Free Restless Waters by Jessica Speart Page A

that some mainland dealer was in cahoots with a couple of locals here on the island. I had to admit, it was a clever plan to save big bucks. Captive breeding could be an expensive and frustrating experience, with possibly little to show for it. This way, freight was the major cost.
    “It makes no difference to me whether you’re the one that’s bringing the reptiles in, or shipping them out,” I informed him. “I guess that also means you haven’t yet heard about the new state law that was passed.”
    Dwayne warily looked at me.
    “Legislators have made breeding and trafficking in reptiles a federal offense. That means prison time in the state of Hawaii.”
    Dwayne’s legs began to buckle under my little white lie. I roughly jerked him back up.
    “Face it. Your friends set you up to take the rap and be their patsy. They must be real good buddies of yours, huh? After all, you’re the schmuck who’s out here at night doing all the legwork, dodging property owner’s potshots, and taking the risk of getting caught. It’s a pretty sweet deal from their angle. They make the big bucks and you do the time. In a sense, you’re pretty much their little slave boy,” I needled, hoping to soften him up. “It’s good for you that I understand how these things work. Who knows? Maybe I can arrange it so that you don’t end up in too much trouble.”
    “Oh yeah? And how would you do that?” he asked, his voice suddenly sounding a good octave higher.
    “Well, there’s no getting around the fact that somebody will be going to prison. But it doesn’t necessarily have to be you. Do you follow?” I questioned, keeping my tone nonchalant.
    I could feel Dwayne’s legs quiver like two jelly rolls as I continued to hold him up.
    “I think I need a beer,” he weakly suggested.
    “You’ve got to be kidding,” I responded, with a laugh. “What do you expect me to do? Take you to a bar?”
    “There’s a six-pack in that sack over there,” Dwayne said, nodding toward a paper bag that I hadn’t noticed before.
    I took no chances, but pulled out my handcuffs and manacled my new best friend to a tree branch.
    “I bet you have some fun with these things, huh?” he feebly joked.
    But I could tell he was beginning to fold.
    “Yeah. In fact, I’m having fun with them right now.”
    Then walking over, I picked up the bag, and pulled out a carton of Tsing Tao beer. A fancy red ribbon was attached to its handle, along with a handwritten note.
    Lau, We miss you. Here’s a little something for you to enjoy in the afterlife. Much love, your Ginger.
    What a guy, what a guy. The creep had obviously stolen the six-pack from off of some poor man’s grave in a Chinese cemetery.
    I handed him a warm bottle and he pried the cap off, using his gold front tooth as an opener. Dwayne wasted no time but downed half of the beer in a single slug.
    “You know what would hit the spot with this? How about some moo shu pork and a couple of eggrolls?” he bantered, apparently feeling much better.
    “I have another idea. Let’s cut the crap and get down to business,” I proposed, as he lifted the bottle and took another gulp. A trickle of beer ran down his chin and onto his throat. “Why don’t you tell me who’s running this operation?”
    “Yeah, right,” Dwayne said with a snort, sending a stream of liquid shooting out his nose. “One lousy brewski and you expect me to get on my back and spread my legs like some kind of whore? What do you think I am? Stupid or something?”
    “As a matter of fact, yes,” I said, unable to get the image of Dwayne on his back out of my head. “Tell me this. What are you being paid for your efforts? It’s obviously not enough. For chrissakes, you can’t even afford to buy your own beer.”
    Dwayne dropped the empty bottle on the ground and let loose a burp. “Bullshit. It just so happens I make out pretty damn good. Not only that, but I also work on my own schedule. How many people do you know who