But when we got back the guy was gone and Tommy was stone dead. Stoned dead.” Buzzy laughed, gulped vodka. “The meet went wrong. Whoever it was gave him a hot shot. Needle was stickin’ outta his neck, for chrissake. Amy yanked it out. Gross, man.”
“I heard you had a funeral for him, threw him off the cliff.”
“Amy’s idea, dumb bitch. Said we hadda give him a Hawaiian send-off. What right’s she got messin’ with our traditions, anyways? She’s a Jew from New Jersey!”
“So then you brought her here and got the two of you on with Ridley…”
“Well, she the one knew him. But I did the negotiatin’.”
I glanced pointedly around the room, raising my eyebrows.
“Okay, I know what you’re thinkin’. But when Chip said a free house, it sounded like a good deal. I was thinkin’ TV and video games and maybe a Jacuzzi, and then I saw this place and, oh, man! We was outta money, though, really needed the work, and Amy told me just to put up with it, do a good job, and we’d end up on top again. Anyway, it was Chip who screwed us, not Ridley. He didn’t give us enough walkin’-around money to eat on, and he wouldn’t give us no dope or blow, neither. When he come by tonight, he give me a few bucks, about what it’d cost for a burger and fries at Mickey D’s. And when I complain he say I should shut up or he’ll take away my vodka so I’ll be sober when I make my drops tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yeah. How come you’re not workin’ on that?”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Well, so you know Ridley’s got this huge shipment of pure Mexican H comin’ in to this house, wants it out to his dealers pronto?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Buzzy sucked on the bottle some more. “Smart, him usin’ you. Broads’re good for that kinda operation. People don’t suspect ’em.”
I smiled at him and nodded. He sure didn’t suspect this “broad,” and in his ignorance, he could be very useful to me. The problem was, I needed to get him to some place where I could control him.
“You didn’t ask why Ridley sent me,” I said.
“Why what? Oh, yeah.”
“Ridley thinks it’s better you’re out of here when the shipment comes in. And he feels bad about sticking you in a place like this. So he asked me to take you to an apartment he keeps where there is TV and video games. A Jacuzzi tub, too. And he asked me to tell you he’s sorry.”
“He is?”
“Very sorry.”
Buzzy grew dreamy-eyed. “Ridley’s sorry. TV and video games and the Jacuzzi, eh? What else? A bar?”
I pictured the full bar in the RKI hospitality suite, suspected I’d regret my decision. “Yes, a bar. And we can order pizza or anything else you want—all on Mr. R.”
“You part a the deal?”
“No.”
He hesitated, shrugged. “Broads’re more trouble than they’re worth.”
“So you want to go now?”
“Hell, yes. Sounds like downtown!”
“It is, Buzzy. It is.”
APRIL 8
Honolulu
12:32 A.M.
“You know, Buzzy, I’ve been thinking.” I glanced at him, saw he was craning his neck to look at the downtown high-rises. We’d just exited the freeway.
“Uh?”
“The more I think about how you’ve been treated, the more pissed I get. And I’ve got a plan.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Tomorrow we’ll go see Ridley, tell him you’re not going to make your drops unless we renegotiate your deal.”
“Renegotiate? You mean like a ballplayer?” He smiled, then frowned. “Nah, I can’t do that. Chip, he told me to stay clear a the house while this stuff’s goin’ down.”
“And you’re going to listen to a houseboy?”
“Well…” His thick fingers tapped nervously on the dashboard.
“Think big, Buzzy. Chip’s just a servant.”
“… Yeah, right. How come he’s tellin’ me what to do?”
“That’s the spirit.”
“If we go see Ridley, will you get me in? I mean, he sent you to me, sounds like he trusts you.”
“No, Buzzy, you’ve got to do it. To guys like Chip and Ridley I’m just a broad.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. And Chip, he screens everybody. What if he won’t let me in?”
“Remember: he’s a servant.”
“Right, right. But what am I gonna say?”
“Leave that to me. I’ll tell you and we’ll rehearse it.”
“Okay, you tell me and—Holy shit! This is where we’re goin’?”
I pulled the car into the garage entrance of RKI’s building. “This is it.”
“Christ, it’s a fuckin’ palace!”
2:32 A.M.
“I think I’ve maybe like died and gone to heaven.”
“Well, Buzzy, you look alive to me.”
He was hunched in front of the big-screen TV in the living room of the hospitality suite, playing a video game called “Attackers from the Planet Svarth.” A box containing the remains of an extra-large super combo pizza sat on the coffee table, and a tumblerful of RKI’s best Scotch was only inches from his hand. In less than half an hour, he’d informed me, he planned to watch Sxperts 3 on the Spice channel.
