Ohana

by Dustin Stevens

  By the time Dyson received the walk sign to cross back over Ala Moana Boulevard, he was thoroughly soaked. His hair was sopping wet and hung in loopy wet curls around his head and his t-shirt clung to his body.

  If not for the rain slamming incessantly against the pavement, the sound of his soggy sneakers squishing with every step would have followed him as well.

  Long past trying to run from the rain, Dyson walked across the intersection, his brow furrowed and his eyes aimed at the ground. An open scowl was plastered across his face and he glared at a group of Chinese tourists as they rushed by in the opposite direction, all cowering beneath clear plastic ponchos.

  He offered only a nod to the valets milling about outside the hotel and strode for the front door, but thought better of it and moved towards a bench at the far end of the building. Placing his feet on the seat of it, he perched himself along the backrest and leaned forward onto his knees, staring out at the rain moving in sheets across the ground.

  The wind continued howling, chilling his soaked body. He ignored the cold as he stared out, trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened in the short time he'd been there.

  "You okay?" a voice asked, cutting through the sound of the rain. "I'm guessing the paddling got cut short?"

  Dyson hadn't heard her approach, though he gave no indication of surprise as he stared out. "Thanks for setting that up this morning," he said quietly. "I only got out for a few minutes, but it was fun."

  "You're welcome," Mahana replied, walking up and standing beside the bench. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at the rain as well. "We saw you walk up a few minutes ago, completely soaked."

  Dyson snorted. "I'm beginning to think I've offended every Hawaiian god there is."

  "You're off to a rather rocky start, if nothing else."

  "That might be an understatement," Dyson said. "This," he motioned to the weather outside, "and this," he motioned to his face, "weren't exactly what I had in mind when I hopped a plane."

  Mahana laughed softly and leaned back against the wall, her arms still folded. "Yeah, that's one of the more common misconceptions we get out here. Just because this is paradise, we don't have things like bad weather or crime or sickness or poverty."

  "I bet," Dyson said, nodding. He hadn't much thought about it, though he reasoned she wasn't wrong. "You sound like you've had some experience with this sort of thing."

  "Is that a question?" Mahana asked, turning her head to look at him.

  "Naw, just an observation."

  Mahana eyed him curiously, debating something. For a moment it appeared she might disclose some information about herself before opting against it. "So how about you?"

  "How bout me?"

  "What brought you out here to sunny Oahu?"

  Dyson cracked a quarter smile at the comment, nodding his head. "You mean besides the weather?"

  "Obviously," Mahana responded, making a face.

  Dyson paused, watching the rain as it momentarily let up before unleashing again. "I don't know."

  "You don't know or won't tell?"

  "Probably both," Dyson responded before his mind could tell him not to. "But in truth, I'm not sure what brought me out here."

  "Hmm," Mahana said. "At least you're honest."

  With that, she used her hips to push herself away from the wall and head back towards the front door. "I have to get back to work. Break time's over."

  Dyson nodding his understanding as she left, watching her go until she disappeared back inside.

  As she did, the short man with curly hair emerged beside her, shooting a glare her way. He handed his claim slip to the valet and waited as the young man disappeared to fetch his car, his eyes searching about until they fell on Dyson sitting alone atop the bench.

  For a long moment the two sides locked eyes, each refusing to look away. Not until the man's car arrived did he avert his gaze, dropping into the driver's seat and keeping his eyes on Dyson while he peeled away.

  As he left, he shot his middle finger into the air in Dyson's direction before tearing out into the street with a squeal of tires.

  Dyson remained impassive as he watched the black Mercedes drive away and resumed staring at the rain as it fell in steady waves around him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dyson remained on his perch for over an hour, watching the rain wash over Honolulu. From where he sat he could see the storm move through in one burst after another, at times letting up just long enough to preface the next wave’s arrival.

  At first he was entranced by the palm trees lining the beach across the street, the first he'd ever seen. Long and thin they dipped precariously with every gust of wind, their pliant strength bringing them back each time it passed. More than once he thought one might go over, only to be surprised by their stubborn persistence.

  After awhile though, his attention turned to the crowd around him.

  In front of him dozens of people came and left from the hotel, all of them either piling into rental cars or draping themselves in garish ponchos and umbrellas before venturing out. Very few of them noticed him as he sat motionless, tucked away in the corner.

  An observer in a sea of movement.

  By early afternoon his stomach began to remind him that he skipped breakfast and he pushed himself up from the bench and headed inside. He made a wide loop around the far side of the lobby, pretending to check the banks of newspapers and pamphlets to avoid the front desk, and went up the far stairwell.

  Using his key card he slid inside the room to find housekeeping had come and gone, leaving everything in the exact position it was in when he arrived two days before. Peeling the dried, stiff t-shirt off over his head he tossed it on the closest chair and threw himself down on the bed, staring up at the plain white ceiling above.

  After a moment a thought occurred to him and he rolled over to reach for a cell-phone that wasn't there. Rising to an elbow he swept his eyes around the room, still seeing nothing.

  Swinging to his feet he made a quick loop of the room. No cell-phone and no laptop.

