Hot Lava (9 page)

***

We made it back to our hotel alive, in one piece, and very much in need of a drink. We changed into our swim trunks (one knee-length, the other ball-length), and met the guys along our lovely stretch of beach. They looked entirely too relaxed.

“Having fun?” I asked, their lids briefly popping open to acknowledge our presence.

“How did the Hardly Boys do?” Will asked as our chairs were placed on either side of them.

We ordered drinks first, then filled them in. Minus, of course, the sex part. Will shook his head and asked if Brandon and I wanted to take a walk.

Once out of Koni’s earshot, we continued the conversation. “Well,” Will said, “that’s it, then; you guys are out of all this. Pimps and murderers and drug dealers mean you two are back on vacation and I’m off of mine.”

“No way,” Brandon whined. “I was promised some shopping and I’m going shopping!”

“So go shopping,” Will replied, his hand finding my own, making me feel guilty as sin yet again.

“But if we can’t go undercover, I won’t need all the girly clothes,” he complained with a pout.

“So go buy boyly clothes instead,” Will suggested with a heavy sigh.

“Those I already have,” he retorted, arms petulantly crossed over chest.

“Plenty of,” I added.

“Exactly,” Brandon re-added.

Will looked at the two of us and once again sighed, this time adding a shake of his head. “If it were anyone else, I’d yank out my badge and pull rank, but I know that won’t work on the two of you.”

“Meaning?” I asked.

“Meaning,” he replied, “as soon as my back is turned, you two will be shopping and going undercover in the back of Liko’s limo.”

Brandon giggled. “Just don’t turn your back in the bathroom; Chase seems to have a penchant for them these days.”

I scowled at him, and said to Will, “Yes, you’re probably right. So let us go shopping and go undercover, find out what the police seem to have missed about Liko, and then we’re out of this. Promise.” I squeezed his hand until he relented. As if he had a choice, really.

“Fine, but you’re being followed the entire time. Then that’s it. Deal?” he acquiesced, less than enthusiastically.

“Deal,” we both said, our fingers crossed behind our backs.

We returned to our chairs to find that our drinks had arrived. We chugged a round and ordered another. The tension began to melt away. Though, clearly, we hadn’t won anything with that deal back there. Lenny was still dead and Jed was still missing, plus we had a new bad guy to contend with. And, if we discovered nothing, Will would be on the case solo, leaving me worrying for the rest of our vacation -- a losing proposition if ever there was one.

There was a bright side, however. After a couple of hours of tanning and swimming, not to mention boy-ogling and a healthy lunch, much of it liquory, we were off on our shopping adventure.

When Koni started to follow us, we turned around with our best crossing guard stop-stance. “Where do you think you’re going?” Brandon asked.

“Um, dress shopping, I suppose?” he replied. (That much we’d filled him in on.)

“Then you suppose wrong,” he was told.

“Oh, come on,” he protested. “I’ll look far better in a skirt than you two old-timers.”

Will coughed. “Um, you’re not winning any points, kid,” he said.

“Oh, I mean, you’ll need someone to tell you how great you look,” he amended.

“Better,” Will said with a nod.

I looked at Brandon for some help and got none. “Fine,” I caved in. “But no dresses for you. Talk about corrupting an almost-minor.”

“As if I weren’t corrupted enough already,” he wisecracked, now walking by our side. “What’s one more vice in the greater scheme of things, anyway?”

“Shopping’s an addiction, kid,” Brandon told him. “Better to nip it in the bud now.”

“What’s a bud, dude? That like a craw?”

Will stopped in his tracks. “Oh God, I don’t think I can take a whole afternoon of this. I’m going back to the beach. You, um,
boys
have fun shopping.” He turned and walked away, shouting over his shoulder, “And stay out of trouble.”

“Were it that easy,” Brandon groaned, leading the way down Kalakaua Avenue, past the Outrigger Waikiki, the Cheesecake Factory (Yum!), and on our way to shopping nirvana.

Waikiki is the Edenic version of Rodeo Drive, without all the plastic, bleached-blonde bimbettes. In just a one mile stretch of sidewalk, there’s Fendi, Salvatore Ferragamo, bebe, Kate Spade, Bvlgari, Cartier, Juicy Couture, and Rolex, all at ridiculously marked-up prices. It was at moments such as these that Brandon’s obscene wealth truly came in handy; otherwise, we’d have been back at the International Marketplace, trying on endless synthetic fibers and looking utterly dowdy.

