HAM

Case 3- Hensarling 2 "Collusion"

2008-03-24T10:05:00.003-10:00

Sometimes I find myself speaking on the phone to a person with whom intelligent communication is difficult, even intimidating. These people tend to (but it's no strict rule) be female, asian, and intelligent. Karra Imoto is most definitely one of these people. Which explains why I wasn't thinking so clearly when I shot off to my office to make a phone call. Upon remembering some of the more painful attempts to converse with Karra that occured in high school, I silently gave the phone to Jack, who had wordlessly materialized behind me. How did I know that Jack was there? Well, the one thing you learn about Jack is when there's trouble, chaos, or a potential devastatingly awkward conversation, Jack is pretty much always on the scene.

I couldn't bear to stay in my office during the call, as that would just accentuate the pathetic. 15 miuntes later, Jack joined me in the briefing room where the rest of the gang had assembled. Noah and Makoa hadn't bothered to leave the breifing room; the remnants of lunch still having some pull on their movements. Carlee had forgotten that somebody was supposed to man the front and found her way to a chair, right next to Michelle, who had apparently sensed that something was going down. The last chair was naturally Daniel's, who had never moved from the original meeting with Fairchild, who had gone on his merry way. The briefing room has 5 chairs. That left Jack and I to pace, which I'm not a big fan of if I'm not on the phone. I made a mental note to have Carlee scare up a couple more chairs.

Jack has a flair for the over-dramatic, which normally I let slide as par for the course. Today, however, I could understand why some people take issue with this trait when Jack let us wait for what seemed like an eternity.

Michelle, as per usual, had even less patience than I. "Cut the crap, Jack. Do we have a job?"

"A job, dear Mishka? What makes you think we would have one of those?"

"Hm... I don't know. Cody leaves his office, hands you his personal phone. All this nonsense is spurred on by a visit from one of the most well-connected people on the island. Makoa's grinning like we're about to get money. Do I need to go on?"

"Come on, Michelle... All I was doing was catching up with an old friend from high school. We talked for a bit, found out how the other was doing, talked about our favorite places to surf on the Big Island, and tried to arrange a time to catch up in more detail. Purely normal conversation, Mish?"

"Whatever," breathed Michelle as she got up to leave.

"Wait," said Carlee, turning to stare down Jack as Michelle promptly sat back down, "when are you going to catch up with Karra?"

Jack flashed his trademark grin. "In a couple of days. You guys can come if you like..."

"Yeah, I think we will," I said. "All right, Jack, drop the dumb act. Let's get down to business".

Jack, through the course of the the briefing, explained that Karra was more than willing to hire us, if only because she had no earthly clue what was going on. Karra was floored that the HSAA was bringing the trials to Hilo, but was feeling the weight of responsibility. Security was not something that she exactly was used to providing. According to Jack, she would ensure that we received compensation for expenses and a nice fee, but the job requirements were almost humorously vague. What we needed was more information. Karra didn't know who had complained to the HSAA to get the trials moved. She also had no clue as to how to properly secure the Natatorium when she had no idea what special threat is posed.

The briefing was interminable. A brieifing is always easier when you are siphoning through information, if only because you get options. When you don't know what's going on or what to do, what you get is rampant speculation, which leads to all sorts of arguments. In particular, I wanted Makoa to lead the charge on the information gathering. My theory was that we could find the nature of threat in a similar manner to the method the CIA uses to find terrorist chatter. Michelle, the champion of human intelligence, wanted to make phone calls to prominant figures in the swimming world. Now, as Daniel pointed out, both of these were huge stabs in the dark that didn't make us look efficient or particularly intelligent. The reason for the argument was simple, both proposed solutions needed manpower. Makoa could make macros to search for his keywords, but would ultimately prefer as many pairs of eyes on the job as possible. I let Makoa and Mish fight out the duty assignments and pulled Jack and Daniel off to the side to start planning a different element of the trip.

"How many people do you need to secure a venue of this size, Jack? Can you do it with 7?" I asked.

"6," said Daniel.

"How do you figure?" I asked.

"Somebody has to work the comm, don't they?" he replied.

"Not to mention, I could scarcely count Noah as a real field operative," chimed in Jack.

"How many?" I asked again.

"8 is ideal. There's a lot of space to cover. We'd naturally need overlap. Plus, we'd probably need two guys running the comm. One coordinating, the other scanning using the cameras. I could do it with 8."

"Who, then? What is that, 3 more people to contract out?"

"We should get Brad. He could work the field, run the comm, whatever," suggested Daniel.

"I agree. I'll make the call," I replied, actually intending to follow through and contact Mr. Nakamura.

"Kensy Apaka?" Jack queried.

"Supposedly he contracts for Pomai. Probably not the best move to align ourselves with Pomai again..." I trailed off.

"Charae Galigo?" asked Daniel.

"Do you miss her or want to hire her? She doesn't offer anything, except that she's in the area already!" chided Jack.

"Ka'imi Moraes?" I suggested.

"Genius! He still up in Volcano?" asked Jack.

"Last time I checked, he was," assured Daniel.

"Then call him, too. We can use Karra as the 8th. No worries, guys, we got this down pat!" said Jack.

Half an hour later, Brad and Ka'imi were on board, tickets for two vehicles and 8 passengers were purchased for the Superferry, phones were being in constant use in the service of Michelle and Makoa was busily writing macros. The job had begun in earnest.

Case 3- Hensarling 1 "Connections"

2008-03-18T13:20:00.003-10:00

"Who the heck bought this for me? I thought I was clear: no salads for me for the next two years! And besides that, thousand island dressing? I've never been able to to stomach anything but Ranch," whined Daniel.

It was good to be getting back to normal. The thought of more vegetarian influence on the meals consumed at the office was just unbearable. For the record, it's not that I hate all vegetables. I mean, I can tolerate corn on Wednesdays, lettuce ain't bad with dressing, and potatoes count, right? Besides, my preferences were totally irrelevant, seeing as I was the one who bought him the salad... Hey, I never said I was the nicest person in town, now did I?

"Hey, Cody, did you get me the Katsu from L&L?" asked Makoa, who was in for one of his increasingly frequent office days.

"Yup, just let me take out my hamburger steak plate & Jack's Loco Moco," I replied, setting the food on the briefing room table.

"Aww, what the heck, Cody? How can you do this to a starving brother?!?" pouted Daniel.

"The only starving brotha is the one that gets between me and my Moco!" announced a grinning Jack, looking for laughs that weren't quite there.

"Cody, did you and Dan get the memo about your one o'clock?" asked Carlee, popping her head into the conference room.

"What memo?" asked Daniel.

"What one o'clock?" I demanded.

"Oh, look at the time! It's one o'clock!" yelled Carlee over her shoulder as she walked back to her desk.

"You guys gotta grow a pair, man. I don't know why you let her do that to you. Wait, I know why Cody puts up with it, but Daniel, I just don't get it..." mused Jack.

"Cody! So good to see you, friend. I just happened to be in the area and your secretary, lovely girl by the way, told me I could just drop by for lunch. She also told me you had a hamburger steak plate for me?" said a previously unobservable presence.

Carlee was treading on thin ice. A few more weeks of this, and I might have had to start the disciplinary process. Not that we had a disciplinary process. Not that I would have used it on her. Not that she would have cared. Whatever.

"Jack, Daniel, this is Tom Fairchild. Tom, meet Daniel Maile, the M in HAM, and the illustrious Jack Wright III of Nanakuli. Oh, and here's your lunch," I said, forking over my delectable looking hamburger steak plate.

Tom Fairchild doesn't look like much of anything. Typically, he wears a black or grey hooded sweatshirt with raggedy jeans to go along with a crazy mustache and unkempt hair. Most people confuse him for a person on the fringes of society. These people would be mistaken.

"Yeah, I know good ol' Jack! How's the 'stang these days?" asked Tom.

"Eh, you know me; traded it in last week for the jag!" cracked Jack.

Therein lies Tom Fairchild's true mystique: he knows anybody who is anybody in Hawaii. He was a big-wave surfer in the days of Eddie Aikau; he was a music promoter when Don Ho was king; he ran the construction biz when the mysterious Yamamoto was just beginning his benevolence; and he even was a fixture in the UH locker room during the reign of June Jones. Tom also was a big mover & shaker in the non-profit and Christian circles, which is where I had previously interacted with him, while doing a lighting/sound gig for an event w/Wayne Cordero's New Hope crew. Tom mostly is a go-between, and while he may have a humble demeanor and visage; the sheer volume and impact of the deals and agreement he facilitates is monumental. As soon as he arrived, my hope for getting a job shot through the roof.

As we sat down around the five man briefing room table, I decided to test the waters.

"So, Tom, heard anything interesting lately?" I asked, as Daniel shot me a quizzical look, clearly not understanding why we were seemingly feeding the underprivileged in our office.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact. You heard about them having the swimming & diving nats over at UH, eh?"

"I think I heard something about it. Oh, that's right, Michelle, one of our field ops was looking for tickets".

"Well, let her know that I might know a guy who could get her a deal... But anyways, that's not news. What IS news is that they moved the site to the Big Island; Hilo, specifically".

"Did somebody say Hilo?!?!" asked yet another of my associated who just happened to be waiting outside the briefing room door; the illustrious Noah Gomes.

Mercifully, Tom ignored Noah, as did the rest of us.

"Why the swap?" asked Jack.

"Well, see, they're concerned about security, so they figured they'd play it out at the site of Merrie Monarch, or at least close by at the Natatorium, where they've got a pretty good track record as far as security is concerned".

"Is that gonna be enough?" I asked.

"Eh, you never know. But I do know this, there's a girl you might know, by the name of Karra Imoto, who's the HSAA's Hilo rep. She just happens to be looking for some answers regarding these nebulous security concerns. You might tell her that Tom told you to ask if you could help her out".

We definitely knew Karra. And we were itching for a job, so it was go time.

"You know what? We just might do that..." I said, trailing off imagning the prospect of seeing Karra again.

"Don't wait for her to call you, you gotta take the initiative on this one".

He didn't have to tell me twice. I excused myself from the meal, allowing Jack and Tom to discuss the upcoming competition at Pipeline. I headed to my office to make a phone call.

Case 3- The Case of the Noxious Natatorium

2008-03-18T09:08:00.003-10:00

There are many people that are at least passively invested in the survival and success of Hensarling, Associates, and Maile; people who you might not expect to be so inclined. Jon Goto, hotshot lawyer and personal counsel to the firm; Agent John Sims of the FBI, and even Officer Mari Chun of the HPD have previously been shown to care quite a bit about our actions. Allow me to show off yet another of our more illustrious contacts: Patrick Branco.

From the time he graduated high school, Patrick had one foot in the political world. Internships, campaign advisory committees, and a quality political science education at Hawaii Pacific had cemented his credentials as a true political operative with which to be reckoned. There had been much speculation as to which candidate/politician he would hitch his wagon, but those questions had long since been answered. Currently, Patrick is Deputy Chief of Staff for (2nd Term) Governor Duke Aiona.

On this particular day, Patrick had a meeting with delegations representing the United States Olympic Committee (USOC) and the Hawaii State Athletic Association (HSAA). Through the course of the day, Patrick would have countless such meetings, but this one was particularly relevant to what became quite the issue for HAM.

"Always, a pleasure, Brent. What brings the HSAA to the Office of the Governor?" asked Patrick.

"A plea, if you will. We're in trouble, Pat..." Brent Morgan, Vice-President of the HSAA, trailed off.

Patrick absolutely detests being called Pat. One of the sad things about political life is that you have to learn to accept nicknames and abbreviations, no matter how much they may grate on your nerves.

"As you know, the US National Aquatics Championships will be held on the University of Hawaii's campus in a month's time. This means so much for us as an organization and even more for the state. Prestige, revenue, excitement, jobs created; it's all here. Until three days ago, I was basking in the potentially glory of this event. Until three days ago, my life was borderline perfect. And then, I get a call from the USOC..."

"Speaking of the Olympic Committee, when will their representative be arriving?"

"Oh, you didn't get that memo? They won't be; there's no need. Unless we can come up with a plan to soothe their concerns, they don't want to be anywhere near here."

"What happened?" asked Patrick, whose tone reflected the trepidation he had to have been feeling.

"Well, from what they tell me, there's been some talk about security concerns. Last year, the National Championships in Athletics were held in New Mexico, and I don't know how closely you follow Cross-Country, but one of the top coaches in the nation; a chap by the name of Fujimoto, took a bullet during the running of the 10,000. There's some chatter going around that someone's going to follow the example of that gunman. So, naturally they've been getting calls about security precautions, and frankly, we haven't hosted an event of this type or size in the state. I just don't know what to tell them. If we don't propose something, they're set to move facilities to Georgia, and I know Governor Aiona wouldn't want that to happen, now would he?"

"No, he wouldn't," Patrick paused to reflect before finishing his response. "It is true that the state has never hosted an event of this type, exactly. I mean, the Olympic Triathalon Trials are close, but weren't exactly a shining example of security. On the other hand, there is an event we hold every year approximately the right size that has never had any security issues..."

30 minutes later, the USOC had agreed that the trials should be moved to the Big Island, specifically to the city of Hilo. After all, if Hilo can host Merrie Monarch, how hard could this be?

Now, you might be wondering what any of this has to do with us. Frankly, I only found out about this conversation months after the fact. Patrick, who from time to time has a hand in getting us work, really had no direct impact in us getting a job. However, a job we did get, all thanks to the wonderfully interconnected nature of the people of Hawaii.

Case 2- Hensarling 8 "Stooges"

2008-03-17T09:35:00.004-10:00

The briefing room, as was previously mentioned, doubles as Makoa's workspace. During cases, I also find myself taking up residence here, and the two of us have an unwritten agreement that he will stay in his corner, which will allow me to pace as much as I like. Whenever I'm on a phone conversation that lasts longer than 5 minutes, I pace; it drives Carlee nuts. So, you can imagine my surprise when Makoa was sitting at the briefing room table holding a cellphone out towards me with a look of disgust on his face. Had the man no sensibilities?