God, your average street criminal is stupid!
Relieved that he was fed, watered—or Scotched—and making no further demands for instructions on how to work the remote control, I picked up the phone and punched in the number for Malihini House. Around eight the p
revious evening I’d tried reaching Peter at all the Wellbright residences, but received no answer. Now I got the machine again, but it had a new message, in Peter’s stressed-out voice: “Glen or Sharon, if either of you is listening to this, call me at my place no matter what the hour.”
I broke the connection, dialed again. Peter answered on the first ring, sounding terrible. When I identified myself he said, “God, where are you? I thought you’d disappeared too!”
“Honolulu. I tried to reach you earlier. Glenna’s not back?”
“No, and no word from her, either. After the funeral we all went out to dinner. Then I decided to drive to Lihue and talk with Wen Yamashita. You remember him, the cop from the shoot—”
“Yes. What did he say?”
“Under the circumstances, he’s waiving the customary waiting period for missing persons. They’ll start looking for Glen at first light. But, Sharon, I know something awful’s happened to her.”
“You don’t know anything of the sort.”
There was a pause; I heard ice clink. Did he intend to sit up the whole night, drinking? “Okay, maybe I’m worrying for no good reason. Maybe she took off because she’s mad at me, and they’ll find her in some hotel down at Poipu. I’ll try to keep a positive attitude.”
“And go easy on the booze.”
“Don’t worry, I’m pacing myself. How come you went to Oahu without telling anybody?”
“I picked up on a lead after the funeral.” I glanced at Buzzy, who had just crowed in triumph at taking out another Svarthian.
“Tanner was worried. He wants you to call him, something about Mona Davenport.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow. You too.”
“Wait, can’t you tell me about the lead?”
“Sorry, I have to hang up now.”
Buzzy announced, “Almost showtime. This button on the remote, I press it, and it charges the movie to Ridley’s account?”
“Right.”
“What’s this thing called again?”
“Digital cable.”
“It’s like awesome.”
“Especially if you’re not the one paying the bill.”
“Fuck the bill.” He went to the bar, poured more Scotch, then shrugged and took the bottle with him. “Fuckin’ died and gone to heaven. Really.”
Where were the master criminals I’d grown up reading about? The Professor Moriartys, the Fu Manchus, the Goldfingers? Pure fiction, every one of them, and a good thing for the world, too. But sometimes when confronted with your ordinary dumb-as-a-post criminal, I felt wistful.…
8:48 A.M.
I’d caught a nap while Buzzy moaned and drooled over Sxperts 3, and when I woke he was passed out on the couch. I took a quick shower, got dressed. Then from the bedroom extension I called Major Harry Medina at the HPD. He said he’d be glad to meet with me as soon as I could get to headquarters. Did I know where they were located? Did I know where Beretania Street was? Get on it, and head toward the state capitol.
On the way out I checked Buzzy to make sure he was still breathing, then told the guard by the elevators that on no account was the client in the hospitality suite to be allowed to leave, as his life was in imminent danger.
Harry Medina met me on the wide front steps of the HPD’s imposing beige stone building. He was a ruggedly attractive man, curly-haired and stocky, wearing a blue suit and a wild multicolored tie that hung askew from his unbuttoned shirt collar. As he took me up to his office he gave me a tour guide’s commentary on the design of the relatively new headquarters, which incorporated state-of-the-art security features intended to help fend off potential terrorist attacks. The front railings, for instance, were too close together to allow a vehicle to crash through the doors, and the building could be completely and quickly shut down from a central command center.
At first the extreme measures struck me as an indication of a paranoid mind-set on the part of the department, but then I thought of Pearl Harbor. That event could never be erased from the collective consciousness of the Islands, and in these days of world terrorism the fears of law enforcement officers in this most remote of American outposts were fully justified.
Medina showed me to an office that was a study in happy chaos: sports trophies stood along the tops of the bookcases and filing cabinets; files were stacked on the desk and the floor; several colorful ties were draped over an open locker door. Before he seated me the major proudly pointed out a still photo from the set of the pilot film for Hawaii Five-O, in which he and several officers had acted as thugs.
When we were settled with coffee cups in hand, Medina said, “So RKI’s covering you while you’re working in the Islands. You’re staying here in Honolulu?”
“Only temporarily. I came over from Kauai on a lead I picked up there. In the process of following up, I discovered something that may interest you.”
He raised a bushy eyebrow.
