SAND DOLLARS
St. Martin's Press
May 1998
a preview: page 4

Charles Knief: Author Interview

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"He say his name?"

"J. Lawrence Tishman, attorney-at-law. What'd you do? Knock somebody up?"

I shook my head. "Can't. Had the operation."

"If your girlfriend ain't late then it must be your car payment."

"Don't have one."

"Maybe your uncle died."

"Yeah. That must be it." The only uncle I had was named Sam. He'd be around long after I was gone.

"He's wearing a tan suit," Dennis added, wrinkle lines bunching up around his eyes.

"Suit? Like with a tie?"

"Must not be from around here."

I went back to check on my original group and to apologize for leaving them. I ignored the college boys. If they approached me, we'd talk. Without their initiative, I'd leave them alone.

"We understand," said the senior executive. "George showed us wonderful things."

"Thank you," I said, "for understanding."

"Thank you." The elder Japanese shook my hand and then bowed. It was more of a dip than a formal bow, reminding me that I was the lesser being. "We will do it again. With you."

I nodded.

"I'd be honored."

He handed me a roll of bills and bowed again. "A token of our appreciation."

I smiled and bowed and thanked the man again, my bow no deeper than his. When he rejoined his group I went forward and glanced at the roll. Fifteen pictures of Benjamin Franklin looked back at me. Hundred dollar bills. The ugly one. I found George and handed the roll to him.

"They already tipped me," he said.

"They tipped you again."

George nodded. He needed the money more than I did. "Thank you, John."

When the Mako docked and I finished putting the gear away, I looked for the tan suit. A small, slight man stood patiently near the bait tank wearing a beige suit and an expectant look, totally out-of-place on the boat dock, his pale, smooth, office-bound face scrunched up tight against the sunlight reflecting off the water.

"I'm John Caine," I said. "You are...?"

"J. Lawrence Tishman." He handed me a card. Attorney-at-Law. Fort Street. Honolulu. "May I have a word with you?"

I shrugged, watching one of the college kids from the corner of my eye. He hesitated, hovering just within the range of hearing.

"My firm represents a group of real estate investors who believe the general partner guilty of stealing the funds. We'd like you to investigate."

I shook my head. "Sorry. Not interested."

"You are a licensed private detective, are you not?"

I nodded, wondering where this was heading.

"You were referred to us by one of the investors, one of the larger investors, a man named Choy. Mr. Choy indicated that he knew you."

That made me laugh. I couldn't help it. So Chawlie was complaining about someone stealing his funds? Maybe the old guy was starting into decline. "Sorry. I don't do that kind of work." They would want written reports, spreadsheets, invoices with receipts for expenses. There would be a 1099 in the mail next January.

J. Lawrence Tishman sniffed as if he'd suddenly smelled something foul. And at that moment I understood Chawlie had indulged himself at Mr. Tishman's expense. It had been a joke, typical of the man. Tishman knew it, too, and didn't want to be here, but his client had insisted, and when you work for someone like Chawlie, you do what you're told.

I glanced at the kid. He was still there, waiting. Whether or not he could hear our conversation wasn't important.

"There are other firms who'll do you a better job," I told the lawyer. "Tell Chawlie I was busy."

"Yes." Tishman smiled a small smile, glancing at the dive boat. "I can see that you're busy." He left, clearly not pleased, but obviously happy to be heading somewhere else.

"Mr. Caine?" The boy approached, hesitant.

"What is it?"

"I just wanted to thank you. What we did, it was my idea, and it was stupid."

Such honesty in the young should be rewarded. "You've done something most kids want to do, which is good, and you survived, and that’s better."

"You're a detective?"

I nodded. "Sometimes."

"Like that guy on the old TV shows?"

"No. He was a lot better looking than me and a lot smarter. He lived in a mansion in Kahala. I just scuffle." I didn't even have a place to live any longer. I just bunked at one of the Waikiki hotels near the Ala Wai Canal until I could find another boat.

The kid looked embarrassed. He wanted to stay and he wanted to go. We had no mutual context with which to carry the conversation further. I let him off the hook.

"Thank you for coming to see me. I know what that cost you. You better go help your buddies get their gear off the boat now, don't you think?"

"Sure. Thank you, Mr. Caine." The kid offered his hand.

I took it, thinking that maybe the younger generation wasn't so bad, after all.

END OF CHAPTER ONE