  A light film of sweat popped up over his face as he stopped and took three deep breaths. Willing himself to calm down he made another pass through the room, checking his bags and every drawer in sight.

  A half hour later it was confirmed. His stuff was gone.

  Dropping himself on the edge of the bed he lifted the receiver from the phone and dialed the front desk.

  "Aloha, Ala Moana Hotel, this is Connie."

  "Hey Connie," Dyson said, exhaling loudly as he did so.

  "Hey sugar!" she responded. "I was so sorry to hear you got rained out this morning."

  "Yeah, the hits just seem to keep coming.”

  He could hear Connie draw in a deep breath before asking, "Something else has happened, hasn't it?"

  "It would appear I've been robbed," Dyson said, pushing the words out before the ire within caused him to say something he'd regret.

  Another sharp breath. "Oh my. Are you sure? What's been taken?"

  Dyson rubbed a hand back through his hair and said, "Cell-phone and laptop. I don't think anything else, but I haven't looked that close. The only other valuable I have is my wallet, and it was with me."

  "I'm so sorry," Connie whispered. In his mind Dyson could see her closing her eyes and shaking her head as she said it.

  "Yeah," Dyson mumbled.

  "Alright," she said, "here's what we need to do. Do a complete check of your room and see if anything else is missing. Anything. After that, come down here and fill out a report with security."

  "And what will they do?"

  "We have the whole place on video surveillance and a log of every key that accesses all rooms," Connie said. "I'll go ahead and have them pull it before you get here."

  "Okay," Dyson said, his voice just a whisper. "I'll be down soon."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dyson took his time inspecting the room for two reasons.

  First, he w
anted to do as Connie asked and check every corner of the room for his things or for anything else that might be missing. As he suspected, his stuff was nowhere to be found and nothing was out of place.

  Second, he wanted to make sure the temper flaring within him was under control before he headed downstairs. It was not Connie or Mahana's fault that everything about his trip had gone to hell. He refused to be like the guy ranting in the lobby two days earlier.

  Pulling the same t-shirt back on over his head, he descended the stairs to find Connie and Mahana both watching him with somber expressions. Doing his best to avoid their gaze he walked across the lobby and up to the counter, fighting to keep himself even and composed.

  "Hey there," Connie said, pursing her lips and offering him her best pitiful stare. Mahana offered a similar look, but said nothing.

  While Dyson appreciated the sentiment, it made him extremely uncomfortable. "Hey. Did you find anything from the key log?"

  "No, not really," Mahana said, pulling a printout from the desk beside her and placing it on the counter in front of him. "There's only been two keys used on your room since you got here. Yours and the cleaning staff."

  "Have you lost or misplaced your key at any point since you've been here?" Connie asked.

  "No," Dyson said. "I only have one. I would have had to get a replacement if I lost mine." He swept his eyes over the list, seeing the same pair of ID's show up a few times each. "And I assume..."

  "The same woman has cleaned your room every day," Mahana said. "Her name is Mei, came here from China almost twenty years ago and has been working for us ever since. Barely speaks English, never had any problems with her."

  "Security is speaking with her now if you'd like to join them," Connie offered.

  "No, that won't be necessary," Dyson said, shaking his head. His voice carried a level of resignation with it that resonated with both women, only deepening the looks of concern on their faces.

  Connie slid a form onto the counter next to the printout. "This is an incident report form our security staff uses here. These sorts of things don't happen often, but as this is the petty theft capital of the country, unfortunately they do happen."

  Dyson nodded, pulling the form over in front of him. It was three pieces of paper stapled together, using both sides of the first two sheets for a total of five pages. "You mind if I take this back upstairs? I'll come back down when I'm done and security's available to talk to me."

  "Sure," Mahana mumbled.

  "You go right ahead," Connie said.

  Nodding his appreciation, Dyson slid the form over to himself and rolled it up into his hands. He retreated from the counter and shuffled back towards the twisting staircase above when a flash of newspaper caught his eye.

  Narrowing his eyes, he tilted his head towards the ground and continued to walk forward, glancing over at the couches filling the lobby. The same newspaper remained motionless for several long moments before again twisting itself to the side.

  A familiar face encased in dark curly hair peered out from around it, eyeing him closely before ducking back behind the paper.

  Turning on a heel, Dyson walked back to the front desk where the ladies both stood silently watching him.

  "Change your mind sweetie?" Connie asked.

  Ignoring the question, Dyson asked, "Can I use your phone for a second?"

  "Um, sure," Connie said. Startled, she pulled the desk phone out and spun it around, setting it down on the counter in front of him.

  "Thanks," Dyson mumbled as he lifted the receiver and dialed his own cell-phone number.

  A moment later, the opening theme to Sanford and Son rang out through the lobby.

  Dyson's eyes hardened as he watched several people scattered around the lobby look back and forth between one another before the newspaper was lowered. Rising to his feet the man held the phone in his hand, offering a smile that was equal parts guilt and guile.

  Behind him, Dyson could hear Connie inhale sharply as the man walked forward, the ringtone still sounding out through the lobby. Scads of curious onlookers watched as he approached, holding the phone out by his side as if displaying to everyone where the sound was coming from.

