The old fishing trail was only known to those who lived in Waipio Valley.
Outsiders knew nothing about the trail, which is how the residents wanted it kept. The ancient Valley of Kings had enough trouble with tourists disrespectfully trampling through the Lo'i Kalo and the backyards of people's homes. The last thing they needed was their old fishing trails to become overrun. Everyone knew that if one was on an overnight fishing venture, one should not fall asleep on the fishing trail, lest those that march in the night trample on your sleeping form, or worse. Raymond Kiope didn't adhere much to those old wives' tales he grew up with. He longed to leave the valley and find a life other than the one he lived. There was more for him beyond the reaches of the road that led into the valley. For that reason, one night, while returning from a fishing trip that took most of the evening, Raymond was exhausted. Finding a spot on the fishing trail with a large pothole to accommodate his sleeping form, as he usually slept in a fetal position, Raymond made himself comfortable and fell into a deep slumber.For all the expensive clothing, cars, and money that Henry Parades possessed, he was nothing but a thief. An educated one, a smart one, but a thief nonetheless. He sat patiently in his 95 Impala S.S., waiting for the arrival of his package. Pūowaina Drive was not an illegal place to park in the evening. As long as one did not look suspicious, the residents did not bother calling the police.
"Just got out of baggage claim," the text came.
"I told you not to text me until you were leaving the airport," Henry returned the text.
He let out an irritated sigh before he leaned back and relaxed. Papakolea was quite a beautiful sight in the evening, with its intermittent fireworks displays shooting up from the Kalawahine homestead. The second they pinpointed the origin of the fireworks, the blue lights arrived. Then, fireworks burst into the dark atmosphere above Auwaiolimu. Another group of squad cars converged on that location. Then, more fireworks shot up from the top of Kaʻululaʻau Street. Henry couldn't help but chuckle to himself, "Eō e Papakolea,"
A pair of headlights came up the road. The rental car drove to the locked gate leading into the crater and made a U-turn. It pulled up behind Henry. He waited until the vehicle shut down, then got out of his car. He opened his trunk and motioned to the driver, who still sat in the Mustang.
"Let's go, for shit's sake!"
Nervously, the driver lumbered out of the car and pulled out three long rectangular cases from the back seat. "Here it is," the driver began. "Iʻm surprised I didnʻt have any problems."
"Did you take care of that other thing, Walter?" Henry asked.
"Yeah, but I donʻt understand why we had to do it, Henry. He was just a guy, that Raymond,"
"Why we had to do what?" Henry turned to Walter, more irritable than before.
"Why we had to kill him?"
"Who said we had to kill him?" Henry hissed.
"You did; you said if that guy Raymond didn't go for it, then I was supposed to take care of him," Walter recounted Henry's instructions with a child-like tone.
"Which meant giving him money, not killing him! That's what the twelve thousand dollars was for, to take care of him in case he changed his mind!"
"Ooooh, that's why I had all that money? Now, I know." The light came on slowly for Walter.
"Nobody saw you, right? Did you do it quickly and cleanly? No evidence that you were there?" Henry tossed his keys back and forth from one hand to the other.
"I'm so stupid, Henry, I'm sorry," Walter lamented.
"No one saw you, Walter, right?"
"No, nobody," Walter said, purposely leaving out the part where he was choking Raymond to death when a random couple hiking past the property happened upon the horrible scene. With one sickening twist, Walter snapped Raymond's vertebrae and left him dead at his feet. Then, seeing the couple see him, Walter removed his finishing weapon from a customized pocket sewn into the inner lining of his coat—a handheld steel drilling mallet. At six feet, six inches, Walter cut an intimidating figure. There was no awkward moment or hesitation. The couple, seeing the giant of a man murder someone with his bare hands, dropped their oversized backpacks and ran for their lives. Walter removed his Sig Sauer p320 from his other coat pocket and fired two shots. The first one caught the woman in the back of the knee, blowing it out entirely and sending her tumbling forward. The second shot got the man in the Achilles tendon. The result was quite a mess. Laying screaming in pain and crying for their lives, the man and woman who just that morning began bickering over whose stupid idea it was to hike in Hawai'i rather than have an actual vacation were now apologizing to one another for the situation they found themselves in.
