Mrs. Soto’s dry eyes didn’t surprise me. A husband who cheats doesn’t deserve tears. If I’d ever been married and my wife cheated, I’m not sure what I’d do. Crying would not be up there on the list.
Anela Soto left her contact information. I felt like I needed a long, cold shower. I drank a beer. I have a cooler under my desk just in case women like her walk in.
I thought about going to David Chan, letting him know about Eugene Kanai having plans to make big money when he got out of stir, how I’d met Joey Soto’s wife, and how she said Joey’d been a car thief. With Lambert Robertson being a car dealer, you could smell some connection.
But I still wanted something solid about my partner’s murder. That was the most important part of this whole deal for me. I popped another Primo, sat back, and thought about what Eugene might have known about Kama.
If Eugene’s plans had something to do with Kama, what could that mean? That Kama was in on some car scheme with Eugene and Robertson?
I opened another for the road. The phone rang. The voice was male, maybe local. Polished.
“Yeah, and you?”
“Mister Kim, I was sorry to hear about the death of your partner, Mister Kalahiki.”
“Me and him both,” I said.
“I have information about Mister Kalahiki’s death. I think it’s valuable.”
“Say, a thousand dollars?”
“Those are words I don’t know,” I said, “so I’m not able to say them. Who are you, and what makes you think I got kala to toss out the window?”
“I saw him die, Mister Kim. I know who shot him. Now don’t you think that kind of information is worth a thousand?”