The morning had grown hot, especially out in the water, in full sun. The running around. The stress of it all. He wiped his brow and continued on, deeper into the welcoming cold darkness of the abandoned shipping-and-receiving center.

When he emerged into the brightly lit hallways of the facility, the very public and very much-used hallways, he tried to regain that feeling of calm familiarity. Like he’d just been showing up for another day of work. He tried to push it out of his mind that his employers had been potentially trying to kill him.

He walked normally down a familiar route, knocked on the door, and waited to hear the voice of Kalani’s sister.

“Go ahead,” she said, the voice sounding now like an uncanny replica of Kalani’s. And when he opened the door and looked at her, Cole saw the resemblance to the Hawaiian woman’s face. She smiled at Cole. “Haven’t seen you around here in a while.”

“I was here yesterday,” Cole said.

Her left eye fluttered shut, a synapse of remembrance firing in her brain. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “With that woman . . .”

“I’m glad you can remember twenty-four hours. You know what they say about taking Mollies.”

“I don’t do that,” she said, her eye creaking again. And then a nervous laugh. “You mean, taking ecstasy?”

“Yeah,” Cole said. “Going to clubs, dancing till five in the morning.”

“In Hilo?”

“Wherever.”

“I like to dance,” she said. “So what?”

“So you ever wonder where those drugs came from?”

“No,” she said. “I know exactly where they came from.”

“You know what just came in today?”

She sighed. “Yeah. From what continent?”

“La La Land.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Where’s Captain?” he said.

“In his office.”

“Then you better hurry off while he’s still in there.”

She drew her hands away from her keyboard, but she didn’t do her customary swivel around.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said.

She chewed on her lip for a moment. “The mail room.”

“Yes,” Cole said, having no idea. “It’s in the mail room. Where else?”

“What do they have today?”

“Come on,” Cole said, grinning. “What do you think?” He tried his best to seduce her with the idea of a free “product” skimmed off the top. She’d used sex to get her way, and now Cole could use the promise of drugs to get his. He’d known for some time that it was a problem in the facility. They called it “grazing.” Cole was almost certain that the secretary had been grazing for some time, and now it was confirmed. Confirmed, especially, by a look of desperation masked with a little too heavily contrived boredom.

“This is a surprise, Cole.” She typed something onto her laptop and then closed the lid. “I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff.”

“I’m not,” he said. “But you are.”

“So what is it?”

“Yeyo.”

She laughed. “Yeyo?”

“Cocaine, whatever.” The only problem was that he didn’t quite know the right parlance.

“So why do you want me leave the office? You need something here?”

“Sorta.”

“Maybe I can just help you instead. What do you need? Or are you trying to get me in shit?”

“I’m trying to get myself in shit,” Cole said.

“You already are,” she said, looking down the hall to the captain’s office. It was very quiet. “I’m surprised you’re even here.”

“Is he really in there?”

“Yeah,” she said, a strange look coming over her face. She pursed up her lips and then said, “I think I’m going to leave now.”

“Mail room,” Cole said.

She was up, walking from her desk. “Yeah, whatever.” She walked by him and out the door without a glance.

Silence rushed in her absence.

Cole had no idea what she expected to find in the mail room. Probably the last on the list was Kalani. He stood there, frozen, straining his ear in the direction of Captain’s office. He listened for his voice, swearing on the phone, that distinct metal click of his Zippo lighter. But there was nothing.

He checked his watch. He was right on time. And if Kalani was going to be on time, he’d better find cover soon. He made his way to the corner of the room, into an empty storage closet, shutting the door behind him and then hunched down in the dark, back leaned up against the wall. He could hear himself breathing. He could hear, and feel, his heart. It was starting.

The phone call came soon after, right on time, its harsh digitized ring sounding somewhere beyond the closet door, and likely beyond the door of the captain’s office. Kalani had done well. A moment later, he heard a door shutting, an electronic security beep, footsteps entering the office from the rear and then leaving the office out into the hallway. No sounds after that.

Cole waited another two minutes to be sure. He cracked open the door to peer into the empty waiting room. It was clear for him to walk into the rear hallway, down to office door. On a digital interface, he typed in the six-digit key and pressed ENTER. The door unlocked with a quiet snick and he pushed it open, stepping into the empty room. Empty of the captain, but not of his laptop.

