Authors: Jessica Speart
“Oh yeah? And how would you do that?” he asked, his voice suddenly sounding a good octave higher.
“Well, there’s no getting around the fact that somebody will be going to prison. But it doesn’t necessarily have to be you. Do you follow?” I questioned, keeping my tone nonchalant.
I could feel Dwayne’s legs quiver like two jelly rolls as I continued to hold him up.
“I think I need a beer,” he weakly suggested.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I responded, with a laugh. “What do you expect me to do? Take you to a bar?”
“There’s a six-pack in that sack over there,” Dwayne said, nodding toward a paper bag that I hadn’t noticed before.
I took no chances, but pulled out my handcuffs and manacled my new best friend to a tree branch.
“I bet you have some fun with these things, huh?” he feebly joked.
But I could tell he was beginning to fold.
“Yeah. In fact, I’m having fun with them right now.”
Then walking over, I picked up the bag, and pulled out a carton of Tsing Tao beer. A fancy red ribbon was attached to its handle, along with a handwritten note.
Lau, We miss you. Here’s a little something for you to enjoy in the afterlife. Much love, your Ginger.
What a guy, what a guy. The creep had obviously stolen the six-pack from off of some poor man’s grave in a Chinese cemetery.
I handed him a warm bottle and he pried the cap off, using his gold front tooth as an opener. Dwayne wasted no time but downed half of the beer in a single slug.
“You know what would hit the spot with this? How about some moo shu pork and a couple of eggrolls?” he bantered, apparently feeling much better.
“I have another idea. Let’s cut the crap and get down to business,” I proposed, as he lifted the bottle and took another gulp. A trickle of beer ran down his chin and onto his throat. “Why don’t you tell me who’s running this operation?”
“Yeah, right,” Dwayne said with a snort, sending a stream of liquid shooting out his nose. “One lousy brewski and you expect me to get on my back and spread my legs like some kind of whore? What do you think I am? Stupid or something?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” I said, unable to get the image of Dwayne on his back out of my head. “Tell me this. What are you being paid for your efforts? It’s obviously not enough. For chrissakes, you can’t even afford to buy your own beer.”
Dwayne dropped the empty bottle on the ground and let loose a burp. “Bullshit. It just so happens I make out pretty damn good. Not only that, but I also work on my own schedule. How many people do you know who would kill for something like that? But since you’re being so damn nosy, I’ll tell you what I get paid. Five dollars a pop for each lizard. Add those puppies up and it’s not bad for a night’s work, huh?”
I didn’t know which amazed me more. The fact that he’d said it with a straight face, or that he was so damn stupid.
“You’re putting me on, right?” I asked in astonishment.
“No. I told you the money was good,” the kid boasted.
“For God’s sakes, that’s pathetic! You’re being totally ripped off,” I revealed.
Jeez, I didn’t even like the guy and I felt sorry for him.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded, and angrily rattled the handcuffs.
“You’re out here putting your butt on the line and for what? Do you have any idea what your boss is getting for just one of those geckos in that bag?”
“He told me they go for about twenty bucks,” Dwayne retorted, stubbornly jutting out his chin.
“And I suppose you never checked it out, just to make certain he was telling the truth?” I quizzed.
“No. Why should I? He’s a good guy,” he replied.
But a note of uncertainty had crept into his voice.
“Then let me fill you in on just how honest he is. Each of those geckos can go for up to two thousand dollars a piece.”
Or so I’d been told. In any case, I wasn’t about to downplay their price.
“Holy shit!” the kid sputtered, his body sagging heavily against the tree.
“That’s right. As I said before, you’re completely disposable. Like it or not, you’re the fall guy, Dwayne,” I said, rubbing it in. “So, what do you think of your friend now?”
His face contorted from a look of shock into one of rage.
“I’m gonna kill the son of a bitch!” he exploded.
“Here’s something else you should realize. I can make your life a living hell, if I so choose. Do you have any idea what the penalty is for being caught with just three of those reptiles, or a breedable pair of chameleons?” I questioned.
Dwayne shook his head, never taking his eyes off me.
