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Paulo Kamo knelt in the shadows of the dense clump of palms and shrubs at the corner of McGarrett's property and nervously rubbed his sweaty palms on the thighs of his ratty board shorts. He could feel the cool weight of the .38 tucked under his tank top in his waistband at the small of his back as he waited. This was it. His ticket into the gang. After he put a bullet in the head man of 5-0, no one would dare challenge his right to be one of them. His thin lips curled into a sneer as he watched the tall form of his victim emerge like clockwork from the house, headed down for the beach, baby held carefully to his bare chest. Fucking queers. Maybe he would shoot the blond haole cop McGarrett was shacked up with too. The kid would be fish food anyway.
Paulo had watched his victim for two months now and he had the man's morning schedule memorized. The Commander of 5-0 was a fitness freak and every morning without fail he went for a rigorous daily swim before work, the blond and the kid usually waited on the beach for him. On Saturdays he combined the swim with a run (Paulo had tried to follow him one morning and had been quickly left behind, panting for breath--the freak ran up fucking mountains), but every Sunday he brought his baby out for a swimming lesson and sitting in the water with his back turned to this corner of his property, with his attention totally on his tiny son, the SEAL was vulnerable. Paulo's narrow face twisted in disgust as he watched the tall man drop a towel on the sand and wade out a few feet in the gently lapping surf and sit carefully, murmuring assurances to the cooing baby the whole time as he gently lowered his small son into the water. His handsome face was tender as he watched the babe squeal and happily splash the warm water with both little hands, held securely in his father's protective arms. McGarrett shifted slightly in the surf and his broad tanned back was to Paulo. It was time to do him.
The skinny young man stepped out of the shrubbery, slippered feet silent on the soft sand, and smoothly slid the gun from his waistband, licking his lips nervously. He would simply step over, put a bullet in the back of McGarrett's head and disappear back the way he came. The kid would probably drown, but too bad. He took two quick steps forward, only to have someone tap him hard on the shoulder.
"Hey, asshole!'
Startled out of his wits, Paulo stumbled over his own feet and turned-- right into the swift, righteous right hook of an extremely pissed off Detective Daniel Williams. The world exploded into painful white stars, then faded to black as Danny's powerful punch knocked him out of his flip-flops and out for the count. When Paulo regained consciousness he was being ungently stuffed into the back of a squad car, hands cuffed securely behind his back. His broken nose was throbbing painfully and he could feel blood trickling down his face and throat, and his left eye was swelling closed. Blearily he stared over at the sidewalk, where the other uniform was taking the blond haole's statement, the Commander standing close by, baby still in his arms. The tattooed SEAL turned a cold, clinical eye on Paulo and he gulped. There were legends about what went on in 5-0's interrogation room. Paulo tried really hard not to think about the stories he had heard about the homicidal Commander and a certain shark cage.
The blond was waving his hands in the air as he described how he had just stepped out of the shower upstairs and glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of Paulo's red shirt under the trees. He had raced downstairs, not taking the time to grab a weapon (or clothes, he still wore a thin blue bath towel around his trim waist) and slipped up behind the would be assassin, who was so intent on sneaking up behind McGarrett, that he had not bothered to make a final check of his exit route.
"...and take this cretinous asshole and shove him in a deep, dark hole somewhere because if I get my hands on him again there won't be enough left to cremate and float out at sea..." the blond stabbed both index fingers at Paulo with a snarl and a glare and kept ranting, the uniform nodding duitifully and biting back a smile as he scribbled in his notebook. McGarrett was smiling fondly down at his partner now, the wide-eyed baby watching fascinated, thumb in mouth, as his shorter father ranted on.
Paulo swallowed hard, but the worse was yet to come.
"Paulo Kamo? I've got a few questions for you down at headquarters."
Cringing at the calm, smooth tone, Paulo turned reluctantly and found himself looking directly into Chin Ho Kelly's impassive face and cold, black shark eyes as he slid into the seat beside him. Fuck. The day couldn't get any worse.
Paulo quickly amended that thought when a red sports car screeched to a stop at the curb and a slender, beautiful, very angry young woman jumped out and made a beeline for the police car, fists clenched. Beside him, Kelly gave a dark, amused chuckle.
"Kono is DJ's godmother. I almost feel sorry for you, brah. Almost."
Kelly showed his teeth in something that was not a smile, leaned close and draped his arm along the back of the seat.
"And I"m his godfather."
Paulo groaned and slumped down in the seat. He was so fucked.