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Authors: Charles Knief

BOOK: Diamond Head
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D
espite what she knew about Thompson's nasty proclivities, Kate still arranged to have me followed when I left the restaurant. Even as she told me to be careful she was arranging for my escort. She had to know she'd put me in a precarious position if my tail was discovered, but catching Thompson was more important. It's always good for a guy to know where he stands.
At least they weren't the same people she'd hung on me before. This team was a couple, a man and a woman. They tried to look like tourists but they were so local and out of place it would be a hard sell if anyone was really looking. They drove a late-model silver Pontiac Grand Prix that looked like a rental, except rentals don't have the antenna array even the most obscure police cars are sporting these days.
Finding a tail isn't difficult. A retired FBI agent taught me the fundamentals one hot Saturday afternoon a few years ago. He called it a talent search. If you think you have someone behind you, turn right, then turn right again. Repeat that two more times and you are heading in your original direction. If there's anyone behind you after that, there's only one reason: they want to know where you are going.
I spotted my tail as soon as I'd completed half of my talent
search. At the fourth turn I was certain it was a police tail. They were too discreet to work for Thompson. The couple's car was more powerful than mine and they had access to other police units if they lost me, possibly a helicopter. I knew I wasn't going to outrun them.
The light at Kapiolani and King changed from green to red. The intersection is near Honolulu Hale, city hall, about two miles from Waikiki. I stopped between a white rental car and a city bus. I set the parking brake and got out of the Jeep, leaving the engine running. I joined the throng of pedestrians crossing the street, moving with the crowd, walking along at its ambient speed.
I disappeared around the corner as horns began blaring.
Once out of sight I found a cab idling in front of a topless bar. I climbed into the back of the old Cadillac.
“Black Orchid.”
“Sure t'ing,” said the driver.
The Black Orchid is in Restaurant Row, a cluster of modern steel and glass buildings along Ala Moana Boulevard. The restaurants are popular with the locals, probably because they're reminiscent of New York or California. There isn't a palm frond or a tiki torch in the place, and tourists are few and far between. The locals find it exotic.
I paid the driver at the entrance to the underground garage and walked inside. I made my way through the afternoon crowd in the mall to the Black Orchid, on the far end of the row. I caught the eye of one of the parking attendants lounging against the wall. It was a little early for dinner and there wasn't much for him to do.
“Car, sir?”
“Can you call me a cab?” I handed him a five-dollar bill.
“Yes, sir,” he said, and ran to the telephone.
Two minutes later a battered Chevrolet stopped at the valet stand. I got into the front seat.
“Honolulu Yacht Club,” I told the driver.
 
 
F
ive minutes later I was standing on the main deck of
Pele,
a seventy-nine-foot Grand Banks motor vessel. I thought the name ostentatious, but in keeping with Thompson's image and ego. Pele was the old Hawaiian goddess of fire and volcanoes, the mother of the Islands and therefore all life.
Even though I was five minutes early, Thompson was waiting for me. The crew cast off as soon as I came aboard and the deep-water yacht left the harbor, heading into a hot Hawaiian afternoon.
“I must say I like your style, Caine,” said Thompson. He smiled at me, a drink in his hand. He was dressed all in black, a black silk shirt with those puffy sleeves you see on the covers of period paperback romances, and he was wearing tight black trousers. In place of the glossy high boots that should have completed the outfit, Thompson wore sandals.
“Oh, I was angry with you at first, I'll admit that. No one hangs up on me. No one. But I thought about it and decided you were right. No man such as yourself should take orders from anyone.”
“You flatter me,” I said.
“You intimidate me.”
“I do?”
“Yes. You barge into my office using a false name and a fraudulent story, and you bamboozle my secretary—poor girl, she's not over it yet—and then you hand me some solid gold information without so much as a ‘please' or ′thank you,' and then you just walk out of my office.
“You solved a problem I didn't even know I had. Two problems, actually. The solution to one problem led me to another problem I didn't know I had. And that brought still another. And all with solutions, now that I know what I'm facing. Is that too enigmatic for you?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful!” He laughed. “It made me curious about you. When I had you followed you lured my men into a trap and beat them nearly half to death. And then gave them your address! I like your style, Caine! I like the message you sent me.”