“Up to two hundred thousand dollars in fines,” I revealed, telling the truth. “That’s what you’re looking at right now.”
Dwayne’s mouth fell open, and his wrist hung limply within the handcuff.
“I don’t have that kind of money!” he whined.
“But that’s not the worst of your problems. I’m sure you don’t want to spend three years of your life in prison. After all, you’re a good-looking guy. That means you’ll probably wind up being somebody’s bitch,” I added, figuring that was a nice final touch.
“I’ll do anything you ask. Just don’t send me away to jail!” the kid wailed, half in tears.
I looked at him and bit my lip, as if thinking it over.
“All right, then. Here’s what I want you to do. Set up a meeting for me with your boss. Only you can’t tell him that I’m a federal agent. Instead, make him believe I’m an interested buyer,” I proposed.
The initial shock must have worn off, because Dwayne suddenly turned cagey.
“Yeah, okay. I could do that. But there are some things that I first have to take into consideration,” he coyly responded, and gazed into space.
“Such as?” I questioned, waiting to hear the catch.
“Well, what’s in it for me?” Dwayne asked, with crystal clear logic.
“You mean, besides a get-out-of-jail card?” I reminded him.
“That’s great, but I’ve still got my future to think of,” he responded.
Evidently a beer was in his immediate future. He motioned to the six-pack with his free hand, and I gave him a second brew. Another thing in his not-so-distant future was a dental bill, as he once again pried the cap off with his teeth.
“If I’m not gonna catch lizards, then I’m gonna have to do something else with my life,” he reasoned, ever the skateboarding philosopher.
“What did you have in mind?” I inquired, fairly confident he wouldn’t ask to become a rocket scientist.
“Well, I’ve always wanted to be a beachboy in Waikiki,” he confided.
I looked at him in disbelief. “A beachboy?”
“Yeah, you know. Sort of a combination of Baywatch hunk and American Gigolo. The trick is to use the talents you’ve got. Think about it. There are lots of lonely women with plenty of dough that come to Waikiki on vacation. I’m the perfect guy to make them feel like hot babes again. Talent like mine deserves to be well compensated. So, what do you say? Got any strings you can pull for me?”
I figured any woman that fell for his charms probably deserved what she got.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Dolph Trask is a friend of mine,” I disclosed.
“Get outta here! No shit! That dude’s legendary.”
“Well, I’ll give you an introduction. But first you have to keep your end of the bargain. Have we got a deal?”
“To hang with Dolph Trask? Absolutely. That’s wicked cool,” Dwayne said, his gold tooth gleaming in the dark.
“All right, then. Just don’t pull anything funny. Or I’ll see to it that you share a cell with the biggest, meanest bubba around,” I advised, and unlocked the handcuffs.
Dwayne massaged his wrist. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”
I wrote down my cell phone number and handed it to him. “Here. Call me on this line.”
“Okay, babe,” he agreed, and took the paper from me.
Funny how quickly I’ve switched from being a bitch to being a babe,
I thought, while picking up the bag of geckos by his feet.
“Hey, wait a minute! I’m gonna need those things. Otherwise, my boss will be super pissed,” he protested.
The guy was probably right. More important, I didn’t want to screw up a possible meeting.
“All right, but this is the last batch of reptiles that you catch for now. And I expect to hear from you by tomorrow,” I advised, turning on my flashlight to leave.
“Yeah, yeah. Got it,” Dwayne muttered, and reached for the bag, his hand penetrating the pool of light.
The beam revealed nails that were bitten down to the quick. But it was his fingertips that captured my interest. They were blistered and burnt—a sure sign that he was spending far too much time clutching hold of a hot “ice pipe.” No wonder he was happy with five bucks a lizard. It was just enough to provide him with a steady flow of crystal meth.
“Remember, I’m trusting you on this,” I warned, more aware than ever that I was dealing with a loose cannon. “Don’t screw up on me. Otherwise, I swear to God, I’ll hunt you down and put you away in a place where no one will ever find you.”
Dwayne nodded, swung the bag over his shoulder, and split.