We headed into Hermès first. If we had to go undercover, fuck it if we were going to be wearing granny hats over our heads. We entered the well air-conditioned store and my adrenaline started to flow. All the colors. All the variety. All the handsome, queer store clerks. Be still my heart (and hard on).

It was then we realized we were no longer in San Francisco. Three guys, even three obviously gay guys such as ourselves, couldn’t shop for ladies’ scarves without drawing attention to ourselves. Surprisingly, it was Koni who came to our rescue.

“Aloha,” he said to the cutest of the worker drones. “We need a birthday gift for our mother.”

The salesman coughed. “You three are, um, related?”

Without missing a beat, Koni replied, “Step-brothers.”

That elicited a smile. “And what exactly would your
mother
like?”

Koni looked around the store. “Looks like you’ve got a lot of scarves.”

The clerk looked around as well. “Seems the case, yes. Would you care to see some, young man?”

“Yes, please,” came the reply, as politely as possible, which was quickly followed by a whispered, “asshole,” when the guy was out of earshot.

Brandon snickered and walked up to the counter, while we followed close behind. Seconds later, the man emerged from the back carrying an armful of scarves, each more beautiful than the next. A trickle of expectant sweat cascaded down my brow, despite the cool store climate.

“Easy, Chase,” Brandon cautioned. “They’re only scarves.” I kicked him in the foot. He gritted his teeth and apologized. “Sorry, I should’ve known better.”

“So,” the salesman asked, “what does your mother like?”

We each pulled out our favorites, all of them quite different. “She’s got eclectic tastes,” I informed the clerk. “Mind if we try them on, to get a better feel for what would look best? On her, I mean.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourselves.” Clearly, we weren’t fooling anybody.

“Beautiful,” I said, looking at Brandon.

“Beautiful,” he repeated, looking at me.

“Different,” Koni mustered, looking at the both of us. “This may take some getting used to.”

Brandon whispered in his ear, “Don’t get used to it, kid. For now, you’re only along for the ride. The limo trip is out of the question.”

He frowned. “But I’m still getting the scarf, right?” he whispered back.

Brandon sighed and looked back at the clerk. “Wrap ‘em up; we’ll take all three.”

Well, now, this part of the story could go on for hours, obviously. The long and the short of it, however, is that the same scenario played itself out repeatedly from store to store, each one staffed, to our good fortune, with one gay man after the next, until we were sufficiently weighed down with sunglasses, shoes, sandals, stockings, bras (silk and frilly), panties (ditto), blouses, skirts, much-needed makeup, and lastly, and new for the two of us, sarongs.

“All the locals wear them,” Koni informed us. “And, of course, the Japanese.”

We chose three, each one covered in a floral pattern of a different shade. They were form-fitting and strangely comfortable. Luckily, we were wearing them at the time when we spotted the limo pulling up in front.

“Liko,” I said in shock, as I ducked behind a mannequin.

Brandon and Koni shot in behind me. “Now what?” Brandon asked, peeking over my shoulder.

Liko was dropping someone off, someone coming into our shop. “Fuck,” I whispered. “He’s going to wait for her.” Meaning we were trapped.

“I have an idea,” Koni whispered back. “Follow me.”

Brandon and I looked at each other and shrugged. “Kids got more gray matter than the two of us combined,” Brandon reasoned.

“Good point,” I readily agreed, following our new leader.

We all squished into a fitting room. “Get dressed,” he told us. “This will work out in our favor.”

We stared at him, dumbfounded. “Huh?” I managed.

“Just do it,” he told us, slipping on some sandals and one of the scarves and sunglasses. Brandon applied the makeup. That much we had experience in. (With age comes wisdom. And, sadly, frown lines.)

We did as he had said, soon looking like three, well, sisters. Then, when none of the store employees were looking, we slipped out. Liko was leaning against his limo, barely paying us any heed. This I thought was a good thing. Escape, however, was not what Koni had in mind when he told us he had an idea.

“Excuse me,” he said, in his best female voice, “is this limo taken?”

Liko looked up at us three
women
. “Sorry, ladies, I’m waiting for someone.”

“Oh, such a shame. We’ve been shopping all day and can’t walk another step. We’d certainly appreciate a ride,” he/she explained, to my utter consternation.

