Blue Hawaii

By T.C. Arthur

When Jack Thorne was given the assignment to protect a corporate whistleblower in the wealthy town of Westport, Connecticut, he is thrown into a passionate romance that would result in a daring escape with a fatal end.
Thorne loses the will to remain in Connecticut where all he has left is the bottom of one liquor bottle after the next. His ego and reputation had been destroyed after the police department finds out that he had broken the rules of conduct. With the killer long gone and no leads as to his whereabouts, Thorne decides to pack up what few belongings he has and moves as far away from Connecticut as he can.
Thorne lands in Hawaii and soon afterwards opens a private investigation agency. One night at his local eatery in the mist of his depressed and aggravated state, a mysterious woman sits at his table. She is desperate, distraught, and begs Thorne for his help in finding her missing brother. The case takes Thorne through twists and turns, fleeing for his life from several drug kingpins, a pair of assault friendly foes, and a raging storm that will push Thorne to his breaking point. Thorne has the case of his lifetime to save not only a missing client’s brother but also himself.
Aloha.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781435770317

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Blue Hawaii

A Jack Thorne Thriller

By

T.C. Arthur

Copyright © 2022 Thomas A Cummings

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means-whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic-without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews.  Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This novel is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any likeness to persons, living or dead, actual events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-4357-7031-7

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.  The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

To two of the greatest gifts a father can ask for, Juliana and Preston

Blue Hawaii

A Jack Thorne Thriller

By

T.C. Arthur

Chapter 1

Thorne checked on his protectee in her room.  She had just taken a shower and was relaxing before she got dressed for bed.  He went into the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on.  It was a skeleton crew that night.  He had done the night watch for the last two nights and then again last Monday.  The day officer stayed until after dinner, which consisted of a bag of burgers and fries from McDonald’s. 

Usually, on such a high-level case, there are multiple officers assigned to protect a witness, but the department had made cuts that caused shortages.  When working for the public, that was just the way it went.  Thorne did not mind it too much for a couple of reasons.  One of them was because the town was small and the average crime besides tax evasion was speeding.  Thorne would be the first person to tell you that he would rather be here drinking coffee than waiting in some parking lot on the Post Road for some teenager or twenty-year-old to go speeding through a red light.

Thorne was just over six feet tall by one inch.  His biceps were thick and looked impressive in a tight shirt and his core was solid, coming in at one hundred and eighty-five pounds.  He would routinely hit the gym and keep his body in relatively good shape.  In his line of work, it was not just necessary to have a strong analytical mind but to also have strength in mobility.  It was as rare as a unicorn for the bad guy or gal to just give up once they were caught red-handed.  And since there are no unicorns, the obvious answer is that they always ran; an officer with a gut that touches his knees when he sits is not going to cut the mustard. 

He had a full head of hair but at that time only he could tell that it was starting to thin in certain spots in the back.  He coughed it up to stress on the job.  His face was sharply defined with a nose that came to a point.  One of his eyebrows curved sharply downwards toward one ear while the other one did not.  He always kept a clean cut while on the job.  He was thirty-seven years old, unmarried, unattached, and had no children.  His job was his marriage and therefore left little room, if any, to entertain a relationship.

May I have a cup as well? asked Michelle.

She entered the room in a robe and a towel still wrapped around her wet hair.  Her legs peered out when she took a step and when she sat at the kitchen table.  Thorne had always been what some would call a leg-man.  He became distracted and stared at her legs even after they stopped moving.  She cleared her throat.  Thorne came out of his trance and looked at her.  She was smirking with an eyebrow raised.

Sorry.  So, how do you women keep that towel wrapped around your head like that? asked Thorne reaching for an additional coffee mug.

We all get together at the age of nine and we are taught how to do it by the elder women in the village, said Michelle, rich with sarcasm.

Cute, said Thorne.

I know, but what do you think about my answer? she asked while taking her mug of coffee from him.

Thorne blushed quickly and turned away.  He put a teaspoon and a half of sugar and a squirt of milk in his mug.  You take any sugar or milk?

No sugar, just a splash of milk for me.  Don't happen to have any whipped cream in there, do you?

No, and no strawberry shortcakes either.

That's not what I wanted the whipped cream for.

What did you want it for?

For my coffee.  I like to add it to the top.

Maybe you need protection from yourself because that's crazy.

He walked over to the table and sat across from her.  He made another glance at her exposed left leg as he did so.  The leg looked like it was made out of chiseled marble and even reflected the light.  He figured it did not hurt anyone by him taking a quick look, as he was only human.

Am I in any real danger here? asked Michelle.

She took a slow sip of her coffee.

I can't imagine so.  We have taken several different routes from the courthouse to get here each time you have had to go in.  There are only four people who know where you are right now, five including you.

I'm still worried, though.

If you weren't worried, then I would be.  The trial is almost over and you'll be moving somewhere else in WITSEC.

Thorne was referring to the United States Federal Witness Protection Program, (WPP), also known as the Witness Security Program or WITSEC.

I'll have to change everything about me.  I'll have to make new friends and start a new job.

That's the unfortunate part of standing up for what is right.  You end up becoming the focal point of some bad people and endanger your life.  I mean that doesn't apply to all situations.  Not everyone decides to immediately pursue someone else from the get-go.

I was hired to restructure the company's financial department.  I did my job and then I found out that the executives that hired me were also the ones who were stealing from the company.

