Finders Keepers, page 4
“Daddy, I’m your daughter—he’s your employee. There’s a big difference. I can keep your secrets.” Tears rimmed Sachiko’s eyes.
“Stop right there. Benjamin isn’t going anywhere, and neither are you. End of conversation. Now, about your birthday. I think we’ll fly over so we can celebrate in style together. How would that be?”
“Oh, yes, Daddy. Can I throw a party?”
“No party, just us—the family—dinner, I think. You and me with Benjamin and Minette. We’ll fly over and be there by six. Dinner will be my treat.”
“Oh, thank you, Daddy. I can’t wait, and we can talk more about it. Well, you know, Princeville can’t be forever.”
“I’ll have Minette arrange it. See you next week, sweetheart.”
He hung up.
Of course it’s your treat, Daddy. Everything in my fucking life is your treat, for God’s sake! Sachiko looked at the phone and shook her head. Then came the flood of tears and her exasperated, strangled scream.
CHAPTER 5
Jesus, another day in paradise, Flash said to himself—slurred to himself, actually. The blinding sun shocked his eyelids, then they ripped open. “Ouch!” Moaning, he tried to sit up, only to fall back onto a nest of a dirty linens down at the foot of his bed, half of it on the floor. His head was swimming, his eyes burned, and his stomach felt as though he’d been punched hard recently. He was dizzy and afraid he might throw up.
Eyes closed, Flash reached for the institutional-size bottle of Advil on the table next to his bed. He opened the bottle and felt one, two, three, then four of the little coated pills, pushed them between his lips and swallowed.
He dozed off for a few minutes, maybe days—No, he thought, not days, certainly not days. He was relieved that the pain had dulled a little.
The nausea hadn’t eased, however. I need to feel better right now, was all he could think. Maybe by this afternoon?
He had no idea what day it was. Not just the day—he wasn’t even sure what month it was. All he knew was the sun was out.
Part of being erased seemed to be a kind of hangover deja vu. One long Groundhog Day, featuring nausea, headaches, disorientation, and, well, beer. Flash closed his eyes and dozed again.
He dreamed of lying on a beach towel at what might have been Poipu Beach, eyes closed. He could both see himself and feel himself on the towel. Flash on the towel, in the sun, was magically, completely, in an otherworldly sense, without pain, anxiety, tension, or fear. In this dream, the absence of everything upsetting and physically taxing was better than any high or any drink he had ever experienced.
Then from above, Flash noticed his skin was turning pink, and he felt the tingle of sunburn. He wanted to wake the sleeping Flash, but he couldn’t. Sleeping Flash was oblivious to everything, including the tiny pinpricks as he began to burn. Then Flash heard his daughter Pippa’s voice calling him. “Wake up, Daddy. Please wake up!”
Flash sat bolt upright in bed, sweating, heart racing, gulping air.
Chief Malcolm Forsyth dismissed his department heads after yet another month-in-review meeting. John Horan was one of the first to reach the door.
“John, a minute please,” the chief said.
John, who was always in a hurry, mostly because he believed movement made him look good, stopped and turned around.
“Close the door, John.”
John came back into the office. He sat in one of the chairs in front of the chief’s desk, straightened the crease on a trouser leg, looked up at the chief, and said, “Yes, sir, what is it?”
The chief leaned back in his chair, which squeaked. He said nothing for a long moment.
“John, I need an update on our ex-inspector Michael. And anything you’ve learned about the missing money.”
Long pauses, John knew, were one of the chief’s favorite interrogation devices. He was wary of the chief, not just because of the chief’s power and position, but because he knew the chief would hang him out to dry in a heartbeat if he had questions about police impropriety. Screw him, John thought. Wait him out.
“John?”
“Yes, sir.” This was the tricky part. How could he tell the chief the same story he’d told him a month previously, only somehow make the answer sound new, or at least newer?
“Yes, sir, so you know we saw Flash at REI, purchasing what looked like camping gear.”
“Yes, you told me that.”