"He says he's got something", said Makoa.

"I heard; that's why I just unceremoniously busted through the door! What does he have?" I demanded.

"He won't tell me. Something about wanting to talk to a real field agent..." Makoa mumbled, clearly offended at Jack's characterization.

I picked up the phone, and barked into the mouthpiece.

"This had better be good, Jack!"

"C'mon, Cody, you know me better than that... I don't go out of my way to piss off people I actually like. I wouldn't do that to Makoa unless I had to, but he doesn't understand surveillance, at least not human surveillance... Here's the deal, I got Noah fiddling with a baggie right now, but I know what I see, or at least what I don't see. Crack, man, I'm looking at bag with no crack whatsoever!"

Now this may have excited Jack, but I didn't really see what was so awesomely progress like about NOT finding any crack in a bag in an undisclosed location. Jack was right about one thing, though: as clueless as I may have been, he would have had an even harder time with Makoa.

Over the course of the next fifteen minutes (about 13 minutes too long for a phone conversation by Jack's normal standards), I was able to decipher Jack's excited blabbering. The dynamic duo of our top field operative and forensics expert had tracked Zane to Palolo Valley, a good 32 miles from where he was on patrol according to the HPD duty logs which Makoa had eventually "borrowed" for us. The terrible twosome had observed what appeared to be a drug bust, except for the fact that nobody was taken into custody and Officer Moriki never radioed in to report his action. To make matters more suspicious, Zane had chucked the empty siezed bag out into the street. After careful analysis, they had determined that the contents had indeed been crack, which jived perfectly with their initial observation.

Initially, I thought there were two clear options. One, Zane was a meth addict, which would absolutely be to our clients', both paid and unpaid, advantage. Two, Zane was basically functioning as a black market crack dealer, which also was perfect for our situation. Needless to say, I was encouraged by this news.

Facing the reality that this was now fully in the realm of shady drug & gang fieldwork, I grabbed the qualified members of the team and saddled up in support of Jack and Noah. After waking up Michelle, who promised to be at the office in 15 minutes to pick the pertinent team members up, I informed Brad and Agent Sims that it was time to go. If there's two things I've come to learn about Agent Sims it would have to be that the man genuinely loves action and gets virtually none in his job as Chief Resident of the Honolulu FBI Office. Naturally, he was fired up and ready to go. Brad looked half asleep, which is pretty much his optimal state of readiness.

"Got room for one more?" asked Carlee, with a look that I would struggle to describe accurately (her intent, through that facial expression, was to render her question rhetorical)

It pained me to do what I had to do.

"It isn't safe. Er... We need someone to man the office... Uh, Michelle can only take 3..." I sputtered, desperately trying to look away.

"Are you kidding me? Which one? And really, I don't care, Makoa & Daniel are here, and Mish's car seats 5, not four!" she yelled at me as we ran out the door.

It wasn't pretty, but a detective's got to do what a detective's got to do, right?

Michelle Balutski is missing her calling in life. Formula-1 race drivers know less about vehicle performance than she does. Plus, they generally go slower around turns and wear more protective restraints. I was expecting us to take anywhere from 25 to 35 minutes to meet up with Jack, but we got there in 12. Don't ask me how...

As soon as we spotted Jack's car, I got a text message from Noah's phone telling us to the kill the engine and pull into the shadows, which we did. 5 minutes later, Jack strolled non-chalantly over to the white car struggling to remain anonymous.

"Is Sims in there?"

"You bet," he replied.

"This may actually be your business moreso than ours. Big drug buy going down right now. You know whose turf this is?"

"Let me guess; not Pomai's?" I butted in.

"Decidedly not. This is the place for the Middle Street Sixes, who just so happen to be Pomai's major competitor in the crack biz." said Sims, answering my suspicions.

"And the plot thickens..." muttered Brad.

Nobody ever fully understands why Brad speaks up when he does. We just learn to catalogue it for future use and move on.

Jack leaned his head through the window, trying to maintain eye contact with the resident g-man.

"You calling for backup?"

"There's no time; you know that."

"Yes, I do. I also happen to know four people who are packing heat and could potentially be useful as deputies of the Federal Government".

"Damn they hate it when I turn in that form..."

"Wait a second, four people?" I asked.

"Oh, whoops, forgot to give you this..." laughed Jack, as he tossed me his spare weapon, a Smith & Wesson MP 9.

While I hoped that I was armed strictly for decoration, I wasn't totally lost with a firearm. My father is from Texas, after all.

"Listen up, buckos. We follow my lead, I do ALL the talking, and nobody and I mean nobody fires those clown pieces unless I tell them to? Clear?" whispered a very tense Agent Sims.

"Whatever," muttered Michelle, busting out her previously abset .357 Magnum revolver.

Noah gave us the signal to go ahead, and we started taking defensive positions around the target area. Zane had apparently decided to conduct business with gangbangers in a pavillion at the Palolo Valley District Park. Hard for us to be stealthy, as the place, while not very well lighted, is fairly open. At least numbers were on our side, there were only two visible individuals and Zane to worry about.

After what seemed like an eternity, Agent Sims, still clad in suit & tie, emerged from the shadows after beckoning us to cover him. One of the two gang thugs looked like he was going to run, but before he could fully commit to that course of action, Sims' voice rang out in the dark.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. I have no business with you..." He let that thought hang as he flipped his badge for all to see.

There are few ironclad rules on the streets, Jack once explained, but one is definitely: never, ever, ever mess with an FBI agent. It just isn't worth it to face the full force and power of the Federal Government. In this case, the two thugs, who we'll just call Curly and Moe, acting in full accordance with this rule. As soon as the badge had been shown, their demenaor became one of subservience and Moe even began to beg.

"Sir, you gotta believe me, I've never seen this guy before. I'm just passing through; I don't even know whay he wanted to talk to me."

"Cool it, just tell the man what he wants to know. Don't go shooting your mouth off!" said Curly, slapping Moe in the head to emphasize his point.

"All I want to know is if this was a drug buy and if so, who's the buyer?" asked Sims in a shockingly calm voice.

"Drugs? Is that what this cat was trying to sell us? I had no idea!" said Moe, in a state of fake shock.

"Yeah, it is. This guys selling. All we're doing is buying. We'll pay the fee, and be on our way; this guy is the one you Feds would want," said Curly, pointing at Zane.

"Now is that so, Officer Moriki?" asked Sims, wheeling to face Zane.

At this point, Zane tried to hightail it of there. Unluckily for him, he just ran into the barrel of Mish's magnum; not a great place to be for anyone, much less a fugitive of the law.

We found out later, after the dust had settled that we had done Agent Sims an incredible service as for the past year and a half, there had been chatter of a secret supplier for the Middle Street Sixes that had totally eluded the Feds. With the supplier out of the picture, it was expected that they would be completely run out of town, if only due to the laws of economics. Score one for the Federal Government.

Well, score one for HAM, too. Robello paid up, covering our expenses and tossing a little more to emphasize Pomai's gratitude. Keano was let go, as were at least 15 perps in lockup, as Zane's recent cases all had to be overturned. A bit of a tragedy, really, but it served our purposes. Brad resumed his freelancing work the next day, after thanking us for ridding him of his "normal monotony". We got a check for 15 grand from the USFG for "services rendered". I don't think anybody was expecting it; heck, I was half expecting to be arrested for illegal possession of a firearm! But that Sims is a standup guy, who at the very least, understood our role in his success. Best of all, I let Daniel out of his office, 10 pounds lighter, and very, very, very sick of salad.

Case 2: Hensarling 7- "Progress, What Progress?"

2007-09-11T22:00:00.000-10:00

I really don't know what Makoa does when I give him unreasonable assignments, such as committing a felony by stealing confidential governmental information. I guess it makes it easier for me to sleep at night leaving the details to the realm of guesswork. To make a long story short, Makoa did not actually hack into the HPD mainframe. I don't even know if he could have. He did, however, locate a neighborhood watch group with which Zane liasoned on a semi-regular basis, in order to give our searchers a starting point.

Seeing as I had next shift, I pulled the duty of calling Jack and telling him that we really had no idea where he was. I gave him the contact info for the Upper East Ewa Beach neighborhood watch patrol leader, and was forced to listen to his complaints on a lack of hard intelligence. He had a point. We were now four days into the case, Keano's court date was fast approaching, we had a client and an agent of the FBI breathing down our necks, and even our lawyer was questioning our methods. We needed a stroke of luck. Thankfully, Michelle had also been frustrated...

Upon leaving the office at 5:30 on Tuesday, after watching Jack leave without an apparent care to his destination, and with a solid 16 hours before her shift, Mish had decided to head to her old haunt of Kahalu'u to rewind. While watching the Kahalu'u-Waimanalo Pop Warner matchup, Mish decided to drive by McDonald's for some comfort food. Before she was even able to order, she observed what appeared to be a similar thinking Zane in plainclothes. Feeling a rare opportunity to be useful off the clock, Michelle began tailing Zane and radioded in his position.

Back at the office, Makoa had forgotten about the progression of time (Apple press conferences
had and have that effect on him) and was finally in the position he desired: in control of an active
communication center. With Makoa on the comm, Mish volunteered to pull double duty and take his shift. Really, though, while Makoa may have been thrilled by this turn of events, actual progress still eluded us. While the object of our investigation had been located, the fact remained that we were fishing for leads rather than acting on evidence or even educated guesses.

Makoa lasted a day and a half before Carlee mercifully replaced him at the comm station which had been set up in the briefing room. Coffee was flowing like water, as evidenced by the not one, but three full empty cans of Folgers which were to be found in my office's trash can. I was back serving my office shift, when I remembered that in all our calculated procedures and planning, we still had Daniel essentially under house arrest in his office. I decided to show pity on him and have a little chat, if only for a bit, before I grabbed some sleep before my next shift.

I rapped on his office door, when I was surprisingly greeted my a contented sounding voice.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Cody, just checking in on you. How are you holding up?"

"Not too bad. Carlee's been going on lunch runs for me, and I must say, some of the salads have been interesting. I'm losing weight, that's for certain," he said.

"Why salads? You aren't going over to the dark side, now are you?" I demanded.

"That was part of the deal, I get lunch without having to get delivery, and she gets to push her culinary agenda. A fair trade, I think," he mused.

"Right... I wouldn't have done it. You know, when I said you should stay in the office, I didn't mean that you couldn't leave..." I trailed off.

"Oh, well... I think it was for the best. I was really out of control. And I borrowed your futon, by the way. It's pretty darn comfortable; roomy, too. Yeah, is it a double or what?" Daniel asked.

"Uh, yeah, I like some... extra space...when it comes to futons..."

"Whatever, man. How's the case going?"

"Eh, don't flip out at me or anything, but we're kinda short on results. I mean, at least we found somebody to pay for all this. We are definitely running up a bill spinning our wheels," I explained, cautiously.

"Who did you get?"

"Uh, Joe Robello," I replied.

"Hey, that's great news. Why the hesitation?"

"Because he works for Pomai," I replied, tersly.

"What's Pomai up to these days?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Uh, you know, running a crime syndicate from Ka`u. Nothing much," I said, trying to understate the matter.

"Are we taking dirty money?"

"Jack says he let me know if it gets fishy..."

"Oh, all right then. Just be careful," he warned.

I was just about to do my best reassurance song and dance, when the door flew open. It was Carlee.

"Jack's got something."

I raced to the briefing room, hoping that this time, the progress was real.

Case 2: Hensarling 6 "The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men"

2007-09-07T15:34:00.001-10:00

With Agent Sims safely tucked away inside the processing room, forced to deal with Noah doing who knows what, I decided that I needed to have a talk with our crack surveillance team in the briefing room. Plus, I decided that it was probably worth my time to stop by and check on Daniel. He probably could have used some live human interaction…

“Crack Surveillance Team, Assemble!” No, I wasn’t above early-career Will Farrell references.

“What?” yelled Noah from two doors down.

“Not you!” Michelle shouted back.

“OK!” called Noah, upping the volume to the next level.

Jack, Michelle, and Carlee gradually sauntered through the door to the briefing room and took up their places around the circular table. Well, uh, Michelle didn’t really saunter. Come to think of it, Jack didn’t either. It probably was just Carlee. And even then, it may just have seemed like sauntering to me.

“Since when was Carlee part of the crack surveillance team?” demanded Jack.

“Since Cody didn’t have the balls to tell her otherwise,” observed Michelle.

“She stays, guys; period,” I said, trying to end the matter as quickly as I could. We had more pressing things to discuss.

“What’s up?” asked Jack.

“Do you know if Makoa finished the statistical analysis yet, Car?”

“Better question. Was Makoa able to start the statistical analysis?” she countered.

“Uh, you couldn’t get the numbers from HPD?”

“Do I look like a miracle worker?”

“Do we really have to get into what I think you look like?”

“No. We don’t.” Michelle said calmly, clearly not amused by my banter.

“Ok, without any data or leads to go on, we’re back to the drawing board; literally,” I said, as I slammed a dry erase marker against the whiteboard on the far wall of the room.

“I’m telling you, Cody, I don’t have anything hard to go on, but something is up. I can feel it.”
“Feelings ain’t gonna cut it. We need to put Zane under 24 hour surveillance. If there’s anything there, we’ll find the hard way.”

Naturally, Michelle, the blunt instrument of the group, favored the most demanding option. Really, though, there were few other choices.

“Okay, first off, shifts. Who’s gonna take what?” I asked the crowd.

“Well, we gotta go in teams of two, because there’s no way Makoa’s out in the field on his own,” suggested Jack.

“We need regular shifts, too. The office will have to be manned during business hours, what with all the people that seem to be dropping by these days,” mentioned Carlee.

“Yeah, tell me about it…” I muttered, clearly still hacked off about Carlee’s disappearing act.

Mish, not waiting for an opening, walked up to the board and made the shifts. Who was I to argue with action?

