The Ohana

by CW Schutter

  Sean teased Diana when she bought a quaint gingerbread house on Black Point with marvelous views of the ocean. Black Point was in the middle of elitist Kahala and Diamond Head. It became infamous when novelist James Michener was denied the right to buy a home there because of his Japanese wife. Black Point boasted a private saltwater pool and private road access with big ‘Keep Out’ signs. But the charming house with its spectacular view had won her over. She insisted that whenever she sat on her lanai and gazed out at the ocean, she found peace and sometimes even forgot her frantic crusading.

  He smiled when he saw her sitting on her lanai with a glass of wine at dusk wearing a red cotton hapi coat with a black dragon embroidered in back. She stood when she saw him approaching. The closer he got, the more seductive she looked. He slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her as his other hand parted the front of her hapi coat.

  “Don’t.” She drew her robe back together.

  He kissed her neck as she turned her head away.

  “Sean.” She pushed him away and stepped to the front door. “I’ve told you before, the neighbors might see.”

  Laughing, he followed her into the house. Once inside, he began to caress her again.

  Stepping back, she shook her head.

  Sean frowned. “What’s eating you? We’re inside now.”

  “I have to talk to you.”

  “Let me get a glass of wine first.” He went to the bar and poured Cabernet Sauvignon into a crystal wine glass.

  Diana sat on the sofa and crossed her legs. “Tell me what you know about the Carlos Mendoza trust.”

  Sean sat across from her.

  “Well?” she persisted.

  “Well, what?” He reached into his pocket and took a cigarette from the gold Cartier case Katherine had given him.

  “Were taxes allowed to lapse on some of the real estate? Did certain kamaaina haoles buy the properties up for next to nothing? Were sweetheart deals made on sugar and pineapple field leases? Most importantly, how complicit are you in this matter?”

  Sean flicked the ashes into a ceramic dish. “I thought we made a pact never to discuss business.”

  “This is different.” Diana leaned forward. “This goes to the heart of our relationship. It says a lot about who you are. Despite our differences, I always believed you were basically ethical and wouldn’t knowingly hurt anyone, or do anything illegal or immoral.”

  “Nothing malicious or illegal was involved.” Sean said. He rested his cigarette on the lip of the dish.

  “A young man named Mendoza came to see me today and told me about Land Court Transfers to friendly parties for a fraction of the value of properties managed by your organization. Was he lying?” The green points in Diana's eyes lit up.

  “I’ve rarely seen a case that can be summed up in one sentence.”

  “Did Sandwich Isles deliberately let real estate taxes lapse on some of the Mendoza properties? Did the family you so proudly married into purchase valuable real estate for pennies on the dollar at auctions? Did you lease thousands of agriculture acres for $100 a year for a hundred years with no step-ups? Were you directly involved in cheating the Mendoza heirs of their properties?” Diana lit a cigarette and glared.

  Sean clenched an arm of the chair he sat in, then placed his wineglass on a nearby low table, fearful he would snap the stem in half. “The Mendoza leases and the transfer of properties occurred before I took over the Sandwich Isles Trust company.”

  “But you knew about it.”

  “That's privileged information and you know it.” Sean retrieved the glass and toyed with the stem.

  They were both silent for awhile. Sean stubbed out the cigarette and absently lit another.

  Diana knelt in front of him and put her hands on his lap. “Don’t you care, Sean? Isn’t there a little part of you that cares what happens to other people?”

  Sean grabbed her hands so tightly she winced. “I care about the people who matter to me.”

  Diana struggled out of his grip and stood before him. “I thought somewhere in there was a heart.”

  “The trouble with you, Diana, is you care too much about everyone and everything.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Even people who don’t matter.”

  “Is there such a thing as people who don’t matter?”

  “Why do you have to take up everyone’s cause?”

  “Maybe it’s my Jewish guilt.” Diana flopped back into the sofa.

  “Are you planning to sue us?”

  She looked away, then back. “What if I did?”

