Kelly's Law

By J. T. O’Brien

Its 1940, and Jack Kelly isnt your typical hero figure. Hes an FBI agent, but hes also a drinker, womanizer, and dirty talker. He isnt well-liked at the bureau, even though, with a law degree, hes over-qualified. He doesnt listen to his superiors; he doesnt even like his superiors, but putting up with them is all part of the job. When hes sent to Hawaii to look into Japanese activity, he goes because its what Washington tells him to do.

Its suspected that the Japanese have sent spies into Hawaii to cause trouble. The spies operate like a gang, threatening violence and death to anyone in their wayand Kelly is prepared to get in their way. Although not keen on the boys in Washington, Kelly is a patriot. As his investigation delves deeper, he runs into a mysterious and beautiful woman who charms him from the start. But is she in Hawaii with ulterior motives?

Soon, the lady becomes Public Enemy Number One. She is suspected of assassinating a witnessa witness who could have brought down the destructive spies from Japan. Kelly is the FBIs only hope. In order to find the truth, he might have to break some hearts and some bones. But is this devil-may-care agent really fighting a battle against foreign aggressorsor his own pride?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469781266

J. T. O’Brien

J. T. OBrien has written textbooks on forensics, a history of Marine Corps Aviation Reconnaissance, and four mystery novels. OBrien taught forensics and high speed pursuit tactics at a police academy. Kellys Law is the second book in the Jack Kelly series.

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Kelly’s Law

a novel

J. T. O’Brien

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

Kelly’s Law

Copyright © 2012 by J.T. O’Brien

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4697-8125-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-8126-6 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-8127-3 (dj)

iUniverse rev. date: 3/27/2012

Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

About the Author

Dedication

To Davey and Amy

And the gang down at the

Irish Wolfhound

Surprise Arizona

I want to thank Carl Park for the cover artwork and his help and criticism. I also want to thank my Daughter Cheryl for looking over my shoulder to keep me straight and Jeff Koonce for his valued counsel.

Chapter One

Jack Kelly was a tall imposing figure of a man and he was wearing a flashy new multicolored Hawaiian shirt, a light tan jacket, a Panama hat and white slacks. His shoes were two tone brown and white loafers. This was Jack’s idea of proper tourist attire. He had to admit that it was a rather colorful get up. He strolled along ignoring the occasional amused stares of the natives. This was Honolulu, Hawaii. He was in paradise and, as all the brochures that he had read concerning Hawaii had claimed, there were beautiful women everywhere. Hawaii was everything that he had ever imagined it to be. Back there, back in the frozen wastes of a Chicago winter, back when he was recovering from a gunshot wound to his hip, he had dreamt of a warm tropical paradise. Now he was here and positively enamored with the islands.

A sea breeze caused the tops of the palm trees that lined the street to sway gently and occasional gusts of wind tugged at his hat, which was mildly annoying. As he came to a corner in paradise, he noticed a grey haired, shabbily dressed man with a shopping bag in his hand, running from the bank across the street. A bank guard had followed the man out of the bank and was shouting at the culprit. The running man stopped, spun about and fired six rounds from a pistol at the guard. The bank guard, though startled at first, fumbled with his pistol and then tried to respond in kind. Midway through the exchange of shots the guard stumbled backwards and clutched at his chest. Then as he fell to the street, he continued to fire his weapon. Not at his original target, but at the street and the sky. Rounds were ricocheting off the pavement and now shards of glass from the second floor windows began showering down on the sidewalk.

The exchanged shots were less than accurate and a couple of large store windows were penetrated by errant rounds and they too smashed to the sidewalk. Female passerby screamed in terror, grasped their children and began scurrying for cover. Men stood there as if transfixed by events and then they too began to scurry, racing the ladies to safety. This sort of thing just didn’t happen in paradise.

By coincidence a Honolulu Police Department radio car happened to be parked diagonally across the street from the Bank and not too far from where Jack was standing. Two officers got out of the car and ran toward the shooter drawing their weapons and calling for the man to drop his weapon and surrender.