He grabbed it and yanked it off the desk, freeing it of its cords as they slapped down to the floor.

A voice behind him yelled out. “What the fuck?”

The captain.

Cole’s first thought was to throw the laptop at him. Better, yet, throw the laptop out of the window and preserve the evidence. Better yet, jump out of the window with the laptop to preserve himself along with it. Before he made his move, the meaty rush of Captain’s body slammed into Cole and pushed him back against the filing cabinet, the brute force of it and of his response clouding his judgment. There was no time to think about anything else but wrestling with the other man, turning and holding him against the wall and grabbing his throat with his free hand. The laptop slipped out. It crashed to the floor while both men panted hard, groaning as they wrestled against each other, as they broke apart to start taking swings.

The captain’s fist cocked back and launched into Cole’s gut. A whoosh of air, the wind getting knocked out of him, and then momentarily, the fight knocked out of him, his own punch stopping midway as his body collapsed forward, curling in, struggling to regain breath. During the delay, all Cole could do was launch forward into the captain, pressing him against the wall to stop any more blows while he grunted for air.

There were no words during the exchange. Just the harsh, flexed energies of two rivals, battling not in an office setting, but the animal kingdom. For survival. Cole had barely survived being winded by the gut punch, his lungs finally opening up for enough air for him to fight back again, swinging now, raining his own blows down on the captain’s reddened, blooded face.

He tasted blood, too. He could smell it through his nose with each suck of air, one nostril completely blocked with it. His eyes, too, felt blocked, swollen already and half shut. Everything on his face had gone numb. And as he continued punching, the numbness of his fists moved quickly to pain. Perhaps a broken knuckle after the broken bridge of his adversary’s nose. Certainly a broken knuckle when missing a jawbone and slamming into the side of the filing cabinet instead.

Still no words. No questions or accusations. It had seemed as though the captain had expected this from the start. Cole had definitely expected this. He’d been craving it for some time now. A good brawl without any other goons jumping in, and without Jackson’s high-tech gadgets. Mano a mano. But something was different about this. The change happened almost imperceptibly at first, a feeling deep inside him. Growing. An unsteadiness beyond the usual dizzied effect of being punched in the face.

Their fight had shaken the office loose, the floor waving and wobbly. A sudden lurching back and forth. The lights of the office going dim. The sound of groaning metal and cracking concrete. Another earthquake.

And then the distinct sensation of a full cabinet’s hard weight crashing down on Cole and pinning him to the linoleum floor. His breath knocked out of him again, but this time it was from the weight of metal and about twenty years’ worth of business records. He was suffocating, panicking, unable to expand his lungs enough for a breath. Cole’s feet pushed against the wall and he crawled out, sprawling hard and kicking, squirming his way out so his ribcage was free of the cabinet, and free of the man who lay between him and escape. Kicking out again with his legs and sliding free, Cole swiveled back around to take a look at the scene. The captain, his entire torso and legs under the cabinet. He tried squirming like Cole, but was stuck solid. The office swayed again, a much slower shake with stacks of paper sliding around on the floor. An office chair on wheels crashed into the side of Cole’s face. The seat was face-high and slapped him back around.

The two men made eye contact, their eyes wet with the strain of the fight, and the pain of it lingering long after. The pain of the filing cabinet still throbbing through. The pain of a lack of oxygen for the captain.

Should they say something now?

It seemed almost comical.

Should they laugh, instead?

“Can you breathe?” Cole asked him.

The captain’s mouth babbled something in response, pink bubbles of spit forming at his lips. His face was a mixture of pale white and blood red.

“Are you okay?” Cole asked him.

Why was he asking him this? They’d just been fighting.

Cole said, “I can help you.”

“Fuck you.”

Cole reached into his pocket and pulled out a zip-tie restraint. He never thought he’d have to use them. But if he had, he’d rather them be in his pocket. And then around the wrists of the man who tried to kill him. He pushed hard at the cabinet, moving it just enough for him to pull the captain free.

“Go fuck yourself,” Captain said, wheezing for air as Cole wrapped the first tie and pulled it through, zipping it hard and right. He reached for the other arm. Captain didn’t fight back this time.