The Weasel

By Peg Keeley

Part 3

There was a sudden explosion of sound through the serene little cottage as the door crashed off its hinges. Men were shouting words Danny could not understand as, still sleep dazed, he leapt to his feet, scrambling for his firearm. Just one thought pierced his confused mind. They are after Rita!

Men in black garb were leaping into the room, shouting jumbled words as Rita started screaming. Reacting on instinct, Danny grabbed the pistol with right hand, his ID in his jeans pocket with the left. The shouting and screaming escalated; there was a gunshot. Danny staggered, then fell. He felt the searing pain as the bullet grazed his left shoulder, then struck the lamp behind him, exploding the bulb and plunging the room into darkness. Instantly, five brilliant flashlight beams blazed through the night as the invaders stumbled and tripped. As Danny dropped between the couch and the coffee table, he squeezed off one shot that managed to hit one man coming through the door. The man fell back outside. Rita was still screaming. Someone found the light switch and the bright overhead light came on. The gun had fallen from Danny's right hand as he hit the floor and he now made an attempt to pick it up with his left.

One of the men kicked the coffee table violently away, shattering it to pieces, and stepped down hard on Danny's outstretched hand while kicking the gun out of reach. "Get her outside and shut her up!" The man yelled motioning to Rita who stood clad in an oversized T-shirt and cutoffs, still screaming. The man then leaned down and shoved Danny, not too gently, onto his stomach. "Move and you're dead!"

What the hell's going on here? Danny tried to see what was happening.

"What the hell's going on here?" demanded a new voice.

I know that voice. Who are these people? Danny tried to turn his head to get a view of the invaders. He thought he knew the sound. He could see corner of a black shirt. The man turned and the bold yellow letters jumped at him: DEA. "Oh, boy," he uttered.

"I told you this was a drug shake down, not a shooting gallery!" the DEA lieutenant, Carl Matthewson, was shouting at his team.

"He fired at us!" one of the officers defended them, gesturing to the officer Danny had shot who was just regaining consciousness, a bright metal circle plain dead center on his bullet-proof vest.

Carl moved to Danny's side. He noticed the blood on the shirtsleeve and tore the sleeve. "Just a graze, Williams. You'll be all right." He looked angrily back at his team. "One of you idiots call an ambulance." He looked back at Danny, but could not quite make eye contact. "Sorry about this, Williams." He picked up the ID that Danny had only half retrieved from his pocket and waved it towards the other officers. "You're all just damned lucky he's a better shot than you are."

They stared for a moment in confusion. "Then just what is this?" shouted the one who'd shot Danny. "You sent us in here. Why didn't you tell us? That's protocol."

"He wasn't allowed to," announced Wetzel stepping through the broken door.

Carl spun at the sound towards Wetzel. "You said this was a simple search and seizure!"

"And what did you tell these cowboys!" Wetzel fired back.

"I didn't expect somebody shootin' at me!" shouted the officer who'd fired. "How the hell do I explain this! All I saw was a gun, man. What would you do?!"

"Lieutenant, this is yours to explain," Wetzel said quietly and coldly. "I said a search and seizure, not gunfight at the OK Corral. Which of you jerks has the search warrant?"

They fumbled for a moment and one of them offered a folded piece of paper.

Wetzel glared at the officer like he was filth and snatched the warrant from his hand. He crossed over to Danny, bent down, and dropped the warrant on the floor beside him. "Here you go, Williams. Just to keep it all nice and legal." He pulled a pen out of his pocket and used it to lift the left T-shirt sleeve so as not to get blood on his fingers. He gave a grunt. "Flesh wound. You're fine."

Danny, still on his stomach, half-confused, half outraged, said nothing.

Wetzel turned his back, casting a glance at Matthewson. "I suppose somebody here has called for an ambulance."

It was all Matthewson could do to keep from punching him.

Wetzel flexed his jaw and observed the DEA men all standing around in apparent confusion and helplessness. "Do what you came for!" He exploded. "Search this place!"

Everyone started arguing and talking at once again that erupted into a bitter word battle about who'd fired first.

Matthewson stepped forward. "Hey! Hey! We are professionals here! We do our job clean and right and nobody gets hurt." He had meant it figuratively, but he regretted the statement immediately. The officers quieted down. "Drew, go question the girl. The rest of you--let's see what's here." He knelt down next to Danny; aware Wetzel's dark eyes were on him. "We'll get this sorted out, Danny."

"Why?" he asked, trying to regain some of his composure. "What is this?"

