“That’s why you’re along,” Kimo said after a moment. “You’re supposed to keep me out of trouble.”
“You’re already in trouble. Both of those guys have reason to report you.”
“They won’t. They know I’m here because I’m a father. Not because I’m a cop.”
“You think one of your sons is informing them?”
“How do you think Ricky Lee knows me? Do you think he knows every cop on the island by name?”
“Probably not.”
“So why would he know me? I’ve never crossed his path before. Not officially. But he knew me as soon as I walked into the gym. How come?”
“Point taken.”
“And he knew you, too, Caine. He reacted when I mentioned your name.”
“I noticed that.”
“So you’re the detective. Deduce something.”
“These guys are connected to one another just the way you thought they were, and Francis, who also knew you, called Ricky to tell him of our encounter, so Ricky expected us to pay him a visit, too.”
“How does that explain their knowing our names? I can see him describing us, but our names?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on, you’re better than that.”
I knew the answer. I just didn’t want to say it out loud. Not to Kimo. Not in his current mood.
“Come on, Caine. I want to know if you figured it out, or if your brains are down, too.”
“They know you because of what Francis said. He identified you, he mentioned your son, so he knows you through your son.”
Kimo nodded. “So how do they know you?”
“I’ve been to your house.”
“And you’ve met my son. It’s okay, you can say it.”
“And I’ve met your son.”
“Who identified you as the detective for Donna Wong …
“Who must have known what I was doing—”
“Who identified you as the detective for Donna Wong.”
I nodded, sensing that if I did not agree with him, he would continue to press the issue. “And where does that leave us?”
“That, Caine, leaves me with the possibility that I’ve got a murderer living under my roof.”
The road descended through cane and pineapple fields until it came to the Waialua turnoff and we followed the road down toward the beach. Kimo had his thoughts and he had his problems. I wasn’t certain I wanted to trade, even though my own were bad enough.
He parked the Jeep in a dirt lot fronting an old stucco and corrugated metal-sided bar within rock-throwing distance from the Waialua sugar mill. I recognized it for what it was, a workers’ bar, a place where laborers gathered after a shift. It was not a place for haoles. It was not a place for cops.
“We’re going in here?”
“One of the guys I know told me about this place.”
It took me a moment. Kimo seemed to be reluctant to speak the kid’s name. “Your son?”
He nodded, staring at the covered entrance to the bar. Two big men sat on the railing in front of the bar and drank beer from brown bottles and stared at the Cherokee. It wouldn’t be long before we would be the focus of attention.
“This where they meet?”
“Sometimes. There’s a guy here named Bumpy Kealoha, one of the leaders of the Aha Kuka O Na Kanaka. He tends bar. Runs a Hawaiian commune on the north shore. The place is supposed to be a hotbed of radical political thought.”
I couldn’t tell if he mocked himself, so I let it alone. “Your son used to come here?”
“A few months ago, a couple of uniforms stopped him just down the road and he failed the Breathalyzer. They called me instead of taking him in. Professional courtesy. Like a fool I came to get him. Probably should have ordered them to arrest him.”
“So you talked on the way home?”
“He talked. I couldn’t get him to shut up. You know drunks. He told me all about his new friends, how they were going to change the world. I thought it just a bunch of college-boy stupidity.”
“So this bartender, you gonna beat him up?”
“Don’t know.”
“You know I’m not supposed to fight. I’ll go in there with you, but if it starts to get nasty …”
Kimo looked over at me. “You don’t have to. This isn’t your fight.”
“Is it yours?”
“My son is involved in something. These guys know things that I need to know.”
“You think they care?”
“Not yet. But they’re gonna.”
I stared at the two big guys sitting on the railing, each bigger than an NFL lineman. They continued staring at the Cherokee, drinking slow draughts of beer, aware of us watching them.
“You can’t beat all of them up. Even if you could it wouldn’t do any good. What’s the purpose?”
“My purpose?”
“What do you hope to accomplish? Get information? You expect them to tell you, a cop, and me, a haole, all about their fantasy plot to overthrow the government? You already know enough to get it out of your son. You’ve got enough to sit down with him, and with Tutu Mae and Neolani, and learn everything he’s into. He’ll tell you now. I’m sure of it.”
Kimo settled in his seat. “Well, in the first place I don’t think James would be willing to talk to me. We had a hell of a fight about this whole thing last night when I got home.”
“Oh.”
“And in the second place he packed his gear and left afterward. I don’t know where he is.”
Kimo gripped the steering wheel in both of his huge hands, his knuckles white.
“You asked my purpose? My purpose is simple. My purpose is to find my son and bring him home.”
I nodded toward the two giants sitting on the porch railing. “We going to march in there like a couple of Old West gunslingers and make them talk? You think that’s going to happen?”
Kimo nodded to himself, his mouth a tight line. Something was going on in his head, but whatever it was he wasn’t ready to share.
