Sunday morning I slept late, made raspberry chocolate chip pancakes, and tried to recharge my batteries for the week ahead. Late in the afternoon, Aunt Mei-Mei called to give me Norma Ching’s address and phone number.
“She no happy,” Aunt Mei-Mei said. “Norma. I no talk to her myself, you know, not since very long time. But my friend say Norma mad about something.”
That was good, I thought. Angry people often made the best sources of information, because they had scores to settle.
“Thanks, Aunt Mei-Mei. You doing okay?”
“Ai ya, very busy. Jimmy and his friends come again tonight. Lot of food to cook!”
“You’re not running a restaurant there, Auntie. Don’t you let Jimmy take advantage of you.”
She laughed and her voice sounded like a young woman’s. “Jimmy nice boy.”
I called Ray and told him that I had an address for Norma Ching-but that my truck was in the shop. “I’ll drive Julie up to UH first thing tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll swing past your place, pick you up, and we’ll go see this woman.”
An hour later, I got a text message on my cell phone. Thinking it was from Mike, I bounded over to the phone. Instead, though, it was from a number I didn’t recognize. It read “Know u from house in Black Pt. Need ur help. Meet me?”
Alarm bells started to go off in my head. When I’d been at my lowest, emotionally, I’d met a man I only knew as Mr. Hu. He owned a house in Black Point, a very fancy neighborhood just outside Waikiki where I’d gone many times. He had arranged various sexual escapades for me, sometimes with him, but sometimes with other guys. If this guy had met me through Mr. Hu, was he trying to hold that over me? Or had he been on the same kind of desperate dive I’d been on, and gotten himself into deeper trouble?
I texted back, asking him who he was and what he wanted. He didn’t want to tell me, though, and for a minute I wondered if he was just being coy about a hookup. I didn’t want to mess around with a casual trick, though, because my head was so caught up in considering getting back together with Mike.
But after a couple of messages back and forth it seemed that he needed police help rather than a quick blow job, and I agreed to meet him at the Kope Bean at the Royal Hawaiian shopping center, which was only a few blocks from my apartment. He assured me that I’d recognize him.
I’d just gotten myself a raspberry mocha when a guy behind me said, “I’m glad you came.” I turned around and recognized him. He was a middle-aged guy, part Japanese and part haole, wearing expensive jeans and a silk aloha shirt. Oh, and a wedding ring.
We’d had sex once, though I couldn’t remember his name, if I’d ever known it. Just like the law student. How many nameless men had I slept with? The thought creeped me out. “Can we walk?” he asked.
“Sure.” I put a sleeve over my coffee cup and we went outside. The shopping center was busy with well-heeled tourists clustering under the palm trees, gazing in the windows of the fancy stores, and toting lots of shopping bags with marquee names.
The guy steered us toward the grounds of the hotel, where we could have privacy. “Do you remember me?” he asked.
“I do. But I’m in a different place now than I was. I’m not looking to hook up with anybody.”
“That’s not why I need to talk to you,” he said. “I know you’re a detective, and I might need help from the police. But if I tell you something in confidence, will you promise not to tell anyone else?”
I stopped him. “Look, it doesn’t work that way. If you need a cop, then I’ll do what I can to help you. But I can’t make any promises until I know what’s going on.”
There was a look of pure anguish on his face, which was eventually replaced with one of resignation. “I guess I don’t have much choice.”
We found a bench in the shade of a couple of palm trees and sat down. “Let’s start from the beginning,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your name.”
“Brian.”
So, no last name. “And what’s up, Brian? I assume from that ring on your finger you’re married. Is some guy you slept with threatening to tell your wife?”
He nodded. “Not just that. My boss, too.”
“Blackmail? They ask you for money?”
He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, opened it, and handed me a sheet of paper. At the top of the page was a color picture of Brian, naked, with his legs up over his shoulders. A naked man was plowing his butt.
Below the picture were the words “There’s video, too. If you don’t want the world to see it, transfer $50,000 to this account.” Below it was an account number, at a Singapore bank.
My mind was running a mile a minute. From Brian’s dress and manner, I had the feeling he had the money-and whoever was blackmailing him knew that. I recognized the setting; it was the master bedroom at Mr. Hu’s mansion in Black Point. And the naked back? That was mine. I wasn’t sure Brian knew that, though.
I blew a big breath out through my lips. “When did you get this?”
“Friday morning. It was delivered to my office by messenger.”
“Have you had any other contact with whoever sent it?” He shook his head. “How about the police? You report this to anyone?”
