How To Hide A Body

Aloha, Mafia Boss

Olowalu, Maui

Hawaii

17 / 8 / 2013

aka: a few years ago

The sun was startlingly blinding, the waves calm, the surfboard fucking challenging to control.

"Take it easy, man!" he said.

He was tanned, his hair a curly black, his smile as blinding as the sun.

"Don't tell me to take it easy! Do you know who I am?!" I said, trying not to drown as I clung to the board. My eyes were stinging, and I started to find new wounds as saltwater made its way into them.

"Yeah, you're Tristan. From Mykonos," he winked, grabbing my arm and somehow getting me onto the board. I quickly sat crosslegged and breathed, finally getting breaths which weren't mixed with ocean and sand. I fixed my blue bikini top and tied my hair up as I took a look at him, from a new perspective (one where I wasn't drowning).

"You don't seem surprised," he asked.

"I saw you as I checked in to the hotel," I said. This was partially true. I had seen him at the hotel -the one he worked at- and I had also forgotten my current alias, "What is a receptionist doing out on the ocean?"

"I like to take a break. Don't we all?" he laughed, hoisting himself onto his board, "The ocean is one of my escapes."

"I hate it. The ocean, I mean. Sharks, scary things, tourists. Death is the most possible outcome."

"Yet, here you are. Attempting to surf. And failing, miserably."

"Hey!" I exclaimed, shoving him off his surfboard.

Once he had resurfaced, he offered me his hand, "The name is Wayne. Pleased to meet you!"

I took it, and he pulled me off my surfboard. Karma, I guess.

***

We found ourselves together at a small restaurant. I was busy examining my new scratches and my farmer's tan as Wayne ordered us drinks and red herring in Hawaiian.

"It's not so bad," he said, sympathetically, once the waiter had left.

"I need band-aids," I muttered.

"I was talking about your sunburn," I slapped him.

The two tall glasses clinked as the waiter placed them on the table.

"Mahalo," Wayne said, taking a sip.

"What is this?" I laughed, picking up the glass. The pale yellow liquid was stained red, a small piece of pineapple crowned the rim.

"It's called a Lava Flow," he explained, "It's a pina colada but with strawberries. It's delicious! If you don't like it, we can't be friends."

I laughed and daringly took a sip, "Well, you're not wrong. It is delicious! But even that is an understatement!"

He took another gulp of his drink. He then turned to me and asked, "Okay, listen, I need to come clean. I know who you are."

I raised an eyebrow, picking up the glass, "You have no idea."

"Okay, I know what you do." He corrected.

"That's more like it." I smiled, "But, I'm here on holiday," -not true, but would've been nice-, "I don't want to get into any trouble," -again, not true.