The Ohana

by CW Schutter

  Mary took Sarah’s other hand. “It’s only for a little while. When Mark and I get enough money, we’re moving out.”

  George pulled Sarah closer to him.

  Chaul Roong walked off muttering to himself.

  George wasn’t surprised. His entire life, he had been treated like a stepson.

  Honolulu: 1946

  Sarah and Omoni battled constantly. George left the house just to get away from their fighting. It was amazing how two women who didn’t speak each other’s language could still manage to argue.

  Mark couldn’t stand the bickering either. He told George it was the reason he no longer wanted to be at home. Mark also hated his job as a taxi driver. He complained about the traffic and the men he worked with. George tried working as a cab driver but the time between customers, or what the drivers called loads, drove him crazy. The taxi drivers had nothing better to do then sit around playing cards, harassing one another.

  After George quit driving taxi, he got a job delivering soda bottles to vending machines and grocery stands in Kaimuki, Kapahulu, Moiliili, and Waikiki. At least he didn’t have to put up with grouchy people. But for once the brothers were in the same boat; both at dead-end jobs and they knew it.

  George and Mark used to think only of today’s pleasure. A new sense of responsibility combined with Sarah and Omoni’s constant battles were a reminder the days of living at home with their parents were at an end. It was time to grow up. But both their prospects looked bleak.

  Spending time at pool halls became their escape. Mark was a hustler who sometimes made a lot of money. Of course, he had done a lot better during the war because there were always new GI’s in town to scalp. Not many of locals were willing to play against Mark anymore without a heavy handicap.

  When Mark strode into his favorite haunts rank with the stale smell of cigarette butts and Primo beer, he was transformed. Everyone knew and respected him.

  One night, George’s army buddy from San Francisco, Tommy, entered Joe’s Pool Hall with two friends. Mark was leaning over his cue stick assessing his shot when Tommy rushed over to George.

  “Hey, brah! Long time no see.” Tommy slapped him on the back and turned to the two men behind him. “Kawika, Danny, dis the guy who when take on the MPs in Frisco!”

  “Howzit, Tommy,” George greeted.

  Mark’s ball went into the pocket. He straightened up and chalked the end of his cue stick. “You took on the MPs?”

  “Ain’t no big thing.”

  Tommy put his arm around George and turned to Mark. “Let me tell you, this guy something else. He went to the USO dance full of haoles and demanded they let him in.”

  “Then what?” Mark leaned over the pool table, eyeing his shot.

  “He when keep going up the stairs and they when keep throwing him down. He never quit until shore patrol when take him away. George no scared of nothing.”

  George was now the center of attention. Some of the men in the pool hall came up and shook his hand. It made him feel good. It made him feel like somebody.

  A month later, Mark sought his brother’s advice as he drove them to a pool hall. “I’ve got a thousand dollars. I can either put a down payment on a house or I can invest it.”

  George lifted his eyebrows. He only had twenty dollars. But then, he wasn’t a hustler. “What do you want to invest in?”

  “I got an offer to go to Hong Kong and pick up some merchandise for a business man here in Honolulu. If I throw my thousand in, I’d make at least another thousand or more. We split the profits plus he pays me a courier fee of $500. Or I could just invest in the venture.”

  George whistled. That was big money. “What’s the merchandise?”

  “Opium and hashish.”

  George grabbed his arm. “Are you crazy? Leave that stuff to the Chinese.”

  “Why?” Mark shook off his hand.

  “You have a wife and a family.”

  “Don’t lecture me, George,” Mark eyes glittered as he glanced sidelong at his brother. “I know what I got. I know what you got. I know what mother and father got. I don’t want just a taste of the pie. I want a nice house, a snazzy car, and early retirement. You think I’m going do that driving a soda truck or a taxi?”

  “You could end up in prison!” George flicked the ashes off the cigarette he was smoking out the window and let his arm dangle outside.

  “So you tell me where I can make $1500 or more in five days.”

  “Sounds like you made up your mind,” George said.

  “Join me. Instead of chicken feed, we can make real money.”

  “I don’t want to get involved in that stuff,” George puffed on the cigarette and blew it out the window.

  Mark shrugged. “Up to you, George. Let me know when you change your mind.”

  The salty taste of sweat ran into George’s mouth, irritating his dry throat. His hands shook and he tried to steady them by gripping the handles of his suitcases. He didn’t enjoy his first trip to Hong Kong. All he could think about was getting caught.

  He should never have listened to Mark. The only reason he did was because his brother made the trip five times without any problems and had enough money to put down on his own home. George wanted his own house more than anything. He had to break Sarah and his mother apart before they drove him crazy.

  Mark gave George detailed directions on how to get to the room above the fish market where old man Chang sold the stuff. It should have been easy. But George was jittery the entire time. He felt a thousand eyes on him constantly. He didn’t even enjoy the expensive Eurasian whore he bought for the night. He was insane to have made this trip.

  “Anything to declare?” the customs agent asked.

  George placed his suitcase on the table in front of the agent and handed him his declaration form. “A watch and a camera,” he said, his eyes searching the room.

  “How much?” the agent glanced at the form.

