Game ON (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 2) (Redemption Thriller Series 14)

by John W. Mefford

  “How can we find my baby? I can’t go on much longer without having her with me. We’ve been a team for the last nine-plus years. Please, can you help me?” Now she was starting to lose her grip on her emotions.

  I reached over and placed my hand on her arm. She looked at my hand. I thought for a second she might swat it away, but then she put her hand on mine.

  I turned to the retired cop. “Keo, as you can see, we’re in a tough spot. Calling in the police is an option, but Denise doesn’t think that’s wise.”

  “No, no, no,” he said, waving his hand. “No cops. Too many ears. You did the right thing coming to me.”

  I waited as he stared at something over my head. He was thinking, contemplating our next move. But after more than a few seconds, I was pulled to look over my shoulder. A flat screen was showing highlights of an NHL game. What the hell? I turned back around and did my best not to rip into his lack of attentiveness. I opened my mouth, but he spoke first.

  “I’ve always wanted to ice skate. I’m amazed at what these NHL guys can do with a stick and puck while someone is assaulting them.”

  I traded a glance with Denise. I could see her eyes narrow as crow’s feet became more visible at the edges. She didn’t think he understood the gravity of the situation. I could see her chest lift—she was about to explode.

  “Hey, Keo,” I said quickly, getting his attention before she went off on the guy.

  He turned his head in my direction, but I couldn’t be sure he was actually looking at me.

  “Can you give us—”

  “This is how I think.” He pointed over my shoulder toward the TV. “Many locals stare at the ocean. They think it has all the answers. I’ve been surrounded by the water my whole life. Don’t get me wrong, I love the water, the tropical fish. I love the dormant volcanoes, the black lava fields, the twenty-five-degree drop in temperature when I travel up to Waimea. But I find that I think best when watching sports. Hockey, football, baseball, basketball…just about anything other than UFC boxing.”

  Denise brought the glass of water to her lips, paused, and then gulped. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and puffed out a breath as if she’d just swum a hundred meters against a strong current. Every step of this process was painful for her. While I’d never met Mackenzie, Denise had obviously developed a connection with her that was sealed by more than just blood relation. Any relationship that survived addiction and all the fallout connected to it was one that was worth fighting for. Denise had battled a tremendous foe—a battle that might sit at the edge of her thoughts from now until her last days. But those days in between would be meaningless unless she was able to share them with Mackenzie.

  My eyes were back on Keo. “Have you watched enough sports to feed your thoughts?”

  He nodded and pulled a phone from his pocket. He appeared to be searching his contacts—he paused briefly and asked a passing waiter for his tab. Then he returned to his phone, mumbling something I couldn’t decipher.

  “Looking for someone who might give us some information?” I asked.

  He nodded but kept moving his lips. He looked like a savant counting numbers. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Denise grab a spoon and squeeze the handle until her knuckles went white. The pot was nearing its boiling point again.

  I cleared my throat, hoping he’d be able to read Denise’s rising anxiety.

  The waiter approached, placed the check on the table, and walked away. Without looking—again, I couldn’t verify it with certainty because of his too-cool sunglasses—Keo signed the receipt. He looked toward the ceiling as he leaned back in his chair.

  “The Green Dragon,” he said with a satisfying smile, as if he’d just won a poker hand. He lifted from his seat.

  I looked at Denise, then at Keo. I was certain I couldn’t hide my confusion. He sounded as if he were talking about some type of ancient god. Was this spirit going to magically give us the answers we needed?

  “Let’s go,” he said, nudging his head toward the parking lot.

  “To where?”

  “The Green Dragon—where else?”

  The Green Dragon was a place. Unconvinced this would be our point of enlightenment, I followed Keo through the resort and out to the employee parking lot.

  “We’re over here,” I pointed over my shoulder.

  “It’s best if you ride with me anyway.”