Jack and Noah would take the first 6 hour shift, I took the second shift with Makoa, Carlee drew Agent Sims, and Mish apparently wanted to work alone. I wasn’t going to let that happen, so I called a contact of mine who Daniel and I had decided to sub-contract work out to if we needed extra man power, Brad Nakamura. Brad was a free-lancer who did some vague-natured consulting work, usually for the department of education, which suited our needs perfectly. He agreed to aid Michelle in the surveillance for a rate that really could have been a lot worse. With that settled, we were only left with one minor roadblock.

“Hey, Cody, where’s Zane supposed to be right about now?” asked Noah, as he was walking out to a vehicle which had magically appeared with Jack behind the wheel.

“Uh… No idea. I’ll get Makoa on that,” I replied.

After I told Makoa that hacking the HPD duty logs would be our preferred course of action, his reply was typical.

“Must I do everything for you people?”

Case 2: Hensarling 5- "The Man in Black"

2007-09-07T14:14:00.000-10:00

I hadn’t really even had time to fully process what we had agreed to do when I was greeted by the sounds of the jingling bells attached to our front door.

“What is the point of having a receptionist if I am the one who has to deal with every person that comes through this door?” I demanded, desperately trying to impress upon my office-mates the extent of my frustration.

“Oh, cheer up, Daniel will be back to functionality eventually,” consoled Makoa.

“He was referring to the concept of a secretary, numbskull…”muttered Michelle.

“Yeah, when are we gonna get one of those?” chimed in a dazed sounding Noah.

“Shoot me now…” wished a clearly incredulous Michelle.

The visitor, who in his own way, looked just as out of place as Joe Robello had apparently been a bit surprised that no one was paying him any heed. I still was wondering to where Carlee had disappeared, but that would be one of life’s eternal mysteries, so I decided to snap back to reality and deal with the visitor in a black suit and ridiculous sunglasses.

“Excuse me, but is this the office of Hensarling, Associates, and Maile?” asked the stranger to a pleasantly surprised Noah.

“Uh, sure… Hensarling is right over there,” said Noah, pointing in my general direction.

“Yes, what can I do for you, Mr…?” I trailed off, expecting to get an introduction of some sort.

“Sims” was his only reply.

“Well, Mr. Sims, what brings you to the corner of Queen and Alakea?” I asked, resuming my fact-finding mission.

“I actually have a question for you. What business do you have with one Joseph Robello, who recently graced these parts with his presence?” asked the man who wished to be called Sims.

His mysterious act was wearing on my nerves.

“Why should we tell you about our business?” I asked back, revealing nothing.

“Because Uncle Sam is very, very interested in Mr. Robello,” replied Sims, taking off his sunglasses, while flipping (ever-so-quickly) his ID badge.

“Sam who?” asked Noah.
Sims just stared at Noah. I wouldn’t even bother trying to explain the facial expression he gave him. Suffice it to say that Noah visibly shriveled from his gaze.

“Let’s talk in my office; shall we?” I motioned for him to follow me, which he did.

I sat down in my rolling chair, after tripping over my futon. Sims sat in the wooden chair designated for the questioner.

“I’ll ask this again, what business do you have with Robello?”

“He’s our client,” I replied, trying to sound oblivious.

“What are you doing for him?” asked Sims.

“Investigating the practice of a law enforcement officer,” I stated, trying to come off like I was doing so in an off-hand manner.

“Right… You aren’t delivering any packages, or doing any background checks on employees of shell companies, or anything that could be construed as actively supporting a criminal operation?” demanded Sims.

“Not that I know of; why? Is Joe suspected of asking us to do any of those things?”

“No. It’s just, my superiors are very curious as to what Robello would want with a detective agency,” stated Sims.

“Does this make Joe a person of interest in an FBI investigation?” I asked, with my eyes filled with wonder.

“Yes; it does,” was Sims’ terse reply.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to impede a federal investigation, now would we? None of us particularly enjoy the prospects of prison,” I said with a nervous chuckle.

“No. I can’t imagine you would,” said Sims, as he tried to bore holes in my forehead with his eyes. “So, how do you intend to keep us informed of your intentions?” he asked, averting his gaze to one of the numerous organization charts that littered my office wall. “I mean, we could just put you all under surveillance, or just shut your operation down entirely, but we like to be reasonable people when we can. Can we?” Sims was apparently running with the ‘Cody is really nervous’ theme.

“Uh, we could call you whenever…” I started.

“…you were going to do something? I don’t think so; not fast enough. Try again,” he cut me off and finished the thought.

“You could just observe our investigation…” I threw the idea out there, desperately hoping he would shoot it down as well.

“Now THAT sounds like a reasonable solution. Where can I set up shop?” inquired the FBI agent who had burrowed his way into our office.

I may have been stuck with the consequences, but that didn’t mean I had to roll out the red carpet, either. I led him to the processing room…

Case 2: Hensarling 4- "The Criminal Intent"

2007-09-06T21:05:00.000-10:00

Upon arrival back at the office, I decided to turn down the smarminess. My demeanor with Jon was one thing, but I doubted that certain individuals (read as Jack) would appreciate my aloof, high-class act.

Noah was the person whom I needed the most. Jon was right about one thing, we needed a paying client. With any luck, Noah would have found the time to ignore his fairies and call the client. Finding Noah was easy; getting him to work was the hard part. His place in the office was in the so-called "processing room". It resembled a biology or chemistry lab, complete with the poor lighting. In the far right corner, leaning against a series of cabinets, was Noah's easel, which was used for some nebulously productive purpose. He preferred stools to chairs and we obliged. It was not my favorite place in the office but it suited Noah perfectly. To this day nobody really knows what he kept in the cabinets.
As I walked in the door, I was under the impression that Noah was unaware of my presence.

"What do you want, Cody? I never see you in the inner sanctum..." Noah trailed off.

I guess I was wrong.

"First off, it's called the processing room. Second, try to sound less creepy. And third, did you remember to call Keano?"

"Believe it or not, I did. And would you believe that she wouldn't give me a billing address?"

"Actually, I would. Great, that confirms it".

Getting what I needed, I exited the processing room as fast as I could. I didn't really have anywhere to go, so I decided to see if Jack was back. Naturally, he wasn't.

"Seriously, Makoa, what does Jack do?" I asked.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," said Makoa, trying and failing to conceal his smugness.

"Jack, as a matter of fact, sneaks up behind you with a knife, ese!" Apparently, Jack had returned without me noticing.

Before I could ask Jack if he had any news regarding Zane or ideas on how to get someone to pay for our expenses, Carlee's shrill voice penetrated my thoughts and my ears.

"Cody, you have a visitor, who REALLY NEEDS TO SEE YOU! I EMPHASIZE REALLY AND NEEDS!"

"Carlee, who in the world?" I demanded, as I whirled to face the open door to the reception room.

I don't think I was ready for lied ahead. The visitor seemed to think that the Godfather, the Musical was having an open audition.

"I have business to discuss with you. Please, show your men outside," said the mysterious client.

It was the cheesy Italian accent that did it for me.

"Joe Robello?" asked a bewildered (moreso than usual) Noah.

"They call me Joe the Salt, now".

"Uh, no, they call you Salty Joe" clarified Jack.

"Who asked you, you dirty mexican?" threw back a smirking Joe.

"Good to see you, too" replied Jack, returning the smile.

"What can we do for you, Joe?" I asked, beckoning him to enter my office.

Joe had ideas of his own, as he beckoned me to join on the reception couch.
I stared at him blankly before acquiescing.

"As you may or may not know, I represent Pomai Kajiyama, who has become a bit of a big deal, if you know what I mean. We want you to look into Zane Moriki," said Joe.

"Why would you think we would look into Zane Moriki?" I asked Joe, trying to play dumb.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe your immigrant labor was asking some questions to some friends of
Pomai? But really, it doesn't matter how I know. It's a simple deal, really. We'll pay you for the job you're already doing. No questions asked. All we want is justice," said a Joe who was clearly amused by his own apparent brilliance.

Jack snorted.

"Cody, let's talk; come into my office," said Jack.

"Uh, Jack, this is my office!" I replied, a bit shocked.

"Whoever. Look, Pomai is a big deal in the circles I run in. I don't know that HAM wants to take work from as big a player as Pomai. I don't know if it sends the right message," cautioned Jack.

"I don't really care about messages. I want to send a message to our bank that we have actual money, but other than that, I'm not really interested in winning the battle of public opinion," I retorted.

"Take it, then, just play by the rules. If he's a dirty cop, then we're in the right. Just don't fall for a setup," warned Jack.

"Have you heard anything?" I asked.

"Not a thing, which is a pretty good sign something is up. Money has changed hands somewhere, or lips would be more loose. But no, I have nothing solid," grunted a disappointed Jack.

I walked back to Joe.

"We'll take your money, but let Pomai know something loud and clear: we're clean. We will not be manipulated".
"Whatever you say; I'll be dropping by to check on you later," muttered Joe as he exited stage left.

HAM- Case 2 "Of sausages and schmucks"

2007-09-06T15:21:00.000-10:00

The thing that I always enjoyed about talking to Goto was how much of an odd juxtaposition of ideals he could be at times. A Southern Baptist, Republican son of a Japanese lawyer, Jon had flirted with the banking industry before finding his true calling as private practice lawyer. Twice, Jon had been offered the position of ADA (assistant district attorney), and twice Jon had laughed in the face of the state. The fact was, Jon was far too much of an entrepreneur to be shackled by a state employed attorney. On this day, I had asked to meet Jon for lunch and he had suggested The Chef’s Table in Hawaii Kai. As soon as I walked through the door, I was greeted by an enthusiastic Jon, clearly sitting at what had to be his private table.

“Cody, glad to see you! Come, come, you have to try the bratwurst…”

What can I say? I’m a sucker for quality German food. I scarfed down the appetizers, barely pausing to return Jon’s hospitality.

“So, Cody, ready to hang up the magnifying glass for good, and come work with me?”

“Law, Jon?” I asked, slightly surprised by his question.

“Yeah, Cody, we all know you could do it. Ever since you started debating, you’ve been tagged as a future lawyer. It’s simple. You work for me remotely, go to law school, pass the bar, become a partner. You know I’d take care of you, every step of the way,” said Jon, impressively.

“I don’t doubt it, Jon, but I like where I’m at. I really think HAM’s gonna take off. It’s a good dynamic,” I said, struggling to hold back the pride from the successful resolution of our first case.

“Good dynamic? You’ve got a forensics guy who looks like a walking pot bust, and Jack; do I really need to give reasons why that’s a nightmare?” blurted Jon, incredulously.

“Jack is the primary reason why we hired you. Face it Jon, we need a legal genius just to keep the team intact,” I said, in an attempt to play to Jon’s vanity.

“This is true. And I would note that you would have been a fool to even consider somebody else. I want you to know, you have the full resources of Jon Goto at your disposal. Is that why you’re here today; did Jack not make bail or something?” Jon asked.

“Heh. Hardly. Actually, I just wanted to discuss the legal options we have in a case we just picked up”.

“Oh, I see. HPD trying to get you on evidence tampering?”

“I wish; it’d probably be easier that what we’ve really got,” I explained.

I spent the next 15 minutes going over Keano’s arrest and what steps we had taken. After I had finished, Jon had a few follow-up questions.

“Does she have a prior history?”

“Nothing major. Could be something we don’t know about,” I replied.

“Check it. It changes things if she does. Have you notified the police of your interest in Zane?”

“No, should we?” I asked back.

“No, just make sure you don’t impede his investigation. I’ll call Jack and set the ground rules. The last thing he needs is a turf war with HPD. Ok. So, lastly, do you think she’s innocent?” he queried.

“Me? I don’t know. She hasn’t been able to come down for an interview yet. But, I tell you, Daniel is convinced of her innocence. What are our legal options?” I asked.

“Well, if it goes to trial, I say plea it out. I’m telling you, if the bust is really legit, they’ve got her, bad,” Jon mentioned, staring off at a distant waitress.

“Daniel isn’t going to like that. I guess we’ll have to find a way to prevent it from going to trial,” I said, with a frustrated look on my face.

“Speaking of isn’t going to like it, who’s financing this charade? I don’t mean to pry, it’s not like you guys have ever been derelict in your payments or anything, but legal fees just aren’t cheap,” Jon wondered aloud.

“Uh…”

“You hadn’t thought that far, had you?”

“Nope, I hadn’t”. I paused to consider our options.

“Well, we could try to collect from Keano…”
“Do you really think that she would have called you if she was strapped for cash?” he paused, waiting for my reaction. Upon receiving my confirmation, he continued, “If Daniel really wants to help her, he could foot the bill…”

“Jon, HAM isn’t going to make any money by charging one of the partners for expenses. We’ll just have to find somebody else who’s looking out for Keano’s interests,” I noted, thoughtfully.

“You guys get on that, it’s kind of critical”.
“Naw, ya think?”

We spent the rest of the meal discussing President Thompson’s eventual successor and the virtues of spices in German sausages.

Case 2: Hensarling 3- "What happens behind closed doors..."

2007-09-05T22:05:00.001-10:00

Daniel's sudden presence while surprising, was a blessing in disguise. In his rush to be involved, he failed to consider the reality of the situation; namely, that we were briefing without him. I could tell, just by looking at his facial expression, that today was not going to be the easiest of days.

"Keano isn't going to come today. And, really, I can't say that I blame her. You guys aren't looking at this clearly! I see you, Jack, I can just tell that you think she's guilty. I don't even know why I thought that..."

Before he could finish his unexpected rant, Jack decided to intervene.

"No way, Dan. No way can you pull that on us. Of course we think she's guilty! She was busted
for possession and distribution; they don't just throw those charges around. Face facts, Danny, it's not out of line for us to not be sure of her innocence."

"Wait, hold it! She's not coming? Why am I even here?" demanded Makoa.

"Seriously, Daniel, it's Makoa's home day, and the iPhone 2.0 has released two new updates. You're killing him if you're serious," cautioned Carlee.

Before things got out of control, Noah, of all people, decided to derail the train.