“What message is that?”
“If I want to know anything about you all I have to do is ask. But it's dangerous to fuck with you. How am I doing?”
“Not bad,” I admitted.
“One of the boys is still in the hospital, you know. Something's broken inside.”
“Sorry.”
“Don't be. All part of the game, you know. You won. They lost. It could have been you.” He eyed me closely for a response and came up empty. “Life's like that. Winners and losers, winners and losers. It's nature's way of sorting it all out.” His dark eyes settled on me. I felt uneasy under their bleak, obsidian gaze.
“So tell me, Mr. Caine. What is it you want from me? I can offer you the late Mr. Choy's position. The pay is ten thousand a week. I, ah, seem to have a current opening.”
“No thank you.”
“Then what?”
“I just wanted to talk. I thought a little gift was appropriate.”
Thompson laughed, a bellow from way down below the belt line. “A gift? Yes. It was a gift!”
The yacht cleared the harbor entrance. I wondered where we were heading but I didn't ask. It would come in good time. I found my center and tried to appear relaxed. The sun was still high in the sky and Diamond Head loomed brown and green above the Waikiki skyline. Along the shore the classic pink jewel of the Royal Hawaiian stood apart from the bland high-rise hotels surrounding her.
Pele
continued on an easterly course, matching the southern shore of the island.
“We can talk out here, Mr. Caine. Any topic you wish. Nothing leaves here unless I want it to leave. And nobody leaves here unless I want them to leave.”
I smiled directly into the face of the threat. The bully treatment was beginning. First the carrot and then the stick. I remembered what my first objective had been with this man. I had to keep him interested so he would want to keep me alive. I had no illusion that he liked me or even thought I could be useful. He was trying to get inside my head, nothing more. Once he had what he wanted he would do away with me.
Or try to.
“I'll treat you the way I like to be treated,” I told Thompson. “If I want to know something about you, I'll just ask.” He said nothing, keeping me under his searchlight stare. “Tell me all about Mary MacGruder.”
He didn't seem surprised.
“You really want to know about that little slut?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I really want to know about that little slut.”
“You work for her father?”
I nodded. I was going on blind faith and instinct. I had an idea that might work. It was the only thing I could see that had a chance to convince him I was harmless.
“Just like the other fella? That private eye? Hell, you know he killed himself?”
“I heard he had help.”
This time surprise did flash across his features. Just for an instant his brow wrinkled and then it was smooth again.
“The admiral wanted to find out about my operation in the worst way. Anything. Anything at all. Souza was nosing around my people, trying to get in the back door. He found out a couple of things that might have been important. Before he gave his report to the admiral he tried selling it to me. Double-dipping, I think you Yanks call it. I couldn't trust a man who did that. Could you?”
The threat was there. Chilled sweat flowed down my back. He knew.
“In the end I had to do away with him. You've guessed it, as I see. He was becoming a nuisance. Winners and losers, just as I said. And he was a loser.”
“Big-time.”
“I'm disappointed in you, Caine. I checked you out. I thought we could do some business.”
“We can.”
“You work for MacGruder.”
“He wants me to find out if there is any evidence in the investigation that could backfire on him. Anything like drugs, or a hint of Mary's involvement in any kind of illegal activities. Things like that could ruin his career. I agreed to help, hoping to find the pot of gold. I think I could bleed him dry without a comeback.”
Thompson laughed. “You're a sharpshooter!”
“Of course. Aren't you?”
He smiled. “Is that what you want? Is that all?”
“I need proof. Evidence. Something concrete I can show the admiral.”
Thompson put down his drink.
Pele
had rounded Diamond Head and was headed along the rough coastline beyond. From Diamond Head to Sandy Beach it's all a rocky lava coast with little protective barrier reef. It's no place for boats to get into
trouble. It's not a place where I wanted to swim to shore, either.
“You want evidence? How about a videotape? Come on.” He went below, his broad back and shoulders nearly larger than the passageway and the hatch.
I followed him to the main cabin. There was a large-screen television in one corner of the salon. Jasmine was there, too, dressed in a black string bikini and matching high heels. Even though she was dressed for a party she didn't look the part. Her eyes were large and dark and red from crying. Bruises adorned her arms and legs. I recognized the signs of an expert beating, one that produced maximum pain.
