Mahu (37 page)

I wasn’t sure how I could get Wayne Gallagher to admit it, though. I hoped that I could get him talking, into a bragging mood, and let nature take its course. I was in a good position for that. As far as Wayne was concerned, he had won, and I’d lost my job, and he had every reason to gloat.

The tougher question was what I’d do if he came on to me. How would I react? It was like he emitted some kind of pheromone that was irresistible to me—a combination of sex and danger, a physical and mental presence that drew me in. I had to remember I wasn’t there for fun, that I was playing a part and I had to stay in character. But I knew from my brief experiences with Tim and Gunter that I was hungry for that physical contact, and that it would be a struggle to hold back.

I heard a couple of quick beeps behind me and got up. I saw Haoa’s green landscaping van pulling into Harry’s parking lot, and crossed the street. Haoa straddled two guest parking spaces and as I walked up, Lui was sliding open the side doors to reveal Harry sitting amongst a jumble of boxes and cables. “Hey, guys,” I said.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us,” Harry said from inside the van, as he stood up. “You guys are all going to have to pitch in.”

We spent the next couple of hours, as night fell around us, unpacking boxes, connecting cables, and hooking up receivers. By eight o’clock we were running tests, and I was running scared. I pulled off my shirt so that Harry could start taping me up, and saw my skin was covered with goose bumps.

I’d been through situations like this before, most recently that drug bust in Kapiolani Park that now seemed a lifetime away. I remembered that was the night I’d gone to the Rod and Reel, the night that Tommy Pang had been murdered and my life had started falling apart.

“Hold still,” Harry said. “Every time I touch you, you jump a foot.”

Before, though, the danger had never seemed so great. It was easy to ignore the possibility you might get killed—the brain loves to shelve that kind of stuff in the back, some primitive form of self-preservation. Besides, in a standard stakeout I’m walking in armed, or at least with a half-dozen armed officers behind me. If anything goes wrong, they’re there for me.

In a normal stakeout, you want to make your case and put the bad guy away, but if it doesn’t work, if he won’t talk or he makes your wire, you can go back to your desk the next day and get on with your life. If I didn’t get a confession out of Wayne Gallagher, I didn’t know where I was going.

Or, actually, I did. I was going to my disciplinary hearing, and then most likely, despite the fact that Yumuri had no case, I was going off the force. I might be able to hold onto my badge for a while, but I’d probably lose my detective shield and end up on patrol somewhere like Pearl City, living with snickers in the locker room and dying inside.

Harry taped the wire to my chest and back. “Jesus, Harry, you can hardly touch me without feeling a wire,” I said. “Can’t you make it a little more discreet?”

“Just keep your shirt on.”

“Easier said than done.” I pulled him close so that my brothers wouldn’t have to hear. “You know, he might want to feel me up. As soon as he goes for a tit, he’s going to feel a wire. End of story.”

He re-routed the wire so that it was taped to my shirt, running up my back and around my collar. It was so thin that if you casually ran your hand over my back you might think it was an imperfection in the fabric. “Excellent,” I said, when he was done.

He stuck the transmitter in the back of my pants. “Jesus, these pants are tight,” he said. “I can barely get a wire out of them.”

“That’s the idea. They show off the merchandise.”

“I don’t want to get into this,” he said. Sitting at a makeshift table inside the van, my brothers snickered.

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” I said. Harry took the wire off to play with the acoustics some more, and I went out and got us a couple of pizzas and some half-gallon sodas, though I was ready for a few quick beers by then.

We locked up the van and went upstairs to Harry’s apartment to eat. “Okay, I’ve got a couple of things I want to tell you about tonight,” I said as we sat around the kitchen table. “First of all, remember I’m working. A deal like this is kind of like a play, one of those improvisational things where the audience throws out suggestions and the actors have to bounce off them. In this case, I’m the actor and Wayne Gallagher’s going to throw me lines. I’ve got to react.”

I took a bite of my pizza and chewed. “So you have to remember this isn’t necessarily real. I may have to do some things that will surprise you or bother you, but you’ve got to remember I’m doing it all for a purpose.”

“I think we’re all grown-ups,” Haoa said. He picked up his glass of soda and took a drink.