  “What?” George turned back to the agent.

  “How much did you spend?” the agent put down the pencil he was holding and looked at him-really looked at him.

  “Fifty dollars, no, a hundred.” George shifted his feet from side to side.

  “You got receipts?”

  “What?” George’s hand shook.

  “Receipts brudda, receipts,” the custom agent tapped his fingers on George’s suitcase. “Maybe I betta see your bags.”

  The agent opened the bags and sifted through his clothes. George mopped his sweat with a handkerchief. His heart beat faster.

  The agent picked up a shirt, “Pretty flashy…”

  “Hey, Walta, what’s happening brah?” Mark’s voice came from behind the agent.

  The agent turned and saw Mark standing behind the rope.

  “Remember me, Walta? I went to school with your kid brother, Lefty,” Mark gestured to George, “this my older brudda, George. Maybe you knew him at Honokaa?”

  “My name not Walta.”

  “No act!” Mark hit his chest with one hand. “You look just like Walta from Honokaa! You from Honokaa?”

  “No.” The agent closed the suitcase. “I look like this guy Walta?”

  Mark put up one hand. “Swear to God. Exactly.”

  The agent scratched his head. “Maybe I go ask my motha whether or not we got relatives in Honokaa.” The agent shoved the suitcase back to George. “Okay, go.”

  “Nice meeting you anyway,” Mark waved.

  The agent waved and turned to the next passenger.

  When they were out of earshot, Mark turned to him. “You almost blew it.”

  George walked on in silence.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The concept of easy money fascinated George, but he knew he couldn’t be a drug mule. He thought about what role he could play as he drove his soda truck around town.

  “Does Chun ever go on trips?” George asked Mark one hot summer day. The two brothers were sitting on low beach chairs guzzling cold beer in the backya
rd of Mark’s new house in Kaimuki. Their wives were cooking inside. Mark had been part of Chun’s organization for little over a year and George envied him his house and new Chevy. And he knew as far as Mary was concerned, Mark had convinced her he was in the import/export business.

  Mark shook his head. “Chun’s the boss. He provides the money and the contacts.”

  George stroked his chin. “Know the other runners?”

  “Not all,” Mark took a long swallow of his beer.

  “You know all the contacts in Hong Kong?”

  “Yeah. Why all the questions, George?”

  George leaned in towards Mark. “Because we could do it ourselves.”

  Mark put his beer down on the ground. “You make one trip you almost screwed up and you like take over Chun’s action?”

  George clenched his jaw. “Look, I know I can’t do what you do, but I have something else going for me.”

  “Like what?”

  George tapped his head. “Father’s brains.”

  “I think maybe you’ve cracked up or something.” Mark lit a cigarette. “Number one, you go after Chun’s action, he’s going after you. You when figure that out?”

  George nodded. “I can handle it.”

  “How? Chun’s got muscle. Where’s yours? Besides, Chun’s Pake. He’s got the Hong Kong connections. You think you can get the Pake to go with a Yobo rather than a Pake who they’ve dealt with a long time?”

  George smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

  “How you going do that?” Mark’s voice rose as he leaned forward toward George.

  “Make them a better deal.”

  “A better deal?” Mark shook his head. “Is this a joke?”

  George smiled. “Chun’s small potatoes. I’m going to buy more stuff than Chun ever dreamed of buying. I got better ways of smuggling stuff. Pretty soon they’re going to get caught.”

  “How’re you going to smuggle stuff in?”

  “For one, we could hide the hashish by putting it into the soles of slippers and sandals. We could bring in containers legally.”

  Mark’s eyes widened. “How did you figure that?”

  “I just did. You know how cheap slippers are in Hong Kong. Every time Chun sends a mule, he pays them $500. We could import hundreds, even thousands of slippers at one time. We could move a fortune in hashish. We could even send it to California.”

  “Hashish isn’t our only market,” Mark stroked his chin.

  “I got other ideas. When the Pakes see how much we can move, they’re going with the money. That much hashish will be cheaper per pound than what Chun gets it for. Nobody will be able to beat our prices.” George leaned back and held the cold beer against his forehead.

  “Yeah, but it takes big money,” Mark pointed out. “Where are we going to come up with that kind of money?”

  “We’ll go to all the tanomoshis we know and offer them twice their money back in less than a year.” George knew there were hundreds of tanomoshi investment circles in Hawaii. Since banks in Hawaii wouldn’t lend to immigrants, groups of people pooled their savings and once a year one of the members got the money to spend any way they wanted. The Japanese and most Koreans used the Japanese word tanomoshi to describe a system of banking started in feudal times. The Chinese called it huis.

  “We can start our own tanomoshi. Once we make a big score, people will be begging to join. They’ll throw money at us.”

  “You really think you can convince them to invest in drugs?”

  “They won’t know. We’ll tell them we’re starting a slipper business. Then we convince the Pakes in China to back me on the first shipment for a bigger cut. ”

  “That’s a big sales job.”

  George grinned. “I know. And I got the best salesman right here.”

  “Let’s suppose all that works. Now who is going to sell the stuff here?” Mark asked. “Where’s your organization and protection against Chun? He’s going to want to kill you and anyone who works with you.”

