Bag Lunch by James C. Clar

Editor’s Note: Read the previous adventures of the two Hawaii Police Detectives by clicking the link:
“Pillow Talk”,
“Beggars Would Ride” and
“The Way The Cookie Crumbles”

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Bag Lunch by James C. Clar

“Tell us again what happened, Mrs. Asari,” HPD Detective Jake Higa instructed the agitated young woman who sat across the desk from him. Higa and his partner, Ray Kanahele, had commandeered a manager’s cubicle on the ground floor of the Bank of Hawaii Center that occupied most of the block along Kalakaua Avenue between Lewers Street and Beachwalk. Like most days for the past month or so it had rained lightly in the morning, but the afternoon brought with it bright sunshine, blue skies, puffy white clouds and light trade winds. The temperature hovered in the low 80’s.

Asari fingered her wedding ring. She seemed to be looking past Higa and through the tinted glass of the large window that swept in an arc around the front of the building. A small crowd had gathered outside on the sidewalk in response to the police cruisers and uniformed officers who had secured the area in the general vicinity of the bank. Palm trees swayed in what looked, from inside the bank, like a tropical pantomime.

“He had a gun detective. It’s just like I told you already.” Asari’s lilting voice betrayed just a trace of irritation. “Besides, I’m sure it’s all on the security footage.”

Kanahele had earlier fetched the young woman a cup of tea. Both policemen had been concerned about her going into shock. At the very least, her nerves were shot, and they were doing everything they could to keep her on an even keel while they pieced together her story.

“We realize that.” Kanahele spoke in his most placatory tone. “The thing is you notice stuff when you’re under stress without even being aware of it. It’s an unconscious thing, right? So, every time you go back over the story it’s possible you might remember something else, something that might help us here.”

“And to be honest,” Higa chimed in quietly with a smile, “my partner and I have had a long day already. Maybe we missed something you told us the first time through. We’re trying to cover our bases here as well.”

As Higa intended, Helen Asari looked over at the two men with an expression of sympathy, solidarity even. And, in fact, it truly had been a rough day.

“Christ, Jake,” Kanahele had complained two hours or so earlier as the two overworked and decidedly underpaid detectives left their car where they parked it on Kalakaua Avenue and badged their way through the police cordon that had been set up around the entrance to the Bank of Hawaii building.

“This is the third call we’ve answered today. Damn! We haven’t even had lunch yet. All I’ve had are coffee and a couple malasadas.”

“You stopped at Kam’s on your way in?” Higa’s question had carried the note of accusation.

“Yeah. I didn’t bring you any ‘cause I know you don’t eat them.”

The stocky, lumbering Kanahele had been temporarily preoccupied with visions of the sugary Portuguese doughnuts to which he was partial and for which the aforementioned bakery in Kalihi was noted. His wiry, health-conscious partner nodded his head.

“Anyhow, isn’t anyone else working today?”

“You know how it is, Ray,” Higa replied. “Pretty much anybody that’s available is here. We’re way understaffed as it is and now, with the holidays, there’s an influx of visitors. Not the swarm that there was pre-COVID, but the numbers are picking up. Next thing, we’ll have to deal with all the fireworks violations and injuries around New Year’s Eve.”

“Shit,” don’t remind me. What a ‘freak show’ that always is. You know, reality is twisted enough in town under normal circumstances. Throw in a holiday and you get the usual homegrown nonsense plus visitors who can’t handle Hawai’i Nei in full celebration mode.”

Almost on cue, someone dressed as a giant green frog could be seen waving at and handing leaflets or takeout menus to the hordes of sunburned tourists who walked down the street a block or two from where the two policemen stood.

“See what I’m saying?” Kanahele pointed with an air of vindication. “It’s some new chain restaurant that just opened in the Royal Hawaiian Shopping Center. Maybe drugs are the answer. It might be the only way to cope. Anyhow, now we got Christmas and New Year’s to contend with.”