“Well, I’ve also heard from a friend at the FBI that they, too, are interested in our boy. They reviewed his security clearance history, which gave them a good excuse to interview his father, his ex-wife, and several friends. It turns out no one imagined he would do a runner. They seemed to suspect that his leaving the department wasn’t voluntary, and one friend reported that Flash uncharacteristically clammed up and refused to discuss any of the details with them. That’s a good thing, don’t you think?”
“Hmm. Do we have any idea where he has gone? Yet?”
“No, sir. None. But, well, you know, as long as he’s out of the picture, we have no missing money issue. It’s completely locked down.”
“What about the bad guys?” asked the chief, seeming to be deep in thought.
“Well, sir, they’ve gone completely dark. Disappeared, just like the money. I really wonder if they didn’t somehow outflank us.”
“What do you mean, outflank us?”
“Why else would they have gone quiet? Couple it with Flash disappearing, and the circumstances just make me wonder if they didn’t get at least some of their money, after all.”
“You mean they made a deal with Flash or got rid of him?” The chief sounded interested.
“Could be, sir. I wouldn’t be surprised. Say the bastards found him—they’d kill him in a heartbeat. Or maybe he’s done a runner with the money, and they’re busy looking for him. Part of me wants to dig to the bottom of this, but part of me thinks we should leave the whole mess alone. He’s gone. The money’s gone. Why stir the pot? We have nothing to gain other than more exposure.”
The chief steepled his fingers, his face twisted into a scowl, and he said, “I don’t like it. I don’t want exposure, either, but if we could find out where he is, we might be able to manage the situation if and when. No, we need to keep looking, stay in touch with the FBI too. Interpol? Anything from them?”
“No, nothing. But you know Interpol. They make the FBI look nimble, and we all know how far from nimble the FBI is.” John paused, thinking, Let the old man worry. If any of this leaks, he’s between a rock and a hard place. “As for our people, we’ve put ears and eyes on phone and data traffic, but nothing so far. We’re also trying to find out how it was our boy got out of town so cleanly, if he did leave town, that is.”
The chief smirked, shook his head and said, “Well, let’s not forget he worked undercover, and he’s smart. I’ll give him that much. Sometimes I wonder if sending people undercover is just training them to become crooks.” He paused in thought. “No, I don’t mean that. Those people are heroes. But I sure as hell wonder about our friend Flash.”
John sat quietly while the chief prattled on. All of this was nothing but self-indulgent crap. He might be the chief of police, but clearly, he was scared. His worst nightmare was that this situation might morph into an indelible, end-of-life blemish on his spotless record.
Well, good, the more the old man worried about his pristine record, the less he’d fret about where the money went. To John, that was a big win.
John said, “Yeah, I wonder about him, too. One good thing, though, Watson and Internal Affairs seem to have forgotten about him. We don’t need those snakes sniffing around the nest.”
The chief sat up at that and said, “No, John, we don’t. We really, really don’t. I’m counting on you to see that nothing happens to renew their interest in our little fuckup. Do you think you can manage that, Lieutenant?
“Yes, sir!”
“Good. Then I think we’re done here.”
“Yes, sir.” John rose and headed for the door. Nice try, you prick! Just like you to put me between you and Internal Affairs, you self-righteous jerk. Well, we’ll see how that plays out, because I’m not going down for this, and I’m certainly not taking a bullet for you. If I can just hang in here for a year or so, then, well, nine-million dollars and the rest of my life, baby!
CHAPTER 6
Still breathing hard, Flash pushed himself up on one elbow. Perhaps he could use a hangover break. After all, he had been hung over for—well, months, a long, almost endless, string of hangovers.
Flash had gone all in on erasing what he was calling his “old self.” As best he could figure, that seemed to be working. But apparently, a massive physical and psychological price was associated with the process. Goddamn it, he said to himself, no beer for breakfast. Well, at least not for today. Lunch maybe, or dinner maybe, but not for breakfast.
That decided, he swallowed four Advil, brushed his teeth, and pulled on his tropical paradise uniform: khaki hiking shorts, a faded t-shirt that said, “Kiss Me I’m on Vacation,” flip-flops permanently bent from wear, and a Seattle Mariners baseball cap—faded blue on top, dark blue around the sweatband.
He checked himself in the bathroom mirror.
