four

I now had three options. To scream for help, try to make a run for it or cooperate and tell him everything.

Actually, I didn't think anyone would hear me, and as I said, he was between the door and me and I knew there was only one other choice.

So, I just sat there.

Richie took his hand off my wrist and sighed. "I'm not trying to scare you, Dani. I just want to know what you told him. And yes, I do realize that his lights are on but no one's home."

"Then why would you believe what he said to you?"

"I already told you, he said things that only Jon and I know about."

"Like what, for instance?"

He eyed me warily and sat back in his chair sipping on his Coke. "I think those things are between Jon and me."

"And Weird Fred." I couldn't help it.

Leaning forward again, he threatened, "you know, I could take this up with your GM if you're going to be uncooperative, Dani."

I debated over whether playing dumb was an option. He wasn't buying it. I decided to test my menacing glare once again.

His head dropped back as he let out a laugh. In fact, he was laughing so hard, he started crying.
Maybe now was my chance to escape. I looked toward the exit door.

"Don't even think about it."

Defeated, I realized there was only one thing I could do. I lied.

"I didn't say a thing to him, Richie. He's crazy. Everybody knows that. Besides, I think Fred has had a crush on me for a while, now. He'd do or say anything to get my attention."

He was staring at me with his arms folded and a big grin across his face. He believed me.

"You're adorable when you're lying, you know that?"

"Look, Richie. What do you want me to say? That he was bugging the crap out of me about some stupid conspiracy theory so I just made up some stuff about you and Jon just to get him off my back?"

"That's a start."

"Okay, then. That's what happened."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why did you make up stuff about us? I mean, what would make you think about us of all people to weave your crazy story about?"

I couldn't very well tell him the truth. Not when he is sitting right in front of me like this. It's just that the other week, Jackie had started her incessant gushing on about Bon Jovi and it irritated me to no end.

Okay, Jackie irritated me to no end. She was a stupid pompous know-it-all who knew nothing. Daily she would try to exert her 'authority' over me, ordering me to do her ridiculous biddings. She belittled me every chance she could and I finally exploded and told her to mind her own business and that I do not work under her.

Then, they promoted her as director over me.

I just had to retaliate, of course. And I did it the only way I knew how. I told her that Jon and Richie were old friends of mine. That shut her up. That is until she realized that I could be lying.


"You're so full of it, you know that, Dani?" she sneered. "I bet you think you know them just because you sat in the front row at one of their concerts and one of them just happened to look at you."

I hate it when she's right. But this time she was wrong. I never even went to their concert.


We were standing in line at the Mocha Latter when Jackie decided to rub more salt into my wounds.

"Hey, Fred! Dani here says she's friends with Jon Bon Jovi. You believe that?"

"Why of course, I do. She had shown me photos of her with him and several other evidences."

Good old Fred. He can sound so lucid sometimes. Usually right before launching into some spiel about seeing Milli Vanilli flying by in a UFO.




"Dani?"

"What?"

"You didn't answer my question. Why us?"

"Well, uh, you were the first things that came to my mind."

"Oh, really? And why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know, Richie. Why don't you believe me?"

"Because, Weird Fred said that you were the one who told him about the contract."

three

Maybe if I ignored him, he would just go away. Of course, that might work if he wasn't riding in my car. As it was, the only other option I had would be for me to ditch him along the Ala Wai canal.

This was definitely going as bad as I imagined it would. I contemplated making up a story about Dani disappearing, perhaps under the witness protection program, but I was having a hard time thinking with him staring a hole through me.

"You're Dani, aren't you?"

Taking my silence as a 'yes', he continued, "why did you tell Weird Fred that Jon and I were involved in a kidnap and murder case?"

I glared at him, daring him to continue accusing me of something I may or may not have done. I could tell that he was intimidated. That'll teach him.

"I asked you a question, Dani, and I expect an explanation."

I'll have to work on my glare. "I don't know what Fred told you, Mr. Sambora, but how can you believe anything that man said? His name alone should give you some clue. Next time you see him, he'll be ranting about Martians invading the earth."

