Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

Lou sat in the back of the dimly lit bar scanning the few remaining patrons and watching the front entrance. It had been a busy Friday night at Sandy's. His table was dirty with crumbs and grease, and wet from spilled drinks. The floor was sticky. His boots made squishy sounds as he shifted his weight in the booth. The air was stale with the stench of cigarettes, burnt Korean BBQ, kimchi[i] and tequila. He sipped his gin and tonic.

The top-notch girls had already gone home. Only two dancers were still working the stage, one Filipino and the other Japanese. Both were in various stages of undress as they gyrated slowly to the hip-hop beat. Neither seemed very motivated, they were just going through the motions. It was almost closing time. The few men scattered on each end of the stage were not that energetic either. They were running out of dollar bills. They seemed content to slouch over their drinks, only halfheartedly encouraging the girls to come closer and reveal more.

Another Hostess came by, again offering to sit with him or bring some Pupus[ii] to the table. He knew it would be more natural if he let the older woman sit with him and order a twenty-dollar drink, but he just wasn't in the mood to make conversation. Instead, he ordered another gin and tonic and gave her a ten-dollar tip. This seemed to satisfy her and he was left alone in the smoky darkness.

"I don't see him," the clear voice said in his head.

"What about the guy in the far corner getting a private lap dance?"

"Nope, too short and stocky," the reply came back immediately. "Also, he's Japanese national, were looking for a Polynesian."

"I know what we're looking for," he said, slightly irritated.

"Hey Lou, don't get so touchy."

"Well, I'm not the one relaxing in my bed with the benefit of night vision, face recognition, infrared and who the hell knows what," he said. "Just answer my questions and give me new information. I don't need the commentary."

"Okey-dokey," the voice responded. "Someone's a little bit on edge tonight."

"Speak for yourself."

He finished his drink.

"I think I'll call it a night."

Lou needed some sleep. It had been a long day. His regular job as a security consultant for the governor's office was keeping him busy. An election year was coming up, so he had even more to look forward too. As it was, he easily put in sixty hours a week and had not had a two-day weekend in six months. This gig, though more of a hobby than a job, was starting to add to his stress level.

"Stay where you are, I just picked up a likely suspect about a block away, heading in your direction."

"Roger that."

A few minutes later, a large Polynesian man walked into the bar. He was at least six feet tall and built like a linebacker. He was clean-shaven, with light brown skin. He had Maori tattoos on his neck and right arm. He was dressed neatly in a short-sleeved collared Aloha shirt and pressed khaki pants. He walked up to the bar with confidence. His open toed sandals made flip-flop sounds as the leather soles stuck to the floor and then slapped his heels. He took a stool and ordered a Bourbon on the rocks.

"That's him," the voice said.

"Hundred percent?" Lou asked.

"Running final facial recognition scan now."

From his vantage point in the rear of the bar, he watched the Polynesian man's eyes. They took in everything. His movements were deliberate, calculated. He looked through the smoke filled air towards the back of the bar where Lou was sitting. His gaze paused for a moment, focusing on the haole[iii] sipping his gin and tonic, but then continued with his assessment of the establishment.

"This one's careful," the voice said.

"Looks like it."

"Okay, results are back. This is definitely our guy."

Lou threw a couple of bucks on the table and took the back exit out of Sandy's. He crossed the alley and found a position in the shadows. He waited.

"Do you want me to call for backup?"

"No, I can do this on my own tonight," Lou replied.

"You sure? He looks like a pretty big moke,[iv]" the voice said.

Lou laughed at his partner's attempt to sound local.

"You know I don't like repeating myself," Lou said. "Especially when it's after three o'clock in the morning and I'm crouching in the shadows of a urine-filled back alley."

"Yep, I had to turn off the scent receptors. I feel for you bruddah.[v]"

"Thanks for the empathy. You can cut the pidgin.[vi]"

A hurt silence settled over the alleyway. Lou felt bad about taking his sour mood out on his friend.

