Mahu Blood (24 page)

OK, Lui singing country songs was just too much for me.

“What about the FBI? What happened when they blasted in?”

“Man, it was like something out of a movie. Cops and robbers, brah. They grabbed Tanaka and then started searching everybody for guns. At first I was scared shitless, but when they started letting everybody go, and I realized how much I’d won, I felt like I was the king of the world.”

He spread his arms out and spun around, like Leonardo di Caprio in
Titanic
.

“Are you drunk, brah?”

“I’m high on life.”

Oh, Jesus, I thought. “Come on, brah, I’ll drive you home.”

“I can drive, little bruddah. Only had two rumrunners. Don’t worry about me.”

I shook my head. I still had a lot to worry about—like would he be able to stop gambling, now he’d started again? I knew that winning that money would make him feel lucky again and make the temptation that much greater.

I decided I’d follow him up to St. Louis Heights, make sure he got home all right. “You drive safe, brah,” I said, as we reached his car.

As I walked away, I heard him turning the radio up loud and starting to sing. I wished I’d had a video camera trained on him; might make good evidence the next time he was acting like a stuck-up prig.

I got in my Jeep and caught up to Lui, who was driving with exaggerated care. I stayed behind him until he pulled into his own driveway. As I was heading back downhill, Ray called.

210 Neil S. Plakcy

“I’m outside the Kope Bean warehouse,” he said. “The FBI brought Tanaka here for a search party.”

“Very cool.”

“Nothing more I can do here, though. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

When I got home, Roby was waiting for me by the front door, jumping up and down like a demented kangaroo. The rest of the house was quiet, so I figured Mike was already asleep. I grabbed the leash, and Roby and I went for a long walk, up and down hills, as I tried to decompress from the evening.

I hadn’t realized how worried I’d been about my brother’s safety until I saw him walk out of the restaurant. I was tired of feeling nervous about people; I’d spent a lot of energy worrying about Lui’s gambling and my mother’s work with Kingdom of Hawai’i.

Even the goofy golden retriever on the other end of the leash had suffered a loss and was recovering from the trauma of the fire that had destroyed his home and sent him away from the family who loved him. By the time Roby and I circled back to the house, I was pretty sure he had no more urine left in his bladder, and I was yawning and ready for bed.

Saturday morning I woke to find Mike’s leg crossed over mine and his tongue tickling the outside of my ear.

“Missed you last night.”

He ran his hand down my chest to my dick, which responded to his touch. We began carrying out the promises our bodies had made at The Garage the night before.

We were kissing and rubbing our bodies together when Roby’s big golden head appeared over the side of the bed.

“Down, boy,” Mike said. “This is not a participatory sport.”

I laughed and pushed the dog away. He settled down on the floor next to the bed and had to wait until Mike and I had both had our fill of each other before I crawled out of bed, pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and took him for his walk, as Mike rolled MAhu BLood
211

over and went back to sleep.

I skipped breakfast in order to make it to headquarters and meet Ray just after eight. “I’ve been thinking about what you found out at the bar last night,” he said, as I handed him a bodyboard-sized macadamia latte I’d picked up for him from the Kope Bean on my way in.

“Yeah?”

“What if O’Malley’s death isn’t related to the others at all—

just a coincidence? You said that the bartender recognized the hustler had been in there before. He made a play for O’Malley, then went home with him. Both concierges confirmed that he often brought tough-looking guys home with him.”

“But why kill O’Malley?” I asked. “He was already hog-tied.

The hustler could have just picked up O’Malley’s wallet and jewelry and walked out.”

“Maybe O’Malley threatened him. Let me go, or I’ll drag your ass into court.”

“I don’t think O’Malley could have been that stupid.”

“Why stick the dildo up his ass?” Ray asked. “That’s anger, don’t you think? Like O’Malley did something to piss the guy off.”

“Could be. Or it could be a red herring, the killer trying to make us think this was a sex thing.”

I sipped my coffee and thought. “Besides, it’s just too coincidental. He told me he was worried about people involved with KOH, that they were dangerous. I think his death has to be connected to our appointment with him.”

“That’s certainly one theory,” Ray sipped his coffee, and sighed with pleasure, “but just to be thorough, let’s see if there’s anybody on duty in Vice who can tell us if there’s someone out there committing similar crimes.”

