by Larry Darter
I walked to the front glass door and looked out just as a white Chevrolet sedan pulled into the car park and stopped outside my building. A slender, but not skinny woman of average height got out. She had blond hair with dark highlights that touched her shoulders. She looked to be in her late twenties. She wore a stylish black fitted business suit; the jacket worn open over a rose-colored top. She carried a small leather briefcase. The woman walked directly to my door. I pulled it open. She smiled, stepped inside, and pulled off her sunnies.
“Ms. O’Sullivan, I’m Grace Wilton,” the woman said offering her hand. We shook.
“Happy to meet you, Ms. Wilton,” I said. “You can call me T. J. if you like.”
“Great, please call me Grace,” Wilton said.
“Come through to the office,” I said. “I’ll show you Tiger Ying, and then we can discuss a plan.”
“Sure,” Wilton said following me through the outer office into my office in back.
I offered her the visitor chair in front of my desk, went to the safe, opened it and took out the haversack containing Tiger Ying. When I turned back, Wilton was sitting on the chair, with her briefcase on the floor beside her. I walked over, removed Tiger Ying from the haversack and handed it to her. She looked it over carefully.
“Amazing,” Grace said. “For years, my company believed the fire at the museum had destroyed this, but here it is. How did you ever find it?”
I sat down behind the desk and summarized the story. Then I outlined my plan for dealing with my client, Brandi Camargo.
“That sounds satisfactory,” Grace said. “My boss, Burt Paulson, instructed me to cooperate with you in every reasonable way.”
She reached into her briefcase and withdrew an envelope. “Mr. Paulson told me to give this to you once I verified the authenticity of Tiger Ying.”
Grace handed me the envelope. I opened it and took out a check payable to me in the amount of twenty-five hundred dollars.
“How generous,” I said.
“It’s a valuable piece,” Grace said. “The company is pleased to get it back.”
I put the check into the top drawer of my desk.
“Shall we go?” I said.
“Yes,” Grace said standing up.
I’d already prepared a statement of my fees and expenses for Brandi Camargo. I planned to present it for payment before giving Brandi the bad news about turning Tiger Ying over to Grace Wilton. I grabbed the statement off the printer tray on the way out, along with Tiger Ying which I’d put back inside the haversack.
Grace drove us to Makana Antiques and Treasures in her hire car. When we walked into the shop, Brandi was finishing up with a customer at the front counter, a frail looking elderly woman with blue hair. Once the woman had left the store, Brandi gave me a long stare that seemed none too friendly.
“T. J., I suppose you have a good explanation for not returning my many telephone calls,” Brandi said.
“Sorry, I’ve been a bit busy running this to ground,” I said holding up the haversack.
Brandi’s look softened. “Is that what I think it is? You’ve brought Tiger Ying?”
“I have,” I said opening the haversack and taking out the ancient Chinese bronze water pot.
“Oh my goodness,” Brandi gushed. “I can’t believe it. When it seemed you were avoiding my calls, I was losing hope of ever seeing Tiger Ying again.”
I set Tiger Ying on the counter, along with the haversack. Then I laid my statement on the counter in front of Brandi.
“Since I've finished the case, I’m hoping you might write me a check,” I said.
“Yes, of course,” Brandi said. Her voice betrayed her surprise at having my bill tendered on delivery.
“Who took Tiger Ying?” Brandi said. “Have the police apprehended the thief?”
“I know very little about that bit,” I said. “You might ask the police about it. My bit was limited to recovering Tiger Ying.”
“Yes, certainly,” Brandi said. “I must go back to my office to write you a check. Will you wait?”
“Yep, no worries.”
Brandi nodded, picked up the statement, and went into the back.
Brandi had looked at Grace several times while we talked, but hadn’t asked about her. I hadn’t introduced them and didn’t plan to until Brandi handed me a check. Grace and I chatted about her position with the insurance company while we waited. Then she told me it was her first time in Hawai’i. Grace was excited because her boss was allowing her to stay over an extra day after she finished her assignment so she could see a few of the sights.
