Rolling in the Deep: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 2 (20 page)

The
Hypnautique
perched on the calm waters of the harbor like a graceful black-and-gold seabird. She was big, one hundred feet from stem to stern, judging by how she dwarfed the long club canoes passing by, oars flashing in the sun. Daniel’s lip curled. Now that they knew the yacht belonged to the Helmans, her name suited her.

The small figure of a man in a crisp white shirt and shorts worked inside the command deck, another on the aft deck. High above him perched a motorized davit—empty. The tender was gone, which meant the owners of the boat were probably onshore.

Frank slowed to give a wide berth to a dive boat headed out, waving at the other pilot. Then he nosed into a spot between two other boats moored to the pier.

The wide pier was full of people, three tents set up to shelter those waiting for excursion boats, or the sub that plied the bay for an underwater view of the local reef. Frank paused only long enough for Daniel to hop off and then immediately backed out again.

Homu waved good-bye as the boat headed back out into the harbor.

As he waited for a large family of tourists to hustle by, everyone arrayed in colorful new hats, sunglasses and Kona T-shirts, Daniel’s phone riffed. He glanced at the screen—David.

“Whassup?” Daniel asked. “You supposed to be paying attention to your wife, not bothering me.”

“She’s getting lots of attention,” his brother answered lazily. “No worries. We’re anchored in a quiet little bay with no one around but da nai’a.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah. What you up to?” David asked. His casual tone didn’t fool Daniel.

“Just got in from fishing with Pop and Frank. Had them drop me off in Kailua, to check out a lead,” Daniel answered. “That yacht Frank mentioned? It belongs to those folks we know.”

“I’ll come back today,” David said instantly.

“Not an option, brah. You’ve only got a day or two of your honeymoon left. I’ll just check things out, see what’s what. Don’t worry, little brah.”

David made a noncommittal noise. “Yeah, well, call me.”

“You know it.”

Daniel clicked off his phone, and then removed his earpiece. He tucked them into his pocket.

Then he took a deep breath and let it out. As he turned, he rolled his shoulders forward a little, slouching. When he turned toward the end of the pier, it was with the lazy stroll of a local with all the time in the world and no particular place to go. The sun was hot on his head and shoulders.

A day cruiser was busy loading families. Just past it, two Hawaiians in flowered shirts and shorts lounged on plastic chairs, ignoring the people eddying around them. A motorized raft bobbed gently in the water at their feet, a black-and-gold insignia painted on each side.

As Daniel sauntered toward them, the bigger one in blue flowers stood up. Kimo, the bushy-haired moke from the Kolohe. He stood like a fighter—legs spread, arms slightly akimbo. His friend Tommy sat at his side, relaxed, but he had one hand out of sight under his shirt. Stupid po’ino had a gun in his waistband, with all these people around.

Daniel remembered Akeo’s face, eyes nervous above a wide smile—and then the streak of fire across Daniel’s ribs as the knife sank deep. Yup, Tommy was the moke to watch.

“Hey,” he said, smiling at both of them, showing lots of teeth. “Howzit?”

“Hey, man. Howzit?” A smile slid across Kimo’s broad face and disappeared, as if he remembered he was not supposed to be friendly. Tommy nodded but said nothing.

“You guys working that boat?” Daniel asked, pointing out at the yacht. He let his mouth fall open a little, as if in awe. “A real beauty. Where she out of, Honolulu?”

“Nah, mainland,” said Kimo.

Daniel smiled affably. “Nice job, eh? Ride around da islands on da big boat fo free? How long dey here in Kona?”

“Couple weeks.”

“Yeah, big boss here on vacation, yeah?”

Kimo’s eyes flickered away and back. “Uh, yeah.”

“His name Hilton? Heard da Hiltons were here.”

“Nah, Helman.”

“Whatchu wanna know for?” Tommy interrupted in his hoarse voice. He had a scar across the front of his throat, visible in the bright sunlight. He looked Daniel over suspiciously. “Whatchu say yo name was? Ho-somethin’?”

“Dey call me lotsa things,” Daniel said, waggling his right hand in the island symbol for hanging loose. “Long as dey call me fo grinds, it’s all good, yeah?”

Tommy sneered. Kimo frowned, looking nervously between them. “You one o’ dem Ho’omalus,” he said. “I remember dat.”