“They’ve probably all cut out for Labor Day,” I said, but followed Ray down to the B1 level, where I was surprised to find Juanita Lum at her desk.

212 Neil S. Plakcy

“Big sweep last night in Waikīkī,” she said. “I had to come in this morning to help out. You know the lieutenant, he’s lost without me.”

“I heard that,” Kee boomed from his office. He had a long, sad face like a Bassett hound and brush-cut black hair going gray at the sideburns. “What brings you gentlemen down to the bowels of the building?” he asked when we walked in.

I sketched out the details of O’Malley’s murder. Kee frowned.

“Let me see what we can dig up. Juanita! I need you in here.”

He swiveled his computer keyboard around so that she could lean over the desk and type. “Get me all the crimes involving gay men and sexual violence.”

“There’s a course next week,” she said, as she started to type.

“Computers for Dummies. You should sign up for it.”

“What do I need a course for when I’ve got you?”

“You want domestics, too, or just prostitutes?” she asked us.

“Nothing between long-term partners,” I said. “But not just prostitutes, if you can do that.”

“I keep this department running. I can do anything.”

She typed for a bit, scanned the monitor and then typed some more. “Next time we need something, we can come to you, huh, Juanita?” Ray asked. “Bypass the lieutenant altogether.”

“I’m not deaf, Detective,” Kee said. “Just computer-challenged.”

The printer on Kee’s credenza started spitting papers, and Juanita went back to her desk. Kee picked them up and scanned them before handing them to us.

“Mostly it’s the working boys who get hurt,” he said, as Ray and I moved together to look at the sheets. “Customer realizes the goods aren’t what he expected, he gets angry. That kind of thing.”

He handed us another couple of sheets. “Every now and then you get a john who gets ripped off and calls us, though.”

MAhu BLood
213

Two complaints stood out. The most important was one filed by Adam O’Malley over a year before.

“Guy sure didn’t learn his lesson,” Ray said, looking over my shoulder.

According to the police report, O’Malley had met a man at a bar, then gone to a secluded area of Kapiolani Park with him.

The guy had pulled a knife and taken O’Malley’s watch, wallet and college ring. I remembered being that desperate, long before, when I was still in the closet and picking up the occasional guy in a bar. I’d been lucky never to get in trouble, but I knew what it felt like to throw caution out the window when you were horny.

The other looked more promising. A tourist had gone to The Garage a couple of months before and picked up a man whose description fit the guy who’d left with O’Malley, in a very general way—skinny, white, tattoos.

According to the tourist, the skinny guy had picked him up and taken him to a cheap motel a few blocks away. Skinny had suggested that the tourist jump into the shower, promising to join him there. By the time the hot water had run out, the tourist figured something was wrong. When he stepped out of the shower, the skinny guy was gone, along with the tourist’s watch, wallet and clothes. There was no phone in the room, so he’d had to walk down to the office wrapped only in his towel.

“You know anything about this guy?” I asked, pushing the paper back to Kee.

He picked it up and scanned it. “I remember this one,” he said. “The tourist left, and then a couple of weeks later his gold Rolex showed up at a pawn shop. We pulled in Shakey Simons, but he swore he got the watch from another guy in exchange for some information. Of course, he didn’t know the other guy’s name or where to find him.”

“Can we talk to Shakey?” I asked.

“Wish you could. He died a couple of weeks ago. HIV, complicated by ice.”

“So it’s unlikely he was at The Garage on Friday.”

214 Neil S. Plakcy

“That’s what I like about working with you bruddahs from Homicide. Always so quick to pick things up.”

“This is all you’ve got?” I asked.

“If that’s all Juanita found, then that’s all we’ve got.”

“Which leaves us with nothing,” Ray said, as we headed back to the elevator.

MeetiNg oLd fRieNds

When we got back to our desks, Ray said, “We should look around for any similar MOs, guys picked up at that bar or others. You’ve got contacts. See if there’s anyone who’s been too embarrassed to report something.”

Ray googled O’Malley, trying to guess what he might have known about Kingdom of Hawai’i. I flipped through the old address book I had found in O’Malley’s closet, looking for familiar names. On the F page, I found one I knew: Gunter Franz.