Carl looked away. "I wish I knew. The warrant didn't list your name, it was under a Joyce Richards."

"My last tenant."

He shrugged. "I think it was Wetzel's way to slip it past the judge for the warrant."

"Is that legal?"

Before Carl could respond, an officer appeared from the back bedroom with three small plastic pouches of white powder. Two more were found in the kitchen drawer. There were three in the car under the seat.

Wetzel turned to Matthewson in triumph. "You see!" he announced.

"What's that supposed to prove?" Carl shot back. "The girl could have brought them!"

Drew burst in the broken doorframe. "She's gone."

"Gone!" Wetzel shouted.

Drew, Carl, and Wetzel all started shouting at each other. There was a sound.

"SHUT UP!" Wetzel roared and it came again.

The phone rang. The faint sound of a siren approaching could be heard. The phone rang again. Wetzel cursed and stepped over Danny to get the phone. "Hello."

On the other end, Kono stood by the light of the public phone, the receiver in hand. Who's on Danno's phone? He hesitated. What do I do? "Who is this?"

"Who's this?" Wetzel demanded back.

In the flash of an instant, Kono wrestled with his options. "Wrong number." He hung up. He stood in the fluorescent light hand on the receiver, knowing he could not have dialed the wrong number. What's going on? I'll call Steve. He began to lift the receiver when he heard someone clear his throat.

"Got a girl friend, Big Joe?"

He turned to face Ak and Cal, flanked on either side by armed men, weapons pointed towards Kono.

"Or sound I say Kono Kalakuana of Five-0," Cal completed.

He frowned.

"Hey, we bad guys have to have our eyes and ears open, too, you know. Can't be too careful now a days." Cal motioned him away from the phone and he obeyed. "Bring him."

The armed men directed Kono through the cargo yard out towards the truck pen. As they walked, Cal muttered to Ak. "You are just damned lucky we found him when we did. You were supposed to keep him away. I'd love to let you fall for this, but I can't find a way that doesn't lead back to me," he hissed. "And if that actually happened, Bedson would have my head, too."

Ak did not respond. He was sufficiently terrified at their near discovery. And now he was willing to do anything.

Kono stopped before the pickup truck they motioned to. He had no choice but to allow them to tie his hands. The hemp rope cut into his flesh as one of the men squeezed the rope tight with all his might. "You can't kill me," Kono found the voice to say. "You'll get McGarrett down on you for sure."

"Kill you?" Cal laughed out right. "Oh, no, no. Mustn't do that now. Smuggling is one thing--murder another. I'm sure you would have been quick to point that out to me." He gestured to the bed of the truck. "Get him in."

That was no easy task. Kono was a large man and was beginning to realize it might be time to protest. A small struggle ensued with the two guards that quickly involved Ak as well.

Cal jammed the gun against Kono's ear. "I will shoot you if you insist," he snarled. As the action froze, one of the men called in two more helpers who had been standing by the gate of the yard. Cal opened a fifth of whisky. "Care to share a drink with me, Kalakuana?" He took a sip and wiped his mouth.

It took the strength of four men to hold Kono down as Ak began to force whisky down Kono's throat. He spat, gasped, tried to shake his head away as the alcohol stung his throat, spilled over his clothing and face and onto the bed of the truck. He began to fear he'd drown in the liquor. They're gonna make it look like I was some kind of foolish drunk who got hisself killed. The first fifth was empty, some into Kono, but most on everything else. He gulped for breath the few seconds it took to open the second bottle. Ak kicked him viciously in the groin and as Kono cried out in pain, Ak quickly poured the whisky into Kono's mouth. Kono coughed, tried to spit it back out. One of the men grabbed Kono's nose roughly pinching it off, so he had to open his mouth to breathe and when he did, they pour in more liquor.

Cal stood outside the truck chuckling. "Hey. I heard these Hawaiians can't hold their booze."

One of the men laughed. "Let's do a scientific study here to find out."

By the time they were opening the third bottle, Kono had taken enough that he was beginning to fee dizzy. He was weakening in his struggle and, as he did, they were getting more and more into him. Towards the end of the fifth bottle, he finally passed out on the wet, slippery deck of the truck.

"Finish this business," Cal ordered and turned away.

Leaving one man in the back of the truck with the unconscious Kono, Ak and another man went around and got into the front seat. They pulled away from the shipping yard headed for the rocky beach a mile awhile where the riptide was strong. It did not take them long to drive down onto the beach and back the truck up into the outgoing tide. Dropping the tailgate, the three men rolled Kono out and his body splashed into the surf, landing on his side. One pushed him over onto his face. They got back into the truck and drove away.