"I love you, Matt," the woman placed her hand over her heart.
"I love you, Lisa," Matt cried. "It says a lot that you're openly accepting that this is all your fau.." He never got the last word out. The handheld steel drilling mallet crushed Matt's head so suddenly that his mind thought he'd said it was Lisa's fault. After knowing he didn't say the last word, Matt died a death deserving of his character.
At first, Lisa couldn't believe what Matt would say, that the whole thing, the whole vacation, and the situation they found themselves in was her fault. Her fault! This is from the guy who insisted that hiking the trails of Hawai'i island was the authentic way of enjoying paradise. All Lisa wanted was a romantic vacation.
"We can have romance under the stars!" Matt promised. "Butt naked and left to our desires!"
All they got was being a free meal for the mosquitoes and the fire ants. The following day, Lisa silently decided to pack her things, book the first flight back to Seattle, move back home with her parents, and file for a divorce. Presently, none of that was going to happen. All she could do was scream at Matt while Walter pounded her husband's skull into a pulpy mess. "Asshole! Fucking asshole! Kill him, whoever you are! Kill him!"
Walter stopped what he was doing and regarded Lisa with disgust. "You're a sick person, you know that?"
Figuring that she wouldn't survive for long and that no one would find her on this out-of-the-way property in Kukuihaele, Walter left her to die.
~
"Alright, alright, then, that's good." Henry grabbed the long cases and placed them in his trunk. He zipped it open quickly and pulled back the cover. One was a fish tackle box wrapped in packing tape. "Cut it open," Henry instructed. Once that was done, Henry opened the lid and pulled back the first tray filled with Tsuji, fish hooks, lures, and lead weights. There was no second tray on the bottom; something sizeable was wrapped in a large red mechanics cloth. Henry looked at Walter and nodded to the object. "Take it out and unwrap it; I wanna see it."
Walter removed the object and peeled away the sizeable red cloth. It revealed a large, thick piece of a spearhead with three barbs on either side facing down. The last two barbs are on the bottom, facing up. The wood was a deep dark brown, and its wear was apparent. It had drunk the blood of many an enemy in its time. A strange vibration was coming from it; Walter and Henry could feel the energy pulsating through them. "Henry, what is this? I mean, I know what it is, but what..?"
"This spearhead was once stuck in the guy you killed in Kukuihaele," Henry replied.
"Who would do that to someone?"
"Nightmarchers," Henry confirmed. "He was sleeping on a path leading to the beach at Waipio. The night marchers trampled on him, and one of them stuck this guy Raymond with its spear and broke it off in him, the one you're holding now."
"Henry," Walter was now very much afraid. "I don't want to hold this thing anymore! I'm scared!
"That guy Raymond had it surgically removed and then kept it as a souvenir. He'd been on the run from the night marchers ever since because he had something that was theirs; I guess he got tired of running. That spearhead has garnered a lot of offers for millions of dollars. Can you imagine?" Henry smiled. "It turns out this spear belonged to Kamehameha,"
"Please, Henry, I don't want to hold it anymore! It's giving me a bad feeling!" Walter pleaded.
"Sorry, Walter, I don't want to hold it either," Henry closed the trunk of his car and backed away. Walter kept walking toward him, pleading with him to take the spearhead. Like a blurry image from an old black-and-white T.V. show, the spirit of Kamehameha manifested in between them. Walter's face opened wide with panic, trying to scream in horror not because he was mortified but because Kamehameha's spirit took the spear from Walter and sank it into his sternum again and again. The barbs on the spearhead tore away chunks of flesh and went flying everywhere. When Kamehameha's spirit vanished, the spearhead fell to the ground. Henry retrieved it and ran to his car, sliding behind the wheel; he put it in gear and peeled off, leaving Walter's body lying in a heap.
~
The bloodied laumeki spearhead vibrated like a cell phone receiving a text. Henry covered it with the red mechanic's cloth but to no avail; it continued to buzz, moving back and forth along the passenger seat.
"Still hungry, huh?" Henry snickered. "You'll get your fill, but I get paid first,"
.....to be continued
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