The shooter ignored their demands and calmly ejected the empty magazine. Then he reloaded a full magazine and began shooting at the cops. The window of the parked police unit shattered and both officers were hit by the indiscriminant fire. By now the scene in the street had degenerated to sheer pandemonium.

Jack calmly drew his forty-five caliber pistol from its shoulder holster and held up his FBI identification. Halt! He shouted at the shooter. Freeze right there! You are under arrest.

The man was in the process of reloading and he spun about and lifted his weapon as if to fire at Jack. That was his last mistake of the day. Still in all, the man did manage to get off three rounds in a rapid tempo. Jack heard a woman behind him grasp in pain as the rounds ricocheted off the street surface and struck the concrete walls. Two forty-five rounds caught the grey haired bandit in the chest and the shock caused him to stumble backwards. Then he slowly dropped his weapon to his side and fell dead to the ground. Suddenly, but for the sound of the wind in the palms, there was an eerie silence in the street, the carnage had ended as quickly as it had begun. The wind tugged at the shopping bag that the thief had dropped and a few bills blew away. The terror was over. It was then that Jack became aware of the moans of the wounded and clanging of alarm bells from the bank.

At this point another guard came running out of the bank and crossed to where the bank robber had fallen. A couple of police officers that had been running toward the action from further down the street joined the bank guard. They stopped and stared in awe at the fallen man. Jack slipped on the safety and holstered his weapon.

Jack carefully held his ID out for inspection by the police officers.

One officer checked the ID and thanked Jack for downing the robber. Jack walked over to the body of the dead man and looked down at a middle aged, unshaven white male that was dressed in rather shabby clothes. Evidently that guy had been a working man; he wore boots and ragged blue jeans. There was nothing fancy about this poor devil except for the 9mm Lugar pistol which sported pearl handles. Jack had seen weapons such as this one before, but not very often. He surmised that it had probably been a souvenir of the Great War and that most likely it had once belonged to some high ranking German officer.

The second guard stood there with the shopping bag of money in his hand. Jack glanced into the bag, which contained a small bundle of cash. Jack estimated that the loot consisted of four or five hundred dollars at the very most. He sighed and reflected momentarily upon the futility of it all. He reached down and removed the killer’s weapon from the lifeless fingers. Taking the killer’s pistol in his finger tips he ejected the magazine, cleared the weapon and then dropped it into the bag with the cash.

That bag is evidence, Jack said, Don’t remove it from the scene.

The guard stammered, But this is the Banks money.

Put it down, Jack demanded.

The guard complied with the command.

Then Jack walked over to where the dead bank guard lay. This fellow was a much older man. Jack guessed that the guard was probably a former cop working out the last days of his life. A middle aged Oriental lady lay in a widening pool of blood near the shattered revolving door of the bank. She too was dead. Evidently the bank robber wasn’t much of a shooter, but he had sure sprayed a lot of rounds about the area.

Across the street, back where Jack had come from, several people were tending to a lady that was lying on the sidewalk. Then an ambulance arrived and was directed toward the wounded woman. Moments later Lieutenant Rufus Larkin of Honolulu Homicide pulled up in a police unit and began to take charge of the scene.

A newspaper photographer appeared as if out of nowhere and grew angry when Jack ignored him and deliberately attempted to avoid a photograph, by turning away.

Hey Red, I’m from the press, give us a smile.

Go away! Jack said sharply.

Are you the guy that shot the robber? Lieutenant Larkin asked.

I am, Jack replied.

Why did you shoot him? Larkin demanded.

Jack was flabbergasted at the absurd question. Because he was shooting at me, Jack replied.

Larkin frowned at the flippant reply. Why didn’t you take the time to get that poor lady out of the line of fire?

I didn’t know that she was behind me. The shooter had my complete attention.

May I have your pistol, Larkin asked.

Jack drew the Forty-five from his holster and dropped the magazine from the weapon and then pulled the slide to the rear thus ejecting the round that had remained in the chamber. He quickly caught the projectile and inserted it back into the magazine. Then he handed the magazine and the pistol to the Lieutenant.

