He gave me a wink and whispered, "Some of those assholes are pretty famous. Some real bigwigs. Politicians, actors, the whole shit and kaboodle. We're sitting on a goldmine." He stood up and staggered towards the men's room. I thought my brain was going to explode it was so far into overdrive. Brewer, the Chief, and Rose had been in business together the whole time. Did Brewer tell Mason about the NIS agent? He couldn't be that goddamn stupid but who knows. The Chief didn't act like he knew, but was he holding out on me? If he did know, I don't think he would have told me about their dirty little blackmail business. Man, if I could just get my hands on those photographs. That could buy me a little bargaining power down the road if things got hinky for me. Who knew long it would take Brewer to start bumping his gums at the penitentiary about killing a NIS agents and some snitch would feed that info to the administration in hopes of an early release. Mason and his wife, an old Filipino hooker that he referred to as "Mommy" - "Mommy" once blew me behind the boathouse at a wild drunken party - lived in a shitty little one bedroom apartment in Pearl City. I couldn't imagine that he would be stupid enough to keep that kind of sensitive and hot material in his house where his wife could find it.
The floor safe in his office at the boathouse! That
had to be it. The old bastard seemed to have his
head down inside of it every time I walked in his
office. And I think I knew where the combination
would be. He was too much of a rummy to keep it
memorized. I could see it in my head like I was
watching a movie. The Chief, looking pissed, would
slam the safe shut, sit up, and close the desk drawer
on his right side and then bark out "what the fuck is
it?" He then would take his keys out of his pocket
and luck up the desk with a flourish.
I waved to the bartender just as I heard the
bathroom door slam shut.
Two double shots of Jack Black and a frosty
beer chaser were waiting for the Chief when he sat
his fat ass down on the stool.
The Chief's car was a new model
Thunderbird and was a breeze to drive. Power
steering so smooth you could turn the car on a dime
with one finger. I had driven it many times after the
Chief had gotten too loaded to get behind the wheel.
Those last two shots of Jack I knew would put him
over the edge. Brooks was sprawled out in the back,
passed out, but still muttering racial epitaphs -
"cracker" "fucking honky" "white slut" - in his
alcohol inspired nightmares. The Chief had rested
his head against the passenger window and was
snoring lightly. I was fingering his key chain trying
to feel for the desk key that I knew was on there
when I pulled up in front of the house that Brooks
and his wife rented.
I quickly turned the car off and jumped out
and walked around the back of the car as I slid the
desk key off the ring and slid it into my pocket. I
opened up the passenger door. "Chief, I need a hand
to get Brooks up on to his porch." Mason stood up
shakily and suddenly bent over and heaved out a
huge amount of Tennessee sipping whiskey on to
Hawaiian soil. I quickly jumped back to avoid the
splatter. "Watch it, goddamn it!"
"Oh, yes. Feeling better already." He pulled
open the back door and pulled Brooks out by both
feet. Standing him up, we each took an arm and
draped it over a shoulder, and dragged him up to
front porch. We laid him down on a reclining lawn
chair. Brooks had a wife who was a notorious bitch
and neither of us was willing to ring the doorbell to
wake her up and hear her shit at this hour.
The Chief began to giggle and then started to undo the
front of pants of the passed out sailor.
"Chief! What in the hell are you doing?" I
whispered urgently. What the hell was the crazy old
bastard going to do? Blow him?
"Go to the car and look under the passenger
seat. I got a fuck book under there."
Pulling out the magazine from under the seat
I quickly glanced at the title. Anal Adventures From
The Beaver Trail. The cover had a buxom blonde on
it who was bent over and spreading her cheeks as
she leered at the camera from between her legs. Her
asshole was spread so wide you could have thrown
a silver dollar inside. When I got back to the porch,
Mason had posed Brooks half naked with his hand
wrapped around his dick. He set the magazine
gingerly on his lap.