  “Be careful. Some of the dirt might fall on you.” Sean crushed his cigarette into the ashtray.

  “Think I’m not tough enough?” Diana put her chin up like she always did when she was being combative.

  “I didn’t say that. It’s just that you’d better make sure your house is in order.”

  “Will you try to recuse me from the case?” Diana’s eyes narrowed.

  Sean knew this meant she was not just mad, she was furious.

  “No, but let me warn you.” Sean held her eyes hostage. “First, with your high ethical standards, you must see the impropriety of your handling of the case. Secondly, the kamaainas expected to lose the last crusade you led against them. They knew they were victims of time and the changes brought on by the war. This is different. They’re proud of their missionary background and consider themselves moral people. This would be considered a personal strike.”

  “Good.” Diana pounded the armchair with her fist. “I want those high and mighty Puritans to pay for what they did.”

  “They’ll use everything in their power to try and destroy you.”

  Diana frowned. “I suppose you’ll help them?”

  Sean shook his head. “You mean more to me than that. But I can’t help you if you pursue this litigation.”

  “Obviously. You know if I don’t take this case, no one else will. That in itself rises above the question of ethics in my opinion.”

  “Diana.” Sean put a hand out.

  “So, of course, you understand why I’m compelled to take it.” Diana ignored his peace offering.

  Sean’s hand dropped to his lap. “Yes.”

  Diana bowed her head, closed her eyes, and pressed her fingertips to her temples.

  “Sean, it’s over. We’re over.” Diana’s voice was raw with emotion. “It’s the only way I know to take care of the conflict.”

  “Are you saying this case is more important than what we have together?”

  “And just what is it we have together? We have nothing but an illicit, immoral affair no civilization would condone.”

  “When did you get so moral?” Sean picked up his glass of wine and drained it.

  Diana leaned forward. “Don’t you see how important this case is? It goes to the heart of everything I believe in and everything you want to preserve. This is where our worlds converge. We are complete opposites trying to pretend we can have some kind of relationship.”

  “You know I love you.” Sean put out his hand again.

  Diana stared at his proffered palm and bit her lip. “I guess I do. But it means so much more to me now you’ve said it. “Oh Sean!” She jumped up. “Why does it have to be this way? Why can’t you join me? Together we could make a difference.”

  “I can’t. Diana, you ask too much. Turn it around—could you drop this case and others like it for me?”

  “Of course not.”

  Sean went to her and held her.

  Pushing him away, she choked as she spoke. “Please leave, Sean.”

  “Di?”

  “Please.” she turned from him.

  He left. The full moon hung eerily in the inky blue sky, just above the darkened ocean. And he wondered if it was true that during a full moon people went a little crazy.

  Sean didn’t see Diana again until he sat across from her in the conference room flanked by Duncan and a senior partner from Sean’s former law firm. She looked tiny b
ehind the massive table.

  “The Mendoza matter is nothing but a case of disgruntled parties,” Duncan said. “Because there are so many more heirs, the money no longer seems adequate.”

  “I’d say it’s more about the lack of just and fair compensation for use of their lands and the mismanagement of their properties leading to tax lien foreclosures,” Diana said. Her eyes glittered. “Properties which were then picked up for a song by entities controlled by or for the benefit of your incestuous kamaaina families.

  Duncan was unmoved by the insult. “You know, you could have a brilliant career.”

  “Mr. Ritchie, can we get back to business?” Diana sat back in her seat.

  Duncan lit a cigar, ignoring the face Diana made. “These islands were in the dark ages when my family arrived. We brought them into modern times.”

  “And killed over half the population with syphilis and measles,” Diana spat back.

  “We're a nation of castoffs,” Sean said looking first at Diana, then at Duncan. “At least they have a chance to succeed here. Look at how many of the Chinese have prospered.”

  Duncan nodded in agreement. “We made a mistake flooding the islands with Orientals. Already they outnumber us. One day they might be in control. Imagine having the children of immigrants deciding the fate of Hawaii. We can’t let that happen.”