Hey, I understand your situation.  You did your job and you did it well.  It seems ridiculous to assume that you wouldn't have found out that information.

Exactly, she said holding her coffee mug in one hand and gliding the index finger from her other hand on the rim.

Cheer up though, you'll be out of here in a week and then you'll never have to deal with these people or anyone else in this town again.  Especially some flat-foot like me, said Thorne with a smile. 

This was the fourteenth or fifteenth time he had said that comment since he had started the protection detail.  It had always received a small insignificant laugh from Michelle.  Right around the tenth time he had said it, the mood in the room had changed.  He did not hear the chuckle he had been used to receiving.  He was not even laughing at it.  However, he could tell that it was not because it was a repetitive joke and that the horse of the joke was dead.  There seemed to be a high school-like awkwardness that lingered in the air.  He felt the same way he did when he had asked Lindsey Purcell to the prom back as a senior in high school.  The dead air just hung there in anticipation for a response as it had with Michelle at that moment.

He took a large gulp of his coffee.  It was still too hot but he did not care at the moment.  Thorne stood abruptly and motioned toward the refrigerator.  That had startled Michelle to which she responded with a shiver.  Thorne paused in front of Michelle and reached down to the loose part of the robe and covered her leg in a gentle flip of the fabric.  Their eyes met when he finished and the moment lingered.

I…need more milk.

I'm good, thanks…

Was that a moment? he asked himself.  And then another voice in his head told him that even if it was, it did not matter since you were there to protect her, not to kiss her.  He did not know to whom he should give more attention, the angel on one shoulder or the devil on the other.  Could it be that they are both right? he asked as he poured more milk into his mug.

When he turned around Michelle had finished her coffee and placed the empty mug on the table.  She unwound the towel that was on her head and her wet brown hair fell to just below her shoulders.  Thorne noticed that her highlights in her hair were more pronounced when wet.      I'm tired.  I think that I should go get some sleep. Tomorrow is a bigger chunk of my testimony.  I probably should get some sleep, said Michelle.

Right.  I'll go with you and check the front door and then your bathroom and bedroom one last time for the night.

Michelle stepped aside and allowed Thorne to lead the way to the living room and then the hallway to the front door.  The chain was across, the deadbolt engaged, and the door handle was locked as well.  Thorne brought a personal touch and placed a door stopper to lean against the door and prevent the doorknob from turning. 

The hallway was dimly lit so as not to provide shadows on the windows that were adjacent.  He entered the bedroom first with Michelle tucked safely behind him.  The room appeared to be clear of anyone else.  He checked the closet and the other side of the bed, as well as under it.

No monster here, he said with a smile.  She returned the smile.  She took the towel and was squeezing out the ends of her hair.

The bathroom was clear as well and all of the windows were bolted with the blackout roller shades drawn and the drapery as well.  He turned around in a quick move and caught Michelle off guard. She had begun to fall backward and to the left, as she attempted to maintain her balance.  Thorne reached forward and grabbed her by the arms and stiffened his legs to act as a counterweight.  He was not quick enough and the two fell onto the bed.

After the initial bouncing was complete, Michelle found Thorne lay partially on top of her.  The beige robe that she wore had opened in the fall.  Her left breast was revealed along with a very fit and toned body.  It took all of his ability to not look away from her face.  He focused deeply on her eyes.  She looked frightened while at the same time focused.  He saw in his peripherals that her robe was revealing more of her than he had thought he would ever see. 

He found his left hand reaching below her head and cupping it gently.  He knew he needed to remove himself from on top of her but his body was not listening to any command that his brain ordered.  He finally came to his senses and went to move.  His head dipped down as his weight had been on his left elbow and he needed the assistance of his right arm to balance out his weight.  When his head dipped that's when it happened.

Michelle lifted her head and the two began to kiss one another.  As the moments passed the kissing became more passionate.  She reached up and grabbed the back of his head and pulled him closer to her.  Their eyes were closed and he had started to caress the side of her face with his free hand.  The emotions that Thorne was feeling were more explosive than he had ever felt before.  He could feel his whole body reacting to how he felt.  He had an obvious attraction to Michelle from the first moment he had met her.  She was strikingly beautiful in every way that he could imagine.

His hand reached down and caressed her right hip and she moaned slightly as they continued to kiss.  She moved in a quick roll and tossed him onto his back.  She unbuttoned his shirt while bent forward still kissing him.  When the shirt was fully unbuttoned, she pushed it aside with animalistic rage.  She kissed the center of his chest with small puckered lips.  She sat atop him and then removed the robe completely, exposing to him all that she had to offer.  He took off his shirt and then stared at her chest like seeing the first present under the Christmas tree.

Within moments they were both fully naked and holding each other tightly in the sea of bed sheets.  Thorne had never crossed this line before.  He had always followed the rules even if they pissed him off.  There were rules for a reason and that was why he had always followed them.  However, at that moment, he had fully forgotten about his rules and the rules of others.  At that moment he was just a man engulfed with passion for a woman.  As she kissed his neck he stared up at the ceiling.  Nothing else in the world mattered.

*            *            *            *

Three weeks had passed from that night and Thorne had taken each night duty position available.  Most of the veteran officers were happy to give up the duty as they would rather be at their respected homes sitting in their recliners watching the ball game.  Thorne started to bring a gym bag with him.  He even brought a toothbrush just in case. It was pretty clear to Thorne that he was falling in love with Michelle and he could tell that she was with him.  They sat closer than a protector and protectee should on the couch and at the dinner table.