An excursion boat slid close to the pier, a Hawaiian in a bright green T-shirt and shorts in the prow. “Hey, you, with the raft,” he hollered. “Move it! This where we put in to load.”

Kimo looked at Tommy, who rose with a swagger. “Not today you don’t.”

“Oh, yeah?” The muscular deckhand put one foot on the railing of his boat, preparing to climb over. The excursion boats depended on their right to put in at this public pier to load and unload their clients, and they were not friendly to anyone who usurped their space.

“You kanakas wanna do as he asks,” Daniel warned mildly. “You can come back in when they’re gone.”

“No trouble,” Kimo muttered to his companion. “Da boss said.”

“Yeah, he also said to wait for him right here,” Tommy shot back. “I ain’t moving for no fuckin’ dive boat.”

The deckhand said something over his shoulder, and the boat moved closer to the pier, about to bump the raft. Daniel cursed under his breath. He was going to have to do something, before Tommy pulled his gun and all hell broke loose. Helman had definitely hired the cream of the Kolohe.

A group of young guys erupted onto the pier, jostling and laughing as they hurried to be the first to reach the excursion boat. One of them, a big kid who looked like he played football, jostled Daniel as he passed. His friend cannoned into him, and he danced sideways, jostling Tommy, who scowled, stiffening.

“Watch it, punks,” he rasped, his eyes slitted.

The kid scowled belligerently, opening his mouth to retort. Daniel didn’t wait to find out what he had to say. He simply tightened the muscles of his arm and thrust backward, hard.

His elbow struck the short, squatty Tommy square in the face. Eyes rolling back in his head, the little man keeled over backward, tipping into the azure water of the bay. He landed with a splash, sending the raft bobbing on its mooring ropes.

“Hey, whatchu do dat fo?” Kimo’s eyes widened with shock. Turning slightly, Daniel punched him low and hard, right in his midriff. With an
oof!
of released air, Kimo flew from the pier, arms flailing almost in slow motion to land with a splash even mightier than his cohort.

A woman screamed, and the tourists on the pier rushed to look into the water. “What happened?”

The young guys lined up on the pier on either side of Daniel, gaping into the water. “Holy shit, you see them go down?” one asked, awed. “Tony, you bumped ’em right off the pier.”

“He did it.” The kid looked up at Daniel with awe. “I think you killed ’em, man.”

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Daniel said. Unfortunately.

Kimo was already splashing back toward the pier. Daniel bared his teeth in a smile as the man hung on the side of the pier, coughing and gasping.

“You mokes wanna be careful.” Daniel gestured at the deckhand on the boat. “Move off, yeah? I don’t wanna get run over while I pull up his friend.”

The deckhand held up his hands, grinning. “Whatever you want, man. We’ll wait.”

Daniel dove in over Kimo’s head. He couldn’t leave Tommy to drown, no matter how much the po’ino deserved it. The sea closed around him, cool and wet. In the shadow of the tour boat, Tommy was drifting down toward the shallow bottom of the bay, unconscious.

Daniel grabbed the man under one arm, yanked the pistol from his waistband and dropped it, letting it sink. Then he kicked upward.

He dumped the smaller man up on the pier and hoisted himself out, standing for a moment to drip and catch his breath. Tommy lay in a sodden heap for a moment, then gasped and began to cough and wretch.

“You shouldn’t a done dat,” Kimo warned, glowering suddenly at Daniel. “Our boss ain’t gonna be happy.”

“Your boss gonna get you killed,” Daniel said contemptuously. “Might wanna think about that.”

He cast a look at the yacht. The captain stood at the rail, watching, his stance relaxed as if he was enjoying the show on the pier. Two men flanked him, toughs in sunglasses and loose Hawaiian shirts. The real muscle, brought from LA, Daniel deduced. Tommy and Kimo were just expendable locals. If Helman needed more men, he could always have them fly over, probably on a private jet.

Daniel stalked away, ignoring the curious stares of the onlookers. He’d come back in after dark and nose around. He couldn’t get close to the yacht in the daylight anyway. The men on board had seen the altercation, maybe even taken pictures of him.

And to top it off, he’d just ruined another phone. Shit, this was the third one this year. He’d better carry a waterproof pouch all the time. Despite these minor annoyances, he grinned to himself. Felt damn good to punch somebody, even if they were just the bottom of the Helman food chain.

Meanwhile, it was almost noon. Time to grab a bite to eat, buy a new phone and then head out to Honok
ō
hau.