“Jesus, Gunter,” I muttered to myself. “Have you slept with every gay man on this island?”

It was just after ten, time to wake Gunter from his beauty sleep. “You have a few minutes to assist the police with their inquiries?” I asked, after he picked up.

“Are you buying breakfast?” I heard him yawn through the phone.

“Beachside Broiler in fifteen.” I hung up and told Ray, “I’m taking a run over to Waikīkī. Be back in a while.”

Gunter and I often ate breakfast at the Beachside Broiler when I lived in Waikīkī. It was a touristy buffet in one of the hotels on Hobron Lane, with an ocean view and pretty decent food. On my way inside I picked up one of the free magazines and found a two-for-one coupon. I was flipping through the magazine and looking at the ads for gay bars when Gunter came in, skinny as ever, his blond buzz cut newly shaved. He wore a skin-tight white tank top with a rampant dragon on it, flames from the dragon’s mouth swirling all the way around to his back.

“So what’s the occasion?” Gunter asked, as we loaded up our trays with macadamia nut pancakes, sausage patties, fluffy rolls and slices of fresh pineapple and papaya.

I waited until we were seated, in a quiet corner of the restaurant, before I asked, “You know a guy named Adam O’Malley?”

216 Neil S. Plakcy

Gunter’s forkful of hash browns stopped halfway to his mouth. “When you ask me about men, it usually means they’re either under arrest or dead.”

“Dead.”

His fork clattered back to his plate. “Shit.”

“So you did know him?”

“Yeah. Not that well. I tricked with him a couple of times, and then I gave him a client referral about a year ago. He took me out to a fancy dinner to say thanks.”

“What kind of referral?”

“Guy I knew who was starting a business, needed some legal advice. What happened to Adam?”

I told him about finding O’Malley’s body the day before. He just nodded, and we both ate in silence for a few minutes.

“That jive with what you knew about him?” I asked, pushing my half-finished plate away. I’d lost my appetite. “That he picked up the wrong kind of guy?”

“Yeah.” He told me the same story I’d heard from Greg Oshiro—conflicted about his sexuality, O’Malley looked for men who’d treat him badly.

I shook my head. “Poor son of a bitch. You know any of his friends?”

“Not really. I’d just see him at bars now and then.”

“You hear of anybody else who’s gotten in trouble the same way Adam did? Picking up a guy and getting mugged?”

“Usually it’s the tourists who get in trouble,” Gunter said.

“But if you want to ask around, this group I belong to, Māhū

Nation, is sponsoring a picnic tomorrow afternoon. One of the guys there might be able to point you toward someone.”

“Māhū Nation? What kind of group is that?”

“Just a bunch of guys. Once you abandoned me for domesticated life, I had to look for friends elsewhere.”

MAhu BLood
217

“I can do without the drama queen routine. I get that from Mike.”

“Yeah, he’s so hot he has to wear asbestos underwear.”

I’d seen Gunter get catty before, but there had always been an undercurrent of fun. That day, though, he didn’t seem happy.

Was he jealous that I’d moved in with Mike? Left him to his single life?

I remembered my purpose. “Thanks for the tip about the picnic. I’ll talk to Mike about it. It might be a good way to find someone who saw my victim at The Garage.”

When I got back to headquarters, Ray told me he had found O’Malley’s name in conjunction with KOH in a couple of places online. Once he had been quoted in a
Star-Bulletin
article, and he’d been mentioned a few times as the attorney of record for KOH. But there was no indication of what kind of damaging information he might have had.

I tried the FBI, but the agent on duty informed me that Salinas was involved in a case and all the agent could do was take a message.

We hadn’t released O’Malley’s name to the press yet, and I wondered what kind of reaction we could get out of his coworkers. I called his office, and a human being answered the phone. I hung up without saying anything; I just wanted to see if anyone was there.

“It’s a wonderful world, isn’t it?” I said. “Hard-working attorneys piling up billable hours over the Labor Day holiday.”

“Even better, it’s your turn to drive,” Ray said.

The Fields and Yamato office was in a high-rise tower overlooking the port of Honolulu. A teenaged Hawaiian boy sat at the reception desk, working at a computer monitor. “Aloha,”