“I have to show you,” he said, sniffling. He pulled away and turned his back to me. He undid his pants and pushed them and his white briefs to the floor, then leaned against my sofa.
“Holy shit! What happened?”
His hairless mocha buttocks were dotted with burns, and there was a white gauze patch awkwardly taped over his anus. “That fucker,” he said, talking through tears. “He burned me.”
I remembered the cream that Mike had used on my back when I’d been scorched at the Hawai’i Marriage Project fire. Unfortunately, I’d used it up and never replaced it. “I’ve got to make a call,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you. Lie down on the sofa on your stomach.”
He leaned down to pull up his pants, and I said, “You might as well leave those off.” He stepped out of them and lay down on the couch.
I dialed Mike Riccardi on my cell. “You still have some of that burn cream?” I asked, as soon as he picked up.
“Hello to you, too. Yup. I’ve always got a tube in my truck.”
“How quickly can you get over to my apartment?”
“You burned yourself?”
“Not me. Another guy.”
“Give me a half hour,” he said.
I sat down on the floor, so that my head was about the same level as the law student’s. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? My friend is on his way over with some cream to help you out.”
“Nobody can know,” he said. “I did not realize how bad it was until this morning. Fortunately my wife did not see me.”
“Start at the beginning. Who did this to you?”
“The man I had sex with the night of the fire. He called me yesterday, when I was at the library. He told me that he wanted to see me.”
He started crying again, and I patted his shoulder. “Take your time.”
“I said that I did not want to. I am trying to be a good husband. But he said that he had taken pictures of me that night, and that he would send them to my wife if I did not do what he said. He told me to come to an apartment. He made me take all my clothes off and lie down on the bed.”
He began sobbing again. “I am so ashamed. I should never have gone with him in the first place. Now my life will be ruined.”
“Where was the apartment?” I asked.
“In Kaka’ako,” he said. “A beautiful high-rise.”
On a hunch, I told him the address of the building where Ray and I had found Treasure Chen hiding. With her moved to Norma’s, anyone else could be using the place. “Apartment 609?”
He looked up at me, tears streaking his face. He was quite handsome, and I could see that many men would find him attractive. “How did you know?”
“It’s an address that has come up in our investigations.”
That brought on a fresh round of tears. “He is a criminal. I knew it.”
“What did he do once you were lying on the bed?”
“He tied my hands and feet to the bedposts. It was very uncomfortable, my legs stretched open so wide. He lit a cigar, and he began blowing the smoke into my bottom. I just wanted him to fuck me so that I could go, but he wouldn’t.”
I tried to remember the bed in the apartment. It had a wooden headboard and footboard, with posts at each corner. “I kept asking him to let me go, and he got angry. He said I could go when he said so. Then I felt something burning.”
I had to get up to answer the door. Mike stepped in, then stopped when he saw the law student on the couch, naked from the waist down, his buttocks burned and bandaged. “What’s up?”
“This is my friend Mike,” I said to the law student. “He’s a fireman. He’s accustomed to dealing with burns.”
“Man, somebody burned you good,” Mike said, squatting down next to him. “What’s your name?”
He sniffled. “Fouad,” he said. “Fouad Khan.”
I filled Mike in on what Fouad had said so far.
“Let me get a look at you,” Mike said, and he began carefully peeling off the tape that held down the gauze. Fouad whimpered and squirmed.
“You were saying that you felt something burn you,” I said to Fouad.
“He was tapping his cigar ash on me,” he said. “And then he put the lit cigar right onto me. I cried out and begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t.”
Mike peeled off the bandage and said, in a low voice, “Man, that looks nasty.”
Fouad’s anus was red and inflamed. “He kept relighting the cigar and then putting it out on me.” He was crying again. “I looked around and saw that he had taken off his pants, and I was relieved. I thought that at last he would finish and I could go home.”
Mike squeezed some salve into his palm and began massaging it into Fouad’s buttocks, slowly and carefully. “But he would not,” Fouad said, wincing and crying. “I saw him stroking himself, and then when I thought he would finish, instead, he put the cigar in me.”
I couldn’t believe he had so many tears in him. I wasn’t sure if it was the memory or Mike touching his burns. I grasped his hand and squeezed. “He ejaculated on me then,” Fouad said. “And after that he said I could go, but that I would have to come whenever he asked, or he would show the pictures to my wife.”
I exchanged a glance with Mike. “Okay, buddy, I’m going to put some cream where you’re burned the worst,” he said to Fouad. “This might sting a little.”
It appeared to sting a lot. Fouad grasped my hand and squeezed until I worried he might break a couple of bones. “You ought to go to the emergency room,” Mike said. “These burns are nasty, and you don’t know what kind of damage was done inside.”
“No,” Fouad insisted through his tears. “No hospital.”
“Hold on a minute,” I said. “Suppose we said that you were attacked. Last night, leaving the library. Two or three men attacked you. Maybe they thought you were Arabic, and they said anti-Arab things.”
I saw Mike nodding. “They held you down, pulled your pants down, and burned you,” he said.
“You were embarrassed to go to the police last night, but if you go to the emergency room now, they’ll call the police for you. You can report the assault.”
“But that is against the law,” Fouad said. “To make a false report.”
“Someone raped and burned you,” I said. “That’s the truth. You tell the officer that you didn’t see anyone’s face, and they won’t be able to pursue the case. It’s not right-but it will be something you can explain to your wife. And if we catch this guy, then you’ll be safe.”
Fouad nodded.
“I need you to describe this man to me, tell me anything you can about him.”
While Mike continued to administer the burn cream, Fouad said, “He is about fifty years old. Caucasian. His hair is dark brown, going to gray, and his face is red, like a man who drinks a lot.”
I took notes. “Anything else?”
“He has a very good body. Like he works out in the gym.”
“How does he dress?”
“As if he has been in the military. Those shirts, with the little flaps.”
“Epaulets,” I said.
“Yes. Very nice black shoes, always shined.”
The description sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“This is the best I can do, buddy,” Mike said. “You got some bandages, Kimo?”
I brought a roll of gauze to him from the bathroom. “Fouad, I want you to put this on yourself,” Mike said. “You don’t want them questioning you at the ER about who did this for you.”
Fouad stood up and awkwardly wrapped the gauze around his butt. “You’re going to the ER right now,” I said. “Go to The Queen’s Medical Center. It’s near police headquarters downtown, and they’ll send over a cop to ask you questions. I’ll do my best to follow what happens.”