They finished the movie they were watching, Gone in Sixty Seconds, and headed to the bedroom.  It was a highlight of the Nicolas Cage movies.  And Angelina Jolie did not look half bad with bleached blonde hair.  It was one of Thorne's favorites because of the scene where the 1967 Shelby Mustang GT500 fastback flew in the air on the bridge.  Michelle enjoyed the romantic parts with Angelina Jolie and Nicolas Cage the best.

Thorne checked the doors and windows in each room and then again in the master bedroom.  All were locked and secured.  Shades had been drawn and draperies were closed as well.  Thorne locked the door to the bedroom door as Michelle had escorted Thorne to the bed.  She had a look in her eyes that told him that all she wanted was him. She had gone back in for cross-examination that day and it was very dry and tedious, to say the least.  She needed to create some excitement to end the day.

They began to have sex as they had multiple times in the past three weeks.  There was always this dangerous feeling driving their moments of intercourse.  They each knew what they were doing was both inappropriate and created a dangerous situation if someone was to find out.  These feelings enraged their passion for one another and appeared to fuel each one's desire.

They were in the depths of each others' embrace when Thorne heard a thud from somewhere in the house.  His instincts jolted his body to an awkward pose he listened carefully for another noise that should not be there.  He rolled off of Michelle and sat on the side of the bed.

Put your clothes on, he said in a rushed whisper.

Do you think somebody is in the house? she asked in a panicked voice.

I'm not sure but get dressed all the same, said Thorne following his own advice. 

As he slipped on his sneakers he heard it again.  It sounded like something had fallen on the floor.  More specifically it sounded like metal screws falling on the floor.  He opened and peered out of the bedroom and saw only darkness in the hallway.  The hallway ended and then made a sharp left, which then led to a short perpendicular hallway that went to the front door on one end and the kitchen on the other. 

Somebody is trying to pick the lock on the front door.  We need to get out of here right now.  Follow me and stay close.

Michelle agreed and held on to the back of his shirt with a tight grip.  They entered the hallway and made their way down toward the noise.  Thorne knew that even if the people on the other side of the door were able to take off the doorknob, they still had to contend with a deadbolt and chain lock.  That at least gave them enough time to walk towards the door in the kitchen that led off to the basement that was attached to the garage.  Thorne opened the basement door while pushing up on the weight of the doorknob to not have the hinges squeak.  The basement was dark and he did not hear any movement.

Thorne grabbed the flashlight off of the shelf that was on the wall of the staircase.  He turned it on and they both descended.  Michelle closed the door behind her.  They reached the garage and paused.  Thorne placed his ear to the door and did not hear any movement from the other side.  He also did not see any light from the gap under the door.  Thorne did the same maneuver that he had done when opening the upstairs basement door.  The garage held two vehicles.  Both vehicles were pulled in with the motors facing them.  The two overhead doors were shut and there were no faces that Thorne could see peaking in.  The cars had what Thorne had assessed what was needed at that moment: speed and handling.  Thorne saw through the gap under the door that whoever was in the house was now searching the basement.  A dim light was oscillating back and forth near the entry point to the garage.  He turned toward Michelle and she nodded in agreement to what she assumed he was going to do.

Thorne started the Audi A6, shifted the vehicle into reverse, and punched the gas pedal.  The car started with a low hum and then was immediately shot backward and crashed through the closed overhead garage door.  The door buckled in the middle as the German vehicle pushed through the opening.  Thorne hit the brakes on the Audi A6.  This allowed the garage door to slide off of the hood and onto the driveway.  He then engaged the throttle and the Audi A6, then ran over the garage door as it slipped underneath the roaring vehicle in the driveway.  The swinging lights had made it to the garage and were chasing straight for the car.  That was when the gunshots rang out.

Three shots hit the windshield and then a fourth the front grill of the car.  Thorne swung the vehicle right when it reached the end of the driveway.  The tires screeched on the pavement as Thorne pushed his foot hard to the floor of the vehicle.  More shots fired at the vehicle from a different location on the front lawn.  These bullets hit the side of the car that Michelle was sitting.  Thorne reached over and grabbed her neck and pushed her head onto his right leg.  He swerved and took off down the road; hitting sixty miles per hour in a small residential neighborhood was not hard.  However, it was difficult to maneuver with other vehicles parked on the street and small curves in the road. Thorne used to his benefit that it was very early in the morning and traffic on that street still had two hours to even start.

Thorne drove for what felt like twenty minutes but was far less as he reached the parking lot at the local beach.  He had turned so many times and chose his route at random that he did not think anyone could have followed him. Plus this was the agreed-upon safe location in case the house was breached or compromised in any way.  Thorne took out his cell phone and sent out a distress text to the two other people who knew where the safe secondary location was located.

The parking lot was empty except for two cars at the far end.  The beach at night was a commonplace for teenagers to hook up but even at this hour, he had assumed it was too late to run into anyone.  Besides, it was a school night.  Judging by the type of car and the steamed-up windows that he had noticed when he pulled in, he was convinced that that was happening.

Michelle lay on his lap still.  He could see the silhouette of her arched back as she took shallow breaths.  She was still scared.  He could only imagine what it must feel like from her perspective.  He was trained to react and to anticipate situations such as that and to be a professional.  He knew that he was being completely unprofessional by having sex with Michelle but love was a powerful emotion even he had no control over.