I
walked back to my SUV and was on my way down the mountain when my cell phone rang. It couldn’t possibly be Dwayne this soon. Hopefully, it was Santou calling to make up.
“Hello?” I answered, ready for the first words that I heard to be “I’m sorry.”
Instead, I was startled to hear an unfamiliar male voice.
“Hi. This is Sammy Kalahiki, the guy that you spoke with on Pier 32 this afternoon.”
So much had happened since then, that I had to stop and think for a moment.
“Remember? You asked if I needed help?”
Right. The Hawaiian guy that was being hassled by the fishing crew.
“Yes. I remember.” I was puzzled as to why he was calling now. This was the same guy who had run away from me.
“Well, I’ve decided that I do.”
“What? Need help?” I asked, still somewhat confused. My sole intention had been to give him a lift off the docks. “Sorry, but you do realize that I’m a Fish and Wildlife agent,
don’t you? It’s probably best that you call the police, if you’re in some kind of trouble.”
“They’re not going to help me,” Kalahiki said in a bitter tone. “Apparently, no one is. Forget about it. Sorry to have bothered you.”
Shit. I was a complete sucker when it came to guilt trips.
“No, wait a minute. Don’t hang up. I just wanted to make sure that you realized who you’re speaking to,” I quickly backpedaled.
“Don’t worry. I know who you are. That’s why I’m calling,” he grimly responded.
I didn’t know whether to feel flattered or take it as a warning.
“Then you have the advantage. So tell me, who are you?”
“As I said before, my name is Sammy Kalahiki. But far more important is what I do.”
“Which is?” I asked, taking the bait.
“I’m an observer with the National Marine Fisheries Service,” he said, as if that should provide clue enough as to the reason for his call.
I knew bits and pieces about the Observer Program, but not a hell of a lot.
It first began in 1990, when word leaked out that endangered sea turtles were being killed big-time in longliner fishing nets. An environmental group sued, threatening to bring the Hawaiian fishing industry to a halt. The National Marine Fisheries Service quickly stepped in and responded, “Cool your jets. We’ve got everything under control.” And so the Observer Program was born.
Now twenty-seven kids, fresh out of college, are hired and assigned to individually go out on twenty percent of the boats for two-to six-week fishing trips at a time. Their stated purpose is to report any turtle interactions, as well
as monitor the fishing industry’s impact on other endangered, threatened, and protected species. But in reality, what they do is a very different task. They’re instructed to measure every single fish that’s pulled on board, and collect its life history data for management purposes. The chore keeps them extremely busy and on the back of the deck, away from the nets. It benefits both the fishermen and the National Marine Fisheries Service. The observers rarely have time to stir up any trouble.
“Okay. You’re an observer. I got it. So, what’s the problem?” I asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone,” Kalahiki responded mysteriously.
Great. Just what I needed: a prima donna. “Why not?”
“Because for all I know, someone could be listening in. I take it that you’re probably on a cell phone right now. Am I correct?”
“Yes,” I admitted, feeling slightly peeved.
“Well, I don’t consider those to be very secure,” Kalahiki stated. “Besides, this is a sensitive matter that should be discussed in person.”
I automatically ruled out meeting at the office. My boss would intervene if he caught wind that something was going on.
“Okay, then. How about if we rendezvous at Zippy’s Coffee Shop down on Nimitz Boulevard?” I suggested, figuring that should be central enough for both of us.
“Uh-uh. It could be big trouble for me if we’re seen together. It’s got to be somewhere out of the way. What say we hook up at Ka’ena Point around eight o’clock tomorrow morning?”
Kalahiki was obviously serious about keeping our meeting private. Ka’ena Point is the northwesternmost tip of Oahu; a narrow peninsula that protrudes from the Waianae Mountain Range, and is windswept and desolate as
hell. It comprises an eight-mile gap in the main road, which encircles ninety percent of the island. In fact, the only way to reach Ka’ena Point is to hike in on foot.
“I’ll be at the big coral rock that’s along the water’s edge. Don’t worry. You can’t miss it,” he instructed.
