Shimura Trouble

by Sujata Massey

  COURTNEY WAS FEEDING the fish in the koi pond when we pulled up in the minivan, a few minutes before the time Uncle Yosh had suggested. She cocked her head and looked me up and down.

  “You look good for someone who’s been sick. It’s like your face is pinker, but it’s not sunburn.”

  “Thank you, Courtney.” I wasn’t about to tell a teenage girl my personal recipe for glowing skin. I felt different inside, too, thanks to an extra two hours in bed with Michael.

  “You want to try?” Courtney asked, handing my father the box of fish flakes.

  He shook a few in the water, and we all laughed as the patterned orange and cream fish swarmed to him. It was fun to watch them, and sent me back to memories of similar ponds in Japan. I said to Courtney, ‘I can’t tell where the extension is that Braden’s digging.”

  “That’s because it’s finished! Look over there—he did nothing but dig the last several days. Dig, and cry.”

  “Oh, Courtney. He’s really worried about his future, isn’t he?”

  “He doesn’t show it to people. But when he’s alone, I see it. He’s very scared.”

  When Braden and Yoshitsune came outside, I left the fish and opened up the Odyssey, requesting that Braden sit next to me and read the map. I explained, ‘These maps are really complex, and I don’t want to strain the older gentlemen’s eyes.”

  “I could do it, too!” Courtney piped up, from the very rear of the minivan, where she was sitting with Tom.

  “I know that, Courtney. You may navigate for us on the way back.” Truth be told, I was going to use the handheld GPS once I arrived there, and mark the point as a way station. I would bring Michael back to see the place at sunset that evening, perhaps with a bottle of champagne.

  “OK.” Braden shrugged, and took the first map I gave him. “So we go into Barbers Point, huh? That’s simple. The guard booths are always empty.”

  Braden knew his way around Barbers Point better than Uncle Yoshitsune, because in his day it had been closed. Yosh told us, ‘Planes taking off there, day and night. Never know exactly what’s going on.”

  “Who was Barber, some famous American Navy pilot?” I asked, looking around at the ink-black, burned fields.

  “No, no,” Uncle Yosh said. “He was a very bad sailor.”

  “Like a pirate?” Courtney asked.

  “No. I mean he was an English captain who tried to land ashore in bad weather. Everyone on the ship told him, don’t even try, too dangerous, but he was in a hurry and wound up wrecking his ship here. Everybody died.”

  As I was thinking, how could anyone know what the people aboard told the captain, if they’d all died?, Courtney asked, ‘Do you think we can find bones, Jii-chan?”

  “No, Courtney. It was long-ago times, maybe 1600s. Bones all gone by now.”

  Don’t let the house be gone, too, I thought. The picture that Edwin had taken to an appraiser had been about ten years old, and the place had been a wreck then. Winds could have finished it off.

  “I don’t think we can go any farther,” Braden said, pointing to a Pierce Holdings sign about fifty feet ahead, with No Trespassing written underneath.

  “Sure we can,” I said.

  “The boy has a point. We could get in trouble.” Uncle Yoshitsune sounded regretful.

  “Will you let me see the map?” I stopped the car and put it in park, so I could make myself comfortable while I looked. “Yes, just as I thought. We’re definitely on military land; Pierce Holdings’ sign is incorrect.”

  “But that’s not what Pierce Holdings thinks,” Braden said. “Albert Rivera’s got video cameras everywhere, and field glasses.”

  “If I’m prosecuted, I can win the case in court, based on these maps. Besides, I don’t think Josiah Pierce would do anything to us.”

  “Turn left,” Braden interrupted as we came to a crossing of dirt roads.

  I wasn’t sure about that, but I followed the directions and drove for a few minutes with blackened fields on either side, until I saw cars whizzing by on H-1.

  “We’re supposed to be driving toward the water,” I said.

  “Just following the map,” Braden said brightly. “You still want me to navigate, or what?”

  “Whatever fool map you’re following is wrong,” Yoshitsune said. “I remember now, turn back and go the other way at the crossing.”

  “We shouldn’t have come out here,” Braden mumbled. “I’m in enough trouble already; you want to pile on some more?”

