CHAPTER 39

We knew where Lok Sun was, but getting to him was another story, Scott Damiano or not. So I hired a set of eyes to watch the Chinatown brothel and decided to approach this from the other side, by finding the pimp Gavin Dengler. Finding Dengler would put us one step closer to discovering who paid Oksana Sutin to have an affair with Wade Omphrey, Hawaii’s own unwitting Client Number 9. And discovering who paid Oksana Sutin to sleep with the governor might just lead us to the party who paid Lok Sun to murder Oksana Sutin. My best guess was that they were one and the same.

The easiest way to locate Gavin Dengler, I figured, was to question one of his johns. The only john we knew by name was Yoshimitsu Nakagawa, the billionaire from Japan. Only I didn’t want to deal with Nakagawa’s bodyguards again—at least not while they were armed. So we’d have to catch Nakagawa somewhere men with guns presumably weren’t allowed. Somewhere Nakagawa would be hesitant to cause a scene. I decided we’d drop in on his next business meeting.

Armed with subpoenas and my translator Hoshi, I parked the Jeep at Ala Moana Center and walked across the street to one of Honolulu’s most recognized business locations, a seventeen-story work of art in the Kapiolani Corridor.

Getting past security proved a hell of a lot easier than anticipated. A quick, innocuous fib about a meeting with a patent lawyer whose name I snatched from the building directory, and Hoshi and I were given visitor passes and a code to reach the top floor. Try that in New York these days and you could very well walk out of a building in handcuffs.

When we reached the top floor and exited the elevator, we walked to the end of the hall, where we could see into a mammoth conference room. I recognized Nakagawa right away. He was standing before a group of Japanese businessmen, presumably giving a presentation.

“Perfect timing,” I said, pulling an envelope from my inside suit jacket. “Hoshi, you wait here. I’ll be out in ninety seconds.”

I marched toward the conference room and swung open the glass door, prompting every man in the room to cast his eyes on me.

“Pardon me for the intrusion,” I said. “Mr. Nakagawa, I need to have a word with you.”

Nakagawa seemed to recognize me, too. He turned to his colleagues and said something in Japanese, then followed me back to the door, eyeing the envelope in my hand the entire time.

“What is the meaning of this?” he said in perfect English as soon as we entered the hall.

I waved Hoshi away. Turned out, I wouldn’t need a translator after all.

“My name is Kevin Corvelli, and I’m a lawyer. I have a few quick questions for you and then you can return to your meeting.”

“Forget it,” he said harshly. “Leave now before I have you thrown from the building.”

I held up the envelope. “This is a subpoena. You can answer my questions here or I can haul your ass into federal court. It’s your decision.”

He smirked. “I would like to see you try, Mr. Corvelli. I retain an army of lawyers who will have your subpoenas quashed faster than you can have them signed. Now, if you will excuse me, I have important business to attend to.”

He started back toward the conference room.

“More important than your wife and six children back in Japan?” I called out to him.

Nakagawa immediately stopped and turned to me. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Corvelli?”

“That all depends on how much you value your family, your name, and your reputation, Mr. Nakagawa.”

Nakagawa moved toward me, a fresh fire in his eyes.

“On the positive side,” I said, “I’m sure your twenty-four thousand convenience stores will sell a hell of a lot of newspapers when your face graces the front page above the fold, along with a provocative headline linking you to an international sex scandal.”

“Do you know what billions of dollars could do to a man like you, Mr. Corvelli?”

I shrugged. “It could just about pay off my student loans.”

“Go ahead. Make light. You have no idea who you are fucking with. But by all means, give it your best shot. Risk your life. Make your accusations. It will still be my word against yours.”

“Not quite. It will be your word against mine—and the photos.”

I could hear Nakagawa grinding his teeth as he surveyed my face to determine whether I was bluffing.

“Surely, Mr. Nakagawa, you don’t think my friend and I were on your property just to examine your yellow hibiscus bushes. Though they were quite beautiful, they weren’t nearly as intriguing as the specimens inside your house—specifically, the white flowers with the long stems.”

The billionaire stood silent for a long while.

“If you’d care to see the photos, I could send them to my friend at the Star-Advertiser. I’m sure you’ll find captioned copies on your front doorstep first thing in the morning.”

“Enough,” he said abruptly. “What do you want to know about?”

“The girls.”

“They are not mine,” he said flatly. “I rent them out.”

“I figured as much. What I want to know is who you rent them out from.”

Nakagawa scanned the hall. “I make a phone call.”

“To whom?”

“A man with a German-Austrian accent.”

“Gavin Dengler,” I said.

Nakagawa nodded.

“Where does he live?”

He shook his head. “That, Mr. Corvelli, I do not know.”

“Give me the phone number.”

Nakagawa unbuttoned and then reached into his suit jacket and pulled out an elaborate handheld device. His thumbs flew over the device like a child playing a video game. When he was finished, he showed me the screen.

I took the number down on the envelope.

“I can order a girl direct from Dengler by calling this number?”

“You need a code,” he said, growing frustrated. “And a referral.”

“You’re my referral. Unless you want to do this in court. Now, what’s the code?”

“He will ask for a number, a letter, and a name. The number is ten. The letter is O. And the name is Sam.”

I took it down: 10. O. Sam. “How much do these ladies run?”

Nakagawa looked me up and down, his thin lips curling in a sneer. “More than someone like you can afford.”