Carnival Caper

Episode Eight in the Copper and Goldie Mysteries

Sophie Kalimalu, an overweight card shark with multiple chins, sat at a table inside a flimsy tent, shuffling and reshuffling a deck. Kapiolani Park in Honolulu had been transformed into a fairground, and her little space was one of many in the Whorlly Brothers Carnival. Sophie’s sleight-of-hand tactics and card tricks were too well known among Honolulu’s resident gambling trade, but a virtual magnet to the unsuspecting tourists who flocked to the carnival. But even Sophie couldn’t predict the terrible hand dealt late that Saturday night.

An innocent couple, wheat farmers from Iowa, had just slunk away from her, eighty dollars poorer than when they arrived. Their game: fifteen short minutes of Shuffle and Cut for a double sawbuck a cut. Oh, they won high card twice in the first three cuts to draw them in, but it was downhill after that. Now, near eleven o’clock, as the foot traffic grew scarce, Sophie switched to the showier shuffles: springing cards from one hand to the other over an arc a foot apart, while she pitched her angle in a booming voice.

“Hey, Hon! Wanna try yer luck?…Hello, there, Handsome! Feelin’ lucky tonight? How ’bout …”

Sophie’s hands never stopped, but her voice trailed off when a commotion erupted across the midway at Happy Harry’s Shooting Gallery. A burly man, belly overflowing his shorts and T-shirt, had skinny Harry by the collar of his aloha shirt, yanking him upward and over the counter until the poor guy buckled to the ground out front.

“Hey, let go a me! I ain’t done nothin’ to you!” Harry squealed, as he was hauled to his feet.

“You’re a liar and a cheat!” shouted the burly attacker. “You promised me the top pick of the prizes—that life-size stuffed penguin—if I shot a perfect hundred. Well, you saw me shoot a perfect hundred, and you handed me this lousy three-inch monkey doll worth somewhere between a dime and a quarter.” He shoved Harry backward against the counter with one powerful thrust.

Harry reached behind himself and grabbed one of the loaded .22-caliber target rifles. Hoping to frighten the customer off, he fired at what he assumed was the ground. Instead, he put a live round into the huge man’s shoe.

Howling, the man’s beefy fists released Harry. He raged, cursed, and threatened. Then, like a wounded animal, turned and limped off out of sight. Harry laid the gun back on the counter and retreated behind it. Climbing onto his tall stool, he hugged his upper arms, shaking all over.

Observing this scene, Sophie grabbed the bottle of cheap whiskey she kept under the table and wriggled to her feet. In her ballooning muumuu, she waddled across the midway to Harry and offered him a much-needed drink. He took a long drag, nearly finished the bottle, and handed it back to her. She upended it and took the final swig.

Harry whimpered, “Thanks, Soph. I needed that. I thought the big bull was gonna kill me.”

“Maybe you ought ta call it quits fer tonight. It‘s almost shuttin’ down time anyway,” said Sophie, as she tossed the empty bottle in the trash basket next to his tent.

“You’re right, Soph.” Harry packed the four target rifles and ammo into a lock-box carrying case and zippered up his tent, then trudged across the grass to his pickup truck parked two blocks away on Paki Avenue.

Sophie lumbered back to her shuffling and pitching.

***

Sam Nahoe, a former Honolulu Police Department detective, drove a cab now. Driving a licensed independent cab put bread on the table, but not enough. Acquiring his private investigator’s license earned him bigger bucks—and the dangerous excitement of helping put away a few bad guys. Once a cop, always a cop.

Sam still loved his ex-wife, Kianah, and absolutely adored his daughter, Peggy, just turned twelve. He enjoyed visitation rights and privileges every Sunday from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. Today he planned to take Peggy to the Whorlly Brothers’ carnival. He had informed “Kia,” her protective mother, and was startled when she turned the plan into an invitation for herself as well. Sam knew his daughter yearned to have live-in parents again. He secretly harbored the same hopes. After all, he wasn’t the same depressed, bitter, unemployed ex-cop he’d been three years ago, when she initiated the divorce. It wasn’t a subject they could easily discuss. For today, he’d just enjoy the small gift of her unexpected company.

Sam parked outside their high-rise condo and unclipped Goldie from her harness in the shotgun seat of his yellow Checker taxi. His five-year-old rescue golden retriever, with a smidgen of Doberman, was not only his partner, but a beloved member of the family.

The apartment door was already open when they stepped out of the elevator. Goldie bounded inside and Peggy flopped down on the floor to wrestle with her. A bemused Sam watched. He couldn’t quite get used to his little-kid daughter now preteen, gangly, and taller than her mother. Not surprising, considering that he was six-four. She’d inherited his build, along with her mother’s tawny skin and thick brown hair.

“I was thinking of packing sandwiches so we can make a whole day of it,” called Kia from the kitchen.

“Phooey!” Peggy blurted out.

“What’s wrong with Mom making sandwiches?” Sam asked, anxious not to start an argument.

Still hugging Goldie, Peggy made a face. “She’ll make ’em with quinois and kale. Yuck! I want hotdogs and chili and cotton candy.”