“So if I have to suck his dick you won’t flip out,” I said, and he sputtered up the last of his soda, just as I’d expected.

“You don’t have to do that,” Lui said.

“I might. If that’ll get him to spill the beans, then I will. I’m sure we’ve all said a few things we didn’t mean in the heat of passion.”

“I love you for one,” Harry said, and we all laughed.

“And he may get a little rough,” I said. “He’s got a mean mouth on him, and he’s called me some names before. You can’t react to anything.”

“Have you been with this guy before?” Haoa asked.

“He’s come on to me,” I said. “A couple of times. Once in his apartment and once at his office. I pushed him away both times. But I know how he operates, and I can make it seem like I was just playing hard to get.”

“This is a crazy deal,” Haoa said, shaking his head.

“One more thing. Remember I’m the professional. I don’t want any cowboy heroics. If I get into trouble, count on me to get out of it. If I’m going to end up in a jail cell, or in the morgue, for that matter, I don’t want any of you next to me.”

“There is no way we’re going to let anything happen to you without doing something about it,” Lui said. “You might as well accept that. That’s our function tonight—to look out for you.”

“No, it’s not. Your job is to run the equipment, and make sure we get the evidence. Don’t do anything that will keep us from frying his ass in court. Even if I can’t testify, for whatever reason, if you have the tapes we can still put him away.”

“I don’t like that,” Haoa said.

“I don’t either. But that’s the way it has to be, or we can’t do this.” I looked at each of them in turn. “Are we all agreed?” And one by one, they nodded. “Good. Then let’s finish eating and get out of here.”

It was almost ten by the time we pulled up at the Boardwalk. I did a quick scan of the parking lot and didn’t see either Wayne’s or Derek’s car. I said, “Okay, I’m going in.” The problem with our setup was that I didn’t have any way to know if they’d heard me or not, but even before my haircut my hair had been short enough so that my ears were fully exposed and I couldn’t have a receiver there without being obvious.

By the time I reached the door of the bar my stomach was turned upside down and my hands were shaking. It’s just a bar, I repeated to myself. It’s just a bar. Just go inside and get something to drink, and wait for Wayne to show up. I stepped through the door, and just at the last minute remembered the sandbox and stepped over it. I felt an unexpectedly large sense of relief. I’d met the first obstacle and conquered it.

Alanis Morrisette was pouring out of speakers mounted around the room, but the volume wasn’t too loud. The bar was pretty busy, small groups of guys standing around talking or playing pool or watching the boyish model in his jockstrap slink down the runway. I stepped up to an empty place at the bar just as the model was approaching. He turned his back to me and bent down, sticking his ass in my face.

“I think he wants a tip,” the guy next to me said, and laughed.

“A tip or a kiss,” I said. I hoped I could pull money out of my wallet without dropping it or showing how badly my hands were shaking.

The guy next to me laughed. “You can kiss him, I’ll tip him.” He rolled up a dollar bill and pulled aside the strap that ran down the model’s butt crack, and stuck the bill right into his hole, then put the strap back across. The model straightened up and did a little curvy dance, then pulled the bill out of his butt and stuck it in his mouth. He made a lewd sucking gesture and smiled at me and the guy, then moved off down the bar.

The bartender came up and I ordered a coke. I desperately wanted a beer, but I knew I needed all my faculties for dealing with Wayne.

“My name’s Jerry,” the guy next to me said. He was about forty, thin but not particularly in shape, and nobody must have told him that his mustache was too thin and wispy to look good.

“I’m Kimo,” I said, and gave him my hand.

“You come here often?”

I shook my head. “Friend recommended it. I might meet him here later tonight.”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t kick his butt out of bed for eating crackers,” he said, moving his head in the direction of the model, who was now grinding his hips in front of a couple of guys down the bar from us.

“Too much of a twink for me. Though you gotta admire those butt muscles.”

We talked, on and off, for the next half hour or so. I tried not to drink my Coke too fast, and kept scanning the room for Wayne Gallagher, and finally Jerry got the hint and moved on. I got another Coke and decided to scout the room, to find the quietest corner. I made eye contact a couple of times with guys but then looked away. I was only on the prowl for one guy and I didn’t want any complications.