  “This is perfectly legal,” I said, and as we drove on, I was pleased to see the fields and trees appeared only singed, not burned to the ground. So the fire had petered out; this boded well for the house.

  “I’m excited,” my father said, from the back seat with Courtney. “And look, Uncle Hiroshi’s camcorder is still in its case here, though I’m not sure I know how to use it.”

  Courtney begged my father to let her use the camcorder, and soon she had her window down and was recording the sights with her own commentary on the side.

  I glanced sideways at Braden, who was looking grimmer than I’d seen him since we’d left the police station. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want to come. It’s just that you must be with a family member at all times—”

  “Yeah, yeah. OK, the map says a left at the fork in the road—‘

  “No!” Uncle Yoshitsune called from the back. “I know this place. Stay straight.”

  I followed Uncle Yoshitsune’s advice, driving slowly and taking in the surroundings. Clearly this area hadn’t been used to grow sugar, because the grasses were so long and there were many old trees, the scraggly wili-wili in addition to the usual kiawe, and flowers that looked native. A showering of passion fruit lay on the path before us, and I steered around it, planning to pick up the unexpected bounty on the way back.

  “On the way back, let’s gather any good fruit that’s fallen. I’m sure the Navy won’t mind,” I said.

  “If we get back,” Braden said ominously.

  “There, there I see it! A small house,” my father cried, and everyone turned to look out the left windows where, in front of the brilliant Pacific, stood a weathered gray cottage listing slightly to one side.

  “No, that can’t be it,” Braden said. “Keep on.”

  “I’m not sure,” Yoshitsune’s voice was low. “My house, it was white, not gray like that.”

  “Time takes its toll,” I said, slowing to a stop, to allow him a chance to look. After a few moments, he responded. “That’s the mango tree Kaa-chan planted. Hey, still bearing mangoes, after all these years.”

  “Well, we’ve seen it, now let’s head back. There’s a TV show at three I want to catch,” Braden said.

  I ignored Braden and proceeded the last few yards to the house, where I put the car in park and set the waypoint, before turning off the ignition. “Come on, everyone. Let’s get out and take a good look. Courtney, bring that camcorder, OK?”

  I pressed the button to roll back the side doors, and my father and Uncle Yosh disembarked.

  “Don’t step on the porch, it looks like you could fall straight through,” I warned.

  “Yes, yes,” my father soothed. “Don’t worry so much, Rei-chan. Come out and see for yourself.”

  “I’m not going,” Braden said, after I got out of my side and walked around the car to his.

  “Fine. That’s your choice.” I gave him one last pitying look, then walked toward where my family had gathered on the straggly weeds outside the front of the house. “See, here are the flowers my mother planted,” Yoshitsune said, pointing to a twisted little hibiscus plant that had somehow survived. Hibiscus: a lovely imported but hardy flower, like Harue herself.

  “And if you continue round the house, you’ll see our old vegetable garden.” Uncle Yoshitsune was leading the tour, and we all followed him around to the back, paralleling rutted tire tracks that seemed to end at the back, and an opening where a door must once have been.

  “Oh dear,” said my f
ather. “It looks like the door was broken, and someone has made a terrible mess inside.”

  We stood there gaping at piles of rock, in varying shades of gold and brown, and sizes ranging from plate-sized to doorstop. The piles were roughly grouped by color.

  “The lava rock,” I said at the same time I heard the minivan’s engine. I bolted around the corner of the house, only to see Braden reversing the Odyssey, turning sharply, and driving off in a cloud of dust.

  “Where’s he going?” Uncle Yosh yelled. “Who that boy think he is, driving alone? He only got a learner’s permit.”

  Courtney followed the progress of her brother with the camera. “Wow. He’s going to get it, when Dad gets home!”

  How were any of us going to get home? That was the question. All thoughts of spending a leisurely few hours on Yoshitsune’s old property were gone. It was hot, and we had two elderly people with health risks facing a trek of almost an hour to the gas station in the developed section of Barbers Point. If I were in better shape, and with the proper shoes, I could have run the distance to get help, but I imagined that I was as likely to wind up with heat exhaustion as anyone else in the group.