Michelle, are you ok? asked Thorne as an icebreaker.

I'm scared.  Are they still chasing us? asked Michelle through short breaths.

I think that we have been successful in evading their chase for the moment.

Where are we?

We're at the beach.  The parking lot is mostly empty and any vehicle approaching would be noticed.

Thorne looked around his immediate setting and then felt his left pocket.  A response text message was received.  Copy that.  Sending assistance to your location…

They're sending help.

Please save me, Thorne.  I don't want to die.

I'll never let that happen. I promise you.

Michelle picked her head up and looked at Thorne.

I know.  I trust you.  I love you, said Michelle.

I love… was all that Thorne was able to say before a bullet shot through the glass and struck Michelle in the neck.

Michelle fell immediately towards Thorne.  She hit his shoulder with the side of her head and then fell lifeless to his lap.  There was a small plume of smoke rising in the air over the sand that was adjacent to the bushes.  Thorne could barely make it out in the weak glow of the spotlight that was illuminating the other side of the public bathrooms.

Thorne picked up his gun and shot out the passenger window at the bushes.  He made contact with a dark green metal trash container.  Orange and white sparks bounced off of it as each bullet ricocheted. Thorne put the car in drive and headed out of the beach and through a labyrinth of short seaside streets.  He drove along the coastline briefly before reaching a bridge that crossed over Interstate 95.  He found a corporate park, drove the car to the rear of the building, and threw the car into park.  He cradled Michelle's head and lifted her.  She was not responding to the call of her name.  Tears formed in Thorne's eyes.  Anger filled his lungs and he looked upwards to the moonroof and shouted so loud that animals in the nearby trees and bushes retreated from their resting places.

*            *            *            *

It had been three years since that life-changing moment.  His dreams of that moment made it feel like it was happening in real-time.  Thorne jolted up in his bed screaming.  Sweat lay upon his forehead like condensation on a glass of cold beer on a hot day.  His chest was heaving and the sheets were in knots.  His eyes bulged from his face.  He took a moment to let his breathing subside and to regain focus in his eyes.  Thorne reached over to the small table to retrieve his wristwatch.  It was 4:17 in the morning.  He had slept longer this time than other nights when he would have that recurring nightmare.  The ceiling had shadows from the street lights, even though the room that he was using temporarily as a bedroom was at the rear of the building, away from windows.  The street out front had street lights on the opposite side of where he was staying and the light made its way through the front door and windows to the back of the shop.

Thorne's eyes were teary and bloodshot.  He sat on the edge of his cot and wiped it away.  The office had an air conditioner that statistically worked ten percent of the time.  It would often play a game of peek-a-boo at the hottest points of the day and especially at night.  The safe bet was for him to wear shorts and a light T-shirt to bed whenever he had to sleep at the office. He got up and walked to the bathroom and washed cold water over his face.  Thorne stared at his reflection in the mirror for several beats before grabbing the towel to wipe off his face.  The look of disappointment and loss filled his eyes. 

He walked over to the makeshift kitchen and opened the small refrigerator.  He did not find the cold water that he sought, only a cold pineapple and leftover fries staring back at him.  He shut the door and opened the cabinet above.  He pulled down the bottle of Captain Morgan and chugged a few gulps before returning it from where he found it.  The liquor did its best to continue filling up where it had left off the evening before.

He brewed a quick cup of coffee from his single-serve machine and walked to the front of his place and stood on the sidewalk.  The sun was not out yet, but there was a glow of light across the sky that informed the inhabitants that morning was on the doorstep.  The sun had left the mainland and was approaching the sandy shores of Hawaii.  Fun fact, Alaska is the farthest state north and west of the fifty United States.  You're welcome.

Thorne took a deep breath and embraced the small breeze.  The breeze provided a cooling effect against the perspiration on his brow.  He took a sip of his morning coffee and a few moments later Thorne was on his back looking up at the partially cloudy sky.

Yup, this feels about right, thought Thorne. And then a moment later, Holy shit, my crotch is burning!

Thorne quickly stammered to his feet.  Not only was his crotch covered in scalding hot coffee but fruit.  Next to him on the sidewalk was a refurbished Radio Flyer red wagon, which had been given shelves and extra siding to carry more items.  In this case, it was fresh fruit from a grocery store a few blocks away.  Thorne was covered with mangos, papaya, and strawberry guava.

Thorne hopped around frantically as the hot coffee rolled down his legs.  He spun around while fanning the area.  That did not do any good to cool off his crotch and legs.  He pulled down his shorts and pressed the fabric against his legs to wipe off the hot liquid.

E kala mai iaʻu, Mr. Thorne, said a boy's voice.  This loosely translates to, please forgive me.

Aloha, Peter, replied Thorne.

A woman screamed from across the street and pointed at Thorne.  Thorne looked at her and shook his head.

It's alright ma'am.  I'm ok.  Just a little hot coffee spilled, said Thorne putting his hand in the air.

The woman proceeded to jump up and down and point at Thorne.  A parked police car up the street turned on its flashing blue and red lights.  The car pulled up in the middle of the street blocking Thorne and the screaming woman across the way.

Police!  That man over there is flashing his privates to that little boy! she shouted.

I certainly am not! returned Thorne.

It's ok, lady, I know Mr. Thorne.  He treats me right! said Peter.

Shut up, kid.  What are you trying to do, get me burned at the stake?

