Hot Lava (16 page)

“And if we don’t?” Brandon asked.

The smile suddenly vanished. “Then we trade him for Liko. I mean, maybe Liko didn’t kill Lenny, but he’s definitely not all that innocent, either. A pimp for an FBI agent sounds like a fair trade to me.”

“But how do we do that?” Koni asked.

“Difficult, but not impossible,” I replied. “Judy and Liza now work for Liko. Liko drives a limousine. What if some rich bozo ordered up two Anglo hookers to go up to La’ie? And what if Liko had to take them there? Then, we get up to La’ie undercover with Liko in tow. Simple.”

My cohorts nodded, but looked unsure. “Then what?” Brandon asked, party-pooping all over my plan. “Even if we somehow managed to find Jed’s hideout, how do we get Liko there along with us? And, even if we do manage that, how do we convince Jed to trade Will for him? Need I remind you, dear Chase, we have no real evidence against Liko, especially nothing that will make it look like Liko is out to get Jed instead of who really is, namely the incarcerated Edward Beles.”

“Ah,” I ahed, one final and glorious time, my smile now in full radiant force. “Not nothing, Brandon. We do, in fact, have one piece of evidence.” From my bra, the one David gratefully made me keep on during our less than enjoyable (mostly) sexcapade, I removed a lone slip of paper, the one I’d stolen from the file. “Whoever wrote what’s on this paper did so to set Jed up. If we can prove it was Liko, then even if it is Edward that’s after Jed, it’s only because of our dear, pimping, limo-driver friend. Meaning, we do indeed have something to trade with.”

“And if we can’t prove it?” Briana asked. “If we can’t prove that Liko wrote the note?”

I poured the remainder of the wine and admonished her, “Glass half full, Briana. Glass half full.”

***

To be on the safe side (chicken-shits that we are) we pushed the dresser in front of the door and all slept in one room, waking up early to put our plan into action. (Well, and to fortify ourselves with chocolate-chip pancakes and mimosas.) Yes, it was convoluted and, no, it wasn’t easy, but it was all we had to work with.

Thankfully, we now had Briana, who Liko had yet to meet. Wearing her red wig and Jackie O. sunglasses, she was as incognito as we could possibly get her. She called down and ordered a limo, requesting Liko as her driver. Then she was off, to meet him face to face.

“It’s okay that we’re about to go to the beach while she’s risking life and limb, right?” I asked.

“It’s what she would’ve wanted,” Brandon replied, leaving her a note where to find us upon her return. “Though better to inform her of this after the fact.”

“You guys are scared of a girl that barely reaches your chests,” Koni chided.

“Meaning, her fists are at crotch level,” I reminded him.

“Oh, right.” He grimaced, covering his groin. “I forgot.”

So we headed down, breathing in the fresh ocean air as the elevator opened up to reveal the new day. Yes, we were nervous, but at least we were now doing something to try and get Will back. And something was definitely better than nothing. Granted, when we rescued him with rich, sultry tans, he might not see it that way, but, as I always say, it’s better to look good and feel terrible than to look terrible and feel good. (Okay, I don’t
always
say that, but I planned on doing so when Will eventually asked me how I could go sunbathing while he was being held in captivity -- locked in a dank basement, gnawing on a grisly cow bone.)

The chairs, as always, appeared seemingly out of nowhere, with our feet disappearing into the warm sand within seconds. I stared out at the sparkling blue water, the waves calm, rolling peacefully in, as couples held hands and walked through the cool, tumbling surf. I felt a pang in my heart, a throbbing in my chest. Brandon looked over and noticed my frown. “This
will
work,” he told me, rubbing my hand.

“Pretty iffy,” I replied.

“The best plans always are.”

I laughed. “That don’t make a lick of sense.”

“No,” he laughed back. “But, as George Michael says, you gotta have faith.”

“The same George Michael who’s been arrested for cruising men’s bathrooms and passing out in his car while on drugs?” I asked.

