Surfing Detective 00 - The Making of Murder on Molokai

o n e
(1998 draft)

    People are like waves. On the surface they may appear turbulent or calm, but what really matters lies below. The most beautiful glassy tube, you see, can be the most dangerous. Under that luminous green barrel hides a jagged reef–just inches beneath the surface–that can rake the unsuspecting surfer like a cheese grater. Mushy beach break may pose less risk, but for
Pure Stoke
can’t match the awesome tube.
    Like waves, people present themselves in many guises. Whether surfing or working a case, I keep my eyes open.
Check out da reef, brah!
I scan the sea for saw-toothed coral. I survey the soup for uncharted boulders. I also scout the telltale fin of the tiger shark. Otherwise, by now I’d be a
dead
surfer. And a dead detective.
    When I’m working I pack a .38 snub-nose revolver by my surfboard wax in the trunk of my Impala. The gunmetal and machine oil smell of the Smith & Wesson, magnified by the Hawaiian sun, almost reeks beside the sweet, coconut-scented paraffin. The blue black .38–gunmetal stink and all–is a necessary evil of my job. Me, I prefer the tropical scent of the surfboard wax.
    I bought the hammerless .38 because I can draw and fire it quickly. My fast draw has drilled dozens of make-believe men at the Koko Head Range, and one flesh and blood man in the streets of Honolulu. The latter was an “armed and dangerous” (but not too smart) escaped con, trying to settle a score. It’s a case I’d just as soon forget, since he nearly landed me in prison, if not at the undertaker.
    Problem is, no private detective in Hawai‘i is licensed to carry a concealed weapon. Getting caught with one earns the unlucky P.I. two years in jail. So when I go out on a heavy assignment, when I’m tailing someone who might be trouble,
    I weigh the benefits against the risks. Is protecting my hide worth doing a couple years’ time? Or does staying out of jail merit taking a slug? It’s a delicate balance. My job is full of delicate balances.
    I’m Kai Cooke.
Kai
in Hawaiian means “sea.” I was named after my Uncle Kaipo, an expert waterman who sailed Polynesia in a double-hulled koa canoe. My business card says “SURFING DETECTIVE” and “Confidential Investigations–All Islands.” Above these words is my company logo–a longboard rider with toes on the nose. This “hanging ten” surfer is a thing of beauty: back gracefully arched, knees bent slightly, arms cantilevered behind for balance, gauzy ocean spray enveloping board and surfer like a white lace curtain.
Radical
.
    An artist friend modeled the logo after an unknown wave rider at the Banzai Pipeline. My surfer logo has appeared in the Honolulu yellow pages for the past six years. This is no bogus gimmick. I really do surf. In fact, it wouldn’t stretch the truth too much to call myself a longboard champion.
    Well,
former
champion. When I was twenty-five, nearly a decade ago, I placed third in a local contest at Makaha. The infamous Makaha “bowls” were cranking up in the final round to twelve feet.
And higher.
Boards were snapping like toothpicks. I got lucky. One teeth-rattling ride positioned me to win it all. Then on the wave of the day–the wave of
my life
–I kicked out to rescue a fellow surfer hit by his board going over the falls. Neither of us won first prize. But my third-place trophy, tarnished by the years, still sits in my Maunakea Street office and holds special meaning.
    More to the point, the surfer logo has worked. Potential clients may forget my name, but not the Surfing Detective.

III: Chapters One though Four: The Deadbeat Dad

    Once Kai’s “People are like waves” monologue was removed
from the first pages of the 1998 draft, the revised first chapter
began with the discarded subplot mentioned above. This subplot involves a deadbeat dad named Leonard Souza whose
wife has retained the Surfing Detective to collect delinquent
child support. Souza has not only failed to support his own children, but has also taken up with barely a child himself,
cohabiting with her in a rusting fishing boat at the Ala Wai
Yacht Harbor in Honolulu. The confrontation that results when the PI serves papers on the deadbeat was intended as a day-in-the-life vignette. But it was thought to draw away too much attention from the main plot. The piece was later published as a short story entitled “Hijinks Aboard the
Hokulani”
in
Spirit of Aloha
(March/April 2008), the in-
flight magazine of the now
defunct Aloha