Sorry, Mr. Thorne, I'm only trying to help, said Peter.

Put your hands on your head and face the building! ordered the police officer.

Officer, this is all a big mistake, said Thorne.

Shut up and do what I said, shouted the police officer, brandishing his weapon.

Thorne turned around and did what the officer instructed.

And I thought the nightmare was over, said Thorne.

Welcome to Hawaii. 

Chapter 2

Hawaii.  Just the sound of the word embarks the brain with ideals of palm trees, sunsets, ocean waves, and even ukulele music.  The thoughts of relaxation and peacefulness that seem to flow through the breezes can be intoxicating.  These are the expectations that many people who travel to Hawaii look to see and feel.  It is not hard to find these things on the island, as they are found quite easily as soon as you step off the plane.  However, there are always opposites involved anywhere you travel.  For there to be a bounty of vegetation there must be a mix of rain and sun.  The big island of Hawaii has its share of both.  Likewise, there are upstanding residents on the island and there are nefarious people.  There is night and there is day.  There is good and there is bad.

Most, if not all, people do not think of Hawaii and realize that the state has its share of bank robberies, car-jackings, theft, and violence.  In fact, the highest reported crime rate for last year was property crimes.  Property crimes had increased by four percent when compared to the previous year. Do not get me wrong, it is not a bad place to visit by any stretch of the imagination.  Just make sure that you keep your hotel, car, condo, or house rental door locked. Basically, practice commonsense.  If the crook has any talent, then it will not make much of a difference if you do lock the doors.  But let's not make it easy for them. If you worked hard to earn a vacation or business trip, then they should equally work as hard to try to take your personal belongings.

After that short and bittersweet welcome to Hawaii, the story can continue.

Thorne was on the island for a shortlist of reasons, but mainly because he needed to get away.  He needed to disconnect, opposite from the last chorus of the famed Cheers theme song.  You've heard the song, I'm sure.  If you must, sing a few bars at your leisure. Thorne really did not want to be where all the troubles are the same.  And he definitely did not want everybody to know his name.  He was professionally disgraced as an officer of the law.  He was personally embarrassed that he allowed for his protectee to be murdered and that he had crossed the line and fell in love with Michelle. With all of these constant reminders choking him, he had to leave or it might have killed him. 

In a swirling haze of depression, he bought a one-way ticket and hopped on an airplane. He wanted to get as far away as he could travel without having to leave the country.  Kona, Hawaii was just less than five thousand miles southwest of Stratford, Connecticut.  He thought that five thousand miles had to be far enough to not have anyone recognize him.  And if he was to be honest with himself, he hoped that he would not be able to recognize himself either.  Kona, Hawaii provided not only a visually opposite view in regards to environment and weather but it held one large glaring difference for Thorne.  It was not Stratford. 

Of the people that he had left behind, mainly ex-coworkers, some friends, and neighbors, they would tell you alternative reasons.  Some people say it was his choice and others will say that he was left with very few other options.  After close to three years of living on the island, Thorne could not remember how he actually arrived in Kona. He remembered drinking at McKinney's Pub in Stratford, Connecticut next to a lovely bottle of Captain Morgan for the fifth day in a row.  The next moment he woke up at O'Connell's Pub down in Captain Cook next to what he thought was the same bottle of rum.  For a while, he thought that he had traveled through some type of Irish teleportation machine.

That was how he woke up most of his days when he first arrived.  Actually, that was how he awoke for almost the entire first year.  He had found oddball work as a day laborer and would end his evenings at the bar.  To his credit, he was not always a drinker.  He enjoyed a glass of beer with the guys on the weekends and at parties.  But after the way things went down back on the mainland, his drinking had increased as well as the alcohol by volume percentage.  He had lost everything that night.  He remembered making real-time decisions on which streets to travel down that nobody could have predicted.  At least that was what he kept telling himself and to his police chief and attorneys.  It was the wrong time for him but the right place for someone else.  Either way, he has been on the Big Island of Hawaii for some time and parts of him still refused to assimilate, despite his many attempts.

Thorne was a man who was used to seasonal changes.  That is not to say that he enjoyed the changing of the seasons.  To put it with a sprinkle of more sincerity, he was a sufferer of the four seasons from back in New England.  If you polled anyone who lived in New England and they said with a straight face that they enjoyed the weather becoming cooler for the fall and winter months, then they should be considered as truthful as Donald Trump.  For the record, it was at that precise moment when you look at these extollers of colder weather enjoyment and slap sense back into their Northeastern brains. 

The minute the temperatures changed these people are the first to complain that they are too cold and that there is not enough heat on.  Some people would even put on leg warmers like Jennifer Grey.  Which was a little concerning since nobody complains about how cold their calves are in the winter.  It usually falls to the buttocks, feet, and hands.  Despite being from New England, Thorne did have fond memories of the seasons.  That was probably the main reason that he would admit to missing it.  It was not for the cold weather, rather it was for the memories he had made when he was a kid and mostly due to the incident three years ago that encouraged him to make the goliath step here.

Thorne handed in his badge after losing Michelle.  He had slipped into a deep state of depression which was confirmed by the department psychotherapist.  He had awakened night after night for weeks with the nightmare of driving away from the house and then seeing Michelle's face turn cold.  He had cashed out his pension and lived on that for a short time on the island.  Since he had only served for ten years, he had not raked up enough to satisfy the rest of his life. 