Again he shook his head. “I couldn’t. But I recognized you, the time we got together, and I knew you were a cop. I was hoping I could trust you.”
“Did you think I got one of these, too?”
He looked at me strangely. “You think they would send a copy to the police?”
“Not the police. Me, personally.”
I could see his eyes widen as the wheels turned. “That’s you?” he asked.
“You didn’t know?”
He shrugged. “You weren’t the only guy Mr. Hu fixed me up with.”
I didn’t know what to do. It should have been a no-brainer. Take the guy into Vice, show them the note, have them decide how to proceed. But would anyone else recognize me? Would the whole squad, and then the whole department, know that I’d been caught on video, banging the shit out of a random middle-aged stranger?
I slumped back against the bench. “I need to think about this for a minute.” It took a while, but my brain finally engaged.
The first thing was to see if I could be easily recognized. I called Gunter, who was close at hand, enjoying a post-coital mimosa at the Rod and Reel Club with his latest overnight guest.
Assuming I wasn’t recognizable, I could present the evidence to Vice on Monday morning. Since I came out, I’ve been the department’s go-to guy when gay men and lesbians are involved in crimes, usually as victims, though occasionally as perpetrators as well. I’d given a couple of talks about domestic violence in same-sex households, and I’d helped out a couple of prominent johns who’d been picked up in prostitution sweeps and didn’t want the world to know they’d been picking up guys, or guys dressed as women.
So it was reasonable that Brian could contact me, even if he didn’t know me personally, for help navigating his situation. If Gunter recognized my naked back and butt, though, and felt that the rest of the department might, too, I’d have to reconsider my story.
While we waited for Gunter to extricate himself from the bar, I said, “These guys don’t look like the most sophisticated blackmailers.” Brian looked interested.
“How can you tell?”
“Well, there’s no deadline. No ‘send us the money by Tuesday morning or else.’ And maybe they score a couple of points by delivering to your office-but there’s no guarantee you’ve seen this. It could be sitting on your secretary’s desk.”
“But if I don’t respond…”
“We’ll get to that. Plus, these aren’t anonymous photos. There’s a connection to Mr. Hu and to the place where the video they clipped this still from was taken.”
Brian didn’t look particularly reassured, and then I spotted Gunter. “I need to show my friend the picture.”
“He’ll recognize me,” Brian said.
“You slept with him, too?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want anyone to see that picture.”
“No way around it. But you can trust Gunter.” I waved him over, and pointedly didn’t introduce Brian. “Recognize the guy?” I asked.
He looked from the picture to Brian. “Is this a trick question?”
“Not him, dimwit. The other guy.”
“The top? Cute.” He peered at the picture, then shrugged. “You’d think with my wide experience of the homosexual population of Honolulu, I might, but I don’t.”
I gave out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, brah. That’s what I needed to know.”
“This the guy wanting the money?” he asked, pointing at my naked back.
I shook my head. “I get paid enough by the City and County of Honolulu,” I said. “I don’t need to extort money from tricks.”
Brian didn’t particularly like being called a trick. Gunter whistled. “That’s you?” He took a closer look at the picture. “You’ve got a mole on your left shoulder,” he said. He pointed to the picture. “It’s fuzzy, like they weren’t focusing on you. I suppose if you know what to look for you can see it.”
Gunter left a few minutes later and I laid out the plan for Brian. “I’m going to talk to the lieutenant in Vice tomorrow morning. I’ll show him the note and see what he wants to do. How can I reach you?”
“Will you have to give him my name?”
I nodded. “But they’ll be discreet. You’re the victim here.”
“But what about testifying? I’ll lose everything if this gets out.”
“Let’s work one step at a time, okay?” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’ll do whatever I can to take care of you.”
Finally, he opened his wallet and pulled out a business card. “You have my cell number,” he said. “Text messages are best.”
His full name was Brian Izumigawa, and he was an executive vice president at one of the bigger banks in the islands. “Let me know if you hear anything more from these guys,” I said.
He was reluctant to leave, as if just staying around me would make his problems go away, but finally I reassured him enough. I wished I felt as good as I pretended; I was still worried that someone in the police department would recognize me, or that Lieutenant Kee in Vice would insist on knowing the identity of the guy with his back to the camera.
And if my name didn’t come out that way, would the investigation lead to Mr. Hu? Would he have a little black book of men? If he did, my name was sure to be there-perhaps with annotations as to my experience and tastes.
That was something I didn’t want in the police department rumor mill.