Larkin looked at it. Three rounds in the magazine. How many times did you fire that weapon?

Twice, Jack replied.

Larkin looked over at the fallen bank robber and counted two holes in the chest of the corpse. The magazine holds seven rounds. Are you sure that you didn’t fire four rounds?

Jack sighed in exasperation. If you keep seven rounds in the magazine it tends to weaken the spring and can cause jams. You ought to know that Lieutenant.

Larkin frowned and appeared uncertain, We’ll check on that. I’ll have to hold on to this weapon.

Whatever is customary, Jack said with a shrug.

Larkin nodded and then turned away check to his crime scene.

Jack smiled broadly, Do you get much of this sort of thing? He asked.

Larkin shrugged. Rarely, was the reply.

They were standing in the midst of a scene of great confusion. Motorists, unaware of the problem, saw only the blocked intersection and were honking their horns trying to get through the maze. Sirens were screaming, a fire truck had arrived and the bell was clanging furiously. The ambulance was loading up the wounded and several women and children spectators were crying hysterically. Cops were trying desperately to keep people from walking the through the crime scene and peering down at the bodies.

You really run a smooth operation here lieutenant, Jack laughed.

Larkin was shouting commands at his men and in his frustration he handed Jack the weapon and magazine. Get the hell out of here.

Jack loaded the weapon and holstered it. Then he began pushing his way through the gathered press.

What happened here, Red? A gray haired reporter asked.

Jack shrugged, Guy robbed the bank and then shot the guard and two cops and a couple of women.

Who shot all the other people?

The same guy, I guess he was having a bad day.

The reporter chuckled. Who shot the bad guy?

I did, Jack replied and continued walking.

The reporter chuckled again and the photographers snapped away.

Jack walked away from the confusion and down the street toward the beach. After a bit he found a little sidewalk café and ordered a beer and a sandwich. He kept his hands in his lap as they were shaking uncontrollably. He had just killed a man and that bothered him. It had been a while since he had killed a man in the line of duty and in that last melee he had been seriously wounded. He had spent weeks in the hospital recovering from his wound. Jack counted himself lucky today because one seldom came out of these one on one shoot outs unscathed. He kept assuring himself that there had been no alternative to killing the man and but for the grace of God and a little bit of luck it was he that could have been laying dead in the street along with the old guard and the police officer. He reasoned that there had been no alternative to making certain that the bank robber went down. Under the circumstances his response had been the only reasonable course of action. Jack couldn’t remember whether he had warned the robber to drop his weapon or not. It had all happened in the wink of an eye. Jack was certain that the robber wouldn’t listen to reason, and that was that. Still it had been close and several human beings had died violent deaths today. After a bit, he decided that he could safely raise the glass to his lips without spilling the beer all over the table. Jack sipped his beer and stared out at the bay for a long while. The stiff breeze was kicking up white caps and the white sails of the boats were heeling hard over as they fought against the wind. It was still a beautiful day, he thought. Down on the beach scantily clad ladies played with their children, totally oblivious to the danger lurking just a few blocks away. Despite the carnage on Pacific Street the world was still purring right along. It took him a while to calm down. He had told the lieutenant the truth. He didn’t know that there had been a woman behind him. If he had, he probably would have been distracted and under that circumstance there might have been a totally different result. He pondered the fact that his first little tour of the island had been rather exciting and wondered if that was an indicator of things to come. Then he dismissed the idea as being foolish.

Jack eventually migrated to the Empress Hotel Bar, which was further down the beach. The bar was open to the sea breeze and to views of the beach. He had decided to spend the rest of the afternoon drinking beer and watching the ladies display their flesh. Jack was still thinking of the circumstances that had prevailed out there on the street. He really had no alternative, but he had just killed a man and the world didn’t even miss a beat. That is no one cared, but Lieutenant Rufus Larkin of Honolulu homicide. The Lieutenant showed up about an hour later and gestured to the empty chair as if asking permission to sit down.

