Close Shave Ice

Steve McGarrett came cautiously around the corner of the shave ice building and saw his partner leaning against the back wall, holding his head. Steve's gaze darted around the small service yard, but he didn't see anything except a delivery truck belonging to a man he knew was inside. No sign of the suspect he and Danny had pursued.

Steve sped to Danny Williams' side. "Are you hurt?" the commander demanded in a low voice. "Did he hit you?"

Danny looked up, shaking his head in negation and gesturing at Steve to be quiet.

When the gun-wielding robber had burst into the Waiola Shave Ice shop, he had expected to find moms and kids who would be easy to intimidate. It's true there was one little girl there, but the stickup artist also found the enormous proprietor Kamekona, his burly cousin who was making a delivery, and two police officers, guns and badges prominently displayed on their belts. It had been too much for the inexperienced felon who had turned and fled back out the front door.

Shouting at the others to stay inside, Danny and Steve had pursued the man to the back of the store, splitting right and left around the small building. Danny had been livid — that is to say, furious — that some dimwit robber had pointed a gun in his daughter's direction. Now Steve realized Danny was still livid — that is to say, purple — but from laughter, not anger.

Steve put his hands out, palms up in a "what's going on?" gesture.

Danny wagged his gun barrel in the direction of the delivery truck.

Steve raised his eyebrows incredulously.

Danny nodded emphatically. He pointed at a footprint in a muddy patch next to a garden hose, then at a smeared muddy footprint on the bumper of the truck. The rear doors of the truck were closed, but not latched.

Steve shook his head in disbelief, then raised his gun and gestured for Danny to swing open the door.

Danny shook his head forcefully. He raised his own pistol and gestured for Steve to open the door. Then he put his palms together (around his automatic), as if begging Steve to grant his wish.

Steve scratched his head, then shrugged agreement. They took their places and Steve yanked open the right-hand door of the refrigerated ice delivery truck.

Inside, amid solid blocks and bags of ice, was the robber, who was clad in shorts, a T-shirt and sandals. He hugged himself, rubbing his arms against the cold, and danced a tiny, silent dance, trying to separate his bare toes from the icy floor. Already turning blue, the miserable wannabe crook was in no position to raise his weapon or defend himself.

As Danny pointed his pistol, his eyes danced with mirth. "Hey, numbskull!" he barked. "Freeze!"

A/N: I'm sorry.