  “Your attitude is insufferable.” Diana tapped the table with her pen. “And I don’t know what this has to do with Mendoza.”

  Duncan shook his finger at her. “Mendoza isn’t important. But your work is.”

  “The Mendoza case is my work.” Diana slapped her pen down on the table.

  “I’m aware of your political ambitions. Despite the fact you’re a woman, I could help you achieve your dreams.”

  “I’m not for sale.” Diana’s eyes narrowed.

  “But you’re not beyond doing something that exceeds ethical boundaries” Duncan countered with a smirk.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Diana moved her upper body back ever so slightly.

  Duncan leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Why did you come to Hawaii?”

  “You know why. I was originally hired to try the Maui Pine case.” Diana’s eyes flitted to Sean then back to Duncan. For a moment Sean thought he saw uncertainty flicker in her eyes.

  “Yes, of course. I’ve always wondered who financed you.”

  Diana glared at him. “Let’s just say there are actually some haoles who despise the system here, haoles with a conscience.”

  Sean sat back, realization washing over him. Meg said more than once she despised the system in Hawaii. Could it be possible?

  And then he knew. Meg had more money than she could spend in her lifetime and possessed the same reformist passion as Diana. How ironic he loved two women whose views were so similar and so opposite of his.

  Sean leaned forward now, his eyes bored into Diana’s. “So it was a kamaaina haole who gave you the money?”

  Diana looked away.

  Duncan tapped his pen on the table. “Well, then. Why did you stay?”

  “Because Hawaii is a challenge.”

  Duncan shook his head. “I know about your affair with Harlan Thomas in San Francisco.”

  Duncan’s statement took Sean by surprise. He looked at Diana. Her jaw was clenched and her hand fisted around her pen.

  “It won’t look good when your affair with a married man on the opposing side of a law suit you were involved in is revealed. You used bedroom information to defeat him in the courtroom. Your image as a crusader of justice will be severely compromised. People will think you’re in the habit of extracting information from married men.”

  Diana’s voice trembled. “Things were not the way they seem.”

  Sean stared at Diana, but she refused to meet his eyes. He turned away and placed his elbow on the table and put his forehead in his hand. He couldn’t stand to watch her pain.

  Duncan raised his hand. “I’m sure you have a plausible, if untrue, explanation. But no matter how you paint it, it isn’t pretty a pretty picture. Harlan's dead now, but his widow was eager to provide us with letters.”

  Sean realized Duncan was actually enjoying himself.

  “I suggest you drop the Mendoza case.” Duncan stuck his thumbs in his belt. “You can tell me in a week what you want to do.”

  Diana rose from her chair.

  Sean saw her eyes glistening. He shook his head to let her know he had nothing to do with what just happened, but she kept her head down as she shoved her papers into her briefcase and walked out the door.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Honolulu: 1961-1962

  George Han should have trusted his gut instead of his head. A dark shadow fell over his spirit the minute Tupa Sufaloid walked into his office. But he brushed it aside like a pesky mosquito because Tupa came with an irresistible package. He brought his gang, the fearsome Samoan Sons, an angry group of older teens and tough young men from Mayor Wright housing who offered force in exchange for organization.

  “I keep dem guys in order. You just tell us what to do boss.” Tupa dwarfed the chair he sat in across from George’s desk. He was as big as he was tall—a mountain of solid muscle. A jagged scar slashed the right side of his face from his eye to his chin. He looked like a carved Tiki with his lantern jaw, broad nose, and long eyes. George was blinded by the fact Tupa—who gave himself his first name as many Samoans had only one name—was an ex-football star from Farrington High School who won the Interscholastic League of Hawaii’s player of the year award.

  “I used to watch your games,” George said. “I thought for sure you were headed to the pros.”