Jack nodded and waved at a waiter for service. How did you find me so quickly? He asked.

Rufus shook his head in amusement, There are thousands of six foot-four red heads that dress funny, on the island. He laughed and then explained. I just called around.

Jack smiled and sipped his beer.

Would you care to tell me what happened out there? I’ve got a dozen different versions of the event, all of which conflict.

Jack leaned back and began to describe what had occurred as Rufus made notes.

After completing his interrogation the Lieutenant closed his note book. He sat back in his chair and looked at Jack for a long minute. You’re an incredibly lucky man. There are four people dead out there and you were standing right in the middle of it all. How in the hell did you manage that?

Jack sipped his beer. I agree with you, it is all extraordinary luck, pure and simple, it was luck. He missed me and I hit him.

Months before this shooting in Hawaii occurred, the Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, J. Edgar Hoover, had called the Chief Agent in Hawaii. Hoover was trying to alert his man that Kelly was coming and to explain his rationale for the assignment. It was an unusual conversation in that Hoover rarely apologized for anything, but Hoover had first apologized to the chief agent and then as an afterthought Hoover explained that he really didn’t like Kelly. He considered the big red head to be intelligent, brave, aggressive, impudent and completely out of control. The man has no regard for danger. I believe him to be absolutely fearless and that scares me.

Hoover was accustomed to instant and humble obedience from his agents. This maverick, Kelly, seemed to be spending his time breaking all of the agency rules. To make matters worse the President of the United States had insisted that Hoover bestow a decoration for heroism upon the maverick’s chest. Hoover explained that he would have much preferred firing him on some pretext.

Then there was silence on the line as if the great man was reconsidering what he had said, Hoover had then haltingly tried to explain this love/hate relationship with Kelly to his Chief Agent in Hawaii. Kelly’s assignment to Hawaii was an effort on Hoover’s part to get Kelly as far as possible from Washington. In Hoover’s opinion Hawaii was something of a backwater and there would be little opportunity for Kelly to get into trouble. The real war, Hoover said; was coming in Europe.

J. Leslie Houghton, tried in vain to point out that Hawaii wasn’t the backwater that Hoover seemed to think. According to Houghton things were heating up in Hawaii. It was just a few months ago, in June to be exact, that the War Department had warned the military authorities that the Japanese were a possible war threat.

Hoover wasn’t listening. He was intent upon warning Houghton of a coming problem.

It was early the next morning that Jack found the office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation on Lincoln Street and went inside. This was a single story red brick structure that was set off, well away from the more imposing buildings that surrounded it. The structure looked more like a small library rather than the headquarters of an important Federal Investigative Bureau.

A lovely young lady, in a very prim and proper dark blue dress, sat behind the reception desk. Her hair was black and her flashing eyes were deep blue. She wore a frilly lace collar about her neck and presumably an equally frilly blouse beneath the dark blue coat. According to the name plate on the desk her name was Cynthia. He speculated upon what else Cynthia might be wearing that would be frilly.

Since he had first arrived here in the islands Jack had been fascinated by the beauty of the people, even the mainlanders, the Haolies, as the natives referred to them, were beautiful. People absolutely blossomed out here. It was an unexplainable phenomenon

In the not too distant past this place had been a tropical paradise. Then the luck of the natives had run out and civilization had caught up with them. What the hell, Jack thought, why should they be any happier than the rest of us?

He identified himself to the Cynthia behind the desk and was asked to take a seat on a bench along the wall. After a bit, a short slightly built, but distinguished looking gentleman came out of the inner office. As sure as God made little apples, the guy was dressed in the black suit specified by J. Edgar Hoover as being proper wear for FBI agents. One would think that Hoover would lighten up and allow his men to dress accordingly in paradise, but that was not the case. Out here, in this lush tropical setting, this clown was wearing a dark suit and a tie.

The man had just left the office of J. Leslie Houghton. That was the name painted on the door. J. Leslie leaned across the small railing that separated the office space from the waiting area.

He frowned at Jack, I should welcome you aboard, Special Agent Kelly, but after yesterday I am not sure that I want to extend that sentiment to you. Would you please join me in my office?