"Richie."

"What?"

"I asked you to call me Richie."

"Yeah, okay, whatever. Anyway, why would you believe him?"

"Because he told me things that only Jon and I would know."

"Well, I don't know anything about that...Richie." He was making me uncomfortable. Rock star or not, I wanted to just drop him off at his hotel and be done with it. "So, you're staying at the Hyatt, right?" I asked while making the turn towards the twin towers.

He eyed me warily, even turning a bit sideways so he could face me. "I would like you to come up to my room with me."

I slammed on the brakes, nearly going through a red light. That request had caught me totally off guard and I gaped at him. I sputtered, "excu...excuse me?"

Chuckling while shaking his head, he practically sneered at me. "You don't actually think I'm going to try and make a move on you, do you?"

Prig! How dare he suggest that? That is exactly what I thought.

"Of course not, why would it even cross my mind?"

"Then you have no problem with it."

"Why don't we find a coffee shop or something?" I could sense an evil plot being planted in his mind. Best to find a public place.

"Like where?" he snorted, "the Mocha Latte?"

He had a point there. Out of the dozens of Starbucks situated all over Waikiki, not one boasted a parking lot.

I pulled into the porte cochere of the Hyatt Regency Waikiki and turned off the engine. The doorman ambled over to my 1995 Toyota. I swear he had a look of disdain that a car of this caliber would dare to grace his front entrance. Opening the passenger door, he looked up in surprise as Richie got out.

The valet guy came sprinting over, "hey, Dani."

I proceeded to instruct him on how to start my car when he interrupted me, "yeah, yeah, I know, Dani. Hit the sweet spot, jiggle it twice and call it a sonofabitch." He remembered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a slow smirk starting on Richie's lips. Pushing past him, I started walking towards the escalators that led to the lobby level and around to the elevators to the rooms.

I was surprised when he pushed his key card in and hit the button for the thirty ninth floor. "You're not staying in the Ambassador Suite?"

"What for? It's just me."

The modesty. Still, he was staying in the Regency Club.

"More privacy," he explained as if he was able to read my mind.

We walked into the spacious ocean front suite and he immediately went to open the heavy drapes. Sunlight flooded in, basking the room in a warm glow. He then opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the lanai. "Come on out here. The view is spectacular."

"I know what Waikiki looks like, Richie. I live here."

"But I bet you haven't seen it like this. Come here."

"Actually, I have. I've seen most of the rooms in these hotels, it's my job," I informed him. When he crossed his arms and looked at me with a determination, I walked slowly to the doors and peered from the safety of the room.

"You're afraid of heights, aren't you? Come on, I'll keep you safe."

It wasn't that I was afraid of heights. It was that I was afraid of my moments of lapsed sanity where I would wonder what would happen if I jumped. "No, thanks. I can see the view just as well from here."

He raised an eyebrow at me, then laughed. It was an evil laugh, but I think I thwarted his attempts to push me over the railing. For now.

Walking back in, he headed for the mini bar. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Yeah, a soda, please." I was done with coffee for a while.

Setting our drinks down on the coffee table, he motioned for me to sit down. I did and had to restrain myself from moving to another chair when he sat right next to me. He slowly sipped his Coke, not saying a word but all the time watching me. The silence was deafening and I considered bolting from the room. The only trouble was, was that he was sitting between me and the door.

Finally he put his glass down, leaned towards me and grabbed me by the wrist.

"Now, you're going to tell me why you think that Jon and I murdered someone."

two

Oh, goody.

I get to go pick up some burned out rock star from prison.

"Police station," my boss emphasized. "We do not know if he's guilty of anything, or why he's there. And don't forget, he's one of our VIPs."

"Then can I use your Mercedes to go get his royal highness?"

I should have known better than to ask a question like that. Well, to ask it in that manner. Brighter people would have used logic and psychology to get what they wanted. I, on the other hand, chose to, well...not.

