A Nice Day for Murder
By Vrinda
I
Steve McGarrett put his pen down and got up. Stretching his muscular arms and letting out a big yawn, he knew it was time to call it a night. Despite having worked cases like this before, his investigation against Oscar Lemaire was over and John Manicote, the DA, had enough evidence to indict the gangster and send him and several of his associates away for life. Steve took his report and put it into a manila folder, intending to give it to his secretary tomorrow for typing.
As the image of Iolani Palace got smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror, Steve thought of the night ahead. He had his choices: He could order takeout or eat leftovers on his couch while watching the evening movie on TV, then head off for bed; he could go out for dinner and see a movie at the theater, and even call one of his lady friends and take one of them along; or he could sample Honolulu's night life, since there were many clubs offering a variety of entertainment, but he was too tired to dance, and rarely touched liquor.
As soon as Steve opened his front door, he was greeted by the loud, demanding meow of Samantha – or Sammie, as she was affectionately known. Sammie stared at her master with curiosity, noticing his tired face as he clumped through the doorway.
"Good evening, Honey," Steve said as he closed the door. Sammie followed him through the foyer and into the living room. "I bet you're hungry." He ran his hand over the Burmese's black coat. Sammie wrinkled her whiskers and let out another meow in appreciation. Steve walked into the kitchen, where he opened the cupboard and took out two cans of cat food.
"Which one? Tuna or lamb?" Steve held both cans up so Sammie could see them. Sammie was not a fussy cat, unlike most others. She would eat whatever Steve gave her, as long as he was the one giving it to her.
Sammie was a birthday present from Danno, who figured Steve's apartment was better suited to a cat than a dog. Sammie could easily slink her way around the lush dwelling, often snuggling on Steve's bed as he slept, or nestling onto his feet as he sat. Sammie looked at the can of lamb, meowed loudly to signify that was her choice, and Steve opened it, scooping the food out into a blue plastic bowl and pushing it towards the cat.
"Dinner is served, Madam," he said, bowing. As Sammie chomped on her dinner, Steve went to the couch to lie down. Going out was not an option now. He was too tired. He should put it out of his mind, but for the past two months, he ate, slept, and breathed Oscar Lemaire. Lemaire was one of Hawaii's most sinister crime bosses. There's no such thing as a crime boss who isn't sinister, but Lemaire was colder than a morgue. The body count as a result of his operations was so high, they lost count. Many people disappeared without a trace. Steve had to keep telling himself over and over again that he could not save every life, right every wrong. All he could do was find the people responsible and make sure justice is served.
There was one thing dogging him, though: the connection between Lemaire and a Honolulu councilman named Gene Higgins. Steve always suspected that Higgins was Lemaire's man in government, and Lemaire was going to line his pockets all the way to the Governor's mansion and the Senate, but no proof ever turned up. Lemaire never spoke about Higgins, and Higgins was one of the few associates of the gangster to come out of this investigation clean. Steve still hoped he could implicate Higgins, somehow. Tomorrow, he would go to the beach and forget about all this for a while. He had a few days to himself, and he was going to use them.
II
The beach was practically deserted at eight in the morning, except for two fishermen, casting their net for angelfish and barracuda, two common staples of Hawaiian sea food. There were two boys surfing further down on the east side of the beach from where Steve was standing, plus one more boy on the beach holding a camera, snapping away at the waves. Steve walked leisurely, adjusting his sunglasses and his rito hat. The waves crashed against the beach, their foamy caps fizzing over the turquoise water as they receded.
The color turquoise … it reminded Steve of the color tie Lemaire wore when he was sentenced - sentenced for tax fraud, one lousy charge of tax fraud. It should have been murder, murder in first times hundreds! Lemaire was going to jail - leave it at that and b happy you got this far … then it hit him: Lemaire was allowed on bail for the next two months while he got his affairs in order. One of those affairs might be to kill the man who sent him to jail. Steve stopped himself again. He can't be acting paranoid now. Get a hold of yourself! he said to himself.
