V for Vashon: The Daughter, Part 2
Steve McGarrett stood stiffly in the airport waiting area. He shifted the lei he had brought to his right hand and looked at his watch. The flight was late, and he felt tired of waiting. He was practically humming with anticipation.
"United Flight 247 from Los Angeles, now arriving at Gate 43," the flight attendant intoned.
"Finally," muttered a middle-aged Chinese woman standing next to McGarrett. She had been waiting even longer than he. She looked at him and said anxiously, "My daughter getting home from college, you know? Her first year away from the family. I'm afraid she be so different."
"She'll still be your daughter. That won't have changed," McGarrett replied.
The woman smiled and said, "That's true. She still be my daughter." She seemed to feel better.
McGarrett turned back to scan the faces of the disembarking passengers. They were mostly excited tourists, with a few business people and residents returning from exotic vacations on the mainland. He started to feel irritated. It was amazing how many people who weren't Danno had sandy-brown curly hair.
"Steve! Steve McGarrett!" yelled a familiar voice.
McGarrett looked around. He didn't see Danno anywhere. Just an old white-haired guy with big glasses coming toward him.
"Steve! Over here!" The old white-haired guy repeated.
McGarrett looked again; did a double take. The old white-haired guy was Danno.
"Danno, you old bastard!" McGarrett exclaimed, reaching out to grab Danny in a hug. He couldn't believe how much his friend's perennially boyish appearance had changed. "My God, I barely recognized you. What's it been, ten years?"
"At least ten years, you sonofabitch," Danny replied, laughing. For his part, he had no difficulty recognizing McGarrett. Who else would show up at the airport wearing a pink and white aloha shirt, white pants and shoes, and a big Panama hat? McGarrett still had the ramrod straight posture and commanding presence that Danny remembered.
Even so, the boss did look older. He had allowed himself to go a little gray around the temples. And when Danny put his arms around him in a bear hug, something felt different. Not that he could really be sure -- despite their longlasting friendship, he had hugged McGarrett only twice before in his life, once when he left Five-O and once at his wedding -- but something about McGarrett felt a little ... fragile, somehow.
"So what's the story, Steve?" Danny asked as they started toward the baggage claim. "Don't tell me the Vashons are back on the block."
"I'm not telling you that yet, Danno," McGarrett replied. "But someone is trying hard to make us think they are. Five-O has found four bodies in the last four weeks. All significant underworld figures: all shot, execution-style, in the back of the head."
"What's the Vashon angle?"" Danny wanted to know. "That family went defunct when Old Nick killed himself back in '72. I didn't even know there were any Vashons left in the islands."
"Neither did anybody else," McGarrett said. "For all we know, this is just a copycat crime -- a hoax. But the distinctive Vashon M.O. is there. Remember? A 'V' -- gashed into the cheek of each of the four victims."
Danny shuddered. "We've got some real sickos out there, Steve."
"Yeah." McGarrett paused in front of the baggage carousel. "There's something else you need to know, Danno. Our involvement in this investigation is strictly on the QT. There's no 'official' sanction from Five-O."
"What's that mean?" Danny asked. "If we get ourselves in trouble, Five-O's going to pretend they don't know us?"
"Exactly." McGarrett flashed him a knowing look. "Politics, Danno."
Danny shrugged and stooped down to grab his bag off the conveyor belt. "Well, on the bright side, Steve, if we're 'officially' not involved in the investigation, Five-O can't 'officially' keep us out of it."
McGarrett smiled grimly and regarded his friend for a long moment. Suddenly remembering the lei, he hung it around Danny's neck. "Danno, it's been too long," he said. "Aloha. Welcome home."
***
The air in Mits Kalapana's boardroom was thick with smoke and tension. Kalapana couldn't remember the last time the police had cracked down so hard on kumu operations. Probably back in the 70's, when Tony Alika had been in charge and some nut took it upon himself to shoot that Chinese cop.