“Okay, bad example,” he allowed, with a shrug. “Still, it’s going to work.”

Then Koni leaned in, and just simply had to ask, “Who’s George Michael?”

“Oh, dear God,” I groaned. “The fetus is bugging me again, Brandon.”

My friend kicked some sand his way. “Shut up, fetus,” he cautioned.

Koni harrumphed, but otherwise did as we asked, only barely whispering, “Geezers,” below his breath.

I smiled just the same, glad to at least have the company of comrades in arms, plus our newly-served second mimosas of the day.

Thirty minutes later, Briana made her triumphant return, her itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka-dot bikini barely covering what little of her there was. “Glad to see you were worried about me,” she told us, taking the seat we had reserved for her.

“Will this make up for it?” Brandon asked, handing her a frosty piña colada in a large hurricane glass, with a thick slab of pineapple wedged on the rim.

“It’s a start,” she replied, the smile returning to her pretty face.

“So?” I asked eagerly, turning to look her way.

“So,” she responded, “it’s all set. I pretended to play the bumbling assistant looking for
company
for her bosses. Billionaire bosses. Which perked Liko’s ears up right quick.”

“Then you told him that the
company
would need to be in La’ie sometime tonight, for whatever fee deemed appropriate?” I asked.

Her smile widened. “I could see the dollar signs flash above his head. Naturally, he said he knew of two girls that would be perfect and then offered to drive them there himself, telling me he got off work at three o’clock and then asking if that would work. I told him that would be fine, but only if these associates of his met a certain criteria.”

“Meaning Anglo and looking exactly like us, of course,” Brandon interjected.

“Yep. Exactly. Liko paused, but said that was fine. I bet he’s out looking for you two even as we speak. Better give him a call before he finds two other
girls
like you,” she said, downing half her drink in celebration of her obvious success.

I nodded and jumped up. Liko didn’t have our cell phone numbers, nor would he ever. I called him from the lobby pay phone. Needless to say, he was delighted to hear from me.

“Judy,” he practically squealed. “I was just thinking about you and Liza.”

I bet.
“How sweet. So, how did our little
test
go?”

He laughed. “Like gangbusters. Mister Yamasuka and Mister Morioka are hard to please. They said they couldn’t wait to see you both again.”

“They know that many words of English?” I asked, only barely joking.

“Cute. Very cute. Hey, while I have you on the line, I have a job for you ladies. Rich clients, up in La’ie.”

I paused, for effect. “We can’t get up there,” I told him. “No cars.”

“I’ll take you,” he quickly informed me. “Good for business, anyway. Expanding the territory. Beautiful drive, too. And big bucks. See, I told you, Liko will take good care of the two of you.”

“Yep,” I cooed, “you sure did. So, what time will you be picking us up?”

I could practically hear him smiling from across the line. “A little after three. Same place as before. That work for you two?”

“Like a charm,” I replied. “See you then.”

After a quick phone call, I ran back to our chairs to find my friends chomping at the bit. “Well? Well?” Brandon practically shouted.

“So far, so good,” I told them, plopping down with a heavy sigh. “Plus, I figured out a way to get Liko to Jed’s, should the need arise.”

“How’s that?” Briana asked. “Drugging? Clobbering? Drugging and clobbering?”

I winced and replied, “Um, sounds like someone needs to get some aggressions out.”

She reached over and socked me one in the arm. “Yes. Are you volunteering?”

“Anyway,” I said, wisely changing the subject as I rubbed my sore spot, “no, no violence needed. I mean, you told Liko to drop Judy and Liza off at a local Starbucks, right?”

“Right,” she agreed. “He drops you off and picks you back up when you call him. My so-called bosses like their anonymity. He said he could wait until noon the next day.”

“Exactly. So, if all goes as planned and we find Jed, we call Liko and tell him to pick us up there. Then we make the swap. Him for Will.”