Kanahele paused for a moment.

“Listen, Jake, speaking of Christmas, I’ve been meaning to ask …that is, Maile has been wondering … how’s it going with you and that Nakamura woman. You’ve seen her a few times, right?

Higa stopped and looked down before answering as if weighing his words.

“Yes. We’ve gone out a couple of times … for dinner. I’ve actually been spending more time with Toshio. He’s a great kid … a special kid.”

Kanahele recalled the young boy and his vivid imagination from a previous case.

“I’m taking it one step at a time, Ray. It’s been a long time since I’ve dated anyone.”

Higa’s wife had left him twelve years ago, just before Kanahele had been promoted to detective and assigned as his partner. In all the time they had worked together since then, Kanahele couldn’t recall his Japanese American friend taking an active interest in a woman. The fact that the normally stoic and serious Higa had actually asked Mary Nakamura out had been a frequent topic of conversation in the Kanahele home of late.

“To be honest,” Higa went on to confide, “I’m not even sure Mary is genuinely interested in me. There are times when it seems that what she likes most is the fact that Toshi and I get along so well. I don’t blame her. The boy has never had a ‘father’ or, really, any kind of positive male role model.”

“Yeah, well, that ‘moke she had living with her … you know, that Eddie dude who disappeared … was a total loser. No doubt. But listen. I saw the way you two were looking at one another when we were interviewing her. She’s interested alright. She’s probably a little gun shy, too, know what I mean? I’ll talk to Maile. We’ll have the two of you … or the three of you, whatever you want … over sometime during the holidays, maybe. Maile will be able to tell where things stand. I guarantee. You know I’m right.

Higa smiled. “Thanks, Ray. Let me think about it before you make any plans. OK? We’ve got enough on our plates here today as it is.”

And so, the detectives were decidedly glad when Helen Asari acquiesced without further complaint and launched into her story again.

“I was just about to go to lunch … we stagger our breaks, right … when this young Asian kid, he might have been Filipino, I’m not sure, came up to my position.”

“You said he had shoulder length black hair, a blue tank top and a tattoo on his shoulder, correct?” Higa interrupted before his partner mentioned their own lack of a lunch break.

 “What did the tattoo look like again?”

“It was one of those stylized turtle ‘tats you see on t-shirts and stuff all around here, know what I mean? I think they call them tribal tattoos.”

The policemen nodded their heads. Around them, a small cadre of plainclothes and uniformed officers conducted interviews with other bank staff and two or three patrons who were unfortunate enough to have been in the building at the time of the incident.

“Anyhow, the kid was probably nineteen or so – maybe early twenties. I could tell right away that something was up.

“How so” Higa asked? His pen was poised over his battered, black Moleskine notebook.

“Well, for one thing, he was looking around like crazy. He was obviously nervous, hyped up, lolo … you know what I mean? And he kept muttering something about his girlfriend; at least I think that’s who he was talking about. I had to ask him three times what I could help him with. Next thing you know, he starts waving a gun at me.”

“Did you trigger a silent alarm?” Kanahele inquired. “I mean, you must have a panic button.”

Helen Asari looked down. Her pretty face flushed red.

“Listen, detectives. I just started working at this branch. It’s only been a week. I was transferred over here from Kahala. You might find this hard to believe, but I haven’t been over this way for ten years or more. We avoid Waikiki. Last time I was here, my husband and I ate at the old Planet Hollywood right next door.”

Kanahele nodded his head.

“I remember that place. It closed, when? Maybe 2010 or so? Right where Longs is now.”

Higa looked at his longtime friend as if to say, “enough.”

“Sorry, Jake.”

Higa shook his head and smiled. The slender man turned back to the frazzled bank teller.

“Mrs. Asari, the trip down memory lane notwithstanding, I’m not sure I follow. What does that have to do with the alarm?”