Jack stood up and winked at the girl and followed his new boss into the office.

She returned the wink with a smile and touched her hair suggestively.

J. Leslie noticed the exchange, between the two and grimaced. He gestured to a chair and took his place behind the desk. Would you like some coffee, Mister Kelly?

Jack nodded and checked the office as J. Leslie ordered the young lady to bring them two cups of coffee. Jack noted that J. Leslie had graduated from Yale in 1927. Can you imagine, he thought, the prestige of working for a real live Yale man? Then his gaze fell upon a Japanese Samurai Sword, which Jack thought an odd bit of decoration for an FBI office. He was about to ask the story of the sword when the coffee arrived.

As Jack sat and sipped his coffee J. Leslie began an unusual tirade.

Special Agent Kelly, yesterday you engaged in a shoot out in the street in front of the Island Bank. Allegedly you killed the bank robber in self defense and you were using a forty-five-caliber pistol, which is another issue that I shall address later. Why in the world did you shoot the man?

Since he was shooting at me, it seemed to be the thing to do. Kelly replied with a smile.

This will entail a full-fledged investigation.

As opposed to a half assed investigation, Jack suggested.

What was that remark? J. Leslie demanded.

I was criticizing your choice of words, they seemed imprecise. I would assume that all of our investigations are full-fledged.

J. Leslie frowned and ignored the remark. Doesn’t it faze you in the slightest to have killed a man?

Not in the least, Jack lied. Would you prefer to see me overcome with grief? Perhaps I should sit here and pretend to lament the loss of a man that had just killed four innocent people including a police officer and a bank guard? Doesn’t it matter to you that the inept son of a bitch had robbed a bank and shot a bank guard? Allow me to state this clearly; I tried to apprehend him and he refused to surrender to arrest. In fact he was shooting at me. Therefore it was him or me.

Remorse would be a more civilized posture and would be a more seemly than laughing about it.

I have never laughed about killing a man. Though, I feel absolutely no remorse for the act.

J. Leslie was evidently shocked by the response.

I assume that the police have conducted a thorough investigation, Jack said.

Did you read the morning papers?

No Sir, I make it a habit never to read the papers.

J. Leslie flipped Jack a copy of the paper. You can’t miss it. All of the important stuff is on the front page.

Jack reluctantly pickled up the paper. According to a Miss Woo, the female reporter that wrote the piece, the distraught wife of the bank robber had identified the dead thief and told the police that Henry had been somewhat despondent of late and had just that morning decided to rob the bank.

Jack put the paper aside for a moment and mentioned that a fore knowledge of the event marked the wife as an accessory.

J. Leslie frowned and stammered that he didn’t think that there was any point in arresting the woman.

Jack shrugged and went back to reading the paper. A Chinese woman that had been walking down the sidewalk in front of the bank had been hit by a stray shot and killed. She left a husband and three small children. Another woman, a wealthy Haolie grandmother from San Francisco had been badly wounded

There had been at least fifteen shots fired by the robber. Most of them had been fired at the bank guard and at the police officers. One of the officers had died on the spot and the other was supposedly going to recover. Evidently, one shot that was fired by the bandit had struck the Oriental lady and another had struck the grandmother. The police had to check the ballistics to be certain. An FBI man, who had recently been assigned to the Islands, had fired two shots that had not missed. They didn’t mention the unspecified number of rounds fired by the Police Officers or those fired by the deceased Bank Guard. Miss Woo admitted that it had been something of a zoo out there.

The newspapers treated Jack well enough. There were the usual idiotic questions of course. Such as, why couldn’t he have shot the gun out of the man’s hand? Why couldn’t he have disarmed the man rather than shoot him? Why couldn’t he have reasoned with the man? Now according to the press, the bank robber’s wife is a destitute widow, which in a way was attributable to the FBI agent’s impetuosity. Then the writer then asked rhetorically - who is going to take care of the children? Jack seemed to recall that the guy had to be in his late forties, and had a hunch that it was unlikely that he had small children, but then one could never tell about such things.

