Hot Lava (4 page)

That, at least, made some sense. And still, we couldn’t help but wonder how the big boss got found out anyway if Makani didn’t turn him in. We also weren’t any closer to locating Lenny or his boyfriend.

“Last question, last twenty,” Brandon informed, sliding the bill forward. “We hear Lenny had a boyfriend. Any knowledge of him?”

“All I know is the word on the streets, dudes. Guy’s name is Jed. White dude. Disappeared. This other dude, Lenny, you’re asking about, no one’s ever heard of him before. But this guy Jed, he’s got a rep.”

“A good rep or a bad one?” I asked.

“Only one kind trickles down my pipeline, dude. All bad. Like hot lava, stay clear or get burned. In other words, if it’s Jed you’re searching for, turn around and go back to the mainland. Shit’s gonna find you in the long run; don’t go looking for it.” He stopped his sage advice and looked down at the wad he’d accumulated. Easy money. Easier than he was obviously accustomed to. “Freebie, dudes,” he concluded with. “Guy’s a pimp. Trades the locals to the Japanese tourists. Big money in that.”

“Big money you’re not looking for?”

“Nah, small dicks, no English. Not worth the hassle. Besides, they don’t tip. Like I said, not worth it. Worth it for Jed, maybe, I suppose.”

“Only he’s disappeared,” Brandon added.

“So they say, dude. So they say.”

“And what do you say?” I asked.

“What’s it matter what I say, Cute Dude?” He grinned and winked at me. Give the kid five years and ten pounds, and I might’ve winked back. “Okay, I say the guy skipped to take any possible heat off of him. But he’ll be back. The Japanese swarm this island. Big money.” He pocketed the cash. “We through, dudes?”

I looked at Brandon and got a nod in return. “All through,” we said.

“Then mahalo, dudes. Thanks for the bread.”

“Mahalo,” we thanked him, and quickly departed, virtually none the wiser and a hundred and sixty dollars poorer.

We started back along the sidewalk, toward our hotel and a good stiff drink. We’d only made it fifty feet or so when we heard, “Dudes, wait up.” Koni was jogging toward us, his flip-flops shuffling along the ground, the grin still spread from cheek to smooth cheek.

“I’m out of money, Koni,” Brandon informed him.

“ATMs everywhere, dude,” he informed us back.

“Why, did you neglect to tell us something?” I asked.

“Nope. Picked my brain clean, Cute Dude. But I know a guy that works for Jed. Maybe he can add something.”

“For a price,” I added.

“Oh, everything has a price, dude. But this guy owes me. Maybe it’ll come cheap.”

Brandon looked to me, his face tilted to the side. Perhaps we were getting in over our heads here. Two prostitutes, an escaped prisoner, and a missing pimp, and we’d only been on vacation a short twenty-four hours. “Can a friend of ours join us?” Brandon asked.

“Cute as you two? Not a cop?”

Brandon coughed, then stretched the truth a bit. “Cute as us. Not a cop. More invested in the search than us, though.”

Koni nodded. “No problemo.”

But there’s always a
problemo
. “And what’s in it for you?” I asked.

The grin faded for the briefest of moments, a certain world-weariness creeping in around his eyes, wrinkling his brow. His seemingly usual bravado temporarily faded away like the San Francisco fog at midday. “I’ll tell you, but first I want to show you something, okay?”

I looked warily at our new friend. “Something safe? And legal?” I thought to ask.

His grin returned. “Sure, Cute Dude. Just follow. You’ll be safe and sound.” (The sound part was up for debate.)

We nodded and trailed behind him, his tiny little ass leading the way. He cut up a side street that ran parallel with the marketplace. Waikiki’s beauty was only skin deep; the plush and tropical oceanfront quickly gave way to cheap hotels and rundown apartments the farther we moved away from the water. San Francisco is no different; downtown tourist traps meld into the Tenderloin in mere minutes, with its crack dealers and street hustlers and seedy bars obliterating all the historic beauty.

A short walk later, we found ourselves at the rear of a small grocery store, boxes of questionable fruits and vegetables stacked all around. “Home sweet home,” Koni told us, with a noticeable grimace. In shock, we moved in behind him as he walked between some empty crates. A ratty, dirty mattress sat between these and a dilapidated fence. “My summer palace,” he informed, his sadness evident despite the forced smile.

