Chapter Text
At first, she didn’t understand. She knew how much money he made on a monthly basis. She’d run a credit report because (a) it was her job as a majordomo and (b) she was insanely curious about this man Robin had hired, seemingly on a whim. She knew he brought in a pension from the Navy, that he made some money being a reservist, and a quick back-of-the-envelope calculation netted her exactly what percentage of the profits Magnum and the others received from each one of Robin’s best sellers. She knew his daily rate as a private investigator (assuming he was being paid in cash, and not livestock), and that he, TC and Rick were bankrolling Nuzo’s son’s education.
But he never spent his money. Instead, Magnum preferred to trade in favors.
*
“Put it on my tab!” Magnum sang out as he left the bar area, heading for the table the six of them had commandeered for the evening and carrying a bucket of Coops. After an aggravating case that had lasted three days and ended with an afternoon-long chase around the island and a shootout with the Honolulu Police Department, Magnum, and Higgins on one side, and an offshoot of the Triad on the other, with Rick and TC providing air support, they were all tired, sweaty, and in need of alcohol.
“Shocker!!” Rick laughed at him as he sat between Kumu and TC.
Magnum watched carefully as the beers were passed around, and as they all took grateful sips (or gulps) of the cool liquid before he took a bottle of his own.
“To Gordy!” Magnum laughed, raising his bottle in the air. The detective quirked an eyebrow. “Cause lord knows we won’t see him for the next three days while he’s buried under all the paperwork today caused!”
The table cracked up, toasting to Katsumoto as they grinned.
“Most of that paperwork has to do with the number of people shooting projectiles who don’t work for HPD, you know?”
“At least everyone shooting from our side was registered,” TC pointed out, grinning.
“True,” Gordon teased, “but that only means there are six fewer pages than there could be.”
*
On Monday, while drinking her coffee at a secluded table at La Mariana and reviewing the information their newest client had given them about his missing sister, Juliet saw Thomas slide an envelope to Rick.
“Small bills, as requested,” Magnum stated.
“Thanks, buddy,” Rick said, putting it under the counter without opening it. Magnum grinned at him, heading over to Juliet with the coffee pot.
“Top you up?” He asked, sipping from his own mug. She raised hers in response, focusing on her laptop and trying not to look like she had caught them in some kind of illicit trade scheme.
Later, while Magnum was calling his contact at the airport, Juliet noticed Rick tipping out the mid-shift wait staff with bills from the envelope. When she pulled Noah aside to ask him, his answer was simple.
“Rick figures out how much we got tipped on the cards and just gives it to us in cash. That way we don’t have to declare it.”
And Rick, she mused, gets the cash from Magnum. Interesting.
*
“Thank you, Gordon, we appreciate it,” she said. They had realized that this seemingly simple missing persons case was quickly turning into a probable kidnapping and trafficking case, and had looped Katsumoto and HPD in as soon as was reasonably possible. Having a bunch of HPD officers in plain clothes would make it exceptionally easier to cover the fair ground’s many entrances and exits.
“No problem,” Gordon replied. “That’s what we do. And tell Magnum the division enjoyed the donuts.”
He hung up quickly, and she frowned into the phone, pieces starting to fall into place. They were tasked with staking out the probable trafficker’s house while Gordon got his manpower together and applied for a warrant.
“Something wrong?” Magnum asked, scrunched low in his seat. A red Ferrari really wasn’t the most inconspicuous of vehicles.
“Gordon said thank you for the donuts,” she said carefully.
He smiled and nodded.
“Well, anything I can do for the local LEOs.”
“Indeed.”
Very interesting.
*
“Higgy, can you do me a favor?”
They were sitting on a low wall, looking for all who bothered to notice like a couple on a date. She was tucked under his arm and they were holding a whispered conversation as they kept their eyes peeled for the trafficker and their client’s sister.
“You do realize that we are now business partners, and that you no longer need to ask for favors if you need me to hack into something, don’t you?” Juliet brushed a curl of hair away while she scanned the street behind him.
“Not for work,” he murmured, brushing their noses together, eyes tracking the entrance behind her. “A personal favor.”
“Before I agree, what’s the favor?” She leaned back on her hands, grinning.
“Nothing too horrific, promise,” he smiled at her, leaning into her. “You know how I’m training for the Kona Ironman?”
“Yes?”
