“You got it all wrong, man. He said he didn’t want to do nothing to her. She was just supposed to get the guitar.”
I glanced around at the crowd, then gave Deke an icy stare. “You did know about Andi.”
“What?”
“You heard me. He told you to involve Andi in getting the guitar back. And you agreed.”
Deke groaned. His glazed-over eyes closed. Even he, with his reasoning dulled by too much booze, should see that he’d dug a hole so deep there was only one way out.
“That girl’s innocent,” said Alexander. “Her mom’s protected her all her life.” Alexander looked like he was ready to release Shaw, which would be the worst thing he could do.
Deke’s head bobbed vigorously. “Yeah, yeah, man. Even the guys in the band were supposed to keep the slime balls away. And we did—still do. This guy gave me a whole script to use. I had to memorize it.” He looked around the room as though searching for sympathy. “It wasn’t easy.”
When the body language of those around him became more threatening, I felt certain Deke had to see the end coming. “I told her what he wanted, but I swear nothing was supposed to happen to her. Andi was already pissed at her mom for keeping the secret about Shaw, so she didn’t want to talk to her. I never knew she was all hung up on all those legends and shit. Look, I’ll tell you everything. Just put that thing down.”
“I don’t think so. You might not make it out of here alive if I do. You’re better off right where you are.” All around us, the crowd watched the center-ring show with crossed arms and angry faces. There were catcalls, threats, and eager offers to help deal with Deke the traitor. Suggestions of what to do with the bat grew more graphic with each passing moment. “Yeah,” I said. “You better start telling the truth for your own good. You can’t lie your way out.”
Deke licked his lips, then winced as he spoke. “I told her Shaw’s life could be in jeopardy because of the curse. She believed me when I said this Ho'okano was the one who could save him. I didn’t even think she’d give a damn about him.” He cast a sideways look of scorn at Shaw. “I thought she’d talk to him for five minutes and take the guitar just to hurt him the way he hurt her and her mom.”
“Spite, revenge. Great motives, Deke. Did you ever think that maybe Andi’s different than you? Never mind. Who is this guy that got you in so deep?”
“He’s a maniac. He did time on the mainland. Felony-type stuff.”
“What’s his name?” I demanded.
“He said he’d kill me if I talked.”
I looked around the crowd. “Who wants first crack at Deke? How about you, Shaw? Maybe you should get him first?”
Shaw growled, but Alexander and Tiny still had a firm grip on his arms.
About five guys volunteered to commit an assortment of felonies with the bat—each one involving a different part of Deke’s anatomy. The threats turned the Dekester into a whimpering lump of flesh, and then he cracked.
“Art Swenson! His name is Art Swenson.”
Shaw looked panicked and stopped straining against the hold of the two men. “Son of a bitch.”
Alexander released his grip on Shaw’s arm. “The same guy was at Carla’s, yah?”
“Looks like we know who’s behind everything,” I said. I waved the bat before Deke’s face. If he answered my next question the wrong way, I might beat him senseless myself. “What did you tell him about Andi?” I waited, counting the seconds, for an answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
In my attempts to get Deke to talk, I’d maneuvered him into the position of the Man to Hate. The room felt as though the temperature had gone up about five degrees in the last five minutes and, all of a sudden, I was being forced into the role of Voice of Reason. Well, damn, not my favorite part to play. It was a lot more fun to be the instigator. But, if I instigated anything else, I might lose my source even as I made myself an accomplice to murder.
“Wait!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. My voice was almost lost in the tumult, but Tiny heard me.
Even though he looked like he might be ready to rip Deke apart himself, he raised his hands, placed a finger in each side of his mouth, and nearly shattered my eardrums with a piercing whistle. With his red face and bulging eyes, he was a sight to behold, but he got results fast. The place went deathly silent. “Having somebody—even if he is a slime—killed in my place ain’t gonna happen. What happens to him outside, that’s a different story.”
—Take him outside!
—I know what do wid ‘im!
—Shark bait!