“And when it rains?” I asked.

He unfurled a sleeping bag. “At least the zipper works. Keeps out most of the elements, anyhow.” The melancholy returned to his face. “But hey, it could be worse. The cops don’t know I’m here, and Mister Chen doesn’t mind, either, so long as I help him clean up from time to time.”

“Where do you shower and stuff?” Brandon asked, looking around.

“Public beach. Outdoor shower, indoor toilet. Scenic as shit, dude.”

Brandon looked at him, confused. As did I. “And why are you showing this to us?” he asked.

“I scratch your back, you scratch mine,” he replied cryptically, pointing to his meager belongings.

“Ah,” I ahed, the proverbial light bulb going off over my not-so-proverbial noggin. “You want to trade information for a place to crash.”

“Just for one night, Cute Dude. I want to sleep in a real bed and take a bath, and not wake up to the sound of garbage trucks and the smell of, well,
this
shithole.”

The point was well taken. To say we were eager to help him, however, was pushing it. After all, taking in drug-dealing prostitutes, albeit adorable ones, was not what we had signed up for when we booked this trip. Still, our hearts were not that small. (Well, mine wasn’t, at any rate. Brandon had relinquished his years ago to make room for certain other alcohol-processing organs.)

“Fine,” I agreed for the both of us. “One night only. Provided you take us to this
friend
of yours.
And
you keep us out of trouble.”

“And,” Brandon interrupted, “you show us some identification. If you’re underage, the deal is off.”

For once, Brandon was thinking clearly, prison jumpsuits not being his wardrobe of choice. Koni grimaced, but soon agreed, removing a state ID from inside his shorts. He covered his name and address with his fingers, but the birth date was clearly visible. He was younger looking than his actual age, but still barely legal at nineteen. At least, we figured, we wouldn’t be arrested for harboring an underage runaway prostitute. (My mom would’ve been so proud of that little accomplishment.)

“Come on, then,” Brandon said. “I need a drink. This vacation
really
isn’t turning out as planned.”

And so we left the dismal surroundings and walked briskly back to Kalakaua Avenue and to our hotel.

“Jackpot,” Koni soon said, with a low whistle, when he realized where he’d ended up.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Brandon warned. “This back-scratching thing will only be in effect for twenty-four hours, tops.”

“Fine by me,” Koni agreed, following us into the elevator and up to our rooms, where the whistle was repeated, loudly. “Did I say jackpot already?”

“Yes, you did,” I said, retrieving my valuables and placing them in Brandon’s room. (Plus the remnants of the wine, the TV remote control, and the cords to both telephones.)

“What about the mini-bar?” Koni asked, a sly grin cocked upward.

Brandon ran over, unhooked it, and slid it into his room. “We’ll be needing this, too, I would think.”

I followed him inside and turned to our new guest from between the adjoining doors. “Make yourself at home, Koni. We’ll be down at the beach if you need us.”

“How about a bathing suit?” he asked.

I grabbed one of Brandon’s less skimpy ones (the only one, really) and tossed it to Koni, then shut the door behind us. “Well, Lucy,” I whispered, “this is a dilly of a pickle we’re in.”

“Yes, Ethel. And won’t Ricky be surprised when he comes home and finds out what we’ve got stashed in your room?”

We didn’t have too long to wait for that one.

We found Will sitting by the pool, looking yummy as ever. He greeted me with a luxurious bear hug.

“What about me?” Brandon asked.

“Get your own,” I replied.

“Selfish,” he said, arms folded over (defined) chest.

Will laughed and offered us seats on either side of him. “So, guys, what’ve you been up to today?”

I smiled, nervously, and answered his question with one of my own. “Other than taking in a teenage, drug-dealing prostitute?”

His grin slipped downward like a landslide. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

I shook my head. “On the bright side, we’re hot on the trail of Lenny’s boyfriend. And I bought you a frog that croaks when you rub a stick across its back.” (Okay, I really bought it for me, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to temper the situation, stressful as it was.)

We then filled him in on the details as he eagerly downed his drink. “Well, you discovered more than I did,” he eventually said. “But I can’t go with you tonight as you had planned. Legally, I’d have to tell this friend of a friend who I was and who I worked for if he started to give us pertinent information. That, I think, would put a hasty end to everything. In any case, it doesn’t sound too risky, so instead I’ll just follow and keep a close eye on the three of you.”