“Jasmine, get out!” Thompson's hand became a fist. The girl scrambled out of the room, tripping once. He didn't raise his arm. He didn't have to. She went forward, the hatch slamming behind her.
“She made a mistake the other day, letting you in without first checking on you. You could have been a cop. I disciplined her. Had to. Ordinarily she likes to use my equipment but she doesn't like to hurt. She likes to pretend. She's quite the actress, you know.” His eyes, knowing, gleamed in the low light of the interior of the vessel. “This time was a surprise for her. Instead of pleasure, she found real pain.” Thompson watched me for a reaction. I gave him nothing.
He pulled a videotape cartridge from a nearby bookshelf and inserted it into the machine atop the television. “Sit,” he commanded. “This won't take long, but it will be educational. You wanted evidence.”
The tape lasted thirty minutes. I was reminded of someone, I don't remember who, who said that the first ten minutes of a pornographic movie made her feel sexy and the remainder made her want to give up sex forever. This one revolted me from the start. I found none of it arousing. I'll admit to being particularly offended because I'd become proprietary toward one of the participants. The fact that she was dead, and possibly
by the hand of the man sitting next to me, didn't help.
All of the action took place in one room. The camera angle was stationary, never wavering during the entire film. There were no close-ups, no change of background, no overheads. It all took place in a single perspective. I memorized that background, looking for landmarks I could identify if I ever saw this room, or a photograph of the room again. The only visible wall was covered with teak paneling, and sand-colored carpeting covered the floor. There were no windows, which made me wonder if the film had been shot in a basement.
There was no plot. A nude Mary MacGruder was in it, but the star was a young girl who looked to be in her late teens. She appeared only mildly worried at first. I got the impression she wanted to believe she was only acting, but failed to convince herself. When the real pain came, enthusiastically administered by Mary, she screamed into the high registers. The girl was tied to a rack that exactly matched the sketch in the coroner's report. She was a blonde, too. A natural blonde.
It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up when I realized I was watching Mary MacGruder practicing her own demise.
I have never understood how people can take pleasure from other people's pain. It didn't make sense to me to take the most tender and loving of human acts and twist it like that. On the other hand I've lived long enough to know there are no depths to which the human soul cannot reach.
“It was a commercial enterprise,” said Thompson. “All Mary's idea. I'd been doing skin flicks using blondes for years. The Japs love the stuff, can't get enough of it. They're so fucking macho this stuff really turns them on. And for them a blonde is a true exotic.” He laughed. “They think they go this way.” His finger traced a line horizontally.
“Mary put a spin on it. She hit on the idea of the bondage. She was into S and M anyway. I don't know where she got it, but believe me she was expert. She said the Japanese really
liked it. I didn't know where she learned that tidbit, either, but I went along with her. She was quite the little salesperson.
“She recruited the girls. She built the rack. She insisted on acting in the movies. I paid for everything, took the videos and gave the girls the plane fare home. Sometimes I had to pay a doctor. It was rare, but it happened. Don't look so shocked. Professional football teams have a team physician, too, you know, and that's just for entertainment. I was the producer, just the producer, but Mary was the heart and soul of the enterprise.
“And Mary knew just how far to go. Most of the time. Sometimes she'd get a little too enthusiastic and my costs would go up for the settlements, but she loved it. She loved every part of it. And the extra money was returned many times over, because those special videos brought in much more money. The Oriental likes pain, you know, Caine, as long as it's not his. And if it's real, it's worth more money.
“What you just saw brings in five thousand a copy. And that's just the tame stuff. It's like stealing, only more fun.”
“Are all of them like that?”
Thompson averted his gaze, his eyes hooded. “Most of them,” he said.
“What about the rest?”
“Special tastes. They're only for a select clientele.”
“Got any aboard?”
He looked past me, peering into something I could not see. The movie had aroused him, and he was annoyed by my presence and my questions. Mary MacGruder was not the only one who loved it.
“Maybe,” he said. He shuddered, and brought himself into the present. “Can you keep your mouth shut? This isn't something I'm going to give away.”
I nodded. I knew what I was into now. It was worse than I had imagined.

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