  I shrugged, and we followed him to his car, a high-end Lexus sedan. When the doors shut, the car cooled off in about ten seconds. “Keo, what’s up with the million-dollar lifestyle? You’re a retired cop, not a retired Wall Street hedge-fund manager.”

  He’d just put the car in reverse, but he paused for a second. “On the island, nothing is more important than relationships. That’s how I was able to hold my own as a detective for so many years, and it’s continued in retirement.”

  Sounded fine, but it wasn’t really an answer. He drove us up to the security booth. “Hi, Myron. How’s your son doing after having his appendix removed?”

  The chunky guard leaned out his window. “Couldn’t be better. He’s already itching to be on that surfboard again. I guess we’ll see you tomorrow, Keo.”

  “You know it. I’ve got to keep an eye on the bad guys while I’m tearing up the course.”

  They waved at each other, and Keo pressed the gas. I just shook my head. “So you kiss ass to get all of this?”

  “I run security for the visitors who have asked for the white-glove treatment. It’s not a rough job, but I get to play one of the best courses in the hemisphere.”

  I gave a long nod as we wound our way through the entrance out to the main highway, nothing but postcard landscaping as far as the eye could see. “The car come with it?”

  “Oh, this old thing?” He snickered. “Okay, it’s not so old. But it’s a loaner. Well, by now I’d call it a gift from a car dealer on Maui. I helped his daughter locate her husband. He thinks he owes me. You see, Ozzie, this is how the island does business.”

  Bartering. It was as old as any society in the world. But it appeared that Keo had perfected it. I just hoped he’d deliver the goods for us once we reached the Green Dragon.

  7

  Up a set of wooden stairs that creaked with every step, we made our way into the Green Dragon. With its expansive porch complete with a pair of rocking chairs, black shutters, and a screen door, the dwelling could have doubled as a South Carolina plantation home.

  Instead, we walked into a high-end restaurant with aromas full of sweet spices. Their menu was considered Asian Fusion, and my olfactory sense picked up about twenty different smells.

  The hostess, who wore a black, body-hugging, silk dress, lowered her head as if she were honoring our presence, then asked, “Would Mr. Iwalani enjoy his normal table?”

  He brought a hand to his face, leaned in closer, and whispered something to her.

  “This way, please,” she said with a voice so soothing I would have followed her anywhere. She led us to a small side room. It had glass doors and was adorned with various sculptures of…green dragons. “She’ll be with you in just a moment. Thank you.” The girl bowed while closing the door, leaving the three of us alone.

  “So I guess you know the owner or manager of this fine establishment?” I asked Keo, who, I noticed, was still wearing his sunglasses.

  “The Green Dragon.” He scratched his eye behind his glasses. I wasn’t sure why he felt the need to keep up the cool act. But he’d distracted me.

  “I’m sorry? We’re at the Green Dragon. It’s rather obvious,” I said.

  The doors opened before he could respond. In walked a woman closer to Keo’s age. Her floral-covered dress flowed behind her, making it seem like she was gliding just above the floor. The apparent old friends gave respectful kisses on each other’s cheek.

  “This is the Green Dragon,” Keo said, extending an arm in her direction.

  She flicked a wrist toward Keo, offering a playful roll of the eyes. “
Oh, Keo, don’t play that game with your new friends.”

  We shook hands. When she did the same with Denise, she didn’t let go. “I see trouble in your eyes.” She glanced at Keo. “This is why you’re here.”

  He nodded, then walked over to shut the glass doors. “Her daughter has been kidnapped by the Y-clan.”

  I tilted my head.

  “Oh,” he said, noticing my puzzled gaze, “that’s our shared term for the yakuza. We don’t like speaking of the most dangerous organized crime outfit in the world.” His voice seemed to linger on the last word. “But…and this is something both Hulama and I will agree on…most of the time, those of us who do not fall under the thumb of the Y-clan have learned to coexist with them. It may not be a proper arrangement, but it is one that works for this society on the islands.”

  “Hulama,” I repeated while looking at her.