  Dyson could feel a slow burn ignite within him, rising until it sat directly behind his eyes as he watched the man saunter forward. Breathing through his nose he did his best to hide his rage and to keep his hands from balling into fists by his side.

  "Yes," the man said as he approached, "it was me who borrowed your phone."

  "Borrowed?" Dyson spat, the word tasting like vinegar on his tongue.

  "Yes, borrowed," the man said matter-of-factly. "I wanted to teach you a lesson about interfering in my business. I was here to complain about the incompetent maid staff here. Now you can see just how right I was."

  "Maid staff?" Dyson asked as the man swung around a small glass end table and walked towards the counter.

  "Of course," the man said. "I waited until I saw the maid go into your room this morning, then I knocked on the door, told her it was my room and I needed to grab a few things. Idiot let me in without a second glance."

  In his hand, the phone stopped ringing and he tossed it back to Dyson. "Your computer is over there too. After you interfered the other day I wanted so badly to throttle you, but I decided this was a much better way to get my point across."

  He paused and pointed to the Dyson's face. "Besides, it looks like somebody beat me to it."

  Dyson turned and placed his phone on the counter, followed by replacing the front desk receiver back in its cradle.

  "I did a quick check on them both. No pictures or anything I'd want anyway."

  A silent rage consumed every bit of Dyson as he slid his eyes up to Mahana, who met his gaze and nodded slightly. In one movement, he wheeled and unleashed a wicked uppercut that started below his waist and gained steam as it headed skywards.

  It left the man no time at all to react, the smug sneer still affixed to his face as Dyson made contact.

  The punch landed square across the man's left cheek and nose, lifting him from the air and depositing him flat on the plush carpet. A sickening crunch of bone-on-bone rang out as he flew backwards, landing in a twisted heap.

  Taking a few steps forward, Dyson stood over the man. His nose was twisted to the side and a torrent of blood spilled from both nostrils, streaking down his face. His eyes were closed as he lay unmoving.

  Dyson stood motionless for a moment, then looked at the thin line of blood running down his middle finger and dripping to the floor.

  Cocking his head over his shoulder he said, "Tell this guy when he wakes up, I'll forget about the breaking-and-entering and theft if he forgets the punch. I'll be in my room if you folks want me to check-out."

  Without waiting for a reply, he wove his way through the couches to where the man was sitting, collected his laptop, and disappeared up the stairs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dyson leaned back in the oversized armchair and propped his boots up on the window sill in front of him. On the couch rested his duffel bag, filled with everything except the clothes he now wore and the coat draped across the back of his chair.

  He stared out the window at the darkening evening, the steady sound of rain slapping against the glass. Despite it only being a few minutes after five, night was already well on its way, reducing his visual to nothing more than muted shapes.

  Refocusing his eyes from the storm outside to his own reflection in the glass, Dyson considered the last three days and the toll they'd taken on him.

  The entire left side of his face resembled uncooked hamburger. Over half his body was still tender to the touch with sunburn. The middle knuckle on his right hand was swollen and seeping blood.

  On a larger scale, he still had a shattered rental car window to pay for and if he was lucky, was about to be kicked out of the hotel. If he was not so fortunate, he might be trading it for Honolulu County lockup.

  A low knock at the door snapped him fr
om his thoughts, three short taps in close sequence. Allowing his own reflection to blur in the glass, Dyson dropped his feet to the floor and stood.

  In a few quick steps he crossed the room and pulled the door open, prepared to find a team of cops or hotel security ready to escort him downstairs.

  Instead, Mahana stood alone before him.

  "You look surprised," she said as way of greeting.

  "I am," Dyson said, standing rooted in place. "A little anyway. I've been up here all afternoon waiting for someone to come, I just hadn't expected it to be you."

  "Sorry to disappoint you," she said, half smiling.

  "That's not what I meant.”

  "I know. We need to talk. Can I come in?"

  Dyson bobbed his head and stepped to the side, holding the door open as Mahana came inside. Her eyes swept over the nearly-untouched room and his bag on the couch as she walked to the window and stared out into the storm. "Going somewhere?"

  "You tell me," Dyson said, following her halfway across the room and leaning his back against the dresser. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and kept his eyes towards the floor, bracing for what she might say.

  "Not because of us," Mahana said, turning to match his pose against the window sill.

  "You're kidding," Dyson said, snapping his gaze to her. "The whole lobby saw me lay that guy out. They're just going to let it slide?"

  Mahana snorted. "Yeah you did. Did it feel good?"

  "Seriously? You're just going to ignore my question?"

  "Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  Dyson exhaled, allowing a small smirk to slide across his own face. "It was glorious. He was so damn soft it was like punching a snowman."

  "Ha!" Mahana coughed out, bending at the waist in a laugh.

  Dyson couldn't help but smile. "Now, you're turn."

  "The guy's name is Vince Maneti, though from here on I'm going to call him Snowman," Mahana said, smiling. "After you left, the entire lobby stood there for a good two or three minutes, nobody doing anything.

  "Finally, Connie went over and shook him awake while I called security. They came out a few minutes later and escorted him to the back, helped get him cleaned up, called in a medic to set his nose. You broke it in two places."