Two unseen heads popped up over the boulders fifty yards away on the beach. "What's going on?" whispered the girl.

"I don't know," the boy answered. "They dropped something into the water."

Their curiosity won out over their fear and, after looking around to be certain the men were gone, they hurried unknowingly to the water's edge and became heroes.


Duke was startled from a sound sleep by the phone. His first instinct was to remind himself that all his children were home and accounted for. The dispatcher's voice surprised him, for he knew it was Danny on call for the weekend. Maybe she just called me because she couldn't find the call sheet and she's got her eye on my son. But with the message about Kono, he instantly forgot to quibble about on call. He staggered out of bed, turning on the bedside light, and grabbed his directory. He did not know the number to the cottage by heart, it was unlisted, and it took him a frustrated minute to find it in his small book.

Wetzel swore as the phone rang. Does Williams get phone calls all night long? A medic was checking Williams' graze wound. Another was telling Bill Franklin, the officer who'd been saved by his vest, he needed to be checked also, and the DEA officer argued back. Wetzel answered the phone as he had earlier. "Hello."

Duke paused, puzzlement on his face. "Wetzel? Is that you?" He could hear a voice arguing about the emergency room in the background. "What the hell is going on!" He cast a quick glance at Mary, who sat up in the bed suddenly. Duke flushed crimson. He was not a man who normally cursed, especially in the presence of his wife.

Wetzel pursed his lips, knowing he had to give some kind of answer. "Not right now, Lukela."

"I haven't got the time for games here. I need to speak to Williams," Duke fired back angrily.

Matthewson glanced back at Wetzel, knowing the rogue officer was about to encounter the wrath of Five-0. This will be interesting.

Wetzel took a deep breath. "He's in my custody. I'll speak with you later." He hung up.


Kimo met McGarrett at the door to the emergency room and could tell by his superior's approach; McGarrett's rage was not well contained. "Kono's blood alcohol level was 1.5, well above toxic," Kimo offered quickly. "They've started him on dialysis, but we'll just have to wait."

"Someone with him?" Steve asked.


"What happened? Where was Danno? Kono knew he was the backup."

Kimo had already heard the strange story from Duke, but changed the subject. "The two kids who saved Kono are in the squad car outside."

Steve allowed it to happen. Yes, I really do need to talk with them, find out what they know, and tell them how grateful we are.

The teenagers were huddled together, wrapped up in beach towels, and frightened half out of their wits. Courageously, the boy leaned forward, protective of his partner.

Steve appreciated the action. "What were you doing down on the beach?"

"Camping out," he replied.

Steve noticed the color of her cheeks flush.

"Your parents know where you are?" Steve asked, remembering to sound gentle.

"Hey, man. We didn't do anything wrong," the boy replied defensively.

Steve forced a kind smile he did not feel. "You two witnessed an attempted murder on an undercover officer."

Their eyes were growing wide and round.

"I cannot emphasize enough how important anything you can recall might be. And I want to assure you that you are not in trouble--at least with me. If the people who tried to kill Officer Halahauna learn about you, it could be very dangerous for you. We need to get you protected and we need to speak with your parents."

"My mother will kill me," the girl whimpered.

Strange way to put it. "The more you tell us, the sooner we can get these guys and you can be safe again." He was working hard at being friendly. "I'm going to have you answer some questions for us at the police department where we can tape your responses. You are not in any kind of trouble, but anything you can recall will help us. Do you understand?"

They nodded in unison.

Steve glanced at the officer. "Take them downtown. Get them some breakfast, call their parents, and get a transcriber." He stepped away from the car and the driver started the engine. As he looked up, his gaze fell on his Lincoln--and the man dressed in a black jumpsuit leaning, arms crossed, on the left front fender. Maintaining his attention on the car, he commented to Kimo: "See what they can tell you. Can forensics get some tire casts from the beach?"

"Yeah, they already got three good ones," Kimo replied, also seeing the man McGarrett was watching. "Isn't that Carl Matthewson?" I'd better say something quick or McGarrett will kill Matthewson.

Steve nodded. "What does he want this time of the morning?"

Kimo took a quick breath. "When Duke called Danny's cottage, Wetzel answered the phone."

"What?" Steve gave him his full attention. "What was he doing there?"

Kimo looked away. "He just said he had Danny in custody."

"How could that happen? You were supposed to be watching Wetzel!" Steve shouted.

Kimo was angry that Steve had jumped to the offense before hearing the facts. "Look, you'll have to find out what's going on from Wetzel."

