Neil Plakcy - Mahu

“I got a couple of good ones. Not many, though.”

“Yeah, it’s been slow.”

He was a skinny blond dude, long stringy hair, and tiny silver rings in his right ear, his nose and his left eyebrow. He was wearing a tank top and as he reached for a bag his shirt shifted a little and I noticed he’d gotten his nipple pierced, too. To avoid looking at him anymore I turned a bit and scanned the store. “Hey, throw these in too, will you?” I asked, spotting a bag of chocolate-covered Oreos and putting them on the counter.

“Eating healthy, dude,” he said, with a smirk. “These are killer, by the way. I keep a bag behind the counter and scarf them for energy sometimes.”

Back outside, the sun was setting through the low motels and high-rise towers, turning the sky a range of pastels from yellow to blue. It was a peaceful time of day, and I started to feel like someday I might get my life back in order again, and that in the end all the uproar might just be worth it.

I skewered the shrimp and veggies and grilled them, and put them on a plate over rice. With a Rhino Chaser, it was a perfect supper, and then I sat back with a Sue Grafton mystery until I was yawning more than I was reading. I could do this, I thought, as I crawled into bed, under the Hawaiian quilt my haole grandmother had pieced together in the first days after she’d married my grandfather, when she was struggling to fit into life as Mrs. Keali‘i Kanapa‘aka. I could make a nice life for myself, by myself, without the complications of romance or sex. But then, as sleep overcame me and I snuggled up next to my pillow and I missed having someone next to me, I doubted my own resolve.

The next morning, Akoni and I spent the first hour of our shift catching up on paperwork. By nine o’clock I was ready to get back to Tommy Pang’s murder. “I’m tired of giving Derek time to grieve,” I said. I picked up the phone and dialed Derek’s number, and was rewarded by a sleepy voice in my ear.

I introduced myself and asked if I was speaking to Derek Pang. “Derek can’t really speak to anyone now,” the voice said. “He’s very upset.”

“Mr. Gallagher, I know Mr. Pang is upset, and I sympathize with him, but we’re investigating a murder. I’m sure he’ll recognize it’s very important to catch whoever killed his father. We need to talk to you both as soon as possible. How soon could you see us?”

He tried to put me off but I wouldn’t give up. Finally he said, “Give us an hour?”

I agreed to meet them at their apartment at ten o’clock. Akoni printed out a list of known tong members we could ask Derek about, and then we sat and brainstormed on a bunch of questions as well. At nine-thirty we headed Ewa from Waikiki, hitting a lot of traffic on Ala Moana Boulevard. The address Wayne had given me was for a pair of luxury high-rise condominiums in Kaka‘ako, an industrial neighborhood across from the port of Honolulu, out past the Kewalo basin, with its assemblage of small boats.

Kaka’ako was in the middle of a transformation. The condo tower where Wayne and Derek lived dominated the neighborhood; on one side was Restaurant Row, a collection of twenty-some restaurants and a multiplex cinema, but on the other side was a derelict empty lot. There were low warehouses and parking lots all around. We parked at a meter on a side street and walked up to the condo, where we checked in with the doorman, then rode the elevator to the twentieth floor.

Gallagher answered the door. He was about six four, broad-shouldered, with sandy hair and a mustache. He probably weighed two-sixty, which was about thirty pounds too much for a man with his build. He was barefoot, wearing a black silk kimono embroidered with red dragons. His eyes were still sleepy and he hadn’t shaved or combed his hair yet. I thought he was incredibly sexy.

The thought jolted me and made me tongue-tied for a minute. Akoni introduced us and Gallagher led us into the living room, a large, white room with a white marble floor. There was a black leather sofa along one wall, and a big entertainment center with a large-screen TV and a fancy stereo system. Sliding glass doors led to a half-round balcony overlooking Waikiki, Diamond Head, and a vast expanse of Pacific Ocean. What dominated the room, though, was the art.

All four walls were hung with paintings. Some large, splashy colorful flowers, a couple of Jackson Pollock spatters, even a small Impressionist style piece in a heavy gilded frame. There were Chinese watercolors and what looked like South American primitives, as well as a large Hawaiian quilt on one wall that even I could tell was quite valuable.

The art wasn’t confined to the walls, either. In one corner was a brightly painted wooden chair, and around its base was a collection of wooden animals painted in clashing colors. A small pedestal held a glass-topped box with a few pieces of what looked like museum-quality, early Hawaiian artifacts. It was like walking into a gallery.

“I’ll get Derek,” Gallagher said. “He’s resting.”

“Perhaps we could talk to you first,” I said, regaining my voice.

“Sure.” He sat down on a black leather recliner catty-cornered to the sofa and motioned to us. “Have a seat.”

His arms and calves were lightly dusted with sandy blond hair. When he sat, the kimono fell away from his right thigh and I could almost see down to his crotch.

Get hold of yourself, I thought. “Let’s start chronologically,” I said. “Where were you Tuesday night, the night Tommy was murdered?”

“We were at the club for a while, the Rod and Reel Club. Derek was trying to convince his father to make me the manager.” He preened a little. “I’ve been working in bars and clubs for years. Worked my way through Yale as a bouncer, bartender and assistant manager.”

“Around what time was that?”

Wayne had to think for a minute. It was almost like he was running through his story and making sure he got the details straight. “I guess around midnight. Yeah, had to be around then, because we went off to another club after that.”

“Anyone else in the office when you were there?”

“Some guy who worked for Mr. Pang came over for a meeting. I don’t know his name. Mr. Pang had a lot of other businesses besides the club. He was an important guy.”

“Did he know about you and Derek?”

“You mean did he know we like to suck each other’s dicks?” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms in front of him. “We never talked about it. If he wanted to ignore it, then that was his business.”

“You and Derek knew each other in college?”

“Doesn’t your friend ever talk?” He looked at Akoni. “What are you, the strong, silent type?”

Akoni said, “I’ll talk when I have something to say.”

Gallagher turned back to me. The lapel of his robe had fallen open, exposing one pink nipple surrounded by dark blond hair. “We met sophomore year. We both lived in East Asia House. It’s a dorm, but they have special programs, Japanese culture, Pacific Rim cooking, world politics, that kind of thing. I was always interested in the Orient-my father was a businessman, and we lived in Japan for a year when I was a kid.”

I nodded. “You moved out here a couple of months ago, isn’t that right?”

He shifted position, closing his robe, tucking his right leg under him. “Derek had to get settled, see what things were like out here, before I could come out. He hadn’t really been home much since he went away to college.” He laughed. “He didn’t even know his dad owned a gay bar, can you believe it?”

“Do you recognize any of these names?” I handed Wayne the list we’d made up of known tong members.

Wayne shifted around a little in his chair and the black silk rode up on his thigh again. I was getting pretty annoyed at myself for noticing so much about him, but somehow I couldn’t help it. He read through the list, pausing once or twice. Finally he looked up and shook his head. “None of them ring a bell. Mr. Pang really wanted Derek to go legit, you know. He didn’t want to tell Derek about anything he did that was shady at all. I mean, we only knew about the bar because the office is in back there.”