"Uh, not to be rude, but, it's 1:30 and I still haven't gotten anything for lunch".

Well, he tried...

Daniel then rounded on Noah, "You HAVEN'T HAD LUNCH YET? Are you telling me that you had a meeting without me? Did you have a meeting ABOUT me? I swear, Noah, if you're just messing with me..."

At that moment, I pulled Daniel into my office.

"Inside. Now".

He started to protest, but the look Michelle was giving him didn't really give him any options.

"Yes. We had a meeting without you," I began to calmly and slowly explain, "but we had a meetingto best decide how to proceed regarding the case, as any detective worth their salt should do. We want to help. We want her to be innocent. But I'm telling you, you have to keep a clear mind. Right now, I just don't see that happening".

"So, what, then?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I've noticed that Carlee has unearthed several case leads. Heaven knows we could use a steady supply of work. If you could make some contacts, I promise you we'll take care of what we can," I assured him.

"But that's just it. You guys don't want to help her half as bad as I do," he muttered; staring off into space.

"I don't know about that, Dan. We want to help her, but for our own reasons. Me? I want to build a name for this agency, and a solved case certainly does that. Mish and Makoa, too. They like this job, they'd like to make it work. Carlee's itching to prove herself as a full operative. Heck, Jack wants this to work just because he likes making the cops look bad. We want the same thing you do. We'll get the job done".

He didn't look happy; just placated, and that was enough for me.

I walked back into the briefing room, expecting to see the rest of the agency.

"Where's Noah?" I asked.

"We sent him out to grab something for us for lunch. He wasn't the only hungry one," was Mish's reply.

"We sent the vegetarian to get us lunch? My stomach hates you!" I indignently snipped.

"What's wrong with vegetarians?" demanded a set-aback Carlee.

Avoiding the temptation to argue with our newly promoted operative, I turned to business, "What's the plan, Jack?"

"Well, I'll dig up what I can on Zane. If it's fishy at all on his end, I'll find out," he started.

"Good," I cut him off, "Who do you want?"

"Gotta be Mish; it's Nanakuli we're off to!"

"Done. Okay, Makoa, you run the numbers on crack busts in the area. If there's anything Jack can't tell us, I want the data to do the talking for him".

"How am I supposed to get those numbers?" asked Makoa.

"By asking nicely," I replied in my most patronizing tone.

"And how am I going to do that?" he shot back.

"Simple. Have Carlee do it. Noah, call Keano and get her story."

"Why me?" asked Noah, who had arrived with 6 decidedly unappetizing salads from Jack in the Box just seconds before.

"Because 'none of the above' was busy," I retorted.

As Jack was turning the doorknob to leave, he looked over his shoulder and asked "where does that leave you?"

"Heh. Devising a backup plan with Goto..."

Case 2: Hensarling 2- "When the mother's away, the children will play"

2007-04-03T17:53:00.000-10:00

"A problem? You mean, other than the fact that you look like you were hit by a freight train multiple times in a day?"

"Yeah, it’s Keano".

And all of a sudden, it made sense. Could I blame the man? If he didn’t snicker every time I pathetically kowtowed to the whims of a particular office-mate, I wasn’t about to lay into him at a time like this. Well, not any more than normal, at least.

"Ok, what’s her deal this time?"

"She’s being accused of a crime she didn’t commit," was Dan’s hasty reply.

"Daniel. We are detectives. We investigate things. We sojourn the night to rectify the assumptions to the facts. That was NOT a detective statement. What you meant to say was that she is being accused of a crime. By the look on your face, it’s a very serious allegation. Look, Danny, you and I can’t handle this alone. She’s gonna need a lawyer, and neither you nor I have any experience in law or police procedure. We need the team in on this," I practically begged Daniel.

"I would prefer if we kept this as discreet as possible," Daniel said, quietly.

"Discretion is one thing, stupidity is quite another. At the very minimum, we need Jack. Noah would be key if there’s any sort of physical evidence on her. Mish would be a bonus if the situation got rough. Pretty much the only non-essential personnel would be Carlee and Makoa, who at the moment, are right outside the door, listening to this conversation. Do you really think we can keep this one close to the belt?" I replied.

"Look, I don’t like it," he warned.

"Like it or not, it’s what choice she’s got. She’s either going to pay a lawyer or she’s gonna pay us. She might as well pay a friend, who she knows won’t rip her off. Dan, this is a job for HAM, if I’ve ever seen one," I assured.

"Yeah, he’s right!" blurted Makoa from just outside the doorway.

"Nobody asked you!" Daniel raged back.

Luckily for me and the nosy Mr. Jacobsen, the emotional demeanor of Daniel greatly improved when Keano agreed to come in for questioning. Before that visit, which promised to be a blast, if you know what I mean, we had a general team briefing without Daniel’s knowledge.

Sitting around the briefing room table, I was beginning to feel comfortable again. During cases, I shunned my office. At the time, I viewed the office as constricting. I felt busy and useful in the briefing room, and today was no exception. Dan was out getting lunch, thinking that the rest of us were doing likewise. Instead, we were poring over the little case notes we had.

"So, what is she charged with?" asked Noah.

"Felony possession with the intention to distribute," replied Carlee, looking up from the newly typed case files.

Jack whistled while shaking his head.

"That sucks," was all Michelle could say.

"How did they pin distribution on her?" asked Makoa.

"According to this, the officer in charge was off-duty when he felt the urge to try his hand at the plainclothes game. He claims that he was solicited by Keano to buy crack," stated Carlee, matter-of-factly.

"She never seemed like a crackhead to me..." muttered Noah.

"Well, not as much as you did," Mish noted, while turning to face him.

Over the din of laughter at Mish’s ongoing abuse of Noah, I asked, what I thought was an innocuous question:

"Hey, Car, who was the arresting officer? Maybe Jack’ll know ‘em".

"I resent the allegation that I know more police officers than the average Joe," remarked Jack.

"Jack, it isn’t an allegation. It’s just how it is!" Mish was on a roll.

"You’re not going to believe this," exclaimed Carlee, "HPD Officer Zane Moriki made the bust".

"No freaking way!" yelled Noah.

Zane Moriki was an old acquaintance of ours. A classmate, a friend to most of us, Zane had actually attended Willamette with Car; even going so far as to live on the same floor at one point in time. Zane was an interesting personality, to say the least, what with his slight Asian obsession and technical know-how that rivaled Makoa’s. Daniel had even wondered why he hadn’t applied for a job with HAM. Apparently, Zane had found his calling in law enforcement.

"If Zane made the call, she’s either screwed or there’s some back story I’m missing," I summarized the feelings fluttering through the group.

"Which one, you think?" asked Makoa.

"Ask Carlee, she knows him more recently than the rest of us," I said as I turned to our newest official field operative.

"With Zane and Keano involved, it’s anybody’s guess" was all she could muster.

Jack snorted.

"I’m sorry guys, but when you do what I do, you learn that there are no coincidences".

"What exactly do you do?" asked Noah.

"I survive," was Jack’s esoteric reply.

While pondering the persona of Jack’s pragmatism, the pow-wow had to be paused at the sound of the jingling of the door’s bells, signifying that the M in HAM was back in the office.

Case 2: Maile 1 - "You take the high road, and I'll take the low"

2007-04-02T19:24:00.000-10:00

Man, it felt great knowing that we had successfully called our first case solved. Ended on rather exciting terms, the whole team had debriefed anxiously the following morning. Things could not have been going better, except for the fact that, for nearly two weeks, we'd had no other work.

People were getting bored of irritation and irritated at boredom. Not a good combination considering who was in the office. Still, we carried on with a candor befitting a team, and that's what we were. We were a team, coasting on the trace amounts of glory we'd gleaned from our first adventure. But, somewhere deep inside, I felt like things were working out a little too well.

You ever have that feeling in the pit of your stomach, right at the bottom, towards the back by the spinal column, where things just don't feel right? It's not so much like Montezuma's Revenge or anything like that, but it's just this feeling that frightens you, that something terribly wrong is going to happen?

Friday afternoon, just before dinnertime, while the rest of the office was out and about grabbing food or chasing potential clients, Carlee, Noah and myself were stationed at the office. I was doing some paperwork for various permits requested at the last meeting: permit to investigate in wooded areas off-limits to civilians; a pass to work around the docks without being hassled by security; even a license to kill, although I wasn't sure Cody was kidding around with that particular one. I'd been at reading and understanding the mess of stuff the entire morning.

Cody, Jack and Makoa had been out chasing some leads that ended with them eating ice cream at the zoo, and Mish stopped by the office with her new 2002 Maserati Coupé to check on some status files. Apparently, one of her contacts had come into some good fortunes and gave her a small percentage for her assistance. She pitied the rest of us at the office enough to mount a $250 per head charity run. I already knew I was going to spend the money on soundproofed earphones, the huge kind like Shane Segreti used to pimp out with back in our senior year.

With all the writing and sooty black lines of triplicated faxes and documents, my vision started to wander. I started daydreaming, as I used to when I was younger. I watched the shadows in my office play with each other, leaping from corner to corner, falling over pens and papers and slashing through the stark white of the walls. Just as I began to drift off into my unconscious fantasies, Carlee called out from past my open door.

"Daniel, someone needs to talk to you right now. I'm transferring the call to your desk."

"Thanks," I groaned, shaking my head and waiting for the nearly instantaneous beep of the moved call. The red light on the phone flashed a few times before I decided to pick up. I didn't want whoever was on the other side to think I was in a rush, now, did I? In fact, I moved over to the door and closed it just to make it seem important.

"Good afternoo- err, good evening, Hensarling, Associates, and Maile, 'Sleuths of a non-super variety,' how can I help you?"

A short period of silence followed my schtick, but then something happened that no one could have predicted. The small voice on the line squeaked through the receiver.

"Daniel? Hi."

For a second, my mind was still focusing on the shadows near the windowsill, but with those two words, I was immediately catapulted back to reality. This was a voice I knew. This was a voice I had known for years in a variety of moods and mindsets. This voice was close to me, and the very tone of it struck me with more force than one of Cody's martial arts sparring punches. I tried to speak, but I choked up for a moment.

"Ke-Ke'ano?"

"Yeah, it's me."

If this had been one of those funny cartoons that Hanna and Barbera used to produce, the comic relief for this particular scene would have been me opening my mouth, only to have it droop to a ridiculous proportion coupled with a slew of cute sound effects and musical cues. I really wished it had been a cartoon. The voice I heard was one I'd heard only a few times before, a voice that told a story with few words.

Ke'ano had been an acquaintance of mine long before high school. Her family and my family had been attending the same church for years. Both families had been featured in the only church-wide picture book for nearly two decades before the 2006 version came out. We'd grown up "sort of" knowing who the other was, but never really knowing. High school changed all that.

In school, we had one class together freshman year, and it took some time for me to get used to all the people with whom I was interacting, regardless. Still, hers was a personality and a soul I would not forget. Sophomore year saw the two of us thick as thieves, the Three Musketeers with the addition of Bryson Hoe, another old friend who seemed to have disappeared after we graduated in 2005. Junior year brought some awkward moments, moments I often wished hadn't happened if not for the benefit of both of our lives. Senior year continued some of that awkwardness, but ended well enough on the field at Konia.

I'd kept in touch with her only somewhat, and I kicked myself for getting out of contact. But this was my curse. The friends I knew moved on different paths, and I took whatever road I knew. But today, I felt bad. I didn't know what it was, but I actually felt bad, like how Obi-Wan Kenobi had when the Death Star first put off a shot into space, when a million minds cried out, and then, were silent.

"Well, hello, there. Uh, what's up?" I laughed, nervously. I had no idea what to say. I hadn't even been thinking of what possible reason she could have for calling me, especially after so many years of miserly communication.

"Daniel, I need help. I'm in trouble." Her voiced trailed off. I could hear the sharp, inward breaths characteristic of a good cry. A few seconds later, a deep inhalation signaled her ready to continue.

For another hour, the usual length of a good conversation between us, she poured her heart out. Neither of us said much, but we never did. I let her say a few sentences, waited, and interjected with a thoughtful vocalization or a kind word. It brought me back to days when things had taken a turn for the worse with the world, and I had failed in sticking things out with her back then. I wouldn't make the same mistake this time. She was my friend, one of my oldest, closet friends. Her life was in danger. I promised her I would do everything in my power to help her. I started choking back sobs of my own after she told me what had been happening. To this, she laughed a sad laugh and asked if I was crying for her. What else could I say but yes?

When we had made arrangements to meet up and discuss current events face-to-face, I left her with a soft goodbye and my personal number. I looked down for the first time and saw the papers on the desk. As my head grew heavier and heavier, the printed text of the forms grew larger and larger. Before I knew it, I was asleep, worn out. The song playing in my head was old, but poignant. "Long way down, I don't think I'll make it on my own."

I woke up hours later and realized the sun had gone down. I groggily got up from my chair, my neck extremely sore from having not been in the right alignment when I went under. My first thought was to talk to someone, someone who would understand what was going on. I stumbled to my door and looked around the office. The lights were all dim, but I made my way to the room I knew would contain someone who could help me.

It was almost 9PM when I opened the door to Cody's office, and his face showed the shock my body felt. As if we were in some old movie where the bad news is about to be delivered, the silence deafened the room.

"Cody, we have a problem."

The Case of the Problematic Presence- Hensarling 1

2007-04-02T18:09:00.000-10:00

"You know, if Mari had actually asked me about our involvement, you may not have liked how I responded...." Makoa trailed off for dramatic effect.

I wanted to punch him. Hard. In the gut. We had risked our butts on that mission, and now he was lecturing me on following police procedure. Who was he kidding? If we followed the letter of the law on every investigation we conducted, there would be no Hensarling, Associates, and Maile, because nothing would get done!