"This happened at the same time Kono's surveillance went bad. Do you think that's just coincidence?" Steve commented firing another glare at Kimo.

"See what's going on. I don't think Wetzel is on the take," Kimo tried to calm McGarrett. "He's too good for that."

"Good? Crafty is more like it." Steve, fury obvious, fists clenched at his sides, stormed towards Matthewson in the pre-dawn light. He tried to recall all the good things Wetzel was supposed to have accomplished in other places, but just now he wondered at what cost. "What's going on, Matthewson?" he snapped upon reaching the car.

"I need to talk to you."

"What about?" Steve tried to temper the rage and give the officer a chance.

He looked uncomfortable and exchanges glances with Carew, who'd followed Steve. "Last night. Have you spoken with Oliver Wetzel?"

"Not yet." The tone conveyed the thought. But there will be no mercy on him when I do.

"Wetzel got a search warrant last night for a little cottage off Waupapau. It's owned-"

"I know who owns it." Steve snapped, not attempting to make it any easier. "If you are planning to tell me that Wetzel trumped up something to arrest Williams on, I was just headed for HPD now."

"Not just that," he said quickly. "The bust went bad."

McGarrett eyed him closely. "How bad?"

"Shots were exchanged."

He squinted in disbelief. "Oh my God."

"Look, it's going to be okay. My men were just following protocol," Carl announced defensively. "We didn't know. The warrant listed the occupant as somebody else."

"Damn your men. Is anybody hurt?" Steve demanded, his rage overwhelming his control.

"Bill Franklin is in the ER at Queens with a heart bruise or something. His vest stopped the shot." He looked away, glad it was out.

Steve stood still for a moment, trying to keep from saying something entirely inappropriate. "Who fired the shot?"

Matthewson gazed at the ground. "Williams."

"Are you trying to tell me that Dan Williams shot a DEA officer?" Steve roared in disbelief and rage.

"Well, it wasn't quite that simple," Carl responded miserably. "Williams took a graze on the arm."

Steve slammed a fist against the hood of the Lincoln. "Anything else?" he said in a threatening tone.

"That's all," Matthewson concluded meekly.

That's all? That's all! Steve paused, trying to contain his fury for the one who deserved it. Finally, he uttered much too calmly: "Where is Wetzel?"

"I-I don't know."

"All right. Find him. I don't care what you have to do, but get him over to HPD. Tell him we are going to have a little chat." He got into the car and slammed the door as Kimo scrambled into the other side. Steve burned rubber out of the parking lot. He glanced at his watch: just past 6:00 a.m. With a bit of a sadistic smile, he picked up the radio. "Central, this is McGarrett. Patch me through to the Governor's residence."

"His residence?" squeaked the young man on dispatch.

"That's right." There was a short delay. He rounded a corner, tires squealing.

"Governor's residence," came a dignified voice.

"This is McGarrett. I need to speak with the Governor."

"I shall tell him when he arises," he replied, unruffled.

"No. Now."


"Wake him up." Steve had to admit there was a bit of sadistic joy in tormenting Moyer.

"But, sir, it's Sunday." The man's tone had become down right fearful.

Steve wondered if Moyer had his office staff afraid of him like most of the rest of local government was. "I know the day of the week, now get me the Governor."

There was a long delay, greater than three minutes. Steve could envision the image of the secretary wringing his hands as he slowly made his way to the Governor's room, timidly tapped on the door, half-praying, perhaps, Moyer would remain asleep and he could tell McGarrett he had tried.

Apparently the man was not so lucky. Steve was just turning in to the parking lot at HPD when Moyer's crisp voice came on the line. "Steve, what's going on?"

If I woke him up, he'll never let me know. "That weasel, Wetzel, is what's going on."

"What?" There was a tone of mild irritation.

"Has he given you a report?" Steve knew he was not inquiring, but demanding and he didn't care.

"I haven't spoken with him since we met together that first day."

Steve did not think he would have called the earlier event a meeting, but he let it pass. He parked the car in what would be a shaded spot in an hour and turned off the engine. "Well, he sure has a lot of explaining to do now. He sent out the DEA last night. They raided Dan Williams' place. We've got an officer in Queens being treated for a gunshot wound inflicted by one of my men. Now, you brought Wetzel here. I thought you might like to be present when we discuss this."

Moyer was silent.

Deciding the right political action, no doubt, decided Steve and he missed Jamesson again.

"Yes, of course, Steve. Where shall I meet you?"

Where the hell do you think? "At HPD."

"Isn't that a bit public?"