The taunts continued, each growing more explicit as the crowd fed on its own frenzied anger. In a few minutes, Deke would be hauled outside for who knows what kind of torture. I pressed the bat to his neck and hissed. “I suggest you start talking. What did you tell him about Andi?”
Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he still didn’t speak.
“How’d you meet him?” Deke’s entire body trembled now. “I’m about to let these guys have at you. Talk. Now!”
Deke’s eyes burst open and he began to ramble again. “It was maybe two weeks ago. He shows up after a practice. Tells me he’s trying to find an old friend.” He pointed at Shaw. “You. This guy just looks mean, but he’s playing it cool. He even invites me to a poker game on Friday night. I ain’t seen no good action in quite a while and was feelin’ the itch. I already told you, I lost big. Real big.”
How nice, I thought. “So you lost a few bucks in a poker game. Whoopie.”
“No man. Nothing small. I dropped a dime. One large. I ain’t got that kinda money.”
Tiny’s eyes were angry and dark. “How’d you make a bet like that? You haven’t been able to pay your bar tab for two months.”
“He let me play on credit. I was up when I started. I was drinking Coke, but the next thing you know, it starts tasting real good, you know? The chick who was tending bar was kinda on the old side, but real friendly like. Real friendly. She even gave me her name and number. I never thought she might’a got the drinks mixed up. Next thing I know, I’m into the guy for a thousand bucks.”
Nothing about Deke’s story made sense to me. “Sounds like the bartender owes you a grand.”
“Marylyn didn’t do nothing wrong,” said Deke. “Everybody else there knew her. That’s why I trusted her. It wasn’t like she was a stranger.”
Marylyn again? What the hell? Why did that name keep coming up?
The last person I expected to sympathize with Deke was Shaw, but he held out a hand. “You sorry piece of shit, I know how hard it is.” He grabbed the bat from me and said, “If anything happens to Andi because of you, you’ll wish I’d finished you off right now. As it is, I want to know what this guy said to you. Tell this story like your life depends on it—because it does.”
Deke might be a broken man, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t lie to save his skin. The best we could hope for was him wanting to do the right thing and help us save Andi. I glanced at Shaw. “You think you can trust him?”
“What do you say, Deke? You remember what I can do, right?”
Deke nodded quickly and ever so slightly. “After I’m into this Swenson for the grand, he tells me he wants to even an old score with you.” Deke’s face reddened as he jabbed a finger at Shaw. “Believe me, man, I get that. Things ain’t never been good between you and me, Shaw, but I’ll say one thing for you, it takes a lot to provoke you.”
Shaw didn’t seem very impressed by the compliment, not that it was much of one.
“This guy’s so close to the edge it wouldn’t take nothing to put him over.” Deke rubbed his lips with the back of his hand. “He told me he spent time with some radicals doing military-type maneuvers and stuff. They trained him to be a sniper. He said there wasn’t nothing to it, just pull the trigger and some poor bastard falls over. He told me I could be playing on stage one night and he could take me out from a hundred yards away. Even more if he wanted. He said he was just gonna scare you. That�
�s all. He wasn’t gonna kill you or nothing. It was just part of his plan.”
I tapped Shaw on the shoulder. “That cow out on the ranch—was he shot in the head?”
“Yeah. I assumed it was a poacher. It wasn’t until I talked to Andi that I figured out the son-of-a-bitch might have been aiming for me. I attributed it to bad aim. Now, you’re telling me you think he just wanted to spook me. He killed a cow as a way to send his message. Guy’s a menace.”
“Could a sniper have pulled that shot off from far enough away to avoid being discovered?” I asked.
“A good one.” Shaw licked his lips. “We never thought of that.”
“If you hadn’t contacted Andi, he might have just escalated things until he killed you.” I glared at Deke, who shot wild glances around the room.
“I swear, I didn’t know nothing about no sniper,” he stammered.
I ignored Deke’s protests and addressed Shaw. “I still don’t understand why he’d do this. There’s a big disconnect for me. How did he know about Andi in the first place?”
All of a sudden—perhaps seeing a need to redeem himself or be torn apart by the crowd—Deke was turning into the King of Cooperation. “The Swenson guy said he had ten years to think about you, Shaw. He knew a lot about the old days. He said Sam told him where to find me.”