Brandi returned from the back holding a check. But, she didn’t offer it.
“When did you recover Tiger Ying exactly?” Brandi said. “Someone told me you’ve had it for several days. Why didn’t you bring it right away?”
“There were questions about who the rightful owner I had to sort first,” I said.
“That’s of no concern to you under our agreement,” Brandi said angrily. “I hired you to find it. Once you found it, you had an obligation to return it without delay.”
It seemed Brandi didn’t intend to hand me the check. I reckoned I could wrestle her for it if it came to it. So, I came clean.
“This is Grace Wilton,” I said to Brandi. “Grace works for an insurance company in San Francisco. Her company paid out on a claim sixteen years ago when they believed a museum fire had destroyed Tiger Ying and other ancient pieces the company had insured. Grace is—“
“I know all about all of that!” Brandi said. “Again, none of it concerns you. You were supposed to be working for me. You have presented me with your bill. Yet it seems you’ve been running around working for everyone but me.”
“Sorry you feel that way,” I said. “I’ve only billed you for the time spent working on what you hired me to do. Anything else I’ve done, was at my expense. Now Grace is going to take possession of Tiger Ying on behalf of her employer since we’ve concluded our business.”
Justin Wood stepped out of the back. He was holding a long revolver. I didn’t recognize the type beyond the fact it appeared ancient.
“That will not happen,” Justin said. “No one is walking out of here with Tiger Ying.”
“Hello, Justin,” I said. “I see your nose looks better. What do you plan to do, shoot us with your old gun?”
“I will if I have to,” Justin said grimly. “Why don’t you ladies walk back to Brandi’s office with me.”
I swept up a brass antique candelabra from a shelf beside me and threw it at Justin. In the same motion, I pushed Grace into the nearest aisle behind the shelves and followed. Justin’s gun boomed. An antique clock on a shelf above our heads exploded. In the temporary cover behind the shelves, I whispered to Grace. I told her to go to the far end of the aisle and to lie down on the floor. I retreated halfway down the aisle in the direction I’d sent Grace, pulling my Colt from the holster as I moved. Then I took a knee and extended the Colt in a two-handed grip and aimed it at the end of the aisle in the direction we’d entered from. I reckoned Justin might not have thought about the possibility I was armed. If not, I expected him to appear momentarily.
The long barrel of Justin’s pistol appeared first, extending beyond the corner of the shelving, and telegraphing his position. I waited, taking up the trigger slack with my right index finger. Justin stepped into view at the end of the aisle, his eyes searching for us. By the time he saw me, kneeling on the floor and brought his pistol to bear, I squeezed the trigger and shot him in the shoulder. Justin went down hard, and his pistol skittered away on the floor.
In a flash, Brandi was on her knees on the floor beside Justin, cradling his head. She was wailing and crying out Justin’s name. I went over to them and kicked the dropped pistol across the room. A red stain was spreading on Justin’s shirt at his right shoulder.
“You shot him!” Brandi said between sobs.
“Damn right, you stupid cow,” I said.
Justin’s eyes
fluttered open. His left hand was clutching his wounded shoulder. He looked up at me and grinned weakly. “Guess I was lucky you’re a poor shot, bitch.”
“You’re lucky I’m a great shot, ratbag,” I said. “Otherwise the bullet might have gone through your black heart.”
Grace had come up to stand behind me.
“Is he dead?” she said.
“Not even,” I said. “It’s only a minor wound. Grace, go to the phone on the counter and ring nine-one-one. Tell them there has been a shooting and we need an ambulance and the police.”
“I don’t know where we are,” Grace said. “What do I tell them?”
“No worries,” I said. “The address will pop up on their computer screen when you call. Just answer whatever questions they ask as best you can.”
“All right,” Grace said walking around us and making for the phone.