  “Do you know the number for a taxi service around here?” I asked Uncle Yosh, relieved that at least my cell phone was with me, although the battery was low after my long conversation with Josiah Pierce the evening before.

  “Nobody gonna find their way here,” Yosh said. “And even if they might, drivers know better than to come in to a place marked no trespass. They don’t have that same kind of map that Braden got with him in the minivan, yah?”

  Now I thought of Albert Rivera, with the field glasses and surveillance cameras that Braden had mentioned. If he came upon us, we wouldn’t have the maps to explain anything. I doubted that Rivera would shoot a group of unarmed visitors, but he could be nasty enough to give my father high blood pressure, or worse.

  I knew Michael would have wanted me to call him. But I also knew that at this moment he was having lunch with his JAG friend, and the last thing I wanted to do was alert the Navy’s legal division that Michael had given us maps of their land. And even if Michael tried to find us, he didn’t have the maps either, to follow our route, and his convertible could only take three passengers.

  It was all such a mess, but I could see why Braden had taken off. Here was the thing that had gotten him in trouble, staring him straight in the face. He ran the risk of being caught red-handed, looking as if he was up to trouble again.

  The sound of a loud engine drew near, breaking into my rambling, panicked thoughts. It could be Braden returning, or Alberto Rivera, maybe even with Mitsuo Kikuchi on board.

  “Let’s go by the rocks. Nobody see us there,” Uncle Yosh said, as if reading my thoughts.

  “Yes, you do that; take everyone over, and I’ll check who’s there, and if they look OK I’ll ask for help,” I said. I didn’t want to be too far away, if it turned out the driver was just a local passing through who might prove perfectly willing to help.

  “No, Rei-chan, that’s not a good idea. You go with Courtney and your great-uncle,” my father said.

  “But Otoosan, I know the man who manages this land, and the one who owns it, too. Regardless of who shows up, I can explain.”

  I couldn’t convince my father to leave me, though, even as the sound of the motor grew louder, and Uncle Yosh and Courtney had gone toward the craggy rocks at the water’s edge. They’d just taken cover when, through a cloud of dust, a dirty white truck appeared. It followed the thick, rutted tire trail that wound around to the back of the house and, sensing the driver’s intent, I gestured for my father to follow me from the back of the house to the long side where the bedrooms must have been. The truck stopped, and I heard the sound of feet crunching on the ground, then the slam of the truck door. Then the person stepped up easily inside the house, moving into the old kitchen crammed with rocks. We couldn’t see him, but I peeked around the corner, trying to get a look at the man.

  He was too far into the house; I couldn’t see him at all. But I did get a better view of the truck—a Toyota Tacoma, its two seats slip-covered in blue and white floral cotton, and its back window marked with a Kamehameha School decal. The last time I’d seen the back of this truck, it had been crammed with the surviving items from Aloha Morning. Now the payload was empty save for several folded white tarpaulins, which I imagined would be used to cover up the lava rock once Kainoa Stevens had loaded what he needed.

  I KNEW ENOUGH not to show myself—too much was at risk. I remembered Braden’s words about dying if he snitched. And now I felt anger build in me, as I remembered what Kainoa had said, and how he’d effortlessly gathered intelligence on my family’s futile quest. Everything was starting to fall into place: Kainoa’s mention of a sideline construction operation, and the nervousness he had shown about Albert Rivera, who must have seen him on Pierce lands before and suspected something.

  It took Kainoa almost half an hour to carry the rocks he needed out of the house, and the worst part about waiting was knowing that I could have been recording it all with the camcorder, if Courtney didn’t have that with her down by the shore. Don’t show yourselves, I prayed silently to her and Uncle Yosh, who surely must have been wondering what was happening, for such a long time.

  Finally, Kainoa’s heavy breathing and grunting stopped, and I heard a tarpaulin being whisked over the payload. The truck drove off, slower than it had come, no doubt because of the weight. When the truck had disappeared, I ran out from the side of the house and gestured for Uncle Yosh and Courtney to join me.

