The Lost Christmas Episode, Part 2
"Dad," Eddie said. "Are you hungry? I got us some food."
Eddie Lukela slid into the pew beside Duke with two paper plates in his hand. "Sorry it isn't better," Eddie said. "I guess hardly anyone from the food committee made it in."
Duke looked at the plate and sighed. Some potato chips, a vienna sausage, and three doughnut holes. "That's OK," Duke said. He touched his plate to Eddie's in a mock toast. "Merry Christmas."
"Yeah," Eddie said sadly. "Merry Christmas."
Rev. Akaka had put some Christmas music on so the sanctuary wouldn't be so quiet. About a dozen kids and as many parents sat scattered in the pews. Some of the kids were talking and giggling while a couple of others had lain over in that perpetual fatigue of teenagers. That braying ass of a father was bitching loudly about the storm and his valuable time.
Outside, Duke could still hear sirens blaring past the church. Sounded like they were heading Diamond Head on Punchbowl, out of downtown. Again Duke felt the tug of his job. Hell, even on a normal day, half the guys in HPD couldn't find their okoles with both hands unless he was there to give them a map. This was turning into a real weather emergency. He should probably leave. He could get one of the other fathers to agree to take Eddie home when the storm let up.
Duke placed one of the doughnut holes in his mouth. It tasted good -- luscious fried crust on the outside, fresh sweet dough on the inside. Duke wished he had a dozen more. But he had to go.
He turned to Eddie to tell him that he was leaving. His son hadn't touched any of his snacks. Instead, Eddie's head was down and his lips were moving.
His son was praying.
A flush of embarrassment made Duke's face hot. He was no better than the other father he disliked. Like the other man, he was too impatient -- no, too important -- to be stuck in God's house two days before Christmas. It took his 14-year-old son to thank God for their shelter and their food.
Eddie finally looked up. His eyes were wet. Duke wished there was some way he could salvage the evening for Eddie. His son got a lot of pleasure out of using his voice. More than that, he had impressed Duke with his confidence and the discipline in mastering the difficult material. It was a shame to have it go to waste.
On impulse, Duke put one of his doughnut holes on Eddie's plate. Eddie put it back on Duke's. They smiled at each other.
"Dad?" Eddie said.
"Yeah?" Duke put his arm up on the pew so it encircled his son's back without touching him. Eddie was at the age where he didn't like to be hugged by Daddy anymore, at least not in front of his friends.
"I think, maybe, God made this storm for a reason," Eddie said tentatively.
"Probably," Duke agreed. "I think He probably does everything for a reason."
"I mean, I think He saw that I was too puffed up about my solo, so He made this storm, so we wouldn't be able to have the concert, and it would make me more humble."
"Well," Duke said slowly, "I think that the storm was probably random. It affects an awful lot of people a lot more than us. And I think you're already plenty humble."
Eddie looked down shyly. They were nothing alike, he and Eddie. He prided himself on being tough and macho and competitive. Eddie was sweet and pure and good-hearted. In fact, he was just like Duke's wife, Billie. After sixteen years, he was still crazy in love with Billie. Duke wanted to tell Eddie how much he loved him, too, but he didn't know how without it sounding like some kind of a huge big deal.
Instead he said, "Maybe God wanted us to be together tonight, instead of me being at work."
"Yeah, but it would be better if you were at work!" Eddie blurted. "You could help a lot of people, and I'm not even going to sing my stupid solo!"
Duke thought a minute. "What are you singing that solo for?"
"O Holy Night," Eddie said.
"No, I mean, why are you gonna sing it?"
"For the concert. Dad, I don't get what you mean," Eddie said in confusion.
"Aren't you singing it for God?" Duke asked.
He had Eddie's attention now, all of the light from his son's heartbreakingly earnest face. Maybe there was something here they could save, after all.
"I bet God has heard all your practicing. And God will hear you sing it tonight, if you still want to," Duke told him.
Eddie looked out at the mostly empty church and back at Duke.
"I would really love to hear it, Eddie. I would really love to hear you sing that song."
Eddie looked at him for a long moment. Then, a big grin slowly spread across his face.
***
Ted Hada tried his best to ignore the antics in Deford's office, but it was no use. How was he supposed to work with Christmas music blaring? Normally he appreciated May's hard work on behalf of the Five-O staff. Good secretaries were like gold. But another rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy" and he would lose his lunch. Why didn't Deford say something to her?