Brandi had dropped the check she’d been holding. It was on the floor beside Justin. I bent over, picked it up, and looked at it. Brandi had made it out for the correct amount and had signed it. I folded it and slipped it inside my bra. Brandi kept wailing while rocking Justin’s head gently.
The first cops arrived less than five minutes after Grace had called for them. An ambulance arrived a minute behind them. A cop had taken my Colt, and another cop had recovered Justin’s pistol. The EMTs were bandaging Justin’s shoulder and preparing to transport him when Mike Young walked in. He sent the uniformed officer away who had been questioning me.
“You okay?” Mike said.
“Yep, all good.”
“What happened?”
I told him the story. There was a male cop questioning Brandi over by the front counter and a female officer talking with Grace. As I finished telling Mike what had happened, the officer who had been questioning Brandi came over to Mike and said something to him I hadn’t been able to hear. Mike nodded to him and the cop went back to Brandi and put handcuffs on her. The EMTs took Justin out the front door on a stretcher.
“She claimed she didn’t know her boyfriend was coming out to threaten you with a gun,” Mike said. “Then she said she wasn’t answering anymore questions until she got a lawyer.”
“Just like the movies,” I said. “The crims always lawyer up.”
Mike grinned and nodded. The cop escorted Brandi out the front door.
“Maybe she’ll talk when they get her to the station,” Mike said. “Probably won’t be able to question Wood until he is out of surgery.”
“Hey!” I said. “Let’s have a squizz at Brandi’s office. There is a secret room back there.”
“We shouldn’t search until they get here with the warrant I called for,” Mike said.
“No, this can’t wait,” I said. “Come on.”
Mike followed me into the back of the shop.
“What do you expect to find?”
“I’ve got a feeling,” I said. “I want to check the secret room.”
I pulled out the books I’d seen Brandi remove the first time I’d been here. I felt inside the back of the shelf and found a lever. I pulled it, then I swung the bookcase out away from the wall revealing the door. I tried the knob. Someone had locked it.
“Damn it,” I said. I looked around the room and spied the key ring on Brandi’s desk. I grabbed it and tried the keys one by one until I found the one that fit the door lock. I inserted the key, unlocked the door, and threw it open. It was pitch black inside. I felt around on the inside wall beside the door and felt a switch. I flipped it up and lights came on. Against the back wall, sitting on the floor was Chloe and Ken Lawrence. Justin or someone had put strips of gray tape over their mouths and bound their wrists in front with electrical ties. Mike and I rushed over. We pulled the tape from their mouths.
“God, I’m so glad to see you!” Chloe said. “I thought they would kill us. I had to tell them you had Tiger Ying because they were hurting my dad.”
Ken's face was bruised, and both his eyes were swollen.
“You all right, Ken?” I said.
“I think so,” he said.
Mike produced a utility tool and snipped the electrical ties that bound their wrists. We helped Chloe and Ken up from the floor. They both rubbed their wrists to restore the circulation.
“How did you find us?” Chloe said.
“I had a hunch you were in here once I saw Justin Wood,” I said. “A witness saw his car leaving your neighborhood around the time they abducted you.”
“Was it Justin Wood who broke into your house?” Mike said.
“Yes, I guess so,” Chloe said. “I mean I heard him called Justin, but I don’t know his last name.”
Ken said, “There was another guy too. A big Asian guy, but I don’t know his name. Then they brought us here in a silver Camaro.”
“What did he look like?” Mike said.
I interrupted. “Did he look a bit like a sumo wrestler?”
Both Chloe and Ken shook their heads up and down at the same time. “He sure did,” Ken said.
Mike and I looked at each other and smiled.
"That should dob in William Chambers nicely," I said.
We helped Chloe and Ken out to the front of the shop. Both were still a bit unsteady on their feet. Two cops took them on outside to a car for transport to the police station.