  “I’m sorry. Keo loves to play games with the Green Dragon discussion, harking back to the old days. My full name is Hulama Kelii. My family is from Oahu, although I’ve been on this island for a good twenty years.”

  Denise reset her feet, put a hand on her hip. “I just can’t keep playing this game, Keo. You’re telling us that we have to fucking coexist with a crime syndicate. These monsters stole my little girl from me.” She took in a shaky breath, wiped a tear from her eye. I moved a little closer, brushing against her arm. I didn’t try to jump in and make excuses for Keo. It was up to him to show us how he could help. Otherwise, we might have to look at other alternatives, including getting the authorities involved.

  “I apologize,” he said, approaching us. “What I said was ill-timed at best. If it was up to me, all people would learn to coexist, to accept each other for their differences, to appreciate our diversity. I wish our country could find this happy place.”

  Denise put her hand over her face, her head and shoulders bouncing from a quiet cry. Keo wasn’t helping.

  Without warning, he removed his glasses from his head. One eye was shut. A pinkish scar ran vertically above and below that eye. “Denise, I know the brutality of the yakuza firsthand.”

  She sniffled, lifted her head.

  He used his fingers to open his eye lid. All I could see were bloody ligaments. There was no eyeball. Denise gasped.

  “This is what they did to me right after I watched them kill my partner. I know their brutality. But I also know their code.”

  Denise’s tears dried up. I took hold of her hand. She squeezed my fingers.

  “I brought you here to visit with Hulama because of her experiences with the Y-clan. She…” He paused, traded a glance with her. She nodded once and then put a hand on Keo’s arm.

  “I was known as the Green Dragon, back when I was a madam. I ran a house of prostitution.”

  Now our space got real quiet.

  “I know what you must be thinking. My girls were offering a service and were paid top dollar. But some of the girls couldn’t help themselves. They seemed to be magnets to the underbelly of society. And with that, they brushed shoulders with some bad people. Some of the henchmen with the Y-clan.”

  Denise took her hand back and momentarily chewed on a nail.

  “I eventually shut down that business, but during that time, I got to know people.” Her eyes snuck a gaze toward Keo. “People on both sides of the law. Then I opened this restaurant.”

  I quickly wondered if her contacts were too far out of the loop to do us much good.

  A few seconds passed, and everyone looked at each other. I wasn’t sure where to take it, so I made a random comment. “I like the concept,” I said, looking at one of the dragon motifs.

  Hulama didn’t acknowledge me. “I also spend a fair amount of my time as a personal tour guide, to show people all the wonderful things this island has to offer. It’s really the least I can do for our people.”

  “That’s nice of you to give back,” I said.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m paid quite well. But that’s because my clientele are the uber rich. Some come from Japan. And a few of those I know are with the Y-clan.”

  Now I was starting to understand why Keo had brought us here.

  “Do you think you can help us locate Mackenzie?”

  She held my gaze for a moment. “What a beautiful name…Mackenzie,” she said. “Do you have a picture?”

  Denise pulled out her phone, swiped a thumb across the screen. She brought up a picture of a girl who could have been on the cover of a Disney brochure. As she handed the phone over, I walked to Hulama’s side and continued staring at the photo. The girl had kinky hair, a rusty dirty-blond. Her blue eyes sparkled so much they appeared to be digitally enhanced. Her head was tilted just a bit, and through her playful smile, I saw a hint of mischievousness.

  “She’s a beautiful girl. Full of life.” Hulama began to hand the phone back to Denise. “Do you mind?” I asked Denise. She nodded, and I took the phone and studied the girl who was purportedly my daughter.

  Ever since I’d received the letter from Denise, I’d blindly accepted the fact that Mackenzie was indeed my daughter. I was never offered definitive proof, nor had I asked for it. Over the last few hours, whether it was because of my lawyer background or simply a natural desire to get to the truth, pangs of doubt had crept into my conscious thoughts. But now, looking into this nine-year-old girl’s eyes, I thought I saw part of myself in her. It was beyond surreal. My chest tightened as I sucked in a deep breath.