"How about some music?" He asked.

"Hotel California, coming right up."

Almost immediately, the soft country rock rhythms of the Eagles' 1970s classic were playing in the background. It was not exactly what Lou had in mind, but it did match the mood of the evening. Lou, long-term memory impaired, preferred more recent and independent artists, while his friend and partner James, the voice in his head that remembered everything, was still stuck in the 70s and 80s.

Even after all of this time Lou was still amazed at the feeling of having a voice and/or music piped directly through his brain. He would have difficulty explaining it to someone else if he had too—luckily, very few people knew about their special arrangement. The voice communication functionality was easy to accept, it was just like talking on a high quality headset and cell phone—except there was no visible equipment and his ears still heard everything around him. The piped-in music, however, was a completely different level of involvement. It emanated from a unique place deep inside his brain, and spread out encompassing his entire consciousness. The sound completely enveloped him, yet he remained in control of the volume. All of his instincts, intellect and senses remained fully functional. He still heard the soft chatter in the parking lot and the cars passing by on the main street, but the rhythms of the music surrounded him in a quadraphonic, no, a "holistic-phonic" experience.

Lou wondered what the great composers and musicians would've thought if they could have experienced their music at this level—it would have surely blown their minds. Perhaps they did. Maybe that's why so many great musicians went insane.

The seconds ticked by slowly. Lou hated to wait. Unfortunately, it seemed like 80% of the time when he was out on a mission, that's all he did—wait. He used the time to survey the layout, strengthen his Ki[vii] and store his adrenaline. The alley, crowded with overflowing garbage cans, cardboard boxes, and recycle bins, led to a parking lot a block over. It was dark except for a few naked bulbs hanging over the back exits of the strip mall of bars and restaurants lining the south side of Keaumoku Street. Only a few cars were still cruising the main street at this time of night. The sidewalks, busy earlier in the evening, were empty except for a few late-night patrons making their way home. A homeless man slept about fifty paces further down the alley in the corner of an alcove between Sandy's and Thai House, a popular karaoke bar. It was relatively quiet.

The glow from the neon lights fronting Sandy's switched off. It was closing time. The bouncer and bartender ushered out the few customers that hung on until the last drink of the night. He heard the front door close and lock.

"Not long now," Lou whispered to himself.

A few minutes later, the Polynesian man entered the front of the alley and quickly stepped in to the shadows.

"You got him?" the voice asked.

"Yep, any weapons?"

"A switchblade in his back pocket, nothing else that I could see."

"Copy that."

Lou felt for the stun gun clipped to the side of his belt. He sometimes carried a Glock 26, but this guy was a predator of women, a low-life rapist, a gun was not needed. The stun gun and his hands and fists would be sufficient, and more satisfactory. He would punish the man a little bit, just to send a message to any other would be rapists in the state. Lou looked forward to that, but remained mindful of his goal. Capture the perpetrator in the act and bring him to justice, not kill.

The workers from Sandy's slowly started to exit the back door. Some headed to the parking lot, while others made for the main street hailing taxicabs or rides with friends. Lou kept his eyes out for the Filipino dancer. This was the perp's preferred target and MO. Six exotic dancers, all young Filipino girls, had been kidnapped and raped over the last four months in the Keaumoku Red-light district. The police had a vague description of the man, but they hadn’t been able to identify or apprehend him.

"The Voice," which Lou sometimes liked to call his partner James, with his powerful computers, surveillance systems, and unlimited public and private database access, had been able to pin point the rapist. Honolulu Police Department (HPD) had been notified, but statewide budget cuts didn't allow for a rapist of exotic dancers to be placed high on the most wanted list. The city’s Police Department was grappling with many other priorities. They were, however, happy to have Lou's assistance.

The girl left the bar and walked towards the parking lot. Lou moved deeper into the shadows as she passed by. He stood perfectly still, waiting to see if the Polynesian man would make his move.

He did.