On the other hand, I suppose this was just Makoa’s way of reminscing. It had been a week and a half since our first case, and everybody was beginning to get antsy in their own little way. How did I show it? Well, I didn’t realize it at the time; but every time we go for a while without a case, I play lord over the stereo. What can I say? Oldies had and have a soothing effect on my nerves. I knew it was bad when I flipped out at Jack for playing Akon for the third time in an hour. I knew it worse when I stabbed Noah with a pen for playing Kalapana for the second time in a week. I knew I was officially impossible to live with when I asked Carlee to please turn off On Montreal without even knowing who they were. We needed a case. Badly.

In the time before trouble walked through our door last and now I had put our newfound wealth (from Kawa) to good use. I had hired a lawyer. Makoa did have a point about police procedure; at some point, any organization that employs Jack Wright was gonna get into trouble and I felt like it would be a good idea to be prepared.

Daniel and I had pored over the Yellow Pages, desperately looking for a lawyer who would appreciate the tenuous nature of our situation. Three days worth of fruitless phone calls would prove to be worth the wait for what we found upon a closer examination.
"Jonathan Goto, Private Criminal Attorney. Am I reading this correctly? Is this the same Jon that..." Daniel trailed off.

Yes, it was the same Goto that we all knew and loved from back in the High School days. Jon was no Kamehameha graduate; not even being Hawaiian, Jon was a person of interest back in the day by virtue of being my chief rival in the Hawaii Speech League. Jon, a Punahou and New York University alumnus, was the holder of a very forceful personality. It has been said that you either loved him or hated him. Daniel and I could legitimately subscribe to both camps. Once feared, Goto was now practically a member of Dan & I’s extended crew. Knowing that Jon never shied away from a challenge, probably because the list of people who had skills which Jon admired more than his own numbered two: Jesus Christ and Hitler, I knew we had found the man who was going to take to the task of bailing our sorry rears out of jams. Heck, he might even be good at it...

Still, arranging for a lawyer would have to be considered hopeful at best, which is why I was more than alert when Daniel busted into my office at 8:45 PM on that fateful Friday night. And let me tell you, he looked like hell...

HAM, Hensarling Intro 6 of 6

2007-03-30T11:00:00.001-10:00

As I sat munching my cookie, pondering the possibility of punching Jack for his pun, the reality of the stunt Makoa had just pulled hit me. I had to find a way to get Kawa back to Hawaii nei. Excuse me? Three dancers to follow, observe, and uh, examine, and I get Kawa? Screw his iFruit. Screw his numbers. ‘Big Mak’ was gonna stick, thanks to that business.

The team split up into various rooms in the office, presumably to find where they were supposed to go. In all Makoa’s technical geniusness, he had neglected to discover where each of the three women in question was currently located.

Carlee’s voice, which I was listening to from my typical briefing room post seeing as Jack had seized my office, had more than a bit of surprise.
“She’s shooting on location where? Kailua Beach as in, Kailua, Hawaii, Kailua Beach? How long will she..? Through the week? Are you sure? Thank you…”

Car crossed the threshold of my space, looking slightly perplexed. At the same time, Dan and Makoa also stuck their heads in the doorway.

“Hey, Cody, would you believe that Nicole Naone is in town?” asked Car.

“That’s funny,” remarked Daniel.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because Makoa and I were remarking that it was slightly unbelievable that Ponce and Becca both were in town, too,” was his reply.

“Uh, guys, one of them HAD to be in town. How else could they steal the photos from Hawaii Kai? All three of them being here is slightly suspicious, though. Hmm…”

I thought about this for a while, trying to find a way to leverage our newfound luck. A crazy idea began to form in my mind.

“I’ve got it… Ok, just put general surveillance on them. If they make a move, write another note, try to fly to New York, I want to know about it. I am the center of communications for this operation, not you, Makoa. We clear?”

“What’s your grand plan?” quizzed Carlee.

“How do you know I’ve got a grand plan?” I retorted, trying to look esoteric.

“Because you put your two-year old ‘don’t hurt me, I’m thinking hard’ face and then put on the ‘oh my god, I just cured cancer with my bare hands’ look,” she said with a look of slight frustration.

“Well, we’ll just see if Kawa will play ball. Without him, there’s no reason to get excited,” I remarked, noting and enjoying the steam coming from Car’s ears.

The three of them shuffled off to put the first part of my plan into action. Now came the hard part; convincing Kawa that it was time to come home. As I dialed the number given to me by Dan, I got a sinking feeling in my stomach; there was no way this would end well for me. I hadn’t talked to Kawa on the phone in years, and was not looking forward to the repeat engagement.

“Kawa? Yeah, this is Cody. Dan is, uh, off on assignment. No, I couldn’t get anyone else to call you. Yes, I understand how busy you are. Yes, I know we just spoke to you. That’s actually the deal. You see, we need you to come back to the islands. We believe your life may be in danger. Yes, I’m serious. No, I can’t really tell you who we suspect; that information is released on a need to know basis. No, the client who is paying my bills does not qualify as need to know. C’mon, Kawa, think about it! If we told you, they may get spooked and then we’ll never know who it really is… What do we want you to do when you get back?”

The conversation continued for about 15 minutes or so, as I explained how I exactly I intended to draw the threat out of its hiding place. Or, as I liked to think about it, how I intended to use Kawa as bait. The plan was relatively simple; Kawa would announce that he was going to start a new exhibition, based on some of his older, more ‘exclusive’ prints taken back in his high school days. He would host, at his townhouse, a semi-exclusive, highly snobbish unveiling, where presumably, if our theory was correct, action on the part of the perp would be provoked. The difficulty would be preventing our perp from disabling Kawa…permanently. Well, I mean, we really just had to check for weapons; Kawa was perfectly capable of defending himself without equalizers entering the picture.

I briefed Daniel, out of necessity, but I decided to hold off on letting the other two pairs know. It would be easier to determine who was really involved in this if our operatives weren’t looking through focused lenses; at least, that’s what I thought at the time.

Kawa did come back and started preparations for the fete. However, he let me know that he did so with absolute disgust for our lack of efficiency. After two uneventful days of surveillance, the natives were growing restless. Well, they were until Michelle called me at noon on day 3.

“Ozawa’s going to a party at Kawa’s pad tonight. Did you plan this?”

“Her coming to the party or the party itself?”

“Both”.

“Just the party. She wasn’t even on the invite list,” I replied with a triumphant smirk escaping.

“Yeah, I could have told you that. She called Kawa to get the invite. I’m probably gonna need back up if she’s the bogie,” Michelle commented.

“Don’t you have Makoa?” I asked, puzzled.

“Exactly,” Mish replied as she hastily hung up.

Daniel called in to ask virtually the same questions about Ponce. No call came from either Jack or Carlee, so I called them and sent Jack to help Dan & Noah and Car to assist Mish and Makoa. The trap had been set; now all we needed to determine is who was biting and who was just curious.

I was nervous; I didn’t like playing this game from a distance. It wasn’t my style to let others do my legwork, not at all. I called Kawa’s wingman/schedule guru, Daniel Truong, who was gracious enough to grant me a seat in his security hub. Yeah, you know you have it made when you can outfit your house with a security hub in two days for a party. Daniel figured that Kawa’s security could improve if the guy who was running the investigation’s communications was in sync with general party security. I was inclined to agree.
Before the party, I ensured that the team was following Makoa’s favorite protocol. It’s not like we had a large budget at the time, but he had persuaded Daniel and I to purchase six sets of ParMarLow Stealth Wireless receivers/transmitters. All six of the ops in the field were cued on to me. Yes, I did feel the power.

As the party began to get underway, I watched the movements of our two marks on the video screens. I could feel Truong’s eyes following mine; it wasn’t just my rear that was on the line. Surveillance began to get more difficult. I hated to do it, but gradually, I had to pull team members off the scene as it became more and more obvious that they were going to draw attention to the operation.

“Damn it, Noah, do you know how many people just heard you say you were stalking somebody? You gotta pull out!”

As Noah joined me in the hub, I saw another problem.

“Daniel, you can’t chat up old friends, you’re NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE! Gah, get up here…”

Daniel’s exit didn’t come close to assuaging my fears. The problem was that, of our operatives, only Carlee and Makoa were actually doing a decent job of being scarce yet there. Mish had a way of naturally drawing people’s attention to her frame, but in this case that was a problem, not an asset. Jack, too, was utterly incapable of shielding his displeasure with the function itself. It just wasn’t Jack’s type of party. Still, with it down to two operatives per mark, I couldn’t send my trustiest field ops to the bench. It was a tense few minutes before Kawa got up to speak to welcome the crowd to his unveiling.

“Watch your marks, this is a critical time. Right here; right now. There can be no time when you lose sight of them. No room for error”, yeah, what I said was cliché, but tense times call for well-worn clichés.

As soon as Kawa took the podium and cleared his throat, a gunshot rang through the hall and what remained of my eardrums. Chaos ensued; I swear it was a frenetic 15 minutes in the hub, trying to piece together exactly what had happened. Finally, after numerous attempts to get somebody, anybody to report, Jack’s voice reverberated in my eardrums.

“Hey Cody, is it a conflict of interest if I tell Kawa I’ve got a good company to patch the hole in his roof?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. The shot, apparently, had missed its mark.

“Mish got her. Don’t ask me how she snuck the gun in, but as soon as she brought it out, Mish was in the zone. I don’t think she ever saw it coming…”

“WHO WAS IT?” yelled a heavily perspiring Noah, who killed what remained of my eardrum by failing to realize that his transmitter was still on.

“Oh, you couldn’t see that? Becca Ozawa. Never would’ve guessed. My money was on Ponce,” Jack said, a bit too calmly if you asked me.

Daniel Truong kept us around in the room for a while, until Mari showed up with the fuzz. We gave our statements and produced Becca. When all the paperwork was processed, Car took me back to the office and the others followed. The Makoa Van-Car arrived 15 minutes later. What can you say? Speed kills.

When we got back to the office, I headed to the briefing room and saw the others follow. We had a few loose ends to tie up.

“Kawa took nude photos of Becca Ozawa? How did we not know this?” Daniel asked the question on everybody’s mind.

“Never mind that, it’s not my fault you guys can’t keep a secret. Did you see who Kawa was with tonight?” Carlee butted in.

“Noah’s never doing field work again. Ever. I swear, Noah, does the word secrecy mean ANYTHING to you?” demanded a Michelle who was just coming down off her adrenaline high.

“Sorry…” muttered a sheepish Noah.

“Hey, when do you think Kawa will reimburse our expenses?” asked the always practical Makoa.

“Mish almost took a bullet and all you wanna know is when we’re gonna get paid? Damn, Makoa, can you just fake like you care?” I was frustrated. I hadn’t enjoyed having a friend so close to peril, even if she probably inflicted more damage to Kawa’s house than the bullet would have done to him in the first place.

“No worries, guys, all in due time. I just got off the phone with Kawa, and he’s grateful, to say the least. Hell, we may even get written up in the Advertiser,” inserted Daniel.

With that bit of good news, the team headed home; well, most everyone did. Makoa took off in the van-car for Kuliouou, Noah bummed a ride to Wahiawa off of Jack on his way to Waianae. Daniel hopped on the bus to head to the Heights, and Michelle fired up the Mishmobile and started off for the North Shore.

I had some things to clear up, so I went into my vastly underused office. As I was typing out my last few thoughts on the case on my laptop, there was a knock at my door.

“Yeah, what do you want?” I asked Carlee, who apparently hadn’t gotten the “time to go home” memo either.

“You know what I want,” she replied, with a smile that was hard to place.

“Are you sure I should give it to you?” I asked in response.

“I earned it, didn’t I?” she shot back.

“How exactly do you figure that? This is something that isn’t easy to earn”.

“You were watching me all night. There should be no doubt as to what I can do for you”.

“All right, fine, it’s yours. Just give me a minute or two to get ready, ok?”

By the look in her eyes, I could tell that she believed the wait was worth it. Ten minutes later, she had what she wanted.

It sure was going to be hard to get used to her new placard:

CARLEE KONDO, SECRETARY/FIELD OPERATIVE

HAM - Maile Intro 1.4

2007-03-29T20:31:00.000-10:00

Nobody was saying it, so I broke the relative silence of the room.

“What the fri-“

“Wow. I guess she felt the need to be putting bad guys into jail, huh?” Noah squealed.

Everyone laughed. Without looking, I slammed my hand repeatedly onto the conference table, right into the $9 worth of dinner I’d brought back from Wai’oli.

Everyone laughed again.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” spoke Jack, apparently, the only one who grasped the maturity of our situation. Carlee brought in the mission binders and we started skimming the notes we’d collected thus far. Heads bobbed back and forth between chairs, and full mouths did their best to figure things out loud.

“So, hold on,” Cody said, “Kawa had problems in a friggin’ photography class? What’s up with that?”

“Yeah, we were wondering the same,” responded Daniel. “Something about it still lacks sense, though.”

“Yeah, because it’s Kawa and photography!” quipped Makoa.

“Maybe he was under pressure?” said Noah, attempting to grab as much salad as he could before Carlee stabbed his hand with a metal fork.

“Well, that’s not much better than the stuff we found at Kawa’s place, except for the fact that it was more interesting probably more pertinent” said Michelle.

“Before you go into painful detail, I’d like to know what Jack managed to do that required two different vehicles, and, according to your receipts, thirty-eight gallons of gasoline?” I said, leering in Jack’s general direction.
Jack looked back at me with a frown. “So, just because I didn’t end up with anything I can print or photograph or sample, I can’t contribute to the investigation? I am shocked, just shocked.” Jack reached over the table for another drumstick while he argued his innocence.

“Hey, hey, now,” said Cody, “we’re not pointing fingers or anything, unless you count these fingers I’m pointing in your general direction. It doesn’t really matter. From what Jack’s told us, we know that we do not have a contact job on our hands. That helps us in at least knowing where not to look.”

I sighed. “Okay. Noah, did you have time to analyze-“

“The mysterious feathers I found on the roof? No, not yet, I’m afraid. I think I have it narrowed down to a genus of Strigops-“ Cut off by a sharp jab to the ribs courtesy Mish, Noah regained his composure and focus, as much as could be gained by Noah, anyway.