  I was her father.

  Or was I seeing something that wasn’t there at all?

  Your hesitation to trust what you see is warranted, Ozzie. You’ve never looked into the eyes of anyone and seen yourself. No sister or brother. No Mom or Dad.

  I could feel a lump in my throat. For the first time I could recall, I actually felt something about my real parents. Resentment maybe. Curiosity. An emptiness…actually, more like a void. My mom and dad—the ones who’d raised me—had been all I’d known. They had shaped my values, taken care of me, made me feel safe and loved, at least in their own way. But I would imagine most families had a similar makeup, in that they were all unique in how they interacted and showed love to each other. Sure, we were dysfunctional. But show me a family or any relationship that didn’t have a few edges that weren’t frayed.

  Case in point: my marriage to Nicole, or what was left of it after her dalliance with a maniacal killer.

  My eyes refocused on the phone.

  “That’s our daughter, Ozzie,” Denise said, leaning against my shoulder.

  I turned my head and looked at Denise. Her eyes were moist. “Mackenzie. I really do have a daughter,” I said, texting the picture to my phone.

  She rested her head against my chest. After a second passed, I put my arm around her and kissed the top her head.

  Was this the family I was supposed to have all along? Surely, if I’d been by Denise’s side, she would have taken a different path, steered clear of drugs and all the demons associated with it. But another thought hit me: I was thinking like the Ozzie of today, not an eighteen-year-old kid.

  The phone in my hand buzzed. Denise quickly took it and looked at a text.

  “Is it them? Any word on Mackenzie? Is there a ransom?” I quickly asked.

  A tight-lipped shake of the head. “It’s just Gwen, my friend from work, asking how I’m doing.”

  “Is she aware of what’s going on?”

  “I called her on my way back to the apartment earlier, just before I ran into you. She’s been a dear friend the last few months. She’s my rock, helped me stay sober. I shared everything with her about what I found in the books at work. She even convinced me to reach out to you.”

  She typed something back to Gwen.

  Hulama then started pinging Denise with questions about how this came to be. The questions were more detailed around the money-laundering process and what she’d found. It was obvious that Hulama understood the inner workings of accounting and how things should be set up. She nodded several times b
ut showed no emotion.

  After the Q&A session was done, Hulama tapped a finger to her chin. Her nails were painted a vibrant green.

  “Is there anyone you can reach out to?” Keo asked Hulama. “Someone who might speak to you with strictest confidence?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I can’t poke the bear, though. There are many levels and branches of the Y-clan. In some respects, someone threatening to expose their ties to a supposedly legitimate business might set off an immediate and violent response. But honestly, they have so many people under their thumb…in the police, the press even. They’ve managed much worse situations and continued to do their business in their own way.”

  This crime syndicate seemed unstoppable, which in and of itself, was unsettling. But they had Mackenzie. My daughter. The fact that Hulama was wavering about how to approach this situation didn’t give me a warm-and-fuzzy. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  “There’s got to be a way to get her back to us, safely. Money. An apology. Something, right?” I asked.

  “You’ve heard nothing since she was taken?” Hulama asked Denise.

  “Nothing.”

  “Go home,” she said.

  I traded a glance with Denise. “There’s nothing we can do?”

  “I will make a call and see where that takes me. Maybe, hopefully by morning, I can give you an update.”

  I looked at Keo, who said, “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but there is the possibility that they’re only trying to scare you. They could drop her off. You will want to be there. I will take you back to your car.”

  Denise headed for the door. I paused at Hulama’s side. “Thank you. Who are you going to call?”

  She glanced at Keo, then back at me. “You have a deep desire to know everything, but sometimes knowledge can bring you harm.”

  “It gives me hope. Are you going to share the name?”

  “Kapule. I trust you will keep this connection to yourself.”

  Once in the minivan, we drove across the island as fast as the brakes would allow us.

  8