“Well, in Kahala, the alarm is on the floor. You had to activate it with your foot. Kind of like the high beams on cars back in the day. Here the thing’s on the inside of the counter, under the lip. And it has a cover you have to pop off before you can push it. That’s supposed to prevent anyone hitting the thing by accident. The only thing on the floor was the bag that had my lunch.”

Higa and Kanahele waited for Asari to continue.

“The thing is,” the young woman stammered, “I was so nervous, I mean, the guy was waving a gun in my face, I only thought of the alarm as he started to walk away. Even then, well, I started searching for the thing on the floor with my foot. It took me a few seconds to remember that, here, the alarm’s under the counter. I think he was already out the door before I tripped it. We have drills, but I was shaking. I could hardly think. Will I get into trouble because …?”

“No worries,” Kanahele assured the now sobbing woman. All things considered, you did great. We’ll make sure to talk to your manager, if the alarm issue even comes up, OK?”

An EMT vehicle passed outside on Kalakaua Avenue; probably called to assist someone stung by a box jellyfish or tossed off a surfboard and onto the rocks.

 Higa used the interruption of the down-Doppler strain of the siren to refocus the conversation.

 “Let’s go back to the point where he pulled the gun. What happened next?”

“The kid shoved a paper bag at me, you know, one of those small, brown sandwich bags. He said, ‘fill it’ and started looked around like crazy again. I was so flustered I didn’t know what to do first. Anyhow, I dropped it. I mean, my hands were shaking. I felt like I was going to pass out.”

“What did the kid do?” Kanahele interjected.

“Nothing,” Helen Asari almost smiled. “He was nervous too. I don’t even think he noticed.”

“And that’s when, you know …” Higa prompted.

“Yeah. I guess if I had realized what a chance I was taking I never would have done it. It was like I was in a trance. I did it without really thinking about it.”

“Maybe your training kicked in after all.” Kanahele smiled.

“Sure. The thing is the kid never looked. He just took it from my hands and bolted out the door. Like I said, I think that’s when I finally hit the alarm. I’m so sorry.”

“Mrs. Asari,” Higa spoke as he closed his notebook, “as my partner said, you have nothing to worry about on that score. In fact, I’m willing to bet there will be a commendation for you in all of this.”

“At this point, detectives, I’d just like my lunch back. I mean, I’ve been brown bagging it since I started working in Waikiki. The places are so crowded there’s no time and, besides, everything is so expensive here.”

& & &

“Unbelievable, Jake,” Kanahele remarked later as the two men left the Bank of Hawaii building and emerged on the street and into the bright, afternoon sunshine,

“I’ll bet that kid was pissed when he opened that bag. Instead of a sack full of money he ends up with a peanut butter and apple-banana sandwich, some yogurt and an Ito En green tea!”

Higa smiled, almost the equivalent of a laugh for him.

“Well, at least he got a healthy lunch for his efforts. And no one was hurt, that’s something. That gun worries me, though. Let’s hope we pick the kid up sooner rather than later.”

& & &

A few blocks away on the Ala Wai Esplanade, Charlie Ona sat on a bench and watched the sunlight glint off the surface of the canal. He tossed a few crumbs into the water and, almost instantaneously, a dozen or so minnows emerged from its inky depths to start a short-lived feeding frenzy.

Charlie finished his sandwich, crumbled up the brown paper bag that held it and tossed it into a green receptacle emblazoned with the state seal and motto. He wiped his hands on his jeans, put on a baseball cap and tucked in the long-sleeved T-shirt he had changed into a few moments ago.

Shit, shit, shit … he muttered to himself as he stood up. He had no idea how that woman back at the bank had tricked him like she had. Some day he’d go back and teach her a lesson. For now, though, he had more immediate problems. Like, if he didn’t score some money to give his girlfriend, she might just kick him out of her place. Then what would he do? After all, that was the only reason he put up with her raggedy ass.

The gun, Charlie thought as he started walking. I may not be cut out for armed robbery but maybe I can sell the gun …

* * * * The End * * * *
Copyright James C. Clar 2024