“OW! GOD! Okay, I’m guessing you mean the materials we found at Kawa’s? Yes? Okay. It seems to be a common type of dancer’s shoe.” He brought out a copy of his artistic rendering from the scene, complete with his signature and some kind of weird fairy in the corner.

“Wow. That’s high-tech,” Makoa shrugged. “Did you do a wide-spectrum analysis of the fibers?”

“Uh, no. This isn’t CSI: Miami, Makoa. We don’t even have enough money for my carrier pigeons!” Noah screamed.

“Tekketeesee,” I said, using my best Samoan accent. “We know a few things for fact: one, Kawa has not been forthcoming with pertinent information; two, Mish, Cody and Noah found fibers belonging to dancing shoes; three, Makoa and I know that Kawa was not quite the model student at Dartmouth during his time up there; four, Jack says it wasn’t some kind of professional setup. Using the same reasoning that Sherlock Holmes used in his day, it seems clear that-“

“Uh, I hate to break it to you, Danny Boy, but Sherlock Holmes was a fictional-“

"Cody, shut it. As I was saying, it seems clear that Kawa is entwined in this deeper than we had originally thought.”

“Fine, but look,” said Cody, giving me that telltale stare I had come to know as his serious face, “We found fibers from a dance shoe, old fibers, fibers that may have been there for years. And Car, you shared your disturbingly frightening story concerning Kawakahi and his picture-taking habits. Now, this is a little far-out, but what if those fibers belong to the shoes of someone Kawa knew on a personal basis, not business?” Cody's demeanor set a tone for the room that was undeniably cognizant of the case.

The room suddenly became still and quiet, a rare thing for it to be at any time.

“Well, hold on. Let me look at some of the stuff I downloaded. Keep thinking,” said Makoa, quickly gliding over to his computer area and typing away for search parameters.

“Kawa and a dancer. A dancer and Kawa. Do we know anyone who dances, or has danced, who has any links or relations to Kawakahi Amina?” I said, stroking my beard thoughtfully.

“Well, did he know dancers back when we all knew dancers?” said Noah with an odd air of seriousness.

Good Lord, I thought. Everyone else was thinking it, too. Did Noah actually have a single, concentrated, coherent thought?

“Go on,” said Mish, turning closer to Noah.

“Well, back when we were all still at Kapalama, we knew a bunch of dancers. I mean, there was Kristin, Lena, all the girls in KDC, and maybe more. I’m almost sure that some of them did ballet, too.” Noah fidgeted, trying his hardest to remember some obscure fact set deep in the bottom of his memory.

“I don’t know about that, man. It seems kind of silly,” mused Jack.

“Everything’s silly about this case so far, if you haven’t already noticed” said Mish.

The noise of Cody chewing through his hamburger, along with his protests of our attention, was suddenly drowned out by Makoa.

“YO! Okay, so Kawa did not have any important relations with dancers, theater players or other kinds of performing arts people while he was at Dartmouth according to some ‘personal information’ I was able to cross-reference earlier today. That would lead some credibility to Noah’s little theory, adding on the fact that this was not a recent relationship, whatever that relationship might have been, or is now.”

“In essence,” I said, jumping in for an edgewise word, “this would mean whatever happened, whenever it happened, happened sometime before Kawa went up to Dartmouth, maybe even while he was still in high school-“

My eyes opened wide. I turned to Noah, then to the rest of the gathered members.

“Guys, this might be right under our collective nose. Who did Kawa used to associate with when we were in school?”

Thoughts filled the room. Eyes raced from wall to wall, from face to face. Noah was mouthing things to himself, Makoa kept staring at the screen of his computer and Cody started pointing at invisible people.

Mish was the first to speak, breaking the tension, the silence and a plastic spork she had been bending, flinging shrapnel into Car’s foam coffee cup, spilling its contents on Makoa’s sandwich. She rattled off a list of Kawa’s romantic, friendly and platonic ties over the course of seven years with graphic detail. Names were repeated, and Makoa began typing out data on a spreadsheet. Compiled after the better part of Mish’s little oratory, Makoa had worked the data down to three possible choices, all of which shocked me momentarily.

“Nicole Naone, Nicole Ponciano and Becca Oza-“

“OZAWA?!” screamed Cody and I as if we’d been shot in the face by a kangaroo from outer space. Suddenly, things took a turn for the weird.

“Wow. Seriously?” asked Noah.

“Yes, seriously,” said Makoa.

“Okay, guys, we’ve got our work cut out for us,” said a determined Cody, attempting to regain his footing after nearly laughing himself to the floor. “But, are you really serious, Big Mak?”

“Yes, and don’t call me that. Kawa has been traced to having friendships and ‘extracurricular’ relations with each of these girls in varying degrees.”

“I don’t recall hearing these stories before,” Noah said from his sinking seat.

“That’s because you didn’t get in on the gossip between them. These were top secret, classified items during school,” Carlee expounded. “Not even Cody knew about this stuff.”

“Hey!”

“All right, so we have the names. What are the correlations here?”

This was where having Cody, Carlee, Makoa and Noah on hand was, well, was handy. The knowledge base to which we had access was huge.

“So, timelines, people, timelines,” demanded Jack, who had really demonstrated how silence was golden.

“I believe it starts with Nicole, back when we were all young and naïve,” related Carlee, astute as ever, “then, it moved from Nicole in the earlier stages of high school to Becca later on, slightly after the incident with Leilani and all of that dramaticae.”

“Greaaaaaat,” enunciated Cody, “but who’s going after whom? These are obviously leads that NEED to be tracked physically. Beyond these three fine examples of humanity, someone needs to track down Kawa and get the truth out of him, one way or another.”
I shook my head and shrugged. “Who’s tactful enough to get him back here without saying enough to break cover?”

As soon as I said this, I threw up my hands and cried “NOT IT!” doing my best to dodge utensils and wadded napkins thrown at near point-blank range. “Yeah, keep sipping the Haterade. I went last time. I want a different assignment this time around.”

“Here’s an idea,” ventured Makoa, “Why don’t we utilize the usual methods of selection to pick who gets to chase- er, ‘choose,’ targets?”

Murmured agreement was met all around with a sudden search for coins, dice and a piece of paper on which to do tic-tac-toe. Whatever we were planning on doing, it needed to be fair and impartial. Yes, in our current context, those two things were very, very separate.

Jack and Cody were set with Jan-Ken-Pon, Carlee and Noah were working on a chess game, Makoa was trying to arm wrestle me down and Mish was sitting back enjoying the action. In one ridiculous showdown of Odd Man Out, the losers, Cody, Noah and Mish locked themselves into position and went three rounds without a solid win. Noah came in first, then Mish, then Cody, who was steaming just from knowing he lost to Noah.

“I was cheated! I demand a rematch!” he shouted, adjusting his glasses.

“Let’s just get on with it,” spouted Carlee, grabbing a pack of smokes for the stress she knew she’d need to relieve later.

“Okay. One person is going after Kawakahi. The rest of us are being split into teams of two. The teams are as follows,” Makoa said, bracing for the violence that might ensue. “Daniel and Noah, you’re going after Ponce. Good luck with that.”

“YAY! We can play the ‘ule game!” said a gleeful Noah.

“Oh, joy,” said a less-than-enthused me.

“The next team is Jack and Car. You’ll be looking for Nicole Naone, who is purportedly modeling for a firm in upstate New York. Big fashion stuff.”

“Sweet!” said Jack.

“YES! IN YOUR FACE!” hooted Carlee.

“The last two-person team is Michelle and I, we’ll be going after Becca,” Makoa said, beaming.

Cody’s face showed anger, defeat, frustration and despair. Carlee offered him a cookie, which he quickly snatched from her hand and munched, sulking.

“This is so messed the freak up.”

“Sorry, Cody. The computer isn’t programmed to calculate emotional discomfort.”

“I’m SO giving myself a raise after this.”

“That’s fine, Potter,” I said, “but for now, let’s get itineraries made and supplies packed. This is going to take time, and time is of the essence.”

“Daniel, don’t act like you’re delivering the ending line for some kind of overdramatic soliloquy,” said a spiteful Cody.

“You know,” said Jack, as he began holstering his Dolce and Gabbana messenger bag,

“there’s one more thing we have to keep in mind here, guys. Something we can’t forget even for a second.”

“What’s that?”

“We should not feel hampered by ensuing HPD presence. Mari Chun is way past par for this course.”

HAM, Hensarling Intro 5

2007-03-28T18:42:00.001-10:00

The one thing that we didn’t understand as a team during this case was the fatal importance of time. Prior obligations forced us to take what amounted to a six hour break, which is pretty much the cardinal sin of investigation, assuming that your leads are hot.

Due to my utter lack of a social life, I stayed at the office the entire time, realizing that no matter how I sliced it, it was going to be a late night. Not that I minded, really, I had a futon in the briefing room for just that purpose. Carlee had a futon in the reception room, but I think her purposes were slightly more rigorous than mine.

With so few people in the office (read: just me), the sole stereo in the place was for once, not a point of contention. As I listened to the wonderfully unsettling lyrics to Queen’s ‘Killer Queen’, I was forced into action by the all-too-unfamiliar sound of the door opening.

“Back. Jack, too, and if I’m not mistaken, he left in one car and came back in another. Go figure…” announced Makoa.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You’d think these guys would be all up in arms, just dying to tell whoever about the sweet job they pulled up in Hawaii Kai. I mean, this job would have to be something, Kawa’s no fool,” Jack declared, as he followed Makoa into the reception room.

“Actually, you’d be surprised. You should have seen the crime scene, Jack. It was pathetic!” I remarked, letting my incredulity show.

“What’s the holdup, can’t you just give me the briefing?” asked Jack.

“Naw, man, we gotta wait for Noah and Michelle,” was my reply.

No sooner had I said that than the door opened and admitted three more frazzled-looking souls.

“Sorry we’re late, Noah had to pick up something from home…” explained Carlee.

“All right, I guess that’s everybody; let’s decide on dinner and get to the briefing room,” I exhorted.

The bells chimed once more, catching me off guard.

“Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Kawa at the Tea House?” asked Noah.

“Yeah, well, instead I brought dinner,” replied Daniel, out of breath.

“What’s cookin’?”

“Lime-marinated baked chicken quesadilla with cheddar cheese inside a large tomato-chile tortilla, sided by fresh guacamole, sour cream, pineapple salsa and a Spanish salad,” Daniel chimed.

“Who eats this stuff?” muttered Jack.

“You do,” was my sarcastic reply.

We adjourned to the briefing room, Jack, Michelle, Daniel, Makoa, and I made that table of circularly goodness look positively professional. Noah was standing by the wall and Car was stretched out on my futon, which wasn’t going to make me go to sleep quicker on this late night of nights.

While sampling food for which I had not acquired the taste, I proceeded to make my report of the crime scene. Makoa then briefed the team on his findings about Kawa’s run-in with the political correctness police, and Jack proceeded to explain the lack of findings to the room. Finally, we all turned to Daniel. Well, most of us turned. Jack sort of flexed in Daniel’s general direction. The lack of recognizable foodstuffs was bothersome to our man from Waianae.

“He cancelled. Up and cancelled, 30 minutes into dinner. What was I supposed to do? He’s already on his plane!” Daniel defended himself vigorously.

“This leaves us with more questions than answers. Hmph. Thoughts, anyone?” I opened it up to the team.

“What in the world could be tasteless in an advanced photography class?” asked Daniel.

“I know some things-” mumbled Noah.

“Trust me, Noah, we don’t want to know,” Michelle assured him as she deftly cut him off.

“Come to think of it, why are we even looking at Dartmouth?” asked Jack.

“Because Kawa said that’s where his trouble most likely came from,” was Makoa’s hurried reply. Apparently, the idea of a wasted day made him blanch.

“He hasn’t been honest with us from the beginning. He wouldn’t tell us what was in the portfolio, he didn’t use locks on his cabinets, and he cancelled on Danny for no reason. Why should we trust his reasoning?” posited Michelle.

“Ok, let’s assume that Dartmouth is out. After all, the portfolio was taken from his home in Hawaii, not New York. What kinds of pictures did he have at the studio?” I asked as I turned to Michelle.

“Well, he had some great landscape shots from back on the hill, up at campus. I remember, because I used to look at the birds that would foolishly think they were going to get fed…” stated a nostalgic Noah.

“Wait, on campus… These were high school shots?” I realized.

“Had to be,” assured Noah.

“That doesn’t make any sense. He didn’t piss off anybody back in high school with his pictures,” reckoned a clearly baffled Daniel.

A general murmur of agreement swept the room, which lasted for a few painfully awkward minutes, until Carlee snorted.

“Excuse me?”

“You guys didn’t know?” At this point, Carlee was beside herself with laughter.

“Know what, exactly?” I asked, in frustration.

“Kawa used to take some rather racy photos back in the days. How do you think he got all that money? C’mon, guys, we all knew that,” Carlee explained with a triumphant look in her eyes.

“Did he ever ask you?” I asked before I could realize what I was asking.

“And if he did?” was Carlee’s smug response.

All I could do was stutter. This was a bombshell. It changed the whole way we were looking at the investigation. Just as I was about to comment, the door to the reception room dingled open. My look of puzzlement must have brought Carlee down from her moment in the pantheon of glory.

“Oh, did I forget to tell you? The police investigator in charge of the case is coming by to see you at 9. Oh look, it’s 9,” Carlee rambled, distractedly.

When the cop peeked her head through the briefing room doorway, I nearly fell out of my seat. Mari Chun? The former golf phenom Mari Chun? The most naïve person in the galaxy Mari Chun? Well, whaddya know…

“Oh, hello… I heard H.A.M. was investigating the robbery at 1450 Hawaii Kai Drive. Is that true?”

Pretty much everybody’s mouths were hanging open at the shock of Mari Chun trying to evaluate our interest. Michelle broke the silence.

“Uh, yeah”.