  “You know Chun’s dealers?”

  “Some of them,” Mark picked up his bottle.

  “How does Chun protect them?”

  Mark shrugged. “He owns the cops and politicians.”

  “Pay offs?”

  “That’s not my end of the business.” Mark picked up his beer again and tapped against the glass. “For instance, I heard about this politician who saw his wife raped in front of him. Chun took care of everything without publicity. Now the politician owes Chun.”

  “We can do the same.”

  “George, it takes years to make those contacts.”

  “So we don’t have the fancy set up Chun has, but lots of his boys will come with me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Simple. I plan to offer them more money.”

  “How are you going to get them on your side?”

  George grinned. “You’re going to talk them into it.”

  “You must think I’m some salesman,” Mark said.

  “People like you, Mark. You’ll be an excellent recruiter.”

  “And leave myself open to Chun?” Mark took another swig of beer.

  “I told you, I’ll take care of Chun.” George wrapped his hand around his bottle. It cooled him off and felt good in against the heat of the Hawaiian sun.

  “I don’t know.” Mark shook his head.

  “What don’t you know?” George pressed.

  “I don’t know if this whole idea is good.” Mark put his bottle between his thighs and held it there.

  “Why? If you want to get rich, you gotta gamble.”

  “I don’t care about rich. Comfortable and safe, that’s the ticket.”

  “Yeah? Then why did you go with Chun in the first place?” George was genuinely curious. Mark was the risk taker in the family. He was the one who fearlessly fought in tae kwon do matches. It was George who typically didn’t want to get hurt … unless he was drunk … and outside a USO building …

  “I only wanted a start. But what you want to do is too big and risky,” Mark turned to him. “If I say no, are you still doing this?”

  “Yes,” George said without hesitation.

  “Then I guess I gotta join you. Mother and Father always said families got to stick together.”

  “You won’t regret it, Mark, I guarantee you.”

  “I’m already regretting it.”

  George smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  George admired Carlton Chun. He was a genius who shrewdly invested the fortune he made off the opium and heroin trade into real estate. His money was laundered through pool halls, pinball machines, and boxing promotions. He had a big, toothy grin, drove a white Cadillac, and dressed in three-piece white suits with polka dot ties. He was short and fat with a face like a walrus topped with curly, black hair. He had a wife and four children. He bought respectability by giving away large sums of money to charity.

  Beautiful women and brutish men pandered to him. He was a powerful man who had the right connections and the ability to get to the rest. He handed out cars like cigars. Legislators, judges, and cops went to Las Vegas on his dime.

  It was rumored his fortune approached five million dollars.

  Chun didn’t gamble, drink, or do drugs. The only thing he did in excess was eat. George believed everyone had a dark side. Someone like Chun must have something in his past or present he would do anything to prevent others from knowing. Finding the secret meant owning the man.

  It took him months of tireless sleuthing, but when he found what he was looking for, he was delighted by the utter perversity of it.

  Chun had had a fifteen-year relationship with an ex-prostitute named Karen Rodriguez. He bought her a house in Pacific Heights where they had their trysts. Although Chun was surrounded by aides and bodyguards wherever he went, he went to her place alone. Every week. Four times a week. Alone. Unlike the flashy women hanging around Chun, Karen was a husky, masculine-looking woman never seen in public with him.
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  When he was sure of his information, George went to see Karen. He knocked on the door and Karen opened the inside door.

  Staring through the screen with one hand on her hip, Karen asked, “Yeah?”

  George flashed a phony police badge before quickly palming it, “just a few questions lady.”

  “Beat it,” she said and started to close the door.

  George quickly opened the screen door and jammed his hand against the front door to keep her from closing it. “I think you better let me in. You don’t want to obstruct justice. Do you?”

  She glowered but backed up anyway. “Since you’re already half in, I don’t suppose there’s any sense in my stopping you.”

  George took off his shoes and walked in. The luxurious interior surprised him. Outside, the house was nondescript with white walls and a pitch and gravel roof. Inside, the carpets were soft and thick, the furnishings an opulent mix of Victorian wing-backed chairs, black lacquered tables and chests inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Teak paneled walls were hung with paintings, ornate gilt mirrors, and crystal and gold sconces. An elaborate crystal chandelier hung over the Chinese red dining room set. It looked like a high-class bordello.

  “May I sit down?” he asked.

  “Do what you want.” Karen put her hands on her hips and remained standing.

  George sat in a brocade over-stuffed chair. “Live here alone?”

  “Hey man, what is this?” Karen demanded.

  “I asked you a question.” George ran his hand on the arm of the rich brocade. “Pretty nice set-up you have here. Not bad for an unemployed ex-waitress.”

  “You hassling me?”

  George lit a cigarette. “Suppose you let me ask the questions?”

  “Don’t you know who my man is?”

  “I’m the one asking the questions, remember?” George took a long drag.

  “You stupid or what?” Karen crossed her arms.

  “Just answer my questions.”

  Karen frowned, “I think mo’ betta I get my lawyer first.”

  “Lots of people are interested in how an unemployed lady can own a place like this and run around town in a red Thunderbird.”