“You know, five years ago I’d have gone in there and cleaned the place out with you. I’d have done it because you needed the back-up, and I’d have understood how you needed to take out some of your frustration on these people.” I pointed toward the bigger of the two laborers. “Five years ago I would have happily walked into that bar and grabbed the information for you, no matter how many heads I had to break. But not now.”
He looked at me, still silent. Then he said, “How far can I trust you, Caine?”
I shrugged. It was a useless question.
“You know about the lua?”
“Hawaiian martial arts. I’ve heard it’s effective, but you don’t share it with us haoles. You teach it only in secret societies.”
Kimo snorted. “You make it sound like the Chinese Triads.”
“Warrior societies are the same. It’s the same as the Knights Templar. They can be a force for good.”
“But not necessarily,” Kimo said. “Lua dates back to Kamehameha’s time. The Alapai Guard practiced lua, perfecting it when they were the king’s personal bodyguard. Now it forms a basis for father and son traditions. I was about to bring James into my lua brotherhood. He had resisted earlier, but a combination of what he was hearing at the university and his level of maturation made him change his mind.”
“He changed his mind?”
“Then he changed it again. He refused to come with me, although joining my lua brotherhood would have previously satisfied him. It was all he wanted since he was very young.”
“He’d already joined another group.”
“That’s exactly what happened. He broke from the family and joined a rogue group.”
“How did you find out?”
“I caught him practicing defensive moves he would not have known. Do you understand? He could not have known what he knew without personal instruction.”
Two more men had joined the giants sitting on the porch railing while we talked. Ano
ther appeared in the doorway, a shadowy figure, standing out of the light.
“That’s him,” said Kimo.
“That’s him who?”
“Bumpy. In the doorway. He’s been to the house. With James.” He reached for the door handle. I gently put my hand on his shoulder.
“So you’ve seen him before. He’ll keep. If he’s connected to those other two he’ll know why you’re here. Give it some time. Once you’ve got something on him you can come back and do it legally.”
“This place is where they meet.”
I looked at the giants watching us, seeing them now in a different light.
“Just think about what you’re doing before you do it,” I said. “If you still want to go in there I’ll go with you. Not happily, but I’ll go.”
Kimo looked at me for the long moment, staring me in the eye as if he were considering what I’d said. I’d have given anything to know exactly what was going on inside his head.
I knew what he’d decided when he opened the Jeep’s door.
“Lock your side,” he said.
34
The four giants parted as we walked up the steps, and closed ranks behind us. I’d been in some dingy little bars before, but this one might have been a contender for the top spot. Gray linoleum, sticky from beer and whatever else, partially covered a termite-infested plank subfloor that deflected under our weight. Roaches ran marathons back and forth across the floor. The back bar was an ancient, hand-carved mahogany affair that didn’t belong with the tin roof and the dirty stucco walls. A lone high window painted over with aluminum paint, inexpert brush strokes creating a mad pattern, provided the only light except for the harsh glare of a low fluorescent hanging over a tattered green pool table. The joint didn’t even have a beer sign. A five-bladed fan turned lazily overhead, barely disturbing the heat inside. Flies buzzed above our heads, dodging the fan blades for sport.
I didn’t turn around, knowing that it would cause one of our escorts to say something. I did not want to give anyone an excuse to start a fight. If Kimo started one, it was his option and his business. I was here to watch his back. Watching the look of hatred on the face of the four giants surrounding us, I wished my back was in better shape. If this was a warrior society, there could be more than just a little trouble.
“Lieutenant Kahanamoku,” said the bartender, his courtesy exaggerated. “What may I do for you this afternoon?” The man smiled when he addressed Kimo, amusement crinkling around his eyes. At least one of us in the bar thought this was going to be fun.
“Where’s James?”
“James?”
“My son.”
“Oh, you must mean Keola.”
Kimo nodded, as if he could not speak.
“I don’t know, Lieutenant. I didn’t think it was my day to watch him.”
“Kimo,” I said sotto voce, when I saw his hands flex. Then I regretted saying anything.
“Yeah, Kimo,” said the bartender, speaking in the carefully syncopated patois of a wised-up, but oppressed, minority. “Your haole friend here is talking to you. All your haole friends call you by your missionary name? You ever call your son by his missionary name?”
“Where’s James?”
“I don’t really know. Haven’t seen Keola for a couple of weeks. Not since the pigs busted him for DUI. Of course you got involved. Once the pua’a realized who his daddy was they would have called you, huh? So he didn’t exactly get arrested and lose his license or anything like anyone else’s kid, huh? You protected him, didn’t you?”
Kimo stared stonily at the bartender, his hands flexing and unflexing. I was beginning to lose the hope that we might get out of here without getting banged around.
“I am looking for my son,” he said, his voice even and controlled. “I am not looking for trouble. I—”
“Trouble? In here? We have a respectable place, Lieutenant. We don’t mean to cause you or your haole friend any trouble.”
“—I’m just looking for my son.”
“Then I suggest you file a missing person’s report.”
Kimo nodded, and I knew that violence was close.
“Did you know Howard Hayes?” said Kimo.