“Well, I just wanted you to know, that though you have private investigators licenses, any attempt to process the crime scene, according to HPD protocol, must go through the officer in charge, which is, well, me,” said a not-so-shockingly less-than-confident Mari.

“We’ll keep that in mind,” said Jack with a wink.

“All right then, you have a good day,” Mari said with a smile on the way out.

“Bye Mari, LONG TIME NO SEE, I’LL SEE YOU AROUND!” yelled Noah as the door slammed behind Police Investigator Mari Chun.

Oh, wow, this was gonna be interesting…

HAM - Maile Intro 1.3

2007-03-28T16:54:00.000-10:00

Met with much less than satisfactory appreciation for what was our first big case, the mission had split the office into teams, logically. With only me and Makoa left in the building, things had quieted down. It seemed like even the fans had brought their incessant whirling down to a barely audible whisper. The morning drew on.

After I had finished reorganizing mission notes into my trusty, dark red binder, a part of my Makoa-influenced, color-coding system, I got back on the phone to try and catch Kawa. He’d mentioned that his flight “back to the states” would be leaving around midnight, but I had no intention of being left in the dark during an nine-hour flight back to the Midwest. With the contact information he’d left, I tried his cell and got an answering machine:

“Hello, you’ve reached the cell phone of Kawakahi K. Amina. I’m not able to answer the phone right now, so please leave your name, time of day and the date, and I’ll try to get back to you. Mahalo!”

“Hi, Kawa, it’s Daniel. I just had a few additional questions that came up after we held our staff meeting at the office pertaining specifically to the items in question you mentioned earlier today. Please give me a call back at 35-“

“HEY, DANIEL!” shouted an overexcited technophiliac.

I hung up the phone and sighed. Of all people, I’d be interrupted by Makoa. Murphy was an evil man. I walked over to the briefing room where Makoa had decided to set up shop, by which he really set up shop. He had brought a MacBook, a Dell laptop and two towers. A large, sixty-inch plasma high-definition monitor rested on the conference table. Makoa had made himself comfortable on two of the swivel chairs.

“Daniel, check this out. I was able to locate the directories for both the Dartmouth school papers, yes, Daniel, papers, as in plural, through their internal network.”

“Great work. This will give us some perspective of what Kawa’s public activities were like while he was-“

“I ALSO managed to find a back-door into their personnel and records servers,” said Makoa, smug as a dog that had buried a treasure in a sand dune at the beach.

I laughed. “Excellent, excellent. What have you found in this particular area?”

“Well, according to the not-so-well-protected student records, Kawa was an exemplary student with a penchant for extracurricular activities ranging from rowing to teaching middle school students judo. He’s been on the Dean’s list since his first year, winner of awards in biochemistry, molecular biology and mutagenic physiological studies in competitions across the country. This was his public profile. His GPA dipped a few times, seems like classes that were required in his freshman year, the core credits, and one art class during his sophomore year.”

“What class was that?” I asked, hoping to uncover something in my head.

“It was an upper-level, advanced photography class. He ended up with a mid-range A, 95.99. According to this record written by a teacher, his grade was the result of ‘negligence in choosing acceptable subject(s) for composition purposes.’ I wonder what exactly that’s supposed to mean?”

I pondered for a moment. Acceptable subjects for composition purposes? Does this mean he tried using something unacceptable, maybe something on the non-kosher spectrum, for a photography project? This disturbed me.

“I wonder,” I mused out loud. “Kawakahi had a real penchant for photography. He loved it! We all remember the stuff he put up on Deviant Art, whether we want to or not. He updated his work every other week during homeroom back when we were seniors. He even did senior pictures for some of his friends, like Chani and Leilani them. He knew his way around a camera AND around the canvas of his subject matter. What could have worked against him here?”

“Could it be that he made a decision that didn’t sit well with his teacher? You know how you and I were in Leach’s class back at HPU- Heck, how EVERYONE was in Leach’s class. Maybe it was something more risqué than what the teacher could handle. Kawa did know his way around the camera and the canvas.”

“Risqué?” I leaned down to look at the screen, eying out the pixels of each word, each letter. I looked into the blackness of my own reflection, trying to see a hypothesis floating in the back of my mind.

BUZZZZZZZZZZZ.

I jumped back. “HOLY FRI- Dang it! Stupid vibrate mode."

“God, you’re jumpy,” said a giggling Makoa.

“Put a sock in it,” said a flustered me.

“Hello, this is Daniel. Oh, Kawakahi, ¡Buenos tardes! Sorry for bothering you, but I was hoping we could get a short Q&A session going before you leave later tonight. You can? Great! Where’s a convenient place for you? Back in Mānoa? How about the Wai‘oli Tea Room? I hear they have good, light stuff like frittatas and a great chicken curry dish- Oh, all right, then. So, I’ll meet you there for dinner. Great. Thanks, again, Kawa!”

“Sooooo?” Makoa asked.

“Oh, it’s on. It’s on like Diddy Kong.”

Just then, the surveying team busted back into the office with Jack-in-a-Box and Jamba. The day just kept getting better.

HAM, Hensarling Intro 4

2007-03-28T06:02:00.000-10:00

The Mishmobile was hard to miss, what with the moderately descriptive license plate: “MISHKA”. A silver 2002 Honda Accord was the vehicle of choice for the trip to Kawa’s townhouse, not because of any particular aesthetic or functional concern, but simply because the only other vehicle that was used to get to the office was Makoa’s van-car which supposedly had never gone faster than 50. Well, Carlee had a car too, but like hell was she going with us. If I wasn’t going to let her sit at the table in the briefing room, there was no way she was going to get to go to the scene of the crime.

Naturally, I rode shotgun, seeing as Mish was driving and the other passenger was the non-assertive Noah. As we sped to Hawaii Kai, I thought long and hard about the case. Or to put it another way, I agonized over the fact that I was working for Kawa.

Something at Dartmouth caught up to him. Maybe I should have asked Jack what he thought Kawa was capable of. Clearly, Kawa’s work as a photographer was not universally appealing… Why, still, would they steal one portfolio? What was in that portfolio? I was checking my phone pretty constantly; as soon as Kawa told Daniel what type of photos were in that portfolio, I was going to know.

When we arrived at Kawa’s place, I began to realize what he was referring to when he claimed that this was a low-priority investigation for the cops. There was no sign of any previous cop presence, though there was a bit of a problem.

“Hey, Cody, did Kawa give you or Mish the key?” asked Noah.

With a smirk, Michelle evaluated the lock, tapped it in a place known only to people with experience, and waltzed inside.

As I strolled and Noah skulked inside, I was taken aback by the relative grandeur of my old classmate’s abode. This place was larger than any house I had previously lived, and seeing how I have two brothers and a sister, that was saying something.

“Uh, where d’ya think he kept the camera?” asked Noah.

Once again, Michelle answered his query by taking action. Muttering to herself, she walked down the entrance hall and turned left into what was obviously a makeshift studio.

“Seriously, Noah, do I have to do everything for you?” Michelle asked with a grin on her face as we entered the room in question. “Tell me again why he just had to come to the crime scene”.

“Because, unlike you, he can see the importance of trace evidence?” I suggested.

“Hmph,” was Michelle’s only reply.

Sure enough, Noah’s obsession on artistic details was proven to be useful. Before I had even determined the make of lock on Kawa’s cabinets, Noah was waving me over.

“Guys, why didn’t the cops find this?” asked Noah.

“What, pray tell, is this?” exhorted Michelle.

“Oh, this is a part of a shoe. This is a sort of weathered fabric turned into a sole. You don’t often see this kind of shoe. I can’t really see why it would be here…” Noah trailed off into his own world.

I decided to snap him back to reality.

“Noah, WHAT KIND OF SHOE ARE WE TALKING ABOUT?” I demanded.

“Oh, well, if you wanted to know that, you didn’t have to yell. It’s a dancer’s shoe. Don’t ask me why a hardened thug would wear a girl’s dancing shoes, but let me tell you, I know what these shoes look like,” replied Noah.

“I bet you do,” noted Michelle, with a smirk on her face. While Noah was obsessing over his shoe fragment, Mish did her best ballerina impression and pointed at Noah.
I had to agree with Mish’s assessment; that discovery was more than a tad fruity.

I surveyed the scene while Noah pulled out his sketch book, presumably to preserve the images for posterity. Kawa had a weaker security system than I had initially expected. For a guy trained in the martial arts, the lesson of constant vigilance wasn’t as present as most would assume. He kept his photography supplies in a locked cabinet and his camera in another smaller one. I motioned for Michelle to take a look at the locks.

“He just uses a combination Master lock? How ridiculous is that? I guess he must have blew his budget on this place and forgotten the basic principles of security. I mean, he could have at least had a safe…”

While Michelle diatribed against Kawa’s intelligence, I began to realize that one of our team members was being wasted.

“Jack. Damn it. He’s gonna have wasted his day. There was no need for this to be a contract job. We just wasted our breaking and entering expert,” I moaned.

“Actually, wait a second, these locks are new. They don’t even have a combination set. Did he even HAVE locks? Have Daniel ask him what he used to protect his gear. I’m betting nothing,” at this point, Michelle’s disgust for Kawa’s foresight, or lack of, was obvious.

When I saw Noah looking through Kawa’s new camera at a bird outside the window, I decided that was nothing more to be gained from Kawa’s studio.

I motioned to Michelle that it was time to go. She grabbed Noah by the collar and led the way out of the townhouse. After shifting the lock back into place, Michelle smiled and headed back into the driver’s seat.

25 minutes of NASCAR-quality speeding later, we were back to the office, ready to make our report to the rest of the team.

HAM, Hensarling Intro 3

2007-03-27T17:09:00.000-10:00

The floor was now open… Damn it, this should have been MY case! Don’t get me wrong, I had every bit of faith in Daniel’s abilities. Why else would I have wanted him to be my partner? No, it was a matter of proximity. I had been closer to Kawa when he came into the door, I was the one who should be giving the briefing, I was should have been the one with the plan! Nonetheless, a case was a case, and my focus was the here and now.

“Pardon me if I’m being a little too obvious, but, uh, isn’t this a job for the police?” asked Noah.

Immediately, Noah was pounced upon by Jack and Michelle. Apparently the lack of work was getting to people’s nerves…and standards.

“Look, Noah, we’re doing this, regardless of who’s supposed to be doing it,” spat back Jack.
Daniel thought it wise to intervene at this point.

“The reason why Kawa found us is that cops just aren’t giving this a high enough priority. They don’t seem to take the threat presented as legitimate-“ at this point, Daniel was cut off by a less than impressed Makoa.

“I wonder why…Might it be the fact that ‘wrongered’ isn’t even a word?”

“Well, sure, but we’ve got to look at this from all angles…” trailed off an obviously deflated Daniel.

I struggled to bring the team back to the issue at hand.

“What are we supposed to do?” I asked Dan.

“Thank you, Cody. First, Kawa wants us to find out who took his camera. It’s insured, it’s not like he needs it back, but it’s a matter of pride, y’know? Second, he wants to see what exactly the issue is with this note. If there’s a threat, he’d like us to provide protection”, Daniel clarified.

“Sure, we’ll send him a picture of your back hair to display in his window. That’ll keep pretty much anyone away,” cracked Michelle.

“While that would be an effective form of protection, if we deem Kawa’s life to be in danger,” I said, watching Jack’s eyes roll, “I have no problem stationing both you and Jack to serve as watchdogs”.

Due to the fact that Jack had drawn my audience’s attention to himself with his discontented muttering, most members of the group missed my epiphany. This was my first ‘impulse question’, at least as far as I could remember. Listening to Daniel explain the situation, I had focused on the camera and failed to look at the theft in its totality.

“Why one portfolio? I mean, we can pretty much dismiss break-in. They would have taken anything they could get their hands on. This is for real, even if the note isn’t,” with this, I sprung into action.

“Daniel, did Kawa speculate as to why the portfolio was grabbed?” I demanded.

“Well, yeah, he said that something he may have worked on at Dartmouth had caught up to him…” Dan responded.

“Yeah, I heard he was an investigative journalist for the paper up there,” Makoa shot in.

“All right then, Makoa, put your iFruit to work and get some background on Kawa’s time at Dartmouth. Dan, we’re gonna need more than this from Kawa. You gotta get another interview with our man Amina. Noah, Mish, and I will tackle the crime scene; see if there’s anything more telling than this note. Tell Car to let the cops know what we’re doing,” I ticked off.

“Hey, Cody, what do you got me on? Crime scene?” asked a slightly disappointed Jack.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something. His camera had to be locked up somewhere, and finding the right portfolio to grab would be tedious. Do you really think whoever wrote that note was skilled enough to pull a job like this?” I asked.

“No way, man. I’m thinking contract hire,” was his reply.

“All right then, I’m not really interested in who did the job, but it’s a place to start. You know more safecrackers than the rest of us, so put your ear to the ground and see what you hear, eh? Report in if you find anything,” I instructed.

“On my way…” muttered Jack on his way out the door.

With that, we split up. Daniel called Kawa to arrange for a meeting at a teahouse, Mish led Noah and I to her car to head off to Kawa’s townhouse in Hawaii Kai, Jack whisked off to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what and Makoa snuggled in with his best friend, his laptop.

HAM - Maile Intro 1.2

2007-03-27T12:45:00.000-10:00

What a great start to an otherwise peaceable morning. The crowd in the briefing room was clamoring like a flock of gulls hovering over the carcass of a dead whale, except with more crap flying. Kawakahi Amina was our first client, much to the dismay and shock of nearly everyone in the office. Who would have imagined Kawakahi Amina, probably one of the most success-oriented-for-life people ever, needed help from what amounted to a collection of oddballs and inspired visionaries who happened to have a permit to investigate.

I quickly motioned for him to come into my office, noting Cody’s sudden need to wash his mouth out with soap and the general eyebrow-raising of my comrades.
“So, Kawakahi, it’s been a while! The last time I saw you had to have been… at that first Kamehameha College Fair up on campus back in 2006, no?”