He had tried to perform other jobs for the department of transportation, as a produce manager for a grocery store, and even working for a landscaping business.  He found a semblance of pride in doing his part for the community at all of these three jobs, but it was not enough.  He took his detective skills and police training and applied for his private investigator license.  He did not want to rejoin the force, but he did want to help people the way he had before the incident.  Thorne had to attend a lot of therapy and even a few Alcoholics Anonymous meetings to admit that he still wanted to protect people despite his failure to do so with Michelle.

Thorne's profession went by several names.  Some would refer to it as a private investigator, or gumshoe, or P.I, or private dick.  However, if you were to use the last term, private dick, you should probably duck for cover because a real private investigator will connect their fist to your face.  That warning should be adhered to at all times, particularly when speaking to a female investigator.  They pack a meatier punch than their male counterparts.

His almost exclusive clientele were people with troubles who do not wish to go to the authorities.  Sometimes the people do not want to go to the police because whatever it is that they are looking for will in some way, shape, or form come back to acknowledge their involvement in a nefarious act.  Married men and prostitutes constitute over seventy-five percent of his profits.  These particular individuals are not relegated to only people living on the island.  Thorne has had several cases where vacationing men and women have decided to taste some of the local guava while their significant other was back in their respected hotel rooms. Thorne was thankful for these customers, as they are the ones who have paid for his rent and meals.

Some other types of customers are ones who need services that the police department cannot easily provide.  For example, the search for missing people has taken second place in the top three types of employment.  The local police have stated that people do not have to wait 24 hours to report someone missing or that you are concerned for their welfare.  The police coordinate and make the process official and that can cost some time.  If someone was to go to a private investigator, then the job could be started a lot quicker and not as official as the police make it. Plus private investigators do not arrive at locations with lights on their cars or sirens.  This added benefit allows situations to be more covert. 

Thorne would tell you that a missing person's case was a good source of income.  They usually pay cash and upfront.  That was Thorne's preferred type of transaction.  After all, Uncle Sam did not stand next to him returning fire when a smackhead who was riding high on the snow shot a burst assault rifle from the second story of the assailant's motel accommodations.  In fact, Uncle Sam did not help pay for the engine repair needed in his Nissan Altima, as bullets had penetrated the hood.  However, in the high-end cases that came in from time-to-time, he did willingly give his share to the government.

Thorne was not always this way.  He was a law-abiding citizen and always crossed his T's and dotted his I's.  However, like everyone in this world, the great motivator and changer of all things was time.  It had affected Thorne in a way that he had never thought would.  He always dealt with other people's troubles and losses, but it had finally hit his life like a cement truck into a coffee shop.  With what was left of his heart, the big island of Hawaii had attracted him in a way that he needed to adhere to her call. 

Finally, the last type of customer was the type that barely had enough money for them to pay the rent collector, let alone a private detective.  These types of customers were the most frequent type that knocked on his door.  They arrived daily with one ridiculous issue after another.  So much so that Thorne had to disconnect the doorbell, take his poster board signage out from the window, and become akin to turning off the lights and peering down the length of his office to see if the guest was worthy of his services.

Chapter 3

Thorne had spent three hours handcuffed to the interrogation room table.  He was interrogated by a lieutenant and two detectives about the situation.  Each of the officers took their due time in coming in and asking the same questions.  He was so tired of explaining himself that his response came out monotone and robotic.  They had left him alone for about half an hour.  He drank three cups of police station coffee and could feel his stomach taking revenge on his body.  Thorne put his head down on the table and was just about to catch a little shut-eye when the door sprang open.

What the hell were you thinking? asked a deep, yet high-pitched female voice.

That I'd get some rest after all of these questions, said Thorne.

No.  What the hell were you thinking taking off your shorts in front of a child? asked an annoyed officer.

She shut the door, walked into the room, and slammed a folder she was carrying on the table.  Thorne jumped at the sound the folder made.  He rubbed his eyes, sat back in his chair, and crossed his arms as he looked at Detective Kalani.  Kalani was a tall slender woman who enjoyed accentuating that fact by the carefully chosen attire.  She wore black pants with firm creases that ran down the length of the legs.  She wore a white blouse and a black cutaway blazer.  Her hair was parted in the middle and then pulled back on the sides.  The hair met at the center of the back of her head with a clip and then cascaded down atop the rest of her hair like water from a waterfall to just below her shoulders.  She furrowed her trimmed brow which caused the black eye shadow to turn a shade darker than it had been a moment ago.  She pulled in the corner of the most perfect lips that Thorne had ever seen while waiting for a response.

Look, detective, it's just like what I told the other guys.  Peter bumped into me with his fruit wagon.  The coffee I was drinking spilled backward and all over my stomach and crotch.  I had just brewed it and it was burning my skin.  Since I'm very much attached to my genitals, I decided to try and save the boys from melting.  At no point in time did I expose myself to Peter.  My underwear stayed on.

That's not what Mrs. Stanziale reported, countered Kalani.

Mrs. Stanziale was outside walking her cat.  Are you seriously going to take the word of a lady who walks a cat?  Plus she wasn't wearing her glasses.  Which everyone in the neighborhood knows if you stare into them long enough you can see her thoughts in her head before she even says anything, said Thorne.

The boy's parents are not pressing charges.  Mrs. Stanziale can't remember any events surrounding the matter either.

Yea, because she is probably smoking pot due to her glaucoma, said Thorne.

The detective smiled.