“My hero,” I sighed.

“I hope it won’t come to that,” he sighed back. “I’ll have to keep myself as much on the down-low as possible, so as not to alert the local police to all of this. Hopefully, you’ll get some info on this Jed character and then I can go searching for him. Maybe we’ll even find Lenny at the end of the trail. Better still, we’ll find him, and nobody will want to know why I was looking or how we did it.”

Unlikely as all that sounded, I squeezed his hand and agreed. It was, after all, one thing to find Lenny; it was quite another to get him back to the authorities without their finding out that it was Will’s fault he escaped in the first place. (Oh, what a tangled web we weave, right?)

Our trio moved from the pool and back to our sandy oceanfront view, the chairs and umbrella instantly brought to us. Will’s leg rubbed against mine, followed soon thereafter by his pinky finger hooking into my pinky finger. Paradise, again, was still paradise, if slightly tainted by the day’s events. “I did find out one thing,” Will eventually blurted out.

“Which is?” I asked, turning to lock eyes with him, which sent a warm shiver up and down my back and a
boing
inside my board shorts.

“I have minimal access to the FBI computers from my cell phone, but at least I could get Lenny’s address as well as his parent’s.”

This, I figured, was a good thing. Though, strangely, he wasn’t smiling. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “I know we won’t find Lenny at either place, not unless he’s doesn’t think the police are watching, which I’m sure they are, but at least we might find some clues as to where he might be hiding.”

“Yep,” he said. “Problem is that he might’ve told his parents about me already. Or his parents will warn him that I’m looking for him, because I will have to identify myself. Also, I don’t want him to know that you two are looking for him, and getting you into even more hot water than we’re already in. After all, he is potentially a drug smuggler with any number of criminal ties.”

“Uh oh,” Brandon uh-ohed.

“Uh oh, what?” I asked, my typical clueless self.

“Uh oh, he wants us to go undercover, so no one recognizes us and tries to find us later. And this face and body were not meant to be hidden.”

I shook my head at my new bedmate. He nodded his up and down. “It’s for your own safety,” he explained. “If you two are going to help me, you’ll need disguises. It’s fine if someone figures out that I’m looking for Lenny and Jed; that at least makes some sense. It’s not fine if they think you guys are. It’s questionably legal and definitely unsafe.”

“Well, fuck me,” I said.

“He already did,” Brandon said.

“I meant that figuratively.” (Though the literal version was quite enjoyable, too.)

Will piped in, already knowing how our verbal escapades could go on and on (and on). “I’m not asking for full-on body suits or anything. Just simple disguises.”

“Drag!” Brandon shouted, his disarming smile suddenly returning.

“Not drag!” I shouted back.

“Drag!” my friend repeated. “With gorgeous, frilly numbers.”

Will just sighed and looked from me to Brandon and then back again. “You can go as men if you like. Though female camouflage would ensure that neither of them knows that any of us are looking for them.”

I smiled. “So you’ll be dressing like a girl as well?” The thought was comical, at best. Will is six-two and built like a linebacker. All man.

“Um,” he hemmed, and then hawed, “that might cause unneeded attention to us. I said disguises, not Halloween costumes.”

I squeezed his hand. “I was only joking. And fine, we can go undercover. But as boys, for the time being.”

Brandon’s smile turned upside down. “Damn,” he groaned. “We could’ve done a lot more shopping as girls.”

I threw the lime from my drink at him. “That’s because you always end up being the pretty one.”

“Don’t blame me,” he said, catching it and tossing it back. “That’s just good genetics.”

I tossed it back again, with Will promptly blocking it and then burying it in the sand. “What?” I yelled at Brandon. “Your drag DNA ensures that you look good in a dress?”

He ran his fingers up and down his cheek. “Bone structure, dude. It’s all about the bone structure.”

Will sighed yet again. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” he said.

“Welcome to our world,” I told him. “Welcome to our fucking world.”

***

A half hour or so later, our trio became a foursome, with Koni sashaying down in nothing but Brandon’s shorts. His tan, ripped body glistened in the brilliant afternoon sun, smooth as silk, rich as milk chocolate. My jaw hit the sand in a dull
thud
.

“Aloha, dudes,” he said, waiting patiently for the chair that was quick to arrive for him.