It is said that bad things come in threes. If there’s any truth to that, the first two were sure as hell about to show up at my front door. I hadn’t been home long, maybe a half hour or so spent watching the lingering remnants of the Kona sunset leach from the sky while I tipped a cold bottle of Asahi to my lips. I had skipped my regular visit to Snyder’s bar, and had dropped in at Lola’s instead, in order to catch a little face time with Lani, who bartended there.
The year is 1976, and the first shots are being fired in the narcotics and human-trafficking war. Colt Freeman and his partner, Snyder, want only to preserve their small piece of the marijuana trade. Like a modern-day Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid, they do their work with proficiency and stealth and, when necessary, deadly force.