“You’ve heard about a new highly potent grade of heroin that’s been coming out of Mexico?” Articles about it had appeared in the papers at home.
He nodded. “Very strong stuff, can be smoked or inhaled. Some of what they’ve seized on the mainland was as pure as 76 percent. And now there’re rumors it’s about to make its way over here.”
“I can give you the local distributor and name the place where he’s expecting a shipment tonight.”
“You’re right—I’m interested.”
“I can also give you a guy who’s supposed to be making drops for him. He’s the kind who’ll cut a deal and testify.”
Medina looked at me thoughtfully. “You offering just because you’re a good citizen, or…?”
“Both. I don’t like drugs. But I need something from you in exchange. The guy I mentioned can get me in to see the distributor. I need to ask him some questions about an unrelated matter. But I need backup, in case something goes wrong.”
“This case you’re working, it’s got to do with drugs?”
“Not directly.”
“But this distributor’s connected.”
“Yes.”
He waited.
“It’s a sensitive case, involving some powerful people. I can’t go into it.”
He shifted in his chair, ran a hand over his chin as he considered. “You’re asking a lot. Even with backup things go wrong. It’ll be on the department’s head if something happens to a civilian—and a mainlander.”
“I could sign a waiver, relieving you of responsibility.”
“You could. On the other hand, I could insist you tell me the who and where of this. I’m sure you know it’s obstruction to withhold information concerning a major crime.”
“A major crime that hasn’t come off as yet. And I’m not trying to be obstructive.”
“Tell me this: how reliable is your source?”
“Let’s say he’s too stupid to have made the story up.”
“Where is he right now?”
“I have him in a safe place.”
Medina thought for a moment, tapping his finger on the edge of the desk. “Okay, Ms. McCone, you don’t strike me as a game player. Neither am I. So I’m gonna be straightforward: in order to do what you ask, I’ll have to check with my superiors. But in order to check with them, I’ve gotta have more than what you’ve told me. Like names and places. And even then I can’t guarantee that they’ll give me the go-ahead.”
“I realize that.”
“I’ll do my best to persuade them; that’s all I can promise.”
“That’s fair.”
He reached for a legal pad, picked up a pencil. “You want to get started?”
“Okay. The guy who’s to make the drops is called Buzzy Malakaua. I’ve got him stashed in the hospitality suite at RKI.”
“You can handle him okay?”
“Yes, he trusts me.” After all, I’d delivered the TV, video games, pizza, and bar. To say nothing of the Spice channel.
“And the place where the delivery’s to be made?”
/> I gave him the Kahai Street address.
“And the distributor?”
“Garvin Ridley. At least, that’s the name he goes by. He leases the Kahai Street house and lives on Diamond Head Road.”
Medina blinked and drove the tip of his pencil into the pad. “Son of a bitch! We’ve been trying to get something on him for a year now. Guy’s elusive as hell.”
“That’s because he exists only on paper. The real Garvin Ridley died in 1990.”
“Yeah, we’re aware of that.” A slow smile spread over Medina’s face. “My ability to persuade my superiors just took a big leap. I’ll go talk with them; you wait here.”
I glanced at a side table where the major’s computer was set up. “I have another request: d’you think I could take a look at a recent autopsy report while you’re gone?”
“Amuse yourself with some light reading?” He frowned at me, then relented when he saw I was dead serious. “Okay, come on over here, and I’ll access it.”
Tommy Kaohi had died of a hot shot, as Buzzy claimed. Combination of heroin and battery acid. One ingredient fairly easy to acquire if you had the connections; the other a staple of every garage. Puncture to the carotid artery. Fast and effective, but you had to get close to your victim.
Tommy must’ve been as stupid as Buzzy to let someone he was attempting to blackmail get within range to jab him with a needle. Or maybe he was just arrogant. Arrogance would be my pick. Only a man who was over-confident of his ability to control the situation would have sent four cohorts away while he confronted a potential victim. Maybe he’d done so because he planned to keep the lion’s share of the payoff for himself. Either way, it didn’t matter. He was dead.
“Our records confirm that two adult males occupy the Diamond Head Road house. That accounts for Ridley and the houseboy. We gotta think of some way to place Ridley at the house before she goes in there.”
Lieutenant Jack Colby of the narcotics detail motioned to me as he spoke. Harry Medina had returned with the tall bald man in tow and told me we had a deal. Minutes later we were joined by Colby’s partner, Dan Ramos.
“Yeah,” Ramos said, “we don’t want her twiddling her thumbs in his living room all afternoon.”
Medina shrugged. “So you make up an excuse, call him.”
A Walk Through the Fire Page 20