I can still charge you with indecent exposure, said Kalani.

Detective, have I hurt you in some way?

Not deep enough to cause bleeding, replied Kalani.

I would never destroy a creature as beautiful as yourself, said Thorne.

You better be careful.  You never know who is standing on the other side of that glass.

Kalani gestured with her eyes at the huge wall with a one-way mirror facing them.

I'm not afraid to admit I dig what the Lord gave you, said Thorne with a Cheshire cat grin.

You know, I am carrying a gun?

Detective, you know someone behind that glass may hear you talking dirty to me?

Get out of here before I make up a reason to lock you up, said Kalani.

Check ya around, detective, said Thorne.

Thorne left the room.

Kalani remained seated for a few moments and smiled.

*            *            *            *

Thorne checked out of the precinct and received his personal belongings.  He offered to tip the police officer but told her that he did not enjoy his stay.  He hailed a cab and fifteen minutes later he was back at his office.  He walked straight to the coffee machine and brewed a fresh cup of Kona coffee the way he liked it.  He walked over to his desk chair and sat down.  Thorne picked up his cup of coffee, put his feet up on the desktop, and took a sip from the mug.  Or at least that was what he wanted to do.  Just as the cup made contact with his lips and the aroma hit his senses the phone rang

Thorne recognized the voice immediately.  He had classified the client on the other end of the phone as a third or bronze level customers.  It was not Thorne's prerogative to judge a client by the sound of their voice over the phone or the story they told.  However, there were always exceptions to the rule and he felt this was one of them. 

The client, Ms. Kuma Pivot, was a seventy-year-old island native.  She had spent most of her life working in the kitchen for over two dozen restaurants between Maui and the big island.  It is said that the smell of her cooking can be reached as far north as Kaua'i.  Thorne did not know if that was true or not but he has had her cooking before, and to him, he would have believed it. 

Twenty minutes later Thorne had arrived at Pivot's home.  It was a one-story building with multiple discolored exterior walls. The house had been painted many times before and based upon its current condition, it was done in long, stretched-out phases.  On the drive up, Thorne could see that the western-facing wall was painted an indigo blue, the front was painted white, and the eastern driveway-facing wall was painted salmon up until the air conditioner in the window. It was clear that it had been a long time since a bucket of paint had been applied to any of these walls.  The front yard was a short dirt path no bigger than a car's length.  The grass had empty patches spread throughout.  The yard was also littered with milk crates, several birdbaths, and a collapsed metal hammock.  Pivot's car was in the driveway when Thorne had arrived.  It was a Ford, circa 1983, as far as Thorne could tell.  There was no model nameplate on its trunk, only the Ford emblem in its center.

The sky overhead was a perfect sapphire blue without a cloud in sight.  The sun had beaten down upon Thorne as he had navigated through the birdbaths and milk crates on the front lawn.  The windows were opened and Thorne could smell the meal that Pivot was making.  He had arrived on time despite having to wait at the front door.  Pivot had called out several promises that she would be right there.  She had called him and spoken about a terrible emergency that she was experiencing and that only Thorne could help her out.  She had told him that her Pearl had disappeared or was kidnapped and that she needed his help immediately.  Thorne heard the panic in her voice and drove straight over. 

Pivot arrived at the door holding a mixing bowl with a large wooden spoon and was stirring her ingredients furiously.  She was a short stocky woman with a leathery tan from years spent on the island. She wore her black and white hair up in a tight bun.  Thorne wondered if she let her hair down, the rest of her face would follow.  Her arms were bare under her chef's apron and she had on a pair of shorts and flip-flops.  In direct contrast to Thorne, she resembled the result of a perfectly cooked Thanksgiving turkey, whereas Thorne admittedly was the same color as the turkey before it went in the oven.  If he had stood close enough to the front of Pivot's house, he would be perfectly camouflaged.

You better get in this house right now, Thorne, you're as a white as an egg, you know? said Pivot as she approached the door.

Yes, Ms. Pivot, replied Thorne.

Thorne walked into what he determined was the living room, dining room, and laundry room.  There was a four-foot circular table with chairs around it in the far corner near a doorway that Thorne had assumed led to the kitchen.  There were a sofa and television across from it adjacent to the dining room table.  And to complete the room there was a side-by-side washing machine complete with an ironing board and a basket of clothes waiting to be laundered.

How may I help you?  What is your emergency? asked Thorne as he tried to balance himself between the sofa and ironing board.

I am so upset right now I can barely speak, Pivot said taking a breath.

It's ok, take a few seconds to…

Don't be interrupting me, boy.  I am an old lady and my lungs aren't what they used to be.  Give an old lady a chance to speak, said Pivot shaking her spatula at Thorne.  She took a deep breath.

Of course, my apologies, please continue, said Thorne.

I came home this morning after going to the market to buy groceries and found my Pearl gone.

Do you have any idea where she might have gone? asked Thorne

I haven't a clue, said Pivot, stirring the batter more slowly.

Maybe she went to a friend's house?  Have you made any calls to them?

She wouldn't have gone to their houses unless I had brought her.

Maybe she went to the market or is at a neighbor's house.

I checked it already.  Maybe you can search the neighborhood.

I'll start right away.  I just need to have some demographics of what Pearl looks like.

She's white, has short legs, big brown eyes, and spiked white hair.

Very good.  Anything else? asked Thorne

Yes, she also has a white mark on the side of her beak, said Pivot

I'm sorry, a white mark on the side of her beak? asked Thorne.