It was then that Brandon joined in the plan. He reached inside his brand new Prada purse and pulled out his brand new Prada wallet. The hundred dollar bill caught the driver’s attention. Its twin got the door opened for us. The
poor
woman inside the shop would have to find a new ride home.

We piled on in, our bags to the far end of the limo, our asses to the other end. My heart beat out a furious staccato rhythm in my chest. Koni turned on the speakers so that Liko could hear us. “To the Ohana,” he told him, quickly turning off the speakers. Then he whispered to us, “It’s a twenty-minute drive. We have that much time to get information out of him. Tag, you’re it.” Which meant it was our turn on stage.

“What should we ask him?” I whispered to Brandon.

He paused, thinking about it for a minute. “We’re trying to find his connection to a missing pimp, an incarcerated drug dealer, and a murdered drug smuggler, right?”

We nodded. “Right,” I replied. “None of which is going to be easy to work into polite conversation.”

Fortunately, it was our driver who started the ball rolling. He knocked on the pane of glass that separated us. We turned the speakers back on. “There’s an accident on Highway 1; I’ll need to take a slightly longer route.”

“No problem,” said Brandon. “We’re not expected for another half hour.”

“Your husbands are waiting for you?” he asked.

“No, our, well, clients,” replied Brandon. I stared at him in total confusion. “
They
paid for our shopping trip.”

“You ladies are from here?” we were asked.

“Currently, yes,” Brandon told him. “Working girls.”

“Really? What kind of work are you in?”

“Think about it,” Brandon said. “Three attractive women on their way to a tourist hotel. Bags full of merchandise we can’t afford. Not like we’re selling Amway products.”

He didn’t reply, not right away. Then, “Funny, I’ve never seen you three around before.”

“We transferred. From Maui,” I said. “Better, um, shopping here.”

He laughed. “Yes, I can see that.” Again he paused, the seconds ticking by like hours. “Just out of curiosity,” he eventually said, “who do you work for?”

“We’re solo artists,” Brandon quickly told him, a look of terror mixed with pride on his heavily made-up face.

For some reason, the conversation ended at that point. Liko didn’t respond to Brandon, and we didn’t know what else to say. The ball had been tossed, but not returned.

At least not just yet.

We arrived at the Ohana a short while later. The limo pulled into a drive-up and Liko got out, opening the door for us. Thankfully, he was still smiling. Our own smiles, however, were difficult to produce. “A pleasure, ladies,” he said, slightly bowing as he waited for us to exit.

“Thank you again, um...”

“Liko,” he said, shaking each of our hands. “And you are...”

“Judy,” I said.

“Liza,” Brandon said.

Koni paused. “Madonna,” he said. “Catholic mother, you see.”

A card was proffered. I looked at it. Just a phone number, nothing more. “In case we need a ride later?” I asked.

He shook his head sideways. “Nope, guess again.”

He was making us state the obvious, just in case he was mistaken about us, I figured. “Employment opportunities?” I asked.

“Let’s just say I might be able to guide work your way,” he said, finishing the conversation by returning to his driver’s seat. With a nod and smile, he cranked up the engine. Rolling down the window, he added, “Have a good day at
work
, ladies.” And with that he was off.

Koni poked us in the ribs. “Gee, that was fun. Welcome to my world,
ladies
.”

In all the confusion, I hadn’t realized that he’d gone from being a male prostitute to a female one, all in the blink of a newly-placed eyelash. “Fun is not the word for it,” I said, glumly, grabbing my bags as I walked over to a well-shaded bench.

My cohorts followed and joined me. “Look on the bright side,” Brandon said. “We were right about Liko, at least. He’s clearly mixed up in all this somehow. I mean, he wasn’t offering us limo work, you know.”

I grinned, despite the dire circumstances. “Madonna?” I asked our young friend.

“I don’t look like a Cher,” he informed us.

“Trust me,” I said. “You don’t look like a Madonna, either.”

Brandon patted his head. “I don’t know, maybe a little bit around the eyes.”

Koni grinned. “See. And now we’re hot on the trail.”

The grin faltered. “Nuh uh. We promised Will. One reconnaissance mission and then we turn it over to the police. Besides, he was right; Lenny was murdered and Jed is missing -- for a good reason, I’m sure. Now we have an evil limo driver to contend with. It’s all too much to handle, even for us.”