“After we get their statements, we’ll put them up in a hotel somewhere until we figure the rest out,” Mike said. “Can’t risk them going back home until we round up everyone else involved in their abduction.”
I felt fantastic. We had rescued Chloe and her dad with only minor bumps and bruises. I had finished with Tiger Ying. My old mate, Justin, would soon be in jail where he belonged. And, the case was breaking wide open on the police side. Everything felt perfect, until I looked over and saw her standing in the middle of the shop, hands on hips, giving me the stink eye. There was a semi-automatic in a holster on her right hip, a big shiny HPD badge clipped at her waist in front. Maki Oshiro, my least favorite person in Honolulu. We glared at each other, my fingers twitching for her jugular. If looks could kill, we’d both have carked it. Mike passed by me and went over to her. His muscular body blocked her from my view, but I could hear them talking quietly. I couldn’t hear what either of them said, but from Oshiro’s tone she sounded pissed.
Mike turned and pointed toward the front counter. Oshiro shrugged and walked to the counter, never taking her eyes off me until she got there. She picked up Tiger Ying and stuffed it into the haversack before slinging it over her left shoulder. Then she turned to look at Mike and blew him a kiss. She turned to look at me, smirked, and flipped me the finger before storming toward the front door.
It took a moment before I realized that Mike had a death grip on my right arm, restraining me. I gave in and stopped trying to pull away, but my fingers were still twitching.
“Best if she isn’t here,” Mike said casually. “She hasn’t been happy since I mentioned having a drink with you the other day. In fact, she’s been a real bitch.”
“That’s the stupid cow’s normal personality,” I said. “She flipped me the finger for fuck’s sake. You shouldn’t have held me back.”
Mike grinned. “With everything else that’s happened today, I wasn’t in the mood to work a double homicide.”
“I’m only sorry I pushed you into the arms of that cu—”
“Zip it, T. J., please,” Mike said.
“You deserve so much better, Mike,” I said, “and you know it.”
Mike looked sad for a moment. “Maybe not,” he said. “I had the best once, but wasn’t able to keep her.”
That was awkward. I shut my mouth. Besides, Mike’s comment had been so sweet it had temporarily left me speechless.
Once the CSI team arrived to process the scene, Mike told me and Grace he needed us at the station to give our statements. He said we could follow him there in Grace’s hire car. We all left Makana Antiques and Treasures together.
Twenty-Two
At the polic
e station I kept glancing at the clock on the wall of the interview room thinking wistfully of Nick. I so wanted to get out of here before it was too late to ring him. The insistent tingly, achy feelings were so intense I thought I might jump out of my skin if I didn’t get relief soon. I was ashamed to admit it, but sitting next to Mike at the small table in the room, our knees touching only made the tingles and aches more extreme. He still wore the cologne I loved, the one I’d first bought him when we had been together. The undeniable potent feelings of sexual attraction for Mike had me questioning why I hadn’t tried harder to make our relationship work.
Truth be known, Mike was every bit as much a hottie as Nick was. I couldn’t lie to myself. Sex with Mike had always been fantastic. That was never an issue for us.
When I thought back on the men in my past I’d been intimate with, they seemed to fall into two distinct categories, mostly. There had been the unmitigated disasters category, guys whose values hadn’t quite met mine. In the dating world they often termed such men “bad boys,” the dodgy types who were a bit dangerous. Inevitably, because we had shared little in common beyond the love of the mind-blowing sex we had together, those relationships had died natural deaths after the brief but spectacularly fun rides.
The other category women often called the “nice guys,” the “steady Eddie” types who followed all the rules and didn’t take risks. They were strong, safe and dependable blokes, the kind of men happy to commit to loving, cherishing, honoring, and protecting a woman they loved. The men in my past in the category had all been attractive, sweet, and mostly good if not very imaginative in the sack. But, they all shared something else in common. “Nice guys” always wanted the same thing. They wanted to settle down, marry, and produce offspring.