  “Yeah except the cops when gang up on me and beat me so bad the doc when say I can never play again.” Tupa touched his scar. “That’s why I when form the Samoan Sons. Cause they always pick on us guys. But now they scared us.” He smiled but his eyes remained flat and emotionless.

  Tupa and his Samoan Sons worked for George a year before trouble started. It was an introduction to what would be a new and violent era.

  “Mits” Kawasaki was a boxing promoter who ran a successful travel agency and owned the biggest nursery in Waimanalo. George met Mits through Mark. Born with a disfiguring harelip, Mits had a self-conscious stutter from all the teasing he endured as a child. Mark once saved him from a group of cruel young boys at the age of eight and he never forgot it. He became the Han brother’s shadow.

  Mits ran junkets to Las Vegas for George. When it came to collecting the markers the gamblers ran up at the casinos, no one was better at it. Every time Mits needed to collect a debt, he dredged up all the anger that had smoldered in him as a helpless child. He was finally getting even.

  From the beginning, Mits and Tupa couldn’t hide the fact they hated each other.

  “He’s an animal,” Mits said to George in his office one sunny afternoon a year after Tupa joined their syndicate. “No different from the bullies we knew in school only he’s bigger and more dangerous.”

  “He’s under control,” George replied.

  Mits curled his harelip. “Being a Farrington grad, I know Tupa was arrested for beating up Japanese kids half his size in high school just for fun.”

  “Then the cops beat his professional football career out of him.”

  “Yeah, but the Samoans hate us Orientals. And since most of the cops are Hawaiian, he hates them too. We gotta keep an eye on him.” Mits stood. “Hey, I better go pick up the big marker in Kaneohe.”

  “A hundred G’s. You think you’ll have problems?” George fiddled with his ornate silver letter opener. “Nah, Harry’s good for it. His restaurant brings in the dough. He’s a good guy.” He pointed at a picture hanging on the wall. It was Tupa and his gang. “Don’t trust that guy. I’m telling you. I got a bad feeling.”

  George waved goodbye casually, trying to pretend everything would be okay. But he was worried; Mits had a sixth sense about things.

  The Vegas peopl
e respected Mits because he always came through on every marker. But, soon after Mits went to collect the hundred grand marker his body was found in the trunk of a parked car three miles from his nursery. The Hawaiians gambling in Vegas knew about Mits before it hit the papers because the casinos immediately cut off all their credit and demanded all outstanding markers be called in immediately.

  Mits’s right-hand man Naka shifted in his seat as he told George. “Mits when pick up a marker from Harry Okazaki. Harry when lose a hundred grand, but it’s not the first time Harry when lose big.” Naka pulled his earlobe.

  “Did he get the money?” George stroked his forehead. He felt a migraine coming on.

  “Yeah, Harry said he picked it up at the restaurant about five, before the place opened up for the night. Mits called me from a pay phone a little after to say he was going leave.” Naka shook his head. “I no can believe this happened.”

  George looked up at the ceiling. “Any witnesses?”

  “Harry said a couple of people saw Mits. Busboys, cooks, waitresses, you know, some of the workers.” Naka rubbed his hands on his pants. “They saw Mits go into Harry’s office and they saw him leave with a big brown paper bag.”

  George put the tips of his fingers together, still looking up at the ceiling. “Has anyone talked to any of them?”

  “They all said the same thing. Mits came in, went into Harry’s office for just a few minutes, and left with a bag. We don’t think anyone’s lying.”

  George looked at Naka. “Was the bag of money found?”

  “No. Our man in Homicide, Dang, says there was no money, no bag. Even Mits’ money was gone from his wallet.” Naka shrugged. “We when figure someone knew about the pickup and killed him for the money.”

  “No.” George shook his head. “Sounds like a set up.”

  “That would be crazy!” Naka slapped his thigh. “Killing Mits brings you and Vegas down on them.”

  George’s eyes stayed on Naka’s. “Who’s crazy enough to take us all on?”

  Naka stared back. “Tupa.”

  George looked out the window. He should have paid more attention to what Tupa was doing.