He needed a haircut. His black hair was long, so he pushed it off his forehead to the right, and swept it back over his ears. His gray-blue eyes were slightly bloodshot, of course, but that was the only real sign of his dissipation—he hadn’t gone to flab, at least not so far.
He noticed he was slouching, though, so he stood up straight. There, he thought, still one inch short of six feet. A good height for running, and high school football. He’d been a quarterback then and had been physically active ever since. He didn’t think of himself as handsome, but women often did—the face in the mirror seemed kind. However he looked, anyway, people appeared to like him; he always had friends. Past tense—had friends.
Out on the street, Flash walked along the covered boardwalk that fronted Koloa Town’s center, a string of old and older buildings, all wood, dark brown, and weathered. As he did every morning, beer or no beer, he headed west, past the Garden Island Grill, which occupied the main floor of his building, past Sueoka Market—a real honest-to-god small town grocery store—and, as he reached the parking lot adjacent to Sueoka’s, he stopped. He would usually crack open a beer in the lot, then turn left to walk along a footpath that would take him to Poipu Road, and eventually the beach, where he would further indulge in his beer-for-breakfast routine.
But since he hadn’t gone into Sueoka’s, he hadn’t bought any Foster’s, the breakfast of retired champions, and he wasn’t opening one in the parking lot. So he set off, not turning left toward the beach, but straight ahead, across the bridge over Waikimo Stream, flip-flopping along another boardwalk to Koloa Roasters.
Koloa Roasters was one of those inside/outside places so common in the tropics. Protected by two huge banyan trees, the café was open at the front where a number of big tables invited guests, and a bakery and a coffee counter served treats and meals across the back interior wall. Flash ordered a double mocha and two mango scones, picked up his order at the far end of the bar, and took his breakfast out under the two trees’ impossibly long and majestic arms.
Despite the usual crowd, Flash found an open table with one chair. He took one of the scones out of the pastry bag and put half of it in his mouth. Then he slurped at his hot mocha. Sugar, butter, mango, cocoa, whipped cream, caffeine/coffee—repeat. The experience was absolute heaven, almost as good as Foster’s.
He leaned back in the wooden chair, folded his hands in his lap, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and sighed. Aloha.
“Hey, beach bum, you slumming? Hey, you, beach bum, are you slumming? Vacation over?”
Flash opened his eyes and looked around. He couldn’t see if someone was talking to him, or what. So, he closed his eyes again.
“Hey, beach bum, you should come over here.”
Flash opened his eyes and looked around again, more slowly this time. He spotted a hand waving on the far side of the patio and then recognized Mia, who was wearing a red-and-white muumuu and motioning at him. He was impressed that her voice could carry through the din. He picked up his cup and the crumpled, empty pastry bag and walked over to greet her. She held out her hand to shake, then gestured to an empty chair.
“Have a seat, beach bum, I want to introduce you to my friends. You’ve been here long enough. You need to meet some real people.”
“Hello, friends,” said Flash, surveying the two women seated across from Mia. He hesitated for a moment, then sat down.
Mia gestured to a young woman with short blonde hair wearing a khaki-and-green police uniform. “This is Officer Kellie Peterson. She’s the daughter of an old friend of mine.”
Officer Kellie was a strong-looking woman. “Stout” would actually describe her best, and like so many officers Flash had known, her tailored uniform was tight fitting. She was shorter than Flash by a head and dark complected, which against her blonde hair made for a kind of well-groomed beach-bum look. Her eyes were black and her smile seemed natural. She extended her hand to shake Flash’s. Mia smiled.
“And this is another dear young friend, Emma Pookalani. Her mother and I went to high school, did Girl Scouts, and had babies together, but she’s gone now. Her mother, I mean, by way of the cancer. We were just discussing Emma’s son, a boy. You were a boy once, so maybe you could help us, beach bum.”
Emma seemed young and old at the same time. She was perhaps in her early thirties, with black hair, shoulder length. She was dressed in designer jeans and a Hawaiian silk blouse, purple with a painted bird of paradise pointing toward her left shoulder. Her eyes were black, and she was slight, with olive skin, thin arms and neck, and high cheekbones. She extended her hand politely in greeting, but she wasn’t smiling.