“But it’ll be his word against ours when the confrontation occurs. And why on earth would Jed believe two tranny hookers? Again, we have no proof that Liko wrote that note,” Brandon argued.

To which I argued back, “No proof. Not yet. But wait, I think we will.”

Koni looked our way, his head swinging from side to side. “Um, so I don’t suppose you’d like to share this side plan with us, would you?”

“Nope. Not yet. Still working out the logistics,” I told him. “But fret not, little one, you’ll be there to see it come to fruition.”

“He will?” Brandon asked, surprised at our young friend’s inclusion.

“Yeah, I will?” Koni asked. “But how? I still don’t get this part. Liko is driving you and Brandon up. He doesn’t even know about me and Briana. Thank God.”

“And he never will, hopefully. But Brandon and I need you in La’ie.”

“To help find Jed?” he asked.

“To help find Jed, yes. Odds are good he has people working for him on the streets up there. People you might know. People who hopefully know where to find him.”

“Huh,” he huhed, his smile now evident, glowing like the shining sun. “You guys really do need me.”

I reached over and patted his mop of hair. “Of course. Look at us. Could we possibly do this without you?”

He laughed. “Actually, it’s a wonder you two can tie your own shoelaces.”

I raised my feet to show him my laceless sandals. “Exactly,” I concurred.

“But how do I get up to La’ie?” Koni thought to ask.

“There’s more than one limo driver in Oahu, and after I got off the phone with Liko, I hired one for you and Briana. He’s picking you two up thirty minutes before Brandon and I get picked up.”

“So we’ll have a head start,” Briana added.

“Exactly,” Brandon said.

“Yes, exactly,” I agreed, suddenly staring at Koni, who had a strange look on his face. “What is it?” I asked him.

I roused him from his thought. “Oh, um, probably nothing. Just something I was thinking about. La’ie is a super small community. I don’t know, maybe five thousand people at most. Why would Jed set up shop there?”

I shrugged. “Is there something there to attract tourists?”

He scratched his head, then smiled. “Oh, yeah. Big time. The Polynesian Cultural Center is in La’ie. Huge place. Run by the Mormons.”

“Huh?” I huhed.

“Yeah, huh?” Brandon echoed.

Koni nodded his noggin. “Yeah, sounds weird. But Brigham Young University Hawaii is up there, and they own and run the Center. Most of the performers and employees are Mormon students from Polynesian countries, and they’re there on scholarship. Place turns a big-ass profit, too. Meaning, mucho tourists.”

“Mucho tourists with money to burn,” Briana added.

“And for Jed to rake in,” I also added.

“Now all we have to do is find him,” Brandon added to our additions.

I shut my eyes and buried my head in my hands. The sum of all this wasn’t going to be easy to come by, I figured. Not by a long shot.

Chapter 7

Mormons Duped

We ate lunch on the beach, waiting for our appointed hours with destiny. The meal, needless to say, didn’t sit well with us. (Though the drinks, needless to say, were fabulous and consumed in their entirety.) And then, all too soon, we were back in our rooms getting dressed -- Brandon in a short, short, one-piece frock and me in a long, long two-piecer. Luckily, if we were still able to use such a word without getting struck by lightning, we weren’t really going to La’ie for business, at least not the kind Liko had intended for us.

Briana and Koni left with a hug and a kiss and a promise for a quick reunion. They’d go up north, do some quick reconnaissance work, and meet up with us soon after we were dropped off. After that, we’d again be a foursome in search of our missing fifth, namely Will.

“Some vacation,” I murmured a short while later, trudging down the street, sticky sweat dripping down my pancaked forehead.

“Least we’re seeing the island, though,” responded Brandon. Uncharacteristically, a strange smile appearing on his already-tanned face.

I turned to look at him. “Huh?” I huhed. “Oh, wait, you just took a pretty blue pill, didn’t you?”

“Two,” he replied. “Want one?”

“Two,” I also replied.