Kia came out of the kitchen, laughing. “It’s okay. Maybe I’d like a chili dog and garlic fries, too. I’m not all ogre.”

“Cool, Mom!” Peggy said.

The carnival turned out to be a small traveling operation from the Mainland: a Ferris wheel, kiddy rides, and booths sporting skill and gambling lures. Large tents touted a snake charmer, puppet show, and Hawaii-made crafts. Delicious aromas wafted from the culinary booths: from spring rolls to Spam musubi. A band, set up in the park’s orchestra shell played  Hawaiian melodies. Local hula dancers performed on the stage in front of the orchestra.

Peggy pulled her parents over to the midway. She won a stuffed dolphin at the hoop toss and wanted to try her luck at a wheel where a dollar-a-spin guaranteed you a prize. While she waited her turn, Sam, already bored and restless, scanned the crowd. He noticed yellow crime scene tapes wrapped around a closed tent. He also saw a familiar face there. “Be right back,“ he said, and hobbled over.

“Hey, Danny, what’s going on here?”

Lieutenant Danny Oshiro had been his partner in HPD Homicide. Three years ago, Sam took an inoperable bullet in his spine in the line of duty and had to retire on a medical disability. He now navigated painfully on his two trusty walking aids, Cane and Able.

“Hi, Sam. I didn’t think you were into carnivals.”

“Not usually, but I’m here with Peggy and Kia just for the fun of it. Is this a crime scene?”

“Sure is. Early this morning we found a man’s body in one of the parking lots, next to a pickup truck—we’re pretty sure it’s his. Blunt force trauma to the head. We’re guessing the killer grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the driver’s-side door. We found target rifles and ammo locked away in the pickup cab, plus a few carny signs in the truck bed for Happy Harry’s Shooting Gallery. We’re speculating that the body is Harry’s. That’s what led us over here, but we’re at a dead end right now. No witnesses.”

“I always wondered how you can have a live shooting gallery with so many people milling around,” said Sam. “It doesn’t seem safe to me.”

“It’s not idiot proof,” replied Dan. “But a booth fitted out with one-inch armor plate and a couple inches of cotton batting on the backdrop and side wings pretty much contains it. An intentional shortage of gunpowder affects velocity, impact, and even accuracy. Especially accuracy,” he added, peering with a knowing look through his wire-rimmed glasses.

“Well, thanks for the lesson. I’d better get back to my family before I get in trouble. Good luck with the case.”

“Thanks. Take care, Sam.”

Sam turned and took a few ski-walk steps when he heard,  “Pssst! Pssst!” He spotted Sophie, his favorite old-time snitch, sitting in her tent with a customer. The sullen-faced man, an obvious loser, rose and left. She motioned for Sam to enter. He squeezed in.

“Take a load off, Copper,” she said. “I wont bite ya.”

Sam grinned. “Howzit going, Sophie?” he asked, sitting down on the adjacent folding chair. “Today I’m here for fun with my family, not information from you.”

Sophie nodded, her several chins bobbing with her head. “I’m good. I know you ain’t a copper no more, but you once told me I wuz still yer snitch, an’ anyways I got somethin’ to say to you.” Her blue eyes teared up before she was able to continue. “I heard wha’ happened to poor Harry ovah der. He wuz in a fight las’ nigh’ and I know who with—at least wha’ he looked like. Yah.”

“The homicide detectives are still looking around in his tent,” Sam said. “Why don’t you go across and tell them what you know?”

“I don’ trus’ any coppers like I trus’ you. They always wanna arrest me fer cheatin’ an’ all. Maybe I do, but tha’ ain’t no reason to bust me, is it?”

“I value your high-quality intel, Sophie, and I appreciate you, especially now that I have my PI license. To the police you’re operating outside the law. Maybe I bend it a little, too. So tell me what happened here last night.”

Sophie described the pissed-off brawny customer, and gave Sam a pretty good blow-by-blow of the argument and manhandling that went down the night before.

Sam sensed that Sophie had some feelings for Harry. “Were you and Harry close?” he asked.

“We wuz not lovers, if that’s wha’ ya mean. Jus’ frens. He brung a bottle and a movie ovah to my place once a week. That’s all. Yah.”

“When he had the fight in his booth, do you think the bullet actually hit the customer’s shoe?” Sam asked.

“The way that guy limped, it’s a sure thing right through the leatha’ shoe, I betcha. Harry closed up his booth and went home a few minutes after.”

“Thanks, Sophie.” Sam slipped a twenty-dollar bill under her water glass, then straightened up with Cane and Able.

“This wuz s’posed to be a freebee from me, Copper. I see you still using dem giant chopsticks to get around, yah.”

“I always appreciate your help, Sophie. As for the chopsticks, they’re here forever. Take care now, girl.”

Sam plodded across the midway once more to talk with Danny, who was currently interviewing a fortune teller from an adjacent booth. He waited until they were finished. “Hey, Danny—”

“I thought you went back to your family, brah,” interrupted Oshiro in a grumpy, impatient voice.”

“If you’re nice to me, I can make your whole day. I’ve got a description of the man you’re looking for.”