  “It was the rock man,” Uncle Yosh said. “The bastard who get Braden in trouble, and won’t tell nobody the truth about it! I peeped around the rock and caught a glimpse—very big guy. Hawaiian or Samoan, for real.”

  “Yes, it’s Kainoa Stevens. The guy who owned the coffee shop that burned down.” Now I was remembering Kainoa’s tear-stained face the morning after the fire. Just how bad was he? Was he grieving for Charisse—not just because he’d found her, but because he had some culpability in her death, too?

  I was caught unaware by the sound of wheels on a rutted path. Oh God, he’d come back, and we weren’t in a position to get to the water in time. I saw the fear on my relatives’ faces as well, but the cloud of dust revealed a surprising sight: our battered Honda Odyssey. Braden had returned. He drove slowly all the way over to Uncle Yoshitsune and my father, and then stopped. He made no move to open the passenger door, so I pulled it open for us.

  “I got lost.” Braden looked sheepish. “I couldn’t read the map and drive at the same time, and the damn GPS sent me in a circle back to this place. Then I got to thinking, I really should come back for you.”

  “I’d say so, fool!” Uncle Yosh sputtered. “You leave us out there to…what, sweat to death?”

  “It’s OK,” I said, helping Uncle Yosh and my father board into the blessedly cool car. I shot a glance at the dashboard; Braden had burned a lot of gas driving through the fields. Hopefully, we’d have enough to get back home. “Courtney, can you get some water bottles for everyone out of the very back?”

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” Braden said. “It’s just, when I saw where we were going, I didn’t know who we’d meet there.”

  “Well, you were right to be wary. We met him,” I said, and as Braden’s eyes popped, I clarified, ‘I mean, we saw Kainoa. He didn’t see us and wound up leaving with a load of lava rock about five minutes before you returned.”

  “A tremendously lucky circumstance,” my father said.

  “Well, it’s my beiju,” Uncle Yoshitsune said. “A lucky year.”

  But not for everyone. As I showed Braden the way home, I thought about how the first thing I would do, once I got back to civilization, would be make Kainoa pay for what he’d done.

  IT WASN’T THAT easy. Later that evening, sitting in the Kapolei police station with my father, Uncle Yosh, and Michael, a Kapolei police detective called Bill Vang told us he
was interested, but needed much more to arrest Kainoa. They even pointed out that I hadn’t positively identified him at the scene, just on the basis of the truck and Courtney and Yosh’s physical description.

  “Can’t you just put out a call to all police on the island to look out for his truck, and once they stop it, check under the tarps?”

  “It’s five hours since you saw him. He probably already unloaded it at whatever construction site he’s working at,” said Lieutenant Vang. “And if there’s rock dust in his truck’s payload, well, that’s no big deal. On the Leeward Side, there’s dust from rock and ashes from fire and red earth everywhere you look and touch. Of course that payload’s gonna be dirty. My truck’s dirty, too.”

  “What about a wire?” Michael suggested.

  “Huh?” Vang responded.

  “I could confront Kainoa, wearing a wire, and get him to admit he was the one who ordered Braden to work.”

  “You think he’s going to talk about all of this to a haole? He’s either gonna think you’re a cop, or stupid. Better for the kid to face him, and get the direct instructions to hush up, or whatever. Yeah, tell you what, Braden wears a wire, and it turns out there is truth to this business about Kainoa Stevens’ sideline, I’ll talk to the arson investigator about it.”

  “It’s too dangerous for him,” Michael answered shortly, as Uncle Yosh, my father and I all nodded in agreement. He continued, ‘Braden was too scared to come with us to see you this evening. How’s he going to be effective with Kainoa and successfully hide the fact he’s recording their conversation? You need someone with experience doing that kind of thing.”

  “I could do it,” I volunteered, because the thought had come to me a few minutes earlier. “It makes perfect sense. Kainoa considers me a friend. He gave me his card, and wrote down his phone number another time. Obviously, he’ll meet me if I call him.”

  “Rei, that’s nice of you to want to help your cousin, but like Mike said, there’s a lot to this kind of operation.” Vang sounded patronizing.