“Smart. They do take the edge off.” He handed me the miniscule saviors, which I downed in one relieved gulp. “Better?” he asked.

“Couldn’t be any worse.”

He glanced down and took himself, then myself, in. “Well, it could be. Our dresses could be off the sales rack.
Blech
.”

I grinned, despite the circumstances. “That the pills talking or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

His grin widened. “What do you think?”

I nodded my head, as did he. “The pills,” we replied as one.

A minute later, we were walking into the now-familiar International Marketplace. Our smiles turned upside down when we spotted our new boss in the food court, his hand up and waving, his mouth stuffed with masticated hotdog.

He stood when we approached, offering a hand and a crumb-filled smile. I shivered, despite the fact that, yes, he was still adorable. “Ladies, a pleasure,” he mumbled, chewing as he gulped down his lunch.

We forced our own smiles to return. “Same here,” I said, with Brandon nodding.

Small talk clearly over, he started to lead us on our not-so-merry way.

“Wait,” I semi-shouted.

He paused and turned. “Wait? Can’t. Clients are expecting us.”

“I mean, wait just a minute, please. We, um, we have a small matter to attend to.”

“We do?” Liko asked.

“Yeah, we do?” Brandon asked, his head tilted to the side, all confused-puppy-like.

“Yes, we do,” I reiterated, willing my still-in-the-dark friend to go along with my bright, shiny plan.

“Oh, oh yeah, we do,” he agreed, taking a seat and crossing his ladylike legs, thrice covered in nylon. (
Thrice
, now there’s a word not often used. Like lull and, um, cull.)

I joined him and bade Liko to sit. He grumbled, but did as we asked. “Fine, just please hurry. Time is money.”

“Exactly,” I readily agreed, removing a piece of crisp, white paper from my brand new Prada purse. (Calfskin, beige, three sparkling rhinestones along the side. Heaven.) A stylish silver pen was quickly added alongside. “And money
is
the name of the game,” I added, trying my best to keep my voice even. And womanly. Though by then I was willing to settle for one of the two, the latter being the safest bet at that very moment.

In any case, he sighed, his eyes turning to mere slits, and said, “Um, FYI, I
hate
games.”

My veins turned to ice, despite the intense Hawaiian heat. “Not a game, then,” I quickly corrected. “Just business.” I slid the paper toward him, the pen close behind, my heart beating furiously in my padded chest. “Something Liza and I thought you could sign. I mean, after all, we’ve never had a, well, um,
agent
before. Call it a letter of employment.”

He grinned, sort of, and let loose a truncated chuckle. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You want me to sign a letter of employment? Put my name on a document with the intention of prostituting the two of you? Are you nuts?” He whispered all this, the smile tight, the words barely working through gritted teeth.

Brandon looked at me like I was insane. I held his hand and continued. “No, of course not, silly. In fact, you don’t even need to sign your name to it. We just want something in writing that says you’ll be there to protect us. You don’t even need to be specific about what you’re protecting us from.”

Brandon piped in with, “Um, yeah, it’s just that we’d feel better if we had more than your word on that one point, seeing as we’ve only just met you and all. I mean, we are, in a way, putting our very lives in your capable, strong hands.”

His face loosened, the full smile thankfully returning. (Three cheers for Brandon! And fully medicated, no less.) “I see,” he said. “Fine. Just a short note. Nothing legally binding. Or
il
legally.” He laughed at his lame joke. So did we, leaning in to watch him put words to paper. Fifteen words, to be exact. But that was fine. I looked down and recognized three of them. This was exactly what we needed.

I quickly grabbed the paper away from him and then we dashed to the waiting limo. We drove in silence, cutting up and over along Highway 63, which soon hugged the coast as we traveled north to La’ie along Highway 83. I watched the scenery whizz by, dense green flora on either side of us, the crystal-clear ocean down below, small houses, pristine lawns, an explosion of colorful flowers both high and low. Small communities with impossible to pronounce, vowel-laden names appeared and then disappeared in nearly the blink of an eye: Kane’ohe, Kahalu’u, Ka’a’awa, and Hau’ula. I tried to concentrate on the beauty of it all and not on our approach to Will’s hopeful whereabouts. Tried, of course, and miserably failed. Will, as you can guess, was never too far from my troubled mind, pretty blue pill or not.