I gaped at Deke. “Sam Burroughs?”
“Yeah. When we met he said they done some catching up and that’s how he found me. Goddamn Burroughs.”
It was looking more and more like Sam’s story about being beaten for information was true. I glanced at Alexander. “Same result, different methods.”
“Maybe this Swenson don’t care about how he gets his info,” said Alexander.
“Actually, he’s sounding even more dangerous. He knows how to hit the right buttons for each victim.” In a way, I felt sorry for Deke. He’d barely reacted to the news about Sam and was so immersed in his own personal crisis that he couldn’t care less about anyone else. Even his professed concern for Andi seemed more like a self-preservation tactic than anything else. “You’ve spent years fighting an addiction and now you’re back on Day One. Was it worth it?”
Deke ignored my question, or at least pretended to.
It occurred to me that Shaw had made a comment at the B&B about the uncanny resemblance of the two Art Swensons. “You think Deke’s guy is related to the other Art Swenson?”
“What do you mean, the ‘other’ one?” Deke blinked a few times. “I don’t remember no other guy with that name.”
“Art Swenson’s the man I killed at the Kona Sunset.”
The bar fell silent. All eyes were on Shaw Hardy, especially Deke’s, where I saw fear and longing. “A ghost?” he said. “I’m dealing with a ghost? Jesus! I need a drink.”
I glanced at the sawdust floor. Deke’s bottle of vodka lay there, empty. Tiny walked toward the bar. Over his shoulder, he said, “Coffee coming up.”
Shaw leaned directly over Deke. “That’s right. I killed a man. Shot him dead. We’re not dealing with any goddamn ghost. I put six bullets in his chest. The son-of-a-bitch most likely died with the first one. You’ll pray I do the same to you if you’re lying to me.”
Clarity strikes at the oddest times. And here, in this rathole of a music joint running on high-voltage adrenaline, another piece of the puzzle fell into place. “You killed Art Swenson Sr., Shaw. All of this, it’s all part of a plan to avenge him.”
“You killed this guy’s old man?” Deke swallowed several times, grimacing as though he might vomit right in the sawdust beneath his feet. “No wonder he hates you so much. I thought it was all about the guitar.”
“The Martin?” I fixed Deke with a stare. “What about it? Was that bullshit about the poker game and the guitar true?” His resolve was now gone. He knew he was stuck in a room with no friends, but plenty of enemies.
“It’s true. He said it belonged to his old man and he wanted it back. He said if I could do that he was gonna be satisfied. He said that’s all he wanted—the Martin.”
“Whose idea was it for Andi to steal the Martin from Shaw?” I demanded.
Deke’s eyes darted around the crowd, his words came out as a pitiful whine. “He already knew about Andi, man.”
“But, you’re the one who thought it would be good to have her steal the guitar.” I made sure my accusation was loud enough for the entire crowd to hear.
Instead of answering, Deke just moaned.
I jabbed an angry finger into his chest. “You put her into that kind of danger to save your hide because you owed a guy a thousand bucks?”
A low rumble coursed through the crowd and Deke licked his lips before he responded. “It’s a lot of money, man.”
I gave him the once-over. He supported himself on the table, probably expecting sympathy. Instead, I gave him a shot of reality. “And you didn’t think it was unusual he’d be happy with a guitar instead of cold, hard cash?”
It took a moment for Deke’s reasoning skills to kick in. The poor guy didn’t have much more than half a brain tonight. “Those old Martins are worth way more than that if they’re in good shape.” He pointed at Shaw. “I didn’t think he deserved to keep it.”
“Shaw, do you have a picture of the guy you killed?” I really didn’t expect that to be the case, but it was worth asking. “We could show that to Deke and compare it to his guy.”
“I’m not in the habit of carrying around pictures of dead men out of my past.” Shaw snickered.
“If Deke had a picture of his guy, that would work.” I took one look at Deke. No way. Not going to happen. Between wasted and worried, we were lucky he hadn’t keeled over dead already. “Carla’s got one,” I said.