One reporter had managed to find some articles from the Chicago papers and quoted them liberally, A red headed, pale blue eyed killer cop has been assigned to Honolulu. On the editorial page someone lamented that a Chicago style cop had been turned loose on the inhabitants of paradise.

Then, there on page three, was a somewhat more coherent explanation of events written by a male reporter, and this article even included the observation that the FBI agent may just have done the right thing in shooting poor Henry.

Jack smiled and laid down the paper, That final story has the approximate essence of what actually occurred.

Did you note the comments regarding your past?

Jack shrugged, You can’t very well expect reporters to be accurate or non-biased.

I will require a complete recounting of what occurred yesterday, which I will send on to Washington. I wanted it yesterday, but I will accept it this afternoon. J. Leslie leaned forward. As I said, Jack, he paused for a second, you don’t mind if I call you Jack do you?

My name is Jack, so it’s perfectly correct.

J. Leslie frowned slightly and then continued as if nothing had been said. I’m afraid that with the exception of yesterday you will find the duty here to be rather boring. We don’t have anything near as dynamic as multiple murders or gangsters and except for a few Chinese Tongs and a small number of rather trashy Haoles, mostly seamen and construction oafs and such as that, everything is rather mundane out here. He paused for a moment and then started again. Yesterday was really an anomaly.

Jack smiled and nodded. He concluded that J. Leslie was evidently having a hard time getting by yesterday.

Gathering himself J. Leslie asked, I understand that you speak Chinese?

Jack nodded, I can speak and understand Mandarin, but there are so many local dialects that there is no guarantee that I’ll be able to translate the local Chinese dialect.

J. Leslie thought about Jack’s reply and then continued, I believe that will suffice here in Hawaii, I’ve been told that the Chinese that first came here spoke Mandarin. He paused and then continued with what Jack assumed was the usual welcome aboard speech. These sleepy little islands have literally become the cross roads of the Pacific. The Pan Am Clippers are flying a route from San Francisco to Hawaii and then west to Wake Island, and Guam and then on to the Philippines. In this new aviation age we have become the center of the Pacific and thus we represent the very western edge of the United States. Our fleet has one of the world’s great anchorages. We are literally a fortress of great strength at the very western edge of our great civilization.

Your receptionist is rather attractive. Jack said in an absent minded manner.

J. Leslie frowned at the interruption. Have you been listening to what I have been saying?

Certainly, I thought that you had paused.

J. Leslie took a deep breath, Cynthia has been working here for about six months. She was recommended by the people over at the Attorney General’s Office. In fact it was Warren Kliendinsk, the Assistant Attorney General himself that suggested that we might employ the girl. Since she arrived she has since made herself indispensable. By the way there is no fraternization allowed between agents and administrative help.

Since, there is apparently only one administrative helper, then that must mean that Cynthia is off limits?

J. Leslie frowned again and stared at Jack for moment. He had the feeling that he just wasn’t getting through to Kelly. Then J. Leslie took a deep breath and continued through a boring and seemingly interminable introduction.

Jack glanced out the window at the swaying palms and lovely flowers. It was hot here today. This was September of 1940 and was definitely the off season as far as the Haolie tourists were concerned. He had arrived here a week ago and was told to find a place to stay and to obtain some mode of transportation.

By an odd strike of good luck, or of ill fortune depending upon one’s perspective, one of Jack’s great aunts had recently died and had left a large portion of her fortune to Jack and to his sisters. He certainly wasn’t left independently wealthy, but he did have a good amount of cash in the bank. Having been forewarned about the prices in the islands he had purchased a 1938 Ford Convertible in Chicago and had driven it across country to San Francisco. Perhaps by some standards the car could be considered to be a bit flashy for a twenty-nine year old Federal Agent, but he didn’t intend to use it for business and he had always liked that model car. After he had purchased it Jack had it repainted a bright canary yellow with glossy black fenders. He also equipped it with white side wall tires and flashy chrome strips which covered the spare tires that