Three-quarters of the way there, Brandon poked me out of my reverie. “What was with that paper?” he whispered in my ear.

At last, my smile returned, unforced. “Insurance,” I whispered back, clutching my purse. He looked at me in bewilderment, but I offered no more. If the time came that we’d need said sheet of paper, I was thrilled that we had it. Still, I prayed that the need would not arise because that would mean we were up Shit Creek. (And, God, do I hate to paddle.)

Within minutes we were pulling into La’ie. Signs for the Polynesian Cultural Center and the Mormon Church were posted everywhere. Except for a few small businesses, these two seemed to be the only game in town. Liko pulled up to a corner Starbucks. “This is the place,” he proclaimed over the speaker. “The lady who hired you two said she’d be by to pick you up in about ten minutes. Want me to wait around?”

“No,” I shouted, then caught myself. “I mean, no, that’s okay. We’ll be fine. We have done this before, you know. But thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. “Oh, and you’ll each be getting paid a grand. I take thirty percent. Ask for the money up front. And call me when you’re ready to be picked up. If you have any problems, I’ll be nearby. Okay?”

“Okay,” we both agreed, letting ourselves out of the limo.

He pulled away without another word. “Employer of the year,” I muttered, coughing out the dust he left in his wake. “Fucking fuckwad.”

Brandon chortled and sat his tightly-encased ass on a nearby bench. “Still,” he said, adjusting his wig and his boobs, “so far, so good.”

The comment didn’t go unheard. “Not quite,” said the familiar voice.

We both turned our faces to the side. Koni and Briana were standing to our right, their heads shaking.

“What does that mean?” I asked, the sound of dread creeping in.

“It means,” Koni replied, “no leads. In fact, no people, hooker or otherwise.”

“How can there be
no
people?” I asked.

He motioned with his head and his finger for us to follow. We did as he asked, the four of us walking a few short blocks away from the coffee shop. “This is why,” he said, motioning out across the vast parking lot that lay before us.

“Oh,” I ohed. “It looks like half of Hawaii is here.” And I wasn’t exaggerating. The Polynesian Cultural Center parking lot was jammed with cars and tour buses, acres of them it seemed. I scratched my head. “But then where does Jed drum up his business?”

“Good question,” Briana replied. “And there can only be one answer.”

“Which is?” I asked, still clearly in the dark.

She pointed beyond the parking lot. “Poor students, rich tourists. You do the math.”

Brandon and I nodded in understanding. “Got it,” he said. “Good cover, too. I mean, who would suspect a Mormon?”

“Exactly,” Briana said. “So, is anyone up for a little Polynesian culture?”

We paused. “Um, do they have booze in there? Beer, wine, fruity cocktails?” I asked.

Koni snickered. “Dude, place is run by the Mormon Church. What do you think?”

“I think,” I replied, “that this drag ass should stay out here, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Briana asked, already pulling Brandon and I forward.

“In case, um, in case a daiquiri truck drives by. Judging from the crowds, or lack thereof, they’d need our business,” I tried.

“Honey,” she retorted, tugging harder, moving us ever closer to the entrance, “with customers like you two, they’d be able to retire. In a week.”

“Good point,” I said, preparing for the Mormon onslaught. Sadly, she was no longer listening.

***

We paid the exorbitant entrance fee (well, Brandon paid for us) and entered the park -- though at forty-two acres, it was more like a town: a town broken up into communities of islanders from the Central and South Pacific Ocean, most of them students, most of them Mormon, and none of them looking like they’d ever even set foot in Utah.