Tiny returned from behind the direction of the bar carrying a steaming mug. “Shaw, too bad you don’t do technology. She could text it to you.”
The blank look on Shaw’s face was almost comical. At least I understood Tiny’s meaning—not that I’d have a clue as to how to accomplish it.
“What a sad state of affairs this is. You guys have all the technical savvy of couple of lawn ornaments.” Tiny let out an exasperated sigh. “Local boy got you covered.” He tapped on the screen of his smartphone. A few seconds later, he raised the device to his ear. “How’s my favorite innkeeper?”
While Tiny gabbed with Carla, I went to Alexander and said, “We need to get moving so we can catch up to Andi, but I need more from Deke. There’s something he’s not telling us.”
“Every minute we’re here, she’s gets further away,” Alexander said.
I heard Tiny chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. He started out being a pain, but we’re good now. Can you text me a photo of the guy who stayed with you—yeah, you’re a mind reader—I know, between the three of them, you’d think one could get a picture on a phone—you’re the best. Aloha.”
“How do you know my future wife’s phone number?”
Uh-oh, I thought. We were back in the wild west and the cowboy didn’t like other men talking to his woman. Shaw might be crabby about Tiny knowing the inn’s phone number, but I was miffed for another reason. “Between the three of them? You mean us? Of course we could get a picture from a text. Right, Alexander?”
He shrugged. “Sorry, McKenna, can’t help you.”
And Shaw didn’t use a cell phone at all. I cleared my throat. “Well, I’m sure I could figure it out. But, right now we need answers so we can get on the road.” It pissed me off that Tiny had compared us to lawn ornaments. The fact that he’d been correct stung even more.
“Chillax, brah. Nuttin’ wrong wid old school.” He cackled, almost to himself, then turned suddenly serious. He regarded Shaw for a moment before continuing. “As for Carla, I refer clients to her all the time. She gets at least one booking a month from our office.”
“Small world,” I said.
“I was dropping off some out-of-town clients at the B&B a couple of years ago when this guy walked in,” Tiny said, nodding at Shaw. “Thought I
was having flashbacks.” He glanced down at his ringing phone. “Here it is.” He tapped the screen a couple of times and then held out the image of a man with a widow’s peak and dark hair. The eyes were brown and piercing. He had a tattoo of a spider on the left side of his neck.
“That’s him,” I said. “That’s the one Carla showed us. Scary dude.”
Shaw snorted, obviously unimpressed. “Punk.”
When Tiny showed the phone to Deke, he peered at it, then pointed at the screen. “That’s him. Dude might be a punk, Shaw, but he done some serious damage to Sam.”
“So you did know this guy beat up Sam. And you’re scared to death of him. Because of that? Why else would you sell out a friend?” Even I, a stranger to this island and these people, winced at the depth of Deke’s betrayal. “You lied to me about Andi, didn’t you? You’re the one who told Swenson about her.”
The whites of his eyes grew large as he glanced around. “Oh no, no way, man.”
It was the first thing he’d said I truly believed.
Another ear-piercing whistle shattered the commotion. Tiny, again. This time, he motioned for someone at the entrance to approach. Two uniformed officers worked their way through the crowd. Tiny gave them a wave and looked directly at Deke. “This man’s causing a public nuisance. You better take him away.”
One of the cops pulled a pair of handcuffs from the back of his belt. “You’re coming with us, Deke. You been having a rough time of it again. This don’t bode well for a career in music.”
With his hands secured behind his back, Deke gazed around the crowd. “Better than getting dead.”
The crowd parted, letting the two men through, and the other officer went to Tiny and exchanged a few words. The second officer waved to a few of the musicians as he left.
With the confrontation over, the atmosphere started returning to normal. The band went back to the stage, others returned to their seats. “You had Deke arrested?” I asked.
“I had a friend taken out of a dangerous situation.” Tiny gave me a thumbs up and a quick nod. He smiled, holding his phone up for me to plainly see. “Handy gadgets, yah?”
Big Island Blues Page 18