My Toyota is a finicky little thing and I take pride in the fact that only I know how to start it. You just have to get the key in the ignition at a certain sweet spot and jiggle it twice, then gun the accelerator simultaneously while starting it. I'm not totally sure, but I also think that whispering, "you better start, you sonofabitch" in a non threatening way has a lot to with it.

It took me all of 20 minutes to drive downtown and park, as instructed, on the back side of the station. That is where the holding cells' entrance is; a nondescript, windowless door with an intercom to announce your arrival.

"I'm here to pick up Mr. Sambora." Now that's a line I'd never thought I'd use.

I heard the buzzer and pulled open the heavy steel door and let myself into a tiny room no bigger than a cell. There was an officer sitting behind a window, much like a bank teller's, only this one had steel bars instead of glass. In case I try to steal his paperwork.

After filling out a few forms and signing my life away, I was told to sit and wait while they escorted Mr. Sambora out.

I should have brought a magazine, or a book, or my tax forms for it took quite a while before he finally emerged from the back.

He thanked the officers then turned and looked at me. I was certain that I saw a hint of a smirk as he sized me up. I bet he didn't expect that they would send a woman to fetch him, much less someone from middle management. I bet he thought the company president, no, the chairman of the board would be there with an entourage and a limo to escort him back to his hotel. I bet he thought.......

"Thank you for coming to get me. Shall we go?"

Hah?

He smiled at me, although I was pretty sure it wasn't a smile of appreciation. It looked more like contempt to me.

We walked out into the bright sunlight and he immediately pulled out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. He then glanced up and down the street. I was sure he was looking for the limo or the welcome committee when he pointed to my Toyota and asked, "is this your car?"

Brilliant! Ignoring the fact that it was the only car for blocks, I nodded and dug through my purse for the keys. Once we settled in, he turned to me. "I hope I didn't inconvenience you by taking you from some important work. It's just that I need to talk with someone from your company regarding what happened."

"Well, you're just going to have to talk to our president and he's out of town till the end of the week. If you want, Mr. Sambora, I can get you in touch with our general manager." I was trying to ignore his constant stare as I fiddled with my keys in the ignition. He was making me nervous and I missed the second jiggle of the keys. Damn it! Now I have to start all over.

He seemed amused as he watched me go through my ritual. "I bet you're the only one who knows how to start your car," he smirked at me.

Shaddup.

When I glared back at him, he just shrugged and chuckled to himself. Self righteous prig. I missed my cue again. I could see the mirth starting in his eyes and I swear if he said another word about my car...

"It's not necessary that I speak to a manager. Someone in your company is responsible, at least in part, for what happened last night and that's the person I want to speak to."

"I don't know what any of our staff did or said to you, Mr. Sambora, but I don't see how we could be held responsible. We may have made the arrangements for you, but you're on your own after that. What, exactly, did happen?"

"Do you know a coffee shop called the Mocha Latte?"

"Sure. We go there almost daily."

"Good coffee?"

"No, but it's better than the office. Besides, it's on the way to work." I didn't mention that the place was rife with strange characters but he seemed to already know this.

"Do you know a guy they call Weird Fred?"

I slowed down for the red light and turned to him. Weird Fred was a fixture at the Mocha Latte. The management just lets him stick around and the regulars are used to his spaced out revelations of conspiracies and quantum physics. Outsiders, though, may find his rantings a bit unnerving.

"Yeah, I know him. What about him?"

"I was in the shop yesterday, through the recommendation of one of your staff, when he started telling me about a plot to kidnap and murder someone."

Now it was my turn to chuckle. "Don't tell me you actually believed him, Mr. Sambora. He goes on about the most outrageous stuff all the time. Why would that incident get you locked up in jail, anyway?"

"It's Richie."

"What is?"

"My name. I wish you would stop calling me Mr. Sambora, it makes me feel old."

I decided to forego making comments about spring chickens and just smiled. "Okay...Richie."

"Anyway, why would Weird Fred's rantings land you in jail? It's all nonsense, you should have just ignored him."