“Just when you think you’ve seen everything,” Brandon soon commented as we approached an area representing Tonga to watch an able-bodied man climb a coconut tree in order to retrieve, like duh, a coconut. “He doesn’t look Mormon to me.”

The man climbed down and split the coconut in half -- with a rock and his bare hands! Then he drank the milk. “Strong fucking Mormon at that,” I added.

“With a big dick,” Koni also added.

I gaped down at the man’s well-covered crotch. “You got x-ray vision, kid?” I asked.

He laughed and turned my way. “Wishful thinking, but no. His name’s Ben. Big Ben, they call him. In the trade.”

“Ah,” I ahed. “Coconut tree climber by day, street walker by night. Great résumé builder.”

“Though I’d imagine that the latter pays the bills better,” he retorted. “In any case, I wondered what happened to him; I haven’t seen him out working for weeks.”

“Should’ve looked
up
rather than out, then; guy’s a born climber,” Brandon commented as we continued onward, just to make sure our run-in with Ben wasn’t coincidental.

We walked along the side of a green lagoon, happy tourists floating by in wide canoes, snapping pictures as they passed the villages of Hawaii, Samoa, New Zealand, Tahiti, the Marquesas, and Fiji. We, too, strolled through each of these, taking in the free shows, the island crafts, the expensive tourist food, and (yuck) booze-free drinks. And, as expected, we caught sight of quite a few of Koni’s ilk, which is why, just to be on the safe side, we covered our young friend up with a straw hat and sunglasses to keep our mission under wraps. Still, he recognized each of them in turn, filling us in on their stories, none of them happy, not by a mile.

“Guess we were right,” I finally said, an hour into our cultural journey. “Thousands of tourists parading by every day, ripe for the picking.”

“And no cops,” Koni pointed out. “Jed must be raking in some heavy dough up here.”

“Yep,” I agreed, “but that doesn’t help us in locating him. I mean, I doubt most of them know where he lives, and I doubt even further that they’d be willing to fill us in if they did.”

Brandon turned to Koni, and asked, “Any ideas, kid?”

He paused and played with the meager hairs on his chinny-chin-chin. “Maybe,” he soon said, and then informed us, “but we have to find some flour first.”

“Flour, huh?” asked Brandon, arms crossed over brawny chest. “Are we gonna bribe one of them with a freshly baked cake?”

“Cake, no. Bait, yes,” he replied, cryptically. “Let’s just split up and meet back here in fifteen minutes. There’s gotta be flour around here somewhere. I doubt they truck all this crappy food in.”

We did as he asked, each of us wandering off to a different corner of the park, sniffing for baked goods as we did so. I returned empty-handed, my companions already standing at the designated spot.

“No luck,” I informed. “Lots of cake and cookies, but no flour.”

“Same here,” said Briana.

“Ditto,” sighed Koni.

Brandon smiled and produced a hefty white bag from behind a nearby tree. “Will this do?” he asked.

My friend rarely amazes me anymore; still, finding a bag of flour in fifteen minutes was impressive, even for him. “Who’d you have to suck off to get that?” I asked.

He dropped the bag to the ground in a puff of white smoke. “How insulting,” he replied, his hand to his barely-there heart, his head tilted away in mock injury.

“Okay,” I corrected. “Who’d you let suck
you
off then?”

He turned his face back our way, the briefest of lascivious smiles appearing. “Horny baker who spotted my Adam’s apple. We forgot to wear scarves today,
Judy
.”

My hand involuntarily shot up and ran down my neck. “Fuck,” I coughed out, the flour cloud rising, as I rummaged through my purse for some cover-up.

“Yeah, for a fuck I would’ve gotten twice as much flour,” hacked my slutty best friend. “In any case, what’s this shit for, kid?”

Koni removed a cookie from his back pocket. It was in a clear baggie. He ate the cookie, naturally, and then ripped the bag of flour open. Filling the baggie with the white powder, he stated, proudly, “Bait, as promised.”