Hada rolled his chair back and strode briskly to Deford's office door. He would just ask her to turn down the music. That was reasonable. Then he saw that the situation was even worse than he had thought.
May was wrapping gifts and gently mouthing the "rum-pa-pum-pum" of the hateful tune. Deford wielded tape and a pair of scissors. For each package May finished, Deford affixed a bow and some ribbon, even deftly using the blade to rake the ribbons into festive curls. He looked inordinately pleased with himself.
Hada had thought he could count on McGarrett, but Navy had succumbed to the madness too. McGarrett meekly sat at the table and checked a clipboard on which Chin had listed each gift and its intended recipient. As the presents rolled off the May-Deford assembly line, McGarrett selected an appropriate tag, bearing the image of either a boy or girl elf, and boldly printed the child's name and the words "From Santa," finally sticking it to the package with a piece of clear tape.
"Excuse me," Hada said, "I thought this was a law enforcement office. I must have come to the wrong place."
"This is Santa's workshop!" May giggled.
"Hang around, Ted," Deford instructed. "We're almost done. I need some help getting this stuff over to HPD."
Hada rolled his eyes. "How'd you get roped into this, Navy?" Hada asked McGarrett.
McGarrett just raised his eyebrows and shot Hada a significant look, jerking his head ever so slightly towards the boss. What Deford wanted, Deford got.
In a few minutes, Hada and McGarrett were put to work sliding the presents into plastic bags from the lab. "I hope these haven't been holding any body parts," Hada muttered. "Wouldn't want the kiddies to get any of those Samoan stocking stuffers."
McGarrett chuckled grimly. Samoan gangsters were notorious for separating their enemies from their fingers.
Deford shrugged into his raincoat and handed May an umbrella. "Steve, I'll be back in an hour or so," Deford instructed McGarrett. "That'll give you a chance to check on that legal brief about Benny Kahuni. May, you run ahead to the car. Ted, you take the gifts over to HPD and give them to Chin Ho Kelly. Then, I don't want to see your face around here until December 27th. Got it?"
"Aw, Jeez, Lloyd--"
"That's an order. Any questions?"
"No." Hada said resentfully. Out in the rain, another encounter with Santa's Chinese helper, and then stuck at home for four days with Miyoshi and the kids! No wonder McGarrett was smirking.
Deford breezed out the door. Hada dragged on his coat and hat. "Merry goddamn Christmas, Navy," he shouted into McGarrett's office. McGarrett waved at him and gave him the shaka sign.
"The same to your grandmother," Hada said. He grabbed the plastic bags and stormed out. Even running to his car, he managed to get a bucketload of rain down his collar and a wet ass. But the presents stayed dry.
HPD was like Kalihi Valley on Father's Day -- mass confusion. Between the storm and Christmas, the whole place was in an uproar.
"Hey there, Chin," Hada said. "You look busier than a one-armed man in a rice-picking contest."
"What you said, buddhahead," Chin said tersely, looking harried despite the red velvet Santa hat. He was rearranging a huge array of wrapped presents. The squad room looked like a Christmas wonderland. Hada even saw some shiny tricycles. Chin said distractedly, "Put the presents down right over there on Duke's desk."
Hada did, being careful to stack them so Deford's ribbons wouldn't be crushed. "Where is Lukela anyway?"
"Who knows? Probably drowned," Chin said. "Thanks, Ted."
Hada drifted down the hall. He stopped in front of the dispatchers room and watched the operators for a few minutes. They were working their asses off, sending cars everywhere there was a wreck or someone needed help. Most days, people didn't even want to see a cop. Day like today, cops were popular.
He had to admit Blue Santa had pulled in a pretty impressive haul this year. It really was kind of nice to know the poor kids hadn't been forgotten. When he was a kid, little things had meant a lot to him. Like having fireworks to shoot off on New Year's Eve. Hell, he still remembered some of the huge fish kites he had gotten for Boy's Day. What a thrill it had been to fly their bright colors above their little plantation shack. His family had been poor, but those had been some good times. Some of the best. Chin was right. A kid shouldn't have to have a lousy Christmas.
His kids were lucky. They were home now, snug and dry with their mom. Miyoshi was probably stuffing them full of cookies. Hada hoped his sons never had to spend a Christmas in a field hospital, a 20-year-old kid, in pain and alone, aching from the wounds caused by shrapnel and the other wounds caused by losing your buddies too young. Those wounds never healed. Now that had been a lousy Christmas, all right.