As he neared the end of the pier, he slowed. A trio of people, two men and a woman, were strolling onto the pier. The woman was slender, expensively dressed in resort wear, her hair tucked up in a wide straw hat the same improbable purple as her little dress.

It was the man at her side who held Daniel’s attention. He was lean, clad in an embroidered linen shirt and shorts, with designer sunglasses and a straw fedora tilted over his hair.

Two things interested Daniel about him. The hair visible under his hat was so pale it was almost as white as his shirt, and his lean, high-cheekboned face was familiar—in an unpleasant way. Daniel had seen photos of him on the Internet, clad in custom evening wear with a succession of beautiful women on his arm. Denas Helman.

The man following them was tall and tanned, clad in shorts and a loose shirt, sunglasses shielding his eyes. Ex-soldier, Daniel deduced from his short hair, the way he walked and the way he was eyeing Daniel. LA muscle, like the two on the yacht.

As he neared the trio, the woman reached up to pull her oversize sunglasses down her nose. She cast Daniel a sultry look before pushing them back up. Her red lips curved up flirtatiously.

Helman looked him over and stopped. “I’ve just had an interesting conversation with the captain of my yacht,” he said. His voice was smooth and light. “You saved one of my men from drowning.”

“Nah.” Daniel shrugged. “Saved his ass from jail, though.”

Helman cocked his head. “Jail? Really.”

“He was about to pull a gun on a local boat operator. I figured a swim would cool him off.”

The woman laughed. “So you
did
push them in. Perhaps you should hire him,” she said to Helman.

Helman’s nostrils flared. “Perhaps I should. Who are you?” he asked Daniel.

Daniel stared at him for a moment, stretching it out until Helman’s jaw tightened and his bodyguard stirred restively.

“No one who wants to work for you, haole
kanapapiki
.”

Without another look at any of them, he sauntered away. He took a deep breath and let it out, blowing out his frustration and rage at being within arm’s-length of that sonofabitch and not being able to put his fist through the man’s sneering face. He’d like to turn the slime into shark bait—very small pieces of shark bait.

And maybe he’d get to—but first he needed to find da kula.

As Daniel drove into the parking lot of his uncle’s marina an hour later, he narrowly missed hitting a small sports car full of teens racing in the other direction, tires squealing. He scowled after them and then parked, walking over to join Hilo, who stood on the sidewalk in front of the marina store and office.

“Bunch of worthless punks,” Hilo said, shaking his head. “Come around my place making trouble. The driver—one with the yellow hair—is the son of dat hotshot sportfisherman out of Kona. Bobby Nakoa, yeah?”

Daniel nodded. “Called the cops?” He’d heard of Nakoa, met him once. He had not been impressed, but then he never was by those who fished not for food but for acclaim. As if they had anything to do with the size of the fish that chose to bite their hooks.

“Nah,” his uncle said. “They haven’t really done anything—yet. Come in, I got customers.”

The two fishermen paid for their purchases and left. “Taking your boat out today?” Hilo asked as he closed the cash register.

Daniel nodded. “Back to Nawea.”

Hilo nodded. “Give some pretty wahine a ride, yeah?”

Daniel felt heat color his cheekbones. Time to change the subject.

“Saw that big yacht over in Kona, the
Hypnautique
.” Daniel jerked his head toward the east window of the office. “Frank was right. She’s Helman’s.”

Hilo eyed him curiously. “Want me to talk to Paul Cho?”

“’
A’ole.
No Coast Guard—not until we have something hard to show them. Frank says they have a fancy law firm at their beck and call, ready to sue Hawaii if Helman crooks his finger. They could claim the Coast Guard is harassing innocent tourists.”

Hilo nodded slowly. They both knew Hawaii struggled to maintain local services, on top of caring for their constant stream of visitors. A huge lawsuit could put the Big Island county government in deep financial trouble. “’Kay den. But you keep me and your papa in da loop, yeah? We almost lost David to these po’ino. We all work together, no need for dat kine danger.”

Daniel nodded, acquiescing to his uncle’s request. It was more of a demand, of course, but only because Hilo and Homu had come close to death themselves a time or two.

“Got an idea about that,” he said. “What’s that nephew of your ex-wife up to these days?”

“Tony? He’s been laid up,” Hilo said, his gaze sharpening. “Surfing accident. Been out of work, so his mama and his auntie have been spoiling him.”