Kalahiki certainly was into playing cloak-and-dagger games.
“All right. I’ll see you there tomorrow,” I reluctantly agreed, wondering what could be so confidential as to require my slogging through sand dunes and scrub.
On the other hand, my curiosity was definitely piqued. I just hoped that the hike out to nowhere proved to be worthwhile.
I swung the Ford into the driveway, having arrived home in record time. I walked up the steps to where Spam and Tag-along jockeyed behind the screen door to greet me. Spam didn’t play coy, but jumped up and licked me full on the lips. What the heck. I figured it was better to have a pit bull like me than not. Meanwhile, Tag-along showed her affection by rubbing up and leaving a swathe of marmalade-colored fur on my pants. Had I been wearing shorts, it would have looked as though I never shaved my legs.
I heard the television and walked into the living room, where Kevin lay sprawled on the couch, drinking a beer and watching the day’s sports. Santou didn’t seem to be anywhere around.
“Is Jake home?” I asked, wondering how to possibly make more money so that we could get our own place.
“Nope. He went out,” Kevin replied, never taking his eyes off the screen. “He said he needed some down time.”
I took that to be guy code for “He went to a bar by himself.”
Then Kevin placed a hand behind his head and slowly
turned his gray eyes toward me. “You know Rach, you really need to back off a bit. Santou’s going through a tough time right now, what with leaving the FBI. You’ve got to understand, this is a transitional period for him. It’s a tough adjustment to make.”
All I could think was,
What a total schmuck.
“First off, he didn’t
leave
the FBI. He’s taken leave until his back gets better,” I corrected. “And secondly, I understand perfectly well what’s going on. That’s why I’m watching out for him. It’s something couples do when they care about each other. By the way, that little feat in the ocean today wasn’t so smart. Jake could have seriously injured himself.”
“So what do you want him to do then? Sit around all day and twiddle his thumbs?” Kevin challenged.
“That’s about all he’ll be able to do after becoming paralyzed from following your dumb-ass example of being the big man,” I bristled, just warming up.
Kevin regarded me in silence before he quietly responded. “Am I really that bad?”
His abrupt change in tactic effectively threw me off guard.
“It’s hard to say,” I replied, suddenly feeling like a defensive uptight bitch. “Especially since I have no idea as to who the hell you really are.”
Kevin continued to study me, and then gradually nodded. “I’m someone who’s trying to forget a painful past and live for today. Is that so hard to understand? Come on. Haven’t you begun to wonder why there are so many ex–Special Forces guys, former mercenaries, and sky jumpers living in Haleiwa? Surely, you’ve noticed.”
I
had
found it to be rather odd.
“It’s because we still feel the need to push ourselves to the edge,” Kevin said, not waiting for my response.
“What do you mean?” I questioned, in an effort to keep him talking. I’d rarely heard Kevin string more than five words together, and wanted to take full advantage of it.
Kevin rubbed his eyes so hard that loose saddlebags of skin formed beneath his fists.
“It’s like those retired cops you hear about. You know, the ones that take to playing Russian Roulette. They do it in order to confront their demons and get a good night’s sleep. Well, it’s pretty much the same thing with us. Only here, it’s a different game. We move to Haleiwa in order to surf and face down the monster waves. It’s how we get our daily dose of adrenaline. That’s what Jake is coming to terms with now.”
“Yeah, but there’s more to it than just acquiring an adrenaline rush,” I responded, having begun to calm down. “I’ve noticed that some surfers seem to attain an inner peace. It’s almost as if they live to be at one with the waves.”
“You’re right,” Kevin agreed. “Surfing allows us to let go of our worries and, for a few moments, be in a zone of perfect focus. It’s as if we’ve reached a state of Zen.” He shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “I guess you could say that a big wave is something akin to a spiritual entity for me.”
I was now beginning to understand why Santou was so drawn to surfing. At the same time, Kevin had opened the door just enough for me to find out a little more about him. He’d mentioned something in particular that intrigued me.