I had to say I liked the men at the Rod and Reel better. They were handsomer, better dressed, and on the whole, younger. This place seemed to attract a slightly older crowd, though there was a contingent of Chinese, Japanese and Thai boys who looked barely old enough to drink. That’s why Wayne came here, I remembered. The bartender had said he had a taste for Asian boys. I wondered if he’d dump Derek as he aged, keep looking for the boys who attracted him.

I was glad my tastes ran to the more mature, at least. I had no interest in Jimmy Ah Wong or any of his counterparts at the Boardwalk. I liked guys my own age, and hoped that would stay the same as I got older. I ended up along a side wall, watching a pool game. The players were good, a Japanese guy in his forties in tight leathers and an Anglo guy in his late twenties in tight jeans and an even tighter black t-shirt.

“You could bounce an egg on that butt,” a guy next to me said to his friend as the Anglo leaned in front of us to make a shot.

“That’s not all I’d do with it,” his friend said.

I smiled and wondered if the boys in the van could pick that one up. I drained the last of my Coke and looked at my watch. It was eleven-thirty. I wondered how late Wayne could get away from Derek. Did he have to wait until Derek was asleep? Could he just walk out?

My tension evaporated as I got more comfortable in the bar. My hands weren’t shaking any more, and I’d stopped seeing the guys around me as threats. But my adrenaline was running out, and I was getting tired. The music was on a loop, and I was getting sick of hearing Joan Osborne over and over again.

I decided I’d get one last Coke. I walked over to the back bar, where they were showing the porno videos, and waited until I could catch the bartender’s attention. It took a long time, and I was almost ready to pack it in, but I got into watching the video. By the time he brought me my soda I was sure my hard-on was a beacon visible to anybody who looked, so I slunk over to a dark corner to lean against the wall.

Then I looked toward the door and saw Wayne Gallagher walk in.

Show time.

MEN WILL SAY ANYTHING…

Wayne Gallagher moved easily through the crowd toward me, and I was glad I’d decided to wait. He walked right up to me and kissed me, putting his right hand on my butt and grinding his thigh into my hard-on. I felt like I was melting and had to struggle to stand up. He stepped back. “Want a beer?”

“Sure.” He went over to the back bar and the bartender came over to him immediately. “I don’t know if you picked it up,” I said, speaking down into my chest, “But Gallagher’s in the bar now.”

He came back a minute later carrying two beers. I took one and led the way toward a table in a far corner, where I knew the acoustics were good. I hoped he’d be following me.

He did. I sat down and moved the other chair so it was right next to mine, and patted the seat. He sat and immediately stuck his tongue in my ear.

It was like he could read my mind, knew exactly what to do to make me feel like jelly. I had to do whatever I could to retain control. “So where’s Derek tonight?”

Wayne sat back in his chair. “Home whining. He met this guy who claims to be his grandfather, and he asked the guy for money and the guy said no. So Derek pulled a hissy fit. But you know,” he said, stroking my thigh, “he and I have a very open relationship. He knows I like a little variety in my diet and he doesn’t mind.”

“Mmm-hmm.” I felt the touch of his fingertips on the sensitive inside of my thigh and it was all I could do to keep from squirming. “I know he was pretty broken up when his father died.”

“Yeah, Tommy was good to him. But I’m not sorry he got whacked. There was no way he was ever going to make me the manager of the bar.”

“But still, it was a point of honor for him, having to do something about the guy who killed his dad.”

Wayne gave me a look, and I could see I’d gone too far too fast. “So it was a good thing the guy committed suicide,” I said. “Must have made it easier on Derek.”

“I don’t want to talk about Derek.” Wayne’s hand crept up to my crotch, where I could feel its warmth against my erection. “Let’s talk about you. What do you like?”

“Oh, I like surfing,” I said. “And I swim a lot. Read when I can—I like mystery novels. Cooking. I like to barbecue, and help out when we have family luaus.” I could sense I was babbling, but didn’t know how to stop.

“Not that stuff, silly.” Wayne took the hand that had been on my crotch and ran it up my chest slowly. “I mean, what do you like? Are you a top or a bottom? I’ll bet you like to get it up the ass, don’t you?”