Neil Plakcy - Mahu Vice

“Not at this hour. You want something, don’t you?” He looked at me. “You want to pimp me out to Stan LoCicero. Christ.”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

The microwave beeped and Gunter pulled the hot water out. He poured it into a clear glass teapot, dipped the tea bag in, and put the top on.

“What would you call it?” Gunter asked, turning to face me. I was glad to avoid the distraction of that perfect ass, but it wasn’t as though his dick was hidden by the pouch of white silk. “Helping the police with their inquiries?”

“Putting an asshole behind bars,” I said.

We watched the water in the glass teapot grow darker. Gunter opened the cabinet for two cups and a plastic honey dispenser in the shape of a bear.

I debated whether I should tell Gunter about Sergei’s aborted meeting with Stan. I knew it would make him more nervous, but he was my friend, and I owed him the truth. “We need your help.” I sketched out the details of Sergei’s involvement with Stan as Gunter poured the tea into the cups, squeezing honey into his and passing the bear to me.

“He shot the dude?” Gunter squeaked. “And you want me to meet with him?”

I drizzled some honey into my cup. “Yeah, but Stan had reason to be suspicious of Sergei. Sergei wanted something from him that Stan didn’t want to give up. But with you, it’s different.”

“Different gun? Or different bullets?”

“Different because Stan wants something from you. You call him up and say you’ve been thinking about his offer, and you could use some extra cash. It’s the holidays coming up, after all. Maybe you’ve been thinking about going back to Jersey for a white Christmas.”

“Like that’s going to happen,” Gunter said. We both sipped our tea. “Where will you be?”

“Wherever you need me.”

“I could tell him to come by the Kuhio Regent,” Gunter said, considering. “There’s a balcony overlooking the lobby. You could be up there.”

“We’d have you wired up.”

“Let me do this before I realize what a stupid idea it is.” Gunter picked up his cell phone and dialed. “Mr. LoCicero? It’s Gunter Franz. I’ve been thinking about your proposition.”

Gunter laughed. “Well, one of your propositions. I’ve got my eye on a Bulgari watch, and I’m not going to be able to buy it on a security guard’s paycheck. You think I could earn enough money working for you to put that little bauble on my wrist?”

He listened for a minute, then laughed again. “It’s big, but not that big,” he said. “Though I do have a selection of rings that fit it.”

I could see what they were talking about was turning Gunter on, and I averted my eyes from the silk thong, focusing on my tea.

“I’ll be at the Kuhio Regent from three to eleven,” Gunter said. “I’ll see you later, then.”

He hung up the phone. “There. I hope you’re happy. If you break up with the fireman again, I am so collecting from you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless the fireman is into threesomes?”

“I’ll ask him. Tell me the details.”

“Stan’s coming by the Regent later today. He wants to set up a meeting with that guy he told me about.”

I drained the last of my tea. “Then I’d better get moving. Can you come by the station before your shift? Say, two o’clock? We’ll get you wired up.” I looked at him. The excitement of talking to Stan had worn off, and it only looked like he had a coiled snake inside the thong instead of a toilet plunger. “But you’re going to have to wear something more than that to cover up the wire.”

“Don’t make me regret this.” Gunter poured a third cup of tea and squeezed some honey into it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a guest in my bedroom I have to say good-bye to.”

On my way back to the station I swung by the hospital to check on Sergei. Tatiana was at his bedside, sketching him. I kissed her first, then him. “How’s the patient this morning?”

Sergei smiled weakly. “The doctors say I’ll survive.”

Tatiana laughed. “He’s a big drama queen. He’s fine. They’re letting him out this afternoon.”

I sat on the edge of Sergei’s bed. “You catch that bastard Stan?” he asked.

“Not yet. We don’t have anything to tie him to the shooting other than circumstance.”

Sergei sat up, his body language changing immediately. “Who else on this island has a Night Rod?”

“What do you mean?”

As if he was talking to a child, Sergei said, “I recognized the bike. Stan has a Harley special edition, the Night Rod. I’ll bet there aren’t that many in Honolulu.”

I took out a pad and started making notes. “You know motorcycles?”

“I worked at a bike shop in Anchorage for a while.”

“Until the boss caught him screwing one of the customers,” Tatiana said. “How long did you last there? Six months?”

“This is good, Sergei. I’ll get somebody to check the registrations.”

“See?” he said to Tatiana. “I’m not a total screwup. Please don’t make me go back to Alaska.”

“I’ll leave you guys to work things out,” I said. I kissed them both again and took my notes back to the station, where I called the Harley dealership and asked about the Night Rod. As Sergei had said, it was a special edition, and the guy only knew of four on the island. One of them was Stan’s.

I added that to our growing list of information. By then, it was two o’clock, and Gunter showed up to be wired with a recorder and transmitter that would reach up to the balcony. Of course, Gunter flirted with the technician as he snaked the wire down my friend’s shirt, and to my surprise the guy flirted back. Maybe he was yet another undercover homosexual at the Honolulu Police Department. Or maybe straight guys were just a lot more comfortable these days.

Steve Hart and his partner, a Chinese-Hawaiian guy named Lee Kawika, left the station to set up surveillance on Stan at the Mahalo Manpower office. I drove Gunter over to the Kuhio Regent and Ray followed me in his Highlander. Parking is always a nightmare in Waikiki, but I snagged a metered spot around the corner from the building, and Ray pulled into a handicapped space across from me. We both left our police decals on the dashboard.

Gunter led us in through a back door and up to the balcony which overlooked the lobby. We tested the audio, then settled down with some sandwiches and bottled water, because it looked like it might be a long wait until Stan showed up.

It was interesting to watch Gunter work-for about the first hour. He checked in visitors, accepted deliveries, and flirted with every guy who passed his desk, including the elderly Chinese man who brought the dry cleaning, the FedEx guy, the letter carrier, and the hunky UPS guy, who filled out his brown shirt and shorts in a way that was almost pornographic. I’d have flirted with him, too, if I’d been single.

Around four-thirty Steve Hart called to let us know that Stan was on the move, and about a half-hour later he showed up in the lobby. He was wearing his faux-cop outfit again, the tight white shirt with epaulets and form-fitting black slacks.

Ray and I listened in as he walked up to Gunter. “Haven’t seen your friend Kimo lately,” Stan said.

He was a couple of inches shorter than Gunter, but they were too far away for us to read Gunter’s expression. “Not for a couple of days,” Gunter said. He shifted from foot to foot.

“You and he ever fool around?”

Gunter shrugged. “A few times.”

“Pretty sexy guy. You should see him on tape. He’s got some interesting tastes. Likes a big dick pounding up his ass.” He smiled. “But then, who doesn’t?”