Steve hung up afraid he might say something else. He began to open the door.

"Steve," Kimo said and McGarrett paused. "I know this looks insane, but I know that Wetzel wouldn't go off on some goose chase. He is a good cop."

"Yeah, you keep saying that. He'll get his chance. But he's wrong." He got out.

Kimo jumped out of the other side. "But you don't know that!"

The anger that had been barely in check boiled over. "I know that as well as I know myself! Dan Williams is a clean cop! As clean as they come! Whatever Wetzel did is trumped up and mostly likely illegal!"

"You aren't even going to consider he could be-" Kimo started as he chased Steve into the building.

"No, I'm not!" Steve shouted.

The officer at the city desk jumped from his seat like he'd been electrocuted. "Good morning, Mr. McGarrett. Right this way," he offered without needing instructions. As he led Steve and Kimo towards the second floor conference room, he murmured, "I thought you'd like to know that Bill Franklin is okay. They just released him."

"Thank you," Steve replied, civilly. How do I ever explain this kind of a near tragedy? I don't have to, Wetzel does. That's what comes from bending the rules. He stepped through the door of the conference room and beheld Danny sitting at the table, staring at a cup of coffee. "You okay?" Steve asked.

He nodded, but he looked terrible. Steve knew it had nothing to do with the bandaged graze wound on his upper left arm. "Unbelievable," Danny uttered.

Steve spent a long moment calming his anger enough to think. He sat down across from Danny and an officer hurriedly presented Steve with a steaming cup of fresh coffee. He sniffed the steam, then sighed and shook his head. "Tell me what happened from the top."

Kimo leaned against the wall, not really feeling a part of the exchange. I am never part of this. It's not just professional, or even friends; it's like a blood bond. I will never be part of this team, not really. And for a fraction of a moment, he was filled with jealousy and hoped Wetzel was right.

Danny leaned back in the wood straight back chair, never lifting his eyes from the table. "I don't know. One minute I'm asleep on the couch, the next people are bursting down the door yelling and shooting."

"Who fired first?"

"They did." Now he did look up, and met Steve's eyes. "I had my gun, but I was trying to get to my ID."

"The DEA is going to claim they fired in self-defense. What else?"

"They came looking for drugs--like they already knew they were there. They turned up some packets of white powder--I guess they're going to claim it's cocaine. I'd never seen it before."

"They test it?"

"Not while I was there. It was a setup. Had to be." As Danny retold the events, his anger started to grow. "It's that Wetzel. Sensationalism."

Kimo silently crossed his arms. Well, Williams has that one wrong. Wetzel likes to be stealth. Silent in and out. No press, no fuss, usually makes sure some local gets the public credit for his work. So who was supposed to get the credit this time? Carl Matthewson? And Wetzel did not plant the drugs, so how did they get there? He carefully scrutinized Danny's behavior. He's hiding something.

"I've got Carl Matthewson looking for Wetzel now. We are going to sort this out," Steve promised Danny.

"I want to be there."

"Fine. We can do this here."

"I don't mind telling him what I think." The color was rising in Danny's face. "That damned Cherokee is framing me and nearly got me killed! I damn near killed somebody else! I want to hear why!"

Kimo rubbed his chin. No sleep, unshaven, we all look a bit scruffy right now and no one is thinking very clearly. He wished he could speak to McGarrett alone and get him to see reason. He waited several minutes, then finally cleared his throat. "Um, Steve, I'm gonna, um, get a cup of coffee. Keep me company?"

Neither man moved from the table. Kimo decided that if looks could kill, he'd be pushing up daisies.

"You can say whatever you want to both of us," McGarrett said flatly.

Kimo was apprehensive. "I know we don't always get along," he said to Danny, feeling like he as suddenly all thumbs. "Well, I know you think that Wetzel is a jerk, but I'm gonna tell you, he didn't plant that stuff. He's not a sensationalist. Whatever went wrong, however drugs ended up in your house, he did not bring them. And if he thought there was a good reason to raid the place--well there was."

They were both silent.

"You need to hear the guy out."

"It's all a lie," Danny declared. "No matter what he says, it's wrong."

"It's bad enough he was permitted to come here, bad enough there are no restraints on him, bad enough he can use that unlimited power to mobilize DEA, but now he attacks Five-0 itself with no grounds!" Steve exploded.

"So that's what it's all about!" Carew yelled back. "Because he slapped the perfect Five-0?! Then maybe it's just as well that somebody decided we weren't God incarnate around here."

There was a timid rap at the door and an officer stuck his head in. "Steve--out here."

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