“Would you go running with me a few times in the next week or so? I’m stuck at my current pace and I can’t seem to increase it, no matter what I try. You’re the stronger runner between us, I thought you could give me some tips.” He took her hand and laced their fingers together. She squelched the butterflies that propped up.
“Did you just agree that I’m better at something than you?” She grinned viciously.
“One very specific thing, yes,” he agreed. “Which I will deny if anyone ever asks.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
“Of course you’ll help, or of course I’ll deny it?” That smile of his could get him away with murder.
“Both,” she huffed. Then she thought of what she had seen earlier. Of the cash under the bar, and of the phone call with Katsumoto.
“But no favor needed: I’m bringing the lads. They could use a good run.”
“You sure?”
“Am I sure I don’t need a favor from you? Thomas, you already owe me multiple favors. I think I can let this one slide,” Juliet turned her attention back the fairgrounds behind him, although she was listening carefully for his response.
He swallowed hard, but the next words out of his mouth told her he was grinning once again.
“Thanks, Higgy.”
“You’re welcome, Thomas. Now, I do believe I see our perpetrator. Your seven o’clock.”
*
By the time the gunfire had stopped, Magnum had been shot in the belly and was bleeding profusely. Juliet’s head was spinning, courtesy of the wall that had crashed down on her when one of the henchmen had driven the getaway truck through it, and she was holding pressure on the bullet graze on her arm while trying not to move her head too quickly or vomit at all the noise. Rick and TC, though scraped up, were on damage control, and Gordon was on the radio ordering multiple ambulances.
“This is gonna hurt, brother,” TC warned. He ripped off his tee-shirt and wadded it up into a ball. Magnum managed a grin.
“Already hurts,” he slurred.
Rick held Magnum’s hands in a death grip while TC pressed down with his full body weight. Magnum yelled at the pressure. The pool of blood around his body was growing larger, and didn’t seem to be slowing down.
“Owe you,” Magnum mumbled, his eyes closing in pain.
“I’m still working off all the times you saved my ass in the Korengal,” Rick grimaced. “I’ll let you know when I’ve caught up. Keep your eyes open, Tommy!”
“Hold on, Thomas,” Juliet said as she pulled herself over to them. “I can hear the sirens, they’re close.”
She pressed her own weight against his legs, keeping them still.
*
“I owe you one,” Magnum hissed as she deposited him on the sofa as carefully as she could.
“You absolutely do not,” she refuted. “If anything, I owe you. Don’t move.”
“How do you figure?” he winced as he tried to situate himself in a position that didn’t send pain shooting up his abdomen. Getting shot in the gut was not his favorite.
“I talked you into taking the case,” she said, helping him to prop himself on a pillow. “What did I say about moving?”
“It was supposed to be a simple missing persons case!” he exclaimed, then winced when the movement pulled at his stitches.
“Exactly! How were we to know we were about to bust open a human trafficking ring? Not even Gordon thought it was going to go as far as it did.”
“You got a concussion,” he pouted. She collapsed next to him and rested her head against the back of the couch. Things weren’t spinning as much anymore, but they were still a little swimmy.
“And you got shot in the stomach,” she added. “Because you stepped between me and the gunman. Which was a moronic move, by the way. Never do that again.”
“Higgy...” he tried, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.
“No,” she said firmly. “I got a concussion, you got shot. I’d say we’re square.”
“Juliet…”
“Thomas,” she said softly, resting her head against his shoulder. “You don’t owe me anything.”
He was silent a moment, then sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions.
“…alright.”
*
Rick and TC were in the cage again, and Nuzo was lying next to him, dizzy from the beating he had taken earlier, when the bread hit the dirt floor, followed by two water bottles. None of them moved.
Thomas looked at the guard, the one they were calling Lefty because of the massive scar running up his left arm.
“How much?” he gritted out. They hadn’t eaten in days; this was no courtesy.
“Three things, three days.”
TC, Rick, and Nuzo started to volunteer, but none of them were in any shape to handle three days in solitary.
“Done,” Magnum whispered.
Lefty opened the door to the cell and lifted him to his feet.
As Thomas lay in solitary later, his shoulder aching after being dislocated and then relocated, his hair still wet from the waterboarding, his stomach screaming from hunger, he thought of his brothers. Three days in here meant they would have three days without pain. Three days with food. Three days to recuperate.
It was a fair trade.