As he walked further down the beach, the sounds of laughter from the three surfer boys grew dim, turning faint amongst the island breeze, then their sounds were silent as he was too far away to hear them anymore. He enjoyed the tranquility but, deep down, he had an eerie feeling, like something was going to happen. Ever since he took that jog on the beach one morning two years ago, and Joseph Trinian stepped out of nowhere and opened fire … The strange feeling was getting stronger. Steve walked faster, his heart pounding inside like a jackhammer …
"What's the matter, McGarrett? In a hurry?" shouted the male voice. Steve whirled around to see Councilman Eugene Higgins, dressed like he was going out for a morning jog in a red windbreaker and gray track pants. "The way you were walking, it was like deer being stalked by a bear." He caught up with Steve and put his hand on the top cop's shoulder.
It might as well be, Steve thought. "Oh, I was just trying to do a power walk," Steve replied. He hated to feign politeness, but until they could get enough evidence on Higgins, Steve had to remain in his favor in order to get close to him and get that evidence. Eventually, Higgins would let something slip.
"Congratulations on finally putting Lemaire away," Higgins said, smiling. "I heard it took a lot of sleepless nights. Lemaire was very careful."
"Yes, all those murders committed in his name, and all we could get him for was one lousy tax evasion charge." Steve clenched his fist.
"Well, chalk it up to Oscar being better at hiding bodies than his income." Higgins laughed. The man was starting to get on Steve's nerves.
"I take it you're going to need a new golden goose," Steve replied, deciding to play his trump card.
Higgins's mirth disappeared from his face, yet he maintained an air of casualness. "What do you mean 'golden goose'?" he asked, trying to look puzzled.
"Wasn't Lemaire paying your way to the Governor's mansion?" Steve asked.
"I took a campaign donation from him once, but that was it. It was perfectly legal."
LIAR! Steve shouted in his mind.
"Besides, I want nothing to do with Lemaire. I run a clean house, McGarrett, and I won't have it dirtied by criminal filth like him …"
Steve tried very hard not to laugh. "Why the sudden change? You were happily associating with Lemaire before – inviting him to all those parties, allowing his employees to work on your campaign …"
"That was before I knew just how dirty Lemaire was. I'm glad I found out in time," Higgins replied.
"Found out about what?" Steve asked. This time, he really did want to hear what Higgins had to say.
"Your team found out about the tax evasion when your accountant checked Lemaire's bank records, right - money that came from his drug and counterfeiting operations?"
"That's it," Steve answered.
"The information is legit. He ran quite a tight operation," Higgins said, "but then again, you know all about it."
Steve was getting more suspicious. Why would Higgins be so willing to reveal that information? There could only be one reason, and Steve saw it in the bulge of Higgins's pocket. There was a gun in there. Higgins was after one more moment of glory, before killing the man who put away his benefactor.
"You demonstrated it all in court – all the names, dates, places, dollar amounts – then you wrapped it up nice and neat and gave it to the DA." Higgins's hand was about to pull out of that pocket, no doubt to produce a shiny revolver or pistol. Steve's heart started pounding again. "It's a miracle I wasn't fingered, but you know I'm involved."
"What proof do you have?" Steve asked, trying to hide his fear. Higgins took out the shiny Colt .22 pistol. It was perfect for firing at close range.
"The wiretap on my phones. All it took was to grease some beat cop's palm at the HPD, and he talked. You and your boys monitored my calls, but you won't live to tell anyone what you heard …"
"FREEZE! POLICE!" the voice shouted. Higgins kept his eyes on Steve, while Steve remained frozen. One move, and in a split second, Higgins could kill him.
One of the fishermen Steve saw earlier ran up to them, putting a gun to Higgins's ear while the other fisherman took the Colt out his hand.
The three surfers joined them, one of whom happened to be Danno Williams, Steve's right hand man.
"You all right, Steve?" he asked, putting his hand his boss's shoulder.
"Yes, Danno, I'm okay." Steve started to breathe easier.
"How did you do it?" Higgins asked as the fisherman cops handcuffed him.
"I was wearing a wire, too," Steve answered, opening his windbreaker to reveal the wires and microphone Danno and Che Fong taped to his shirt. "Take him away, boys." The fishermen and the other two surfers escorted Higgins away.
"Talk about taking the day off," Danno said. "You're always on the job."
"It just goes to show that you can get a lot of work done outside of regular office hours." Steve looked up at the sky and the sun. The breeze picked up again, and he could hear seagulls calling. "As of now, I'm officially off duty till Thursday morning!" Steve laughed.