He paced around the room, grinding his teeth, his feet making soft footfalls on the richly colored Persian carpet. All the heads of Hawaii's crime families were there -- Wing Lee, the chief of the Chinese Tongs; Bobby Takahashi, the Japanese drug lord and pimp; and himself, the undisputed king of gambling in the islands.
And the new kid, Vashon. The one that was causing all the trouble.
"They're really turning up the heat, Vashon," Kalapana growled. "HPD's hit us like a goddamn hurricane."
"It's true, Vashon. Your acts of violence have put us all in an unfortunate position," Wing Lee said. "There are very many questions from the police."
"What gave you the idea you could horn in on the action?" Bobby Takahashi demanded. His normally sallow complexion turned beet red as he slammed his fist on the table. "My whole Maui operation is -- "
"Is what, Takahashi? Indisputably yours now?" Michelle Vashon regarded him coolly and puffed on her cigarette.
"Well --"
"I disposed of your biggest rival, Takahashi." Michelle flicked her liquid black eyes over him. Her voice was low and soft, with a hint of a French accent, but it contained an unmistakable challenge. "It seems you owe me a favor. You too, Kalapana. And you, Wing Lee. You've got to admit I've gotten rid of some -- shall we say serpents? -- in each of your organizations."
"I would have done it my own way, Vashon," Kalapana said resentfully. "Not with so much blood."
"What's wrong, gentlemen? Can't you stand the sight of a little blood? I'm used to it, myself." Michelle smiled a quick flash of white teeth, then uncurled herself from her chair. She flipped her long dark hair over her shoulders and walked slowly to the center of the room, where Kalapana stood.
Michelle was a petite woman; her trim black suit would have looked more at home in a fashion magazine than in this gathering of accomplished criminals. Kalapana fairly towered over her. So why the hell did he feel so intimidated?
Wing Lee hurriedly spoke up. "It is true that the gentleman from Hong Kong you murdered on my behalf was attempting to undermine my leadership. But there are other ways of handling these things -- "
"I know," Michelle said softly. "But a bullet works so nicely, don't you agree?"
"What is it that you want, Vashon?" Wing Lee asked, sincerely distressed.
"A piece of the action, papa-san!" Michelle hissed. Whatever hint of softness she might have had was gone; her voice cut the air like a stiletto blade. "If you didn't owe me anything before, you owe me now. All I want is a chance to get back a fraction of what my father lost."
Takahashi scratched his head. "Look, lady, if this is a revenge thing --"
"Revenge is for men," Michelle replied dismissively. "Gentlemen, I want to prosper, just like you. Surely there's room for one more, non? Especially one who has been so -- helpful to you?"
Kalapana sighed deeply. "Oh, bruddah."
"I won't get in your way, gentlemen, I promise." Michelle took a deep breath, managed a girlish smile. "A few imports and exports here and there, what's the harm? Besides, it is Vashon the police are looking for, not you."
"They're looking, all right," Takahashi said. "I hear they've even brought McGarrett back to work on the case."
"McGarrett!" Michelle exclaimed. She gave a hoot of laughter. "My God! Doesn't anyone else have any balls in this town? They had to bring back McGarrett?"
Kalapana failed to see the humor. "All right, sistah. That's enough." He calculated the odds, made a decision. "We'll cut you in -- on one condition! You stay out of our hair from now on, OK? No more killing -- no more favors."
"Wonderful," Michelle said. "I'm glad you had the chance to think it over -- Mits." She said his name with contempt. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a business matter to attend to." She dropped her cigarette on the expensive rug, ground it out under a trim black heel, and swept from the room.
Kalapana looked at his rug in dismay. He let out a long, low whistle. "Goddamnit, we got trouble," he said to the other two men in the room. "Pupule broad."