“That professor who got himself killed? That guy? I heard about it, but I didn’t know him. He never came in here, anyway, and I never been to college. Why? You think I did it?”
“Could be, Bumpy.”
“That why you’re here? Or you looking for your little boy? Which is it? I’m confused.”
“You ever heard of a group called Silversword?”
“Yeah. I heard of it.”
“I heard you’re the leader.”
“Me?” The bartender raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “I’m just a bartender. I don’t lead nobody, except the occasional drunk to the shitter.”
“I’d like a beer,” I said, interrupting the ebb and flow of the conversation, trying to keep it from moving toward the inevitable.
The bartender just looked at me.
“What kind do you have?”
“You mean it?”
“I’m thirsty. This is a bar. I’d like a beer.” I knew I was pushing the envelope, but there was nothing to lose at this point. If I didn’t do something, Kimo was going to get into his third fight of the day. And lose this one.
“Sorry,” said Bumpy, shaking his head. “Fresh out.”
The four giants behind me laughed. Two of them leaned against the bar, one on either side of me. I felt an elbow in the ribs.
“Excuse me,” said the guy on my right.
“Sure,” I said, grinning. “You sure you don’t have any beer? These guys have beer.”
“They got the last ones.”
I felt Kimo move quietly, not really seeing it, but sensing his position changing.
Violence floated in the air like an albatross.
“Hey, what’s that?” I pointed to the fly-blown refrigerator in the back bar.
“Reefer.”
“Open it.”
He gave a slight shake of his head, then grinned and opened the chipped white door. Beer filled the interior from top to bottom.
“Well, what do you know?” he said. “Forgot about these.”
“I’ll take one of those,” I said.
“Sure. Sure.” The bartender pulled a long-necked bottle from the refrigerator, popped the cap and set it on the stained mahogany top in front of me. “To your health.”
“Thanks,” I said, reaching for the bottle. Before I could grab it, the bottle was snatched from its place in front of me. I turned and watched the man on my right drink half the bottle in a long, single gulp. He watched me as he drank my beer, looking for a reaction.
He got nothing.
He finished and set the bottle back down in front of me, never taking his eyes off mine. He wore a small, satisfied smile after he put the bottle down. Then he belched a long rumbling growl.
I stood my ground, giving no sign that I was annoyed, or happy, or unhappy, or that I cared where I was or what I was doing. I gave no sign that I even knew the potential in the air. You could almost smell the musk.
“I just drank your beer, haole,” he said. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
I looked at him. I looked at the man who suddenly appeared behind him, who was bigger than him. A third giant stood behind him, bigger and meaner-looking than a grizzly bear.
Kimo stood behind that man; he looked ready for anything, fight or flight.
“Any man,” I said, careful to enunciate each of my words properly, not wanting to allow a misinterpretation of anything I said, “who’s man enough to drink my beer while he’s looking me right in the eye … I have to buy that man a drink of his own.”
Tension fled the room like a warm breeze.
“You not going to fight me?”
“Why should I?”
He shook his head, having no answer.
“Bartender, bring this man a beer. Another beer. He likes …” I examined
the label of the bottle in front of me. “Since he drank half of it I’m guessing he likes Bud.”
The big fellow grinned at me. “Yeah. Dat’s true.”
“I could tell by the way you chugged it down. You think I was going to snatch it out of your hand and you wouldn’t have a chance to finish it?”
He laughed. “Yeah, man. I thought you was gonna hit me.”
“Just because you drank my beer?”
“Sure!”
“You must have a low opinion of us haoles,” I said.
He laughed again, joined by his friends. “Yeah, man. I do.” He slapped me on the back, just above the kidney. I rolled with the blow, winced inside, but kept smiling.
The door opened. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ricky Lee enter the bar. He didn’t see Kimo and me until his eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the bar. By the time he recognized us it was too late to back out gracefully. Kimo leaned against the bar, watching the small man, his face utterly devoid of expression.
“Hey there, Ricky,” Kimo said. “We keep running into each other.”
To his credit, Ricky stood his ground. He’d already tangled once with the big cop and it didn’t look like he wanted to repeat the experience. His eyes shifted from Kimo to me, then back to Kimo. It must have confused him to see us getting along there so well.
“Call your office, Lieutenant,” said Ricky. “Your boss wants to talk to you. He don’t like you beating on people.”
“I’ll do that,” said Kimo, smiling. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“I think you should call him now.”
“I’m busy. Want a drink?”
“You buying?”
“Can’t afford it. Caine here’s buying.”
“Pour Mr. Lee a beer,” I said to the bartender.
“Mr. Lee doesn’t drink,” said Bumpy, a little stiffly, a little fearful. “He says it is bad for the temple that he calls his body.”
Where had I heard those words before? Then I remembered that Felix had said almost the same thing to me not long ago. Well, they were of a kind, if I thought about it. Two sides of the same coin. They shared the same generation, the same cultural background; they had the same interests. Hell, they even held the same attitudes. The two young men might have been friends had circumstances allowed it.
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