“Yeah, man, that’s about right. I’ve been doing a lot with things since we graduated, you know. A dozen or so professional photography shoots, some trips back and forth between biochemical research labs at Stanford and Harvard, not a whole lot, but enough to keep me busy.”

I chuckled. Of course, Kawa would have been up to a million and one things that would throw anyone else headlong into debt or insanity, and he did it all with style. There wasn’t much of a point in boasting of all the wonderful things I’d been up to, so I nodded and shrugged.

“Sounds like you’ve been busy,” I said congenially, “But what is it that brings you here? I’m fairly sure we’re not the most well-known or the biggest ‘firm’ in Honolulu.”

I tried to choose my words carefully. Even back in high school, I had considered Kawa an equal, but an equal on a different level than most of my friends and acquaintances. I guess it was because I figured he was always smarter than me, destined for greatness, someone you’d read about in the newspapers or in National Geographic or something. Yet, here he was, asking me for help.

“Well, here’s the lowdown on what’s been happening…”

About forty minutes later, Kawa and I shook hands and he left the premises. He’d outlined a rather interesting scenario for us to investigate, full of intrigue, less-than-spectacular special effects, and a possible element of physical danger. About ten minutes later, I’d drawn up a plan and called the office to the briefing room. There was only one problem, besides the fact that Cody was seething and Noah kept making bird calls.

The damn air conditioning wasn’t working. The smell of hot coffee brewing wasn’t helping, either. What can I say? Starbucks serves the corporate element, and I’d rather brew my own.

“Okay, team-“

“There’s no ‘I’ in team, Daniel!”

“Thank you, Jack, but there is a ‘me.’ There is a ‘me.’ Barring any other interruptions-“

“WHO WANTED THE FRAPP WITH VANILLA ICING?!”

Cody raised his hand sheepishly, rolling his eyes, knowing he’d be on the receiving end of the wrath of the D.Mai. I continued the briefing with the patience of a bull in a china shop.

“Kawakahi Amina visited us earlier today, if some of you didn’t notice. I don’t how you could not notice, seeing as how he is our first job ever, but what do I know. Moving on, we have a rather tricky project on our hands. According to Kawa, who has become an aspiring, internationally-known photographer has had some property stolen from him. One portfolio full of some of his ‘best shots,’ quote Kawa, and a Nikon FM10 SLR film camera, insured for over three-thousand dollars, was taken not from one of his multiple offices in upstate New York, but from his Hawaii Kai townhouse. A week later, he received this threatening note.” I read the thing aloud, picturing the perp in my head.

‘You have wronged, so prepare to be wrongered back. Your treachery, your deception and your lies have been uncovered. It’s time to expose you for what you are. XOXOXOXO’

The room filled with snickers. I couldn’t help but giggle myself. Not many professionals would have written in such a style. The floor was open to discussion.

HAM, Hensarling Intro 2

2007-03-26T08:47:00.001-10:00

As ready as I was to hear Mish’s pitch, I had more pressing issues with which to deal. As was the case back then, I was so desperate to feel as if business was booming that I had a jingling ball attached to the door. Well, maybe it was more like four jingling balls. Either way, there was a minor symphony alerting me to the presence of our last operative.

“Uh, Noah, we work at 7,” I said in my most patronizing tone.

“Cody, I live in Wahiawa. Wahiawa! Do you expect me to get up at 4?” was Noah’s obviously incredulous response.

“Actually, I just expect us to open at 7. I don’t really give a damn when you get up,”.

“Why do I need to be here at 7? I’m the forensics guy! If you’ve got evidence for me to analyze, places for me to go, birds for me to draw at 7 in the morning, I’ll be here. Seeing as you don’t have a job for anyone, much less me, I get here when I get here,” spat Noah.

At this point, I was ready to give Noah a piece of my mind. If I had to leave Maunawili at 5:45 without the aid of caffeine, hell if Noah was getting off the hook. Luckily for him, I may have been distracted, but Michelle’s focus was impeccable.

Michelle Balutski was an interesting story. Accepted to the University of Utah’s pre-medical program, Michelle gave up a life of service for, uh, a life of service closer to home. Funny how that works. Mish had stayed around the islands, working as a cell phone salesman and single-handedly keeping together both her extended and proper family. Mish wasn’t exactly your typical female; often described as one of the guys, Mishka, it was rumored, had taken this concept one step further. Regardless of rumors, Mish had a singular talent for spotting b.s., one which I fully intended to put to good use. Plus, she could squat more than the average NFL defensive lineman. Now, that was a deterrent to messing with our firm!

“Well you’re out of luck today, Noah. You’re actually gonna have to do something other than draw your freaking birds. We’ve got a job,” Mish said with the hint of a smirk.

The second after she had said the word job, the reception room got a whole heck of a lot more crowded. Jack had dived for the last remaining chair, much to the disgust of Noah, who had clearly desired to slink away from me. Makoa had wheeled in his own Apple-standard ergonomic rolling chair, Carlee had put down her lighter, and Daniel decided to take this moment to practice his regal looking entrances. As impressive as this team assembly looked, I had one last bit of morning-fueled crankiness for the world.

“Hey, it’s called a briefing room! If we’re going to pay rent for a multi-room office, we’re sure as hell gonna use more than one room!” I yelled.

As the rest of the crew flitted over to the ever-vaunted briefing room, the look of shock on my partner’s face was unmistakable.

“Why are you here, Makoa? Isn’t this a home day for you?”

“Well, it was going to be, but Michelle told me that the coffee was especially intriguing this morning… Besides, I had to try out the chair in its new environment,” was Makoa’s guilty reply.

The problem with the briefing room, at least from my perspective, was that it only had 5 chairs around the donated circular circa-1950’s table. Technically we only had five operatives, but that didn’t really mean that I couldn’t have something fun to look at during briefings.

“Screw you guys; I see how it is…” muttered an unbecomingly pissy Carlee as she stalked back to man the phone.

“What’s the plan, man?” asked an uncontrollably excited Jack, turning to face the person across the table.

“How would I know, it’s Mish that took a freaking hour to get my coffee,” I blurted.

“You don’t even drink coffee! You drink all the girly drinks, like that damn Hot Vanilla you were wetting yourself over this morning!” yelled Carlee from the reception room.

“Well, then what’s the story, Mishka? This had better be good…” asked Jack.

“Hold your horses; this is good enough not to rush it. We have a job, guys! A real, unmistakable, no joke, honest-to-goodness job!” Michelle practically screamed. (well, screamed for a low alto…)

We were all excited, waiting anxiously for Mish to tell us what the deal was, when she was rudely interrupted by that damn door opening melodically for the nth time this morning. Instead of continuing on with the briefing, our resident master of legwork simply gestured to the door. I don’t think anything could have readied me for who stepped inside…

Kawa. F’ing Kawa. Kawakahi “I’m So Much Better than you; I Graduated From Dartmouth” Amina had walked through our door. Slipping Carlee a muted pleasantry, Kawa struggled to gain his bearings. Clearly, he was surprised with the scope of our office. As soon as I saw him, I ducked back into the briefing room.

“Mish,” I hissed, “I wanted a job, not an asshole!”

“Hey, he found me. If he’s got a job, we might as well take it. It’s not as if we have anything better to do, and you know he can pay…”

Mish was rational about Kawa. Me? Not so much. We had been rivals of a sort since Honors English 9 with Miss Huch. He was a pompous know-it-all, very athletic, attracted to Asian women, and a prospective debater. Yes, that could also describe me (minus the very in ‘very athletic’), which is probably why we didn’t exactly hit it off. Eventually, as teammates, we learned to get along. We took a number of classes together and came to a sort of mutual respect. Then, he snapped. I don’t know exactly when, I don’t know exactly why, but he hated me. I tried on numerous occasions to let bygones be bygones, but frankly, he wasn’t having anything of it. Perhaps today would be different.

“Hey, where’s the guy that runs this show?” Kawa demanded.

“Right here,” I replied, trying to sound official.

“Good to see you, Daniel,” Kawa said, crossing the room to shake my partner’s hand. “I have a bit of a problem and I heard that you can help me…”

As they crossed to Dan’s window-front office, I silently fumed. What an asshole…

HAM - Maile.1.0

2007-03-25T20:17:00.000-10:00

How I loved mornings. Waking up in the midst of birdsong on a mountain overlooking the vast ocean, blemished only by power lines and urban sprawl. C'est la vie. Time to get to work.

That morning as I rode the yellow stretch limo to downtown Honolulu, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself about the events of the last few months. I'd helped my grandparents put an addition on the house in Manawili, started my paperwork for my doctorate studies at the University and managed to co-found an amateur detective agency in the heart of the "big" city, just up the street from Aloha Tower. Everything was in full swing, and things couldn't be better.

I strolled into work that morning early, much earlier than the rest of the office, all of whom were not morning people, never had been, for that matter. As I jingled the keys in the lock just enough to get the thing loose and open, I opened the door and looked in on the humble glory of our office. Hensarling, Associates and Maile. That was the name Cody and I had agreed to use when we registered with the officials at City and Country, and that was a name I could live with on my business cards, excepting, of course, that we didn't yet have business cards.

We didn't really have cards of any sort except for the Longs-bought Bicycle deck I kept in the top drawer of my empty desk. On the wall next to the door, three switches turned on the lights for each of the rooms except the briefing room, which had its own circuit. It was a neat, self-contained little area next to the examination room, had a donated conference table, a television with a DVD player, even a little refrigerator for drinks and snacks. It was probably the most expensive equipment in the entire office, with the exception of Makoa's assorted techie gear.

Ah, Makoa. When Cody and I were thinking of people to whom we'd extend our good graces, the first person that came to mind when we needed technical support was Makoa because we knew he'd do it for money initially, but he'd learn to enjoy it after time. He was just that kind of guy. He'd get paid to do all the crazy computer stuff we needed and had his own time and his own space to do it. He loved being left to his own devices, but who doesn't? Makoa was a hard worker, so we knew we could count on him as long as we kept him with electricity and Jamba, both in plentiful supply. He would've been in the office at this time, too, was it not for the fact that today was a home day for him. Didn't much matter, considering the office was still in the process of being introduced to civilization.

Of the two offices, one was mine, shared with whoever decided they didn't have enough room in whatever sector they had been assigned to, and I didn't care. I'd rather be surrounded by an assortment of junk, stuff and miscellaneous crap than nothing at all: Cody had case files on the cabinet, Carlee had left a coffee cup with ash in it, Mish had left me some files, and Makoa had somehow left three Apple magazines in the corner by the door. Inconspicuously, I gathered all of this up in a free hand and dumped them behind my desk in a neat pile.

I had my trusty desk and my partner in crime: a Dell I'd had since freshman year in college. I could still smell the ash mixing in with the car potpourri I'd left by the fan since last week. It was strong, but it was easily counteracted by opening the only window in the entire office. I was a proud man to have a window downtown.

Just as I had set my stuff down, I heard footsteps coming in to the reception area. They were light, slow and a little fruity. Hah, I thought to myself, must be Noah.

HAM, Hensarling Intro 1

2007-03-25T19:45:00.000-10:00

"Hensarling, Associates, and Maile; how may I help you?"

I thought to myself at the time that I could get used to that, and not just the phrase itself, either. It wasn't just that my dream of a functioning detective agency was finally a reality, it was the fact that we had a secretary. Not just any secretary, mind you, but one who would keep me on my toes, if ya know what I mean.

I remember distinctly when Daniel and I were first thumbing through applications. I couldn't really believe that she had applied. I mean, I was pretty sure that this was some sort of dream. I kept waiting for there to be some sort of catch; but nope, Carlee Kondo really did apply to be our secretary.

She had a bit of power over me. I wasn't really proud of it, but I couldn't say that I was fighting hard against it, either. Car was my first crush. They say that you never really get over her. I hadn't and Danny knew it. Her application was misplaced, probably on purpose. However, we both knew, when I saw it, that the search for the secretary was over. Also, that the office was gonna need to be outfitted with an ashtray. Or two.

While Car was putting on her best sickly sweet air, I became cognizant of a slight drumming coming from the briefing room table. The briefing room was the only room in our office where I really felt comfortable. Being in downtown Honolulu had a way of making me feel quite a bit exposed. Perhaps it was the abundance of glass windows, but, in any case, privacy was at a premium. I ducked my head into the doorway expecting to see Daniel Maile, my partner and resident musician. Instead, I was greeted by a smirking Jack Wright IV.

"Knew it would get your attention!" exclaimed an obviously victorious Jack.

Jack Wright IV had seemingly dropped off the planet after high school. Not that it really came as any surprise to anyone, either. Jack had a reputation as a troubleshooter of the highest order. However, there was a catch. While Jack could help others out of sticky situations, he couldn't help but be caught up in his own sordid affairs. I had no idea, at the time, what Jack had been previously doing. All I knew is that the day the office opened, Jack had flown in on the red-eye from Colombia. Yeah, the country Colombia.

"Whaddya need?" I growled.

Jack had woken me from my Car-induced trance, and I wasn't exactly pleased by that turn of events.

"Just wondering if we're ever gonna actually do something. I mean, if we ain't gonna put our skills to good use, I might as well go grab the ol' surfboard and actually enjoy my summer."

"Jack-"

I was cut off before I could finish my thought by the opening of the front door. This was a bit of a surprise, seeing as we hadn't exactly had a lot of walk-in clients. Jack understood and posed no question as I made my exit.

Sadly, there was no potential problem posed by the newest addition at the office. Nope, on that morning Michelle Balutski had made the coffee run. Not that it really could be called a run, as we were smack dab in the middle of the business district of Honolulu and thus, next to a Starbucks/Jamba Juice. More of a walk, really, except that this 'walk' had taken Mish about an hour; a thoroughly unacceptable delay for a non-morning person as myself.

"You got the goods?" I demanded.

"Hold your horses, Cody. I've got your Hot Vanilla, and somethin' even better," she replied with a glint in her eyes.

"What on earth is better than a Hot Vanilla at 8:30 in the morning?" I replied, feigning disbelief.

"A job," was her simple reply...