Yes, that's correct.

So I'm looking for a bird?

Not just any bird. My Pearl.  She is very dear to my heart, boy.

Ms. Pivot, I do not investigate missing animals.

Well, why did you show up then?

You told me on the phone that your Pearl went missing.  I had assumed that you meant your daughter, or niece, or spouse.

I don't have time for any of those.  And if I'm going to go on record, I wouldn't mind watching that Jay Hernandez fellow take off his shirt and run on the beach.  Pearl is a macaw and a beautiful creature that I have had for some time.  Please find her and bring her safely back to me.  I shall give you a handsome reward for it, said Pivot turning and entering the kitchen.

I need to start screening my calls better.  That or get a secretary. Plus now I can't stop thinking about a topless Jay Hernandez.  Is the bar open yet?

Thorne had it in his mind to just hop in his car and drive back to his office or home.  Unfortunately for him, these two places were one and the same.  He had a home once when he first arrived on the island.  It had been a beautiful home out near Captain Cook on the lower southwest side of the island.  He had used the small amount of money that he had saved, his small pension, and an even smaller amount from selling his house back in Connecticut.  One would think that by moving from the northeastern part of the United States it would be cheaper the further south one traveled.  Whereas this can be proven in some places it was not so for him.  He had owed more money on his house in Connecticut and had to give a large sum of the purchase money to the bank before he could just walk away.

His house on the Big Island was half the size of his original house back home.  He had lived there for over a year.  He had personally made some updating to the bathrooms and kitchen.  By the time he was done with these upgrades, a storm crashed through the island with high winds and rain that had come down sideways in what meteorologists had classified as a hurricane a few months back.  He was forced to move into his office until such a time that he would start rebuilding that section of his house.  For Thorne, the house had never truly felt like home.  It was more of a means to lay one's hat and rest from the day's work.  For an island built on the concept of relaxing and finding one's calm, Thorne was never quite able to reach that point.  He has been attempting to reach that euphoric state for over four years without any real success. 

Pivot's backyard was almost a carbon copy of the front yard.  The grass was overgrown and there were plastic beach chairs spread throughout.  The stone patio that attached to the house had four white wooden chairs and a patio table to match that all needed a decent power-washing.  There was a spot in the middle for an umbrella, but according to Pivot, it had flown the coop in the storm two nights ago like her missing Pearl.

Thorne walked to the center of the backyard and looked to the perimeter.  The yard was enclosed by a seven-foot wooden fence on all three sides.  Each of the fences was of a different style and color.  In the right corner was a small collection of coconut trees bearing no fruit.  On the other side was a koa tree.  This tree was almost one hundred feet tall and consumed most of the space in the backyard.  Its branches spread out from a center point and curled to the side and upward resembling a person flexing their biceps.  Atop this tree were smaller branches and thin stems that led to palm-size oval green leaves.  Thorne looked at this tree and became jealous that he did not have something like that to climb when he was a child.

The breeze was flowing steady and moved the blades of grass that swayed at Thorne's knees.  He split the backyard into four quadrants and searched each one for Pearl's location, still in disbelief that he did not turn around and get into his car after finding out the missing person was in fact a missing bird.  The sun beat down on his Irish skin and began to make him sweat.  He finished searching quadrant one and moved to the second on his left where the koa tree grew.  He decided to step forward and search the area more closely, as it doubled for some needed shade.  He looked down his arms and noticed that they had started to look like a faint color of corn beef.

Note to self, buy sunblock SPF 5000.

He took out his phone and quickly Googled the actual bird that he was searching for in Pivot's backyard.  The results proved as Pivot had described a white bird with a black beak and spiked hair.  Also, their feathers can be other colors such as green and yellow. 

If I didn't need the money, Thorne said aloud as he looked from his phone to the tree.

Money, said a weird voice close to him.

Thorne froze and searched his immediate area. 

Did Pivot come out here to look with me?

Money, the word was said again.

Thorne looked to the opposite side of the yard.  Conversations were known to have traveled in the wind on Hawaii.  Thorne knew this and quickly consider this fact.  He walked to the fence directly facing Pivot's rear neighbor's house.  He climbed up on the bottom horizontal bar and peered over.  The yard was empty.  The backyard was made up of light brown and white pebbles arranged in what appeared to be a sound wave pattern.  The rear patio had a sliding glass door that was opened with a beige sheer drapery closed over it.  Thorne thought it was odd to have the door opened only to have a drapery panel block the view and flow of air.

He turned around and looked at the tree when he heard it again.

Money.

Who the hell is saying that? asked Thorne darting his eyes side to side.

That.

Thorne looked up and examined the tree branches above him.  The sunlight was flickering through the leaves as they moved to the rhythm of the wind.  Then he saw something move.  He grabbed hold of the large branches below and climbed cautiously upwards.  He slowly approached to where he saw a gap in the leaf design.

Money, said the voice.

Thorne narrowed in on his vision.  As he reached the second level of branches he found what he sought.  It was Pearl.

"Well, at least I didn't have to go far to find this damn bird," said Thorne as he looked for a way to stabilize his perch before he lunged for the bird.

The bird watched Thorne climb the tree branch by branch as it moved to and fro on the branch it had landed.  Pearl switched which eye it was looking at him each time she changed direction.

Alright, bird, let's just stay where you are and let us go back to see Ms. Pivot, said Thorne.  He