***
Steve McGarrett sat slumped in his chair in the briefing room at Five-O headquarters. He felt tired; he and Danno had stayed up late the night before, talking about old times. Tom Lin was standing at the front of the room, giving an endless presentation about the Vashon case to the assembled crew. The current members of Five-O were nodding and taking notes. To them, it was all new.
"The death of Chris Vashon, Honore Vashon's son, was the catalyst for the Vashons' vendetta against Hawaii Five-O," Lin droned. "Chris Vashon was shot by Mr. McGarrett during an armed robbery." He clicked the slide projector and flashed a picture of a dark-haired, sullen young man up on the screen.
McGarrett suppressed a sigh. He remembered all too well that stifling hot summer night when Chris Vashon had died. A vicious, petty criminal, Chris was knocking over a hotel when McGarrett cornered and confronted him. He had taken a shot at Steve, who fired back, hitting him in the stomach.
Chris tried to get away that night, taking off in his car, driving wounded. The pursuit hadn't been hard. Chris headed straight for the Vashon house. He made it, too -- just in time to fall dead in his father's arms. McGarrett would remember the stricken look on Honore Vashon's face as long as he lived. It was the picture of a man gone insane.
McGarrett shook his head; cleared it of the image. Lin was describing the rest of the story: how Honore Vashon tried to have him assassinated and was subsequently tried and sent to Oahu State Prison. How the old patriarch, Dominic Vashon, framed him for the murder of an unarmed man, almost wrecking McGarrett's career.
Old Nick hadn't been successful: Danny, Chin Ho, and Ben had found the evidence to exonerate him. Realizing the Vashon family's dominance of the Hawaiian underworld was at an end, Dominic had ended his own life -- with a bullet through his head.
McGarrett shifted in his chair and looked out the window at the Iolani Palace across the street. In the early 80's, they had closed the palace for restoration and moved Five-O to the state judiciary building. Now, the palace was one of Honolulu's top tourist attractions.
So much history there, McGarrett thought. For the islands, and for me. He glanced over at Danno. Danno was quietly watching the presentation, making an occasional note to himself on his yellow pad.
He's learned some patience in the past ten years, McGarrett thought. I wish I had.
Tom Lin finally concluded with a rundown of the latest victims, all big kahunas in Hawaii's vice trade. McGarrett stared at the grisly pictures of the four dead men. Each man was hanging upside down, his head nearly blown away. Each had a bloody 'V' gashed into the gray dead flesh of his face.
Tom Lin turned off the slide projector; Jimmy Fiddler flicked on the lights.
"So that's what we know, folks," Lin said. "Four bodies, identical M.O."
Fiddler scratched at the sleeve of his gaudy Aloha shirt, surfer-blond hair falling in his eyes. "I don't get it, Tom. Why the retro deal? Why make it look like a Vashon thing?"
"It might not be a Vashon thing at all," Danny said. "Could just be a gangland cleanup. There's a lot of reasons to want those guys dead."
"Yeah, Danno, but somebody, somebody wants us to think differently," McGarrett interjected. "Somebody wants to revive the Vashon name in the islands."
"But who?" Danny wondered aloud. "It's been so long, a lot of people don't even remember the Vashons." He glanced around the room at the faces of the younger Five-O members.
"Somebody remembers." Steve stood up and started to pace, slowly snapping his fingers as he turned the question over in his mind.
"A relative maybe? A brother? A cousin?" Danny asked.
"But Honore Vashon doesn't have any other relatives in the islands," Tom Lin protested. "And Chris was his only son."
McGarrett ignored him, continued to think. "Wait a minute, Danno. Wait a minute!" his face suddenly lit up. "Honore Vashon did have other children. Remember?"
"Yeah. Two younger kids. Girls." Danno exhaled.
"Bullseye, Danno. Two daughters! I want a complete rundown on their whereabouts. How old they are, what they're doing now, and whether or not they've set foot in these islands over the past ten years." His fatigue had vanished; McGarrett felt stunningly alert. "We've got something, gentlemen. It might just be the lead we're looking for."