"Well, it's hard to do that when Jon's name as well as mine are mentioned in the same sentence as kidnap and murder."

I looked at him. Well now, this was getting rather interesting.

"Still, just because one of my staff recommended the shop, does not make us responsible."

Richie sighed. "Okay, I used the wrong word. I guess a better word would be 'involved'."

No, that actually would be a worse word.

"This Fred person told me that he got the information from one of your staff and I really would like to speak to her. Can you find her for me?"

Her? There were only a few women in our company and I began wondering which one of those hair brained bitches did something stupid.

"He said her name was Dani. Do you know who that is?"

Yeah...that would be me.

one ~ where it began...

Prologue

She had been dead exactly 3 days, 18 hours and 23 minutes. I should know, she told me. She also told me that I would be joining her soon. Then, she sneered.

Being in such close proximity to a decaying body, not by choice of course, can bring out the best hallucinations. She told me of the lonely days before my arrival. That her only companions so far had been the worms and bugs that found her to be a tasty morsel. To prove it, she let a roach escape from her mouth and crawl, perhaps, into her ear. I wouldn't know, she didn't tell me where it went.

I asked her how she came to be here, hoping for a clue as to my own predicament. She merely laughed and told me to relax, that it's not so bad, that I would soon see the humor in all of this. She also whispered in a conspiratorial way that she knew something I didn't, then she cocked her head to the side and asked how long I think it would take for me to figure it out. If ever.

That's when she told me that I looked familiar. I looked at her and realized that she, too, was someone I recognized. Of course, not in the state she was in now, but some human traits just follow you beyond the grave.

I looked down and noticed her uniform. Ah yes, now I remember! She had been my regular server at the Mocha Latte where I get my daily caffeine fix. The shop where the misfits and outcasts gather.

She was there that afternoon the cops took Weird Fred away.

*****

One

Dealing with people was not one of my strongest suits. "You're not a people person," my best friend would tell me. Not true. I love people, all kinds of people. As long as they don't talk to me.

This was a very bad trait to have when you're working in the travel industry. Tourists tend to drive you crazy. Their inane questions made me wonder how they live day to day. My sarcastic answers to such questions as, "how do I turn on the shower?" alarmed my bosses and they decided to do something about it. They promoted me to manager.

This meant I now work in the office and do not have to deal with people face to face. I can now throw my barbs out through the telephone. But only when they let me answer it. My job was, as they put it, to watch over the peons as they went about their work. I highly suspect it was because they were afraid of losing more customers.

But that day, everyone was busy when the phone rang for the fifth time. I almost rubbed my hands with glee as I reached for the handset, ignoring the panicked look on my bosses faces. They were helpless to do anything about it since they all had phones glued to their ears as they barked out orders.

"Good morning, Starlight Tours and Travel, how can I help you?"

"Is this Starlight Tours?"

"No, this is the Chinese Noodle Factory."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, this is Starlight Tours." Sigh.

"Good. This is Detective Branson of the police department. I have one of your clients here and I need someone to come and get him."

I knew it! One of our idiots finally had a breakdown from information overload.

"What did he do?"

"I am not at privilege to give out that information, Miss. He may want to tell you himself, but that is entirely up to him. I just need someone to pick him up at the main station downtown."

"Why us? Why can't he just go back to his hotel in a cab or something?" I had just gotten comfortable at my desk with my thermo cup of bad company coffee and was annoyed that someone would suggest that I move.

"Well, he could. But he specifically asked that one of you come get him. I think he feels that you, as the booking agent, is partially responsible for the incident."

This was ridiculous. How can we be held responsible? I wasn't even involved.

Sighing heavily, I pulled out my folders of clients and started flipping through them for any clue as to who the culprit might be. It was quite a busy week and we had visitors from all over, especially from foreign countries. Like California.

Goodness! There were dozens of them. It could be any one of these faceless names.

"Can you at least tell me his name?"

"His name is Richard Sambora. How soon can you come for him?"

*****