“Special Forces, huh? I crossed paths with someone that said he’d been with Special Forces while on my job in Montana. I believe he served in Desert Storm. The guy was a Blackfoot Indian by the name of Nathan, or Michael, or something,” I said, pretending to search my memory.
“You must mean Matthew Running,” Kevin swiftly responded.
I was surprised to find that the sound of his name still sent shock waves through me. I’d tried so hard to forget about the man. Only it had proven to be impossible.
Matthew Running was the tribal game officer for the Blackfeet Reservation of Montana. We’d worked together on a case, only to become involved in much more than just wildlife. Our fleeting affair had nearly ended my relationship with Santou.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” he continued.
“That’s it? You’ve just heard of him?” I lightly pressed.
Kevin would have probably been in Special Forces around the same time. If so, there’s no way that he wouldn’t have known Matthew.
I could almost feel Kevin weighing how much to tell me. The ghost of a memory seemed to flash across his eyes.
“Let’s just say we worked together for a while, and he was one of the best. Running served alongside a close friend that he’d grown up with, a buddy of his who was killed in action.”
That clinched it. Kevin really had known Matthew Running.
A shiver kissed the back of my neck and I glanced around, half expecting to find Matthew standing there. My heart sank a little to discover I was wrong.
“So, did I pass your test?” Kevin slyly questioned, bringing me back to reality.
“You’re doing better than before,” I grudgingly conceded. However, I still wasn’t ready to totally trust him. “Listen, you’re right. I admit that I’m protective of Jake. But we’ve been through a lot these past few years. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not about to let him be pulled back into any bad habits.”
“And that’s what you’re afraid will happen if he hangs with me?” Kevin queried.
I nodded wordlessly.
Kevin opened a cooler on the floor, pulled out a beer, and tossed it to me.
“I may be a lot of things, both good and bad. But I’m loyal as hell to my friends. And I can swear this much to you. Santou won’t be doing any drugs while I’m around,” Kevin said, his voice low and intense.
I sipped my beer and said nothing, still not completely satisfied.
Kevin looked at me and sighed. “Yeah, okay. And I’ll also make sure that he doesn’t take on any more monster waves,” he promised. “What do you say? Truce?”
I took a deep breath, and slowly let go of some of my animosity.
“Truce,” I agreed.
Only then did we clink our beer bottles together.
I was in bed with the sheets pulled around my head, my body buffeted by a cool breeze coming in off the trade winds. The ceiling fan languidly whirled above, softly purring, as if luring the current to hitch a ride on its blades. The drone of deep rhythmic breathing provided a backdrop of bass, its sound broken only by an occasional dreamlike whimper. It was Spam, fast asleep by my side, his head nestled on Jake’s pillow.
I remained awake until Santou tiptoed into the room at about 2
A.M
. He gently nudged the dog down along the foot of the bed, and then crawled under the covers beside me. A ray of moonlight traipsed among his curls, its reflection lightly grazing his cheek. The man looked so vulnerable that I thought my heart would break. Jake reached over and pulled me toward him. I rested my head on his
shoulder and knew that any disagreement between us had long since passed.
“I’m sorry if I scared you out there today,” he simply said.
I ran my fingers through his tangle of hair, splintering the moonbeam into a shower of luminous drops. Santou was home, and I could finally relax.
I’d grown to accept the fact that Jake was the antidote to all the darkness that tried to encroach upon me. He was that essential part of myself that was otherwise missing. Santou had made me believe love was not only worth fighting for, but that it was also worth taking a leap of faith. He was my heart, my breath, my soul mate.
“I’m sorry, too,” I admitted. “I just can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
“Don’t worry, chere. I’m here and don’t plan on going anywhere without you,” he swore in a husky whisper.
Then his fingers began to meticulously explore my body. Each touch was an electrical charge that wantonly probed every curve and valley, constantly finding new territory, until my entire being thrummed in response. It was only then, when I thought I couldn’t possibly stand any more, that Santou further explored with his lips and tongue, driving me over the threshold into sheer ecstasy. I let myself fall, unconcerned about a safety net. I didn’t need one as long as Jake was with me.