Mark Troy - Pilikia Is My Business

What others are saying about Pilikia Is My Business

"PILIKIA IS MY BUSINESS is a must read for fans of Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum. Val's sarcastic wit and no-nonsense attitude is reminiscent of Stephanie's sassy character. The fast-moving plot and snappy dialogue unite to form an entertaining story from the very first page. "

~ Tracy Farnsworth, Romance Reviews Today

"I really like Val Lyon, and this book is a very good combination of interesting characters and a compelling setting."

~ Mary Haywood, Cozies, Capers and Crimes

"PILIKIA IS MY BUSINESS will thoroughly satisfy even the most demanding readers. Very highly recommended."

~ Cindy Penn, Wordweaving

Pilikia Is My Business

by

Mark Troy

First American Edition

Published by Ilium Books at Smashwords, 2010

Epub ISBN 978-1-4524-4040-8

Copyright (c) 2001 Mark Troy

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

Ilium Books

1002 Rose Circle

College Station, TX 77840

http://www.marktroy.net

Cover design

David L. Shackelford

http://www.idrawbooks.com

Chapter 1 - Pilikia is My Business

My name is Val Lyon. Pilikia is my business.

Pilikia means trouble in the Hawaiian language. You pronounce it pi as in what children do in the swimming pool, li as in the Confederate general, ki, an instrument to open locks, and ah. At one in the afternoon, two weeks before Christmas, I had an appointment with an attorney about some pilikia.

Brian Magruder had worked six years in the Honolulu Public Defenders shop before striking out on his own. When he struck, he struck big, locating his office in a marble and glass downtown high-rise favored by the moneyed and powerful. The building directory listed the law offices of a former governor, two former mayors and a US senator. Magruder hadnt been in the building long enough to be listed in the directory. A security guard directed me to a middle floor.

The hallway outside his office was wider than my apartment. It had a deep carpet and green trees in planters. The walls bore paintings of Hawaiian women in languid poses done by a local artist who had acquired a measure of status among the states trendsetters. All of the doors were marked with fancy nameplates except Magruders. His had a five-by-eight card taped crookedly to the center.

The scene inside was one of disarray. Boxes were everywhere. I announced myself to a middle-aged woman in a yellow muumuu. She looked up from the file carton she was unpacking and shouted, Your detective is here! To me, she said, Dont mind the mess, honey. Were just moving in, thats why. Go on back.

I went through a conference room with more boxes to a third office and Brian Magruder. My first impression, as he came around his desk, was of a young Captain Kangaroo. He had a round face, thick dark hair worn longish, and a droopy mustache. Mid-thirties, my age or a couple of years older, with the layer of fat young men often acquire when they cease being active. I figured him for six feet and two hundred-forty pounds. His clothes, faded cotton twill slacks and Aloha shirt, fit him badly.

Hey, he said, its the distaff shamus! Good to see you.

His handshake was firm but not crushing. His eyes, warm and brown like Hersheys Kisses, stayed on my face.

Mr. Magruder, I said, you have a job for me?

Call me Brian, he said.

He directed me to a visitors chair. The view, through the window behind his desk, looked towards the ocean but it was partially obstructed by the rest of downtown. I let my gaze wander around the room. There were no unpacked boxes here. The furnishings spoke money: polished hardwood desk and tables; chairs, like the one I sat in, upholstered in green leather with little buttons sunk deep into the padding. Framed photographs hung on the wall nearest me, kudos pictures of famous and powerful people posing with a man I didnt recognize.

I dont see you in the pictures, I said.

He made an embarrassed smile before settling into the chair behind the desk. He said, My Dad. All this was his. It still is. Youre looking around this office and thinking fat cat lawyer, right? Well, its not me. Okay, Ill own to the fat part. Dad happened to have this space. He sublets it to me for a nominal fee. If not for that, Id be in Moiliili. You know the kind of place - two rooms next to a dentist, noodle shop down below.

I nodded. If not for his Dad, we might have been neighbors. I said, Not the kind of setting your familys used to, I imagine.

Good insight. Youve done your homework, he said.

In truth, it was a hunch based on common gossip picked up here and there, but if Magruder wanted to believe Id checked him out, I wasnt going to tell him differently.

He continued. I did some homework on you. You were with the San Francisco Police Department - six years on patrol and three years as inspector. Right?

I nodded. What else did you find out about me?

That youre stubborn and you dont take shit from the people you work for.

Such glowing recommendations. Did your sources mention that my performance ratings were high?

They did. They also told me you got involved in something that had the brass pissing acid and that you were terminated two years ago.

A career readjustment.

What did you do after that?

I was in prison.

Prison? No kidding?

No, its a figure of speech. Yes, no kidding, Brian. I was in prison for thirteen of those months.

Magruders expression darkened. Hey listen, I dont mean to pry.

I waved off his protest. Youve got a right to know who youre hiring. Its not something I advertise, but Im not ashamed of it. I did time I shouldnt have for a conviction that shouldnt have happened, but its been expunged. I have a letter from the Governor saying so.

So that means you can carry a gun?

If I have to.

I hope you dont have to. I dont like guns, myself. Im representing Jean Pfeifer. Does that name mean anything to you?

Yes, I said. I knew that Jean and her ex-husband were locked in a bitter war over custody of their son. At issue was Jeans claim that her ex had abused the boy. She had stopped the court-ordered visitations and now faced contempt of court charges. The boy, Nathan, had disappeared.

There was probably not a woman in Honolulu who didnt know the story. Id followed it in the media, more from a sense of duty to my sex than any other reason. Had I been a mother, Id have had more interest in it.

Magruder said, I was a Public Defender. I guess you know that. The people I represented didnt move the needle on the public interest meter. Most of the time, all I could do for them was plead them down. This case is different. Theres a wrong to be righted, which is what I love about it. What I hate is that it is a cause clbre. A lawyers nightmare. My nightmare.

Does this nightmare take a form?

He nodded. Theres a rally for Jean tomorrow. I tried to discourage her from attending but she insists, or more precisely, the rally organizers insist and she feels indebted to them. I want you to protect her.

You expect trouble?

Nothing I can put my finger on. A lot of people have taken up sides on this case and passions are running high. Where do you stand on it?