“Sorry, Sam, this case is getting to me. Nobody saw or heard anything. At least that’s what they’re telling me. What’s with this carnival bunch, anyway? Okay, what’ve you got for me?”

“There apparently was an altercation last night at Happy Harry’s Shooting Gallery,” Sam said. Careful not to mention Sophie by name, he related precisely what she had described.

“Wait!” said Dan. “We estimated the stiff to weigh just under one-fifty. You’re saying this customer pulled him over the top like a sack of potatoes?”

“My informant said he was a big mother.”

“Sam, where in hell are you getting all this intel, and is it reliable?”

“From one of my former snitches. She thinks of me as a friend, too. She was an eyewitness to the fight, and she’s already heard through the grapevine about the body in the parking lot. From the way she talked to me about Harry, past tense, I think she’s pretty sure it’s him. She’s very reliable, Danny—always since I’ve known her, but she won’t talk to any cops now. Says I’m the only one she trusts. She says she can ID the big guy in the fight, and I think I can persuade her to testify. Because of the guy’s wounded foot, any blood the crime scene unit finds could belong to either the victim or the perp.”

“I’m afraid your snitch is going to have to talk to me whether she wants to or not.”

“You can try. Be patient with her, Danny. She’s in the tent directly across from the shooting gallery.

“The big woman?”

“Yeah.  Her name is Sophie Kalimalu. She’s a shuffle and cut scammer. Her usual haunt is the Bottleneck Bar and Grille in Waikiki. Be careful with her. I still need her as an intel source and she’s fragile right now. At least, emotionally.”

Popping out of the crowd, Peggy, Kia, and Goldie showed up at the shooting gallery. “Daddy, what’s taking you so long?” Peggy asked, sounding as bossy as her lawyer mother. She held Goldie by the leash, but not tightly enough. The dog lunged forward, leash and all, and scooted under the police tape to a UH baseball cap lying on the ground next to the gun counter. Goldie snatched it up in her teeth, bounded back to Sam, and laid it at his feet.

“Hey, you damn dog,” shouted Danny, “you’re contaminating my crime scene.” Goldie scurried to safety behind her master. “Sam, I don’t have to tell you, this is a people park, not a dog park. Grab that leash and get your mutt out of here.” He walked across the midway to interview Sophie.

Kia scowled at her daughter. Peggy’s cheeks turned red. She tightened her grip on the leash and the family walked away. But Peggy, anxious to redeem herself, voiced a thought.

“Dad, what about the baseball cap Goldie found?”

Sam pivoted to look where the cap had been lying. It was gone. He spotted a hulking man in a UH baseball cap limping down the midway away from them.

A scream emerged from Sophie’s tent. “That’s him!” cried Sophie. Glaring at Lieutenant Danny, she yelled, “You da copper, you get tha’ bastard.”

Danny struggled to squeeze past her. “Stop! Police!” he yelled as soon as he caught sight of the bruiser. “Stop! Police!” The man lurched off between the tents and out of sight. Danny broke into a run, tripped over a tent peg, and fell onto the ground.

Sam reached down and unclipped Goldie’s leash, looked her straight in her alert black eyes, and pumped his left fist. The retriever took off like she was shot from a cannon, down the midway to the area betweens the tents where the bruiser was last seen, then veered right, and dropped out of sight in the escapee’s direction.

While Danny scrambled to his feet, Sam ski-walked between the tents. Just beyond the last kiddy ride he spotted the bruiser headed across the grass toward Paki Avenue, with Goldie galloping some twenty yards behind and closing fast.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. The traffic on Paki was clogged with fairgoers trying to park. If the man darted between cars, Goldie would follow and likely be killed.

A split second later, he could breathe again. Still on the grass in the park, Goldie flew through the air, a missile landing on the back of the huge man’s knees. He managed a string of stumbles and finally tripped himself into a hard fall on his face. Goldie caught up with him, and sank her teeth into his right ankle. The man howled and tried to swat at her with his right hand, but couldn’t reach her. Next, he tried to kick her with his sore foot and that didn’t work either. Flat on his stomach left him with no alternatives but surrender.

Danny bolted forward from behind the Ferris wheel, his wiry body recovered and not the least bit stressed as he closed in. Arriving on the scene, he immediately slapped plastic restraints on the now-docile perp. Almost comically, he kept issuing commands like “No” and “Free” to Goldie, but she continued to grip the bruiser’s ankle. Sam finally arrived and clapped his hands loud enough for Goldie to release her grip, the way he’d trained her. It took both Sam and Danny to get the large man to his feet—his hands were cuffed behind him. Danny Mirandized him.

“The three of us make a pretty good team, Danny,” offered Sam.

“Yeah, though I’m embarrassed to admit it. Thanks, Sam, one more time.” The two men shook hands. “You too, girl.” He reached down to stroke Goldie’s head.

Jessie Melton, alias the bruiser, was tried and convicted of second-degree murder and awarded fifteen years of prison time.

Go figure, thought Sam. If only Harry hadn’t been such a penny-pincher. If he hadn’t cheated Jessie out of the stuffed penguin, he would still be alive and his customer would have gone home happy.