Flash said, “How do you do, Emma?”
Emma held his hand and his eyes for a moment, then released his hand and looked over at Mia.
Mia said, “Oh, we’ve had better times, but you know about boys, so sit.” She looked at Mia and continued, “Flash here, I call him beach bum because he is a beach bum. He’s renting the apartment above the grill.”
The two younger women nodded, both looking at Flash. Kellie asked, “Where are you from?”
Before Flash could say anything, Mia jumped in. “Kellie, dear, Flash, my beach bum renter, he’s a good renter. He’s living the life of a beach bum, you know. Haole boys, men, they all dream of doing it! The mystery is a big part of it, dear, a guy thing. Don’t interrogate him about his dream. He’ll leave town if you badger him, and I’ll lose my renter.”
“Sorry, Auntie,” the officer said. Then, looking at Flash, she added, “Pardon me, Flash. How are you enjoying our island, then?”
“It’s great, just like Auntie says, a beach-bum dream come true.”
Mia and Kellie laughed, and Emma smiled weakly.
Mia’s face darkened, and she said, “Today we’re sad though. Paul, Emma’s nineteen-year-old boy, has gone missing! Did you ever run away when you were a boy, Flash?”
“Ah, only once, overnight. Came home the next day with my tail between my legs,” Flash said, trying to be encouraging.
“Yes, well, we wish Paul would do the same. Kellie is working on the missing person’s angle. He’s been gone a week, so we’re sad and kinda worried.”
A week. That didn’t sound good. “I hope you find him soon,” said Flash.
“Me too.” Kellie sighed. “It’s strange, though. He goes to work at a fast-food place one morning—Burger King in Lihue—does his shift, leaves, and vanishes. Poof.”
“This is a pretty small place,” Flash said. “No one has seen him, none of the kids? How about his hangout places, surfing beach, cellphone?”
“No,” said Kellie. “Nothing—phone, media, credit and debit cards, all silent, too.”
Emma spoke for the first time. “We’ve put his picture out there, social media, all that stuff. Nothing.” She looked over at Flash. “Where would you go if you were going wandering away, I wonder?”
Flash spoke without thinking. “You would know better than anyone, especially if you’re close to him. Parents and siblings are always the primary sources, followed by peer groups, teachers, coworkers, then his social media, cellphone, and well—” He looked around at the three women. “I have a friend who’s a cop. He told me about a runaway case once. But Kellie here has probably done all that stuff. Sorry. I don’t mean to butt in.”
Kellie smiled warmly. “Don’t worry about butting in. You’d have to get in line behind Auntie Mia. She’s relentless at interrogating me about our police work, like over and over!” She rolled her eyes and looked at Mia, then at Flash. “You sure you’re not a cop, Flash?”
“Kellie!” Mia barked. “Leave him alone. He’s my renter, not your business!”
Flash didn’t answer her, just smiled and said to Emma, “I hope you find your son soon. This must be hard for you.”
Emma swiped at a rogue tear with a crumpled Koloa Roasters napkin, shook her head, sniffed, then whispered, “Yes, it’s very hard. I feel so lost without him, and I’m scared for him.”
Flash stood up and gave the women a little wave. “Nice to meet you guys. See you later, Mia. I need to get back to my beach-bumming. Places to go, things to see.”
He thought he could feel Kellie’s eyes following him as he left the table and walked out into the warm morning sun. He shrugged it off and made his way back toward the bridge and the grocery store parking lot. This time, he turned right and flip-flopped down the road toward the beach.
CHAPTER 7
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday, dear Sachiko, she sang in a an uncharacteristically soft voice. Thirty years old. No, that can’t be right. Happy birthday to me. Shit, it is right. Oh, well, Daddy is coming, and he’s got to let me back. No, not just let me back—he’s got to get rid of that bozo, Benjamin. That’s it, he needs me to help him run his business, now! Please, Daddy, please, please, please, Daddy! I can do it! God, he must know I can do it. I’m thirty, goddamnit, Daddy! Yes, I am. Thirty and ready, Daddy, aren’t I?