He had been so low, he hadn't even thought he had a future. He would die there in Italy, a million miles from his family and his Hawaiian home -- or be put out on the line to kill again, until he was killed. He hadn't even dared to dream he'd come home, get an education, a good job, a nice family, kids and a wife and a dog. Just a dream. Nobody to talk to. Nobody who understood.
Then Ted Hada got an idea. Maybe there was something he could do for Christmas, after all. And it wouldn't involve a single jingle bell.
***
After everyone left, the office was quiet and McGarrett lost track of time. At some point, he talked with the D.A. on the phone about the Kahuni matter, nailing down Stewart's views on the admissibility of the wiretaps. McGarrett wanted to go into it in further detail, but Stewart cut him off. Something about wanting to spend time with his son.
"Oh yeah, Merry Christmas to you, sir," McGarrett said.
"Merry Christmas to you, McGarrett," Stewart said. "I'll get with you and Lloyd about it next week."
McGarrett heard the door open and Deford lumbered back into the office. Despite long hours, the boss possessed the physical energy of a bear just out of hibernation and very hungry. Steve jumped up from behind his desk and followed Deford into the big office, briefing him on Stewart's ideas. "We can get Che to run some additional tests, and call in a document expert from the mainland," Steve suggested. "I haven't been able to get anyone on the phone yet. Since when does everything have to grind to a halt the last two weeks of December?"
Deford sat down behind his desk, pick up his glasses and put them on. "Everything doesn't grind to a halt," he said.
"Well, we'll be here," McGarrett said, "But it's going to be hard to get hold of anybody. I'll work on getting home phone numbers for some of these people."
"Steve," Deford said quietly, "Why aren't you going home?"
McGarrett pulled up a chair and turned it around, then straddled it, resting his arms across the back. "Want to call it a night? I heard you tell Hada to go home for the duration."
"He needs the rest," Deford said, suddenly sounding weary himself. "Steve, what I mean is, why aren't you going home to your family?"
McGarrett tensed a little. He didn't like thinking about the fact that he didn't really have a home. Not that it bothered him. He liked being a lone wolf. "Well, since Ma died, I don't really have a home back East," Steve told him. "And my sister's married now and has a new family. I'd just as soon stay here and work."
"Margo didn't make it in?" Deford asked.
"Naw," Steve replied. "You know, the traveling photographer. She's got assignments all over the world the next few months." Steve got up. "Coffee? Still got some. If you like it strong and muddy." Deford moved his hand in a gesture of assent, and Steve poured a couple cups of the brew. "What about you, Lloyd? I didn't figure you to be sentimental about the holidays."
"When Millie was alive, I was," Deford replied. "She loved Christmas. The best Christmases we ever spent were those years I spent with the FBI in Washington. Hell of a town. There's a lot of strays there, and Millie collected them all for a big Christmas dinner. So even though everyone there was far from home, like we were, or didn't have a real home, that day, they did." Deford sighed and gazed into his coffee cup. "I didn't realize it at the time, but home was where Millie was."
McGarrett wasn't much for feelings, but he recognized one when he saw one. At least Deford had a woman he really loved, once -- loved enough to stay married to her more than 20 years. Til death do us part. McGarrett found it hard to imagine that kind of devotion. Even a weekend together with a lady, no matter how lovely, sometimes seemed too confining to Steve.
"You've got your nieces and nephews," McGarrett said.
Deford groaned, then gave Steve a grin. "Thanks for reminding me. I was about to get mushy about family. I needed a dose of reality."
Steve grinned back, relieved. Deford tried the coffee and made a face. "Terrible." He got up and went to the bookshelf. Squatting, he started to rummage around in the cabinet underneath the shelves. "What I was going to say, Steve, is that the last few years I've gotten together a few people on Christmas Day for dinner. Same idea as Millie had. Strays--" he smiled wryly. "--like ourselves. What do you say to joining us?"
"No, Lloyd, no thanks," McGarrett said quickly. "I have plans."
Deford wasn't fooled. "Cancel 'em. I'll expect you about four o'clock." His broad back almost disappeared into the cabinet before he pulled out what he was looking for.
"Clean coffee cups are in order, Steve. This storm calls for some Christmas brandy."