Michael Vey 7

by Richard Paul Evans

  His thoughts floated to McKenna. She was his first girlfriend, his first kiss, his first love. She was pretty much his first everything. The idea of her being hurt by Hatch made him insane. He knew that it was more about saving her than vengeance on Hatch—not that he didn’t want that, too—that was driving him back to Tuvalu. He had to save her—or die trying. Then he pushed those thoughts away as well. It was all too much to make sense of. Way too much, even for a brain the size of his. He fell asleep in the bathtub.

  25

  Pineapple Pie

  Ostin woke to the sound of knocking. “Hey, Thomas,” Jack said. “You alive in there?”

  Ostin looked around, trying to remember where he was. “Yeah. Sorry. I fell asleep.”

  “Save some water for the fish.”

  “I’ll hurry.” Ostin got up and quickly washed himself with a bar of soap, rinsed out his clothing, and then hung them up on the rod where Jack’s clothes had been. He turned off the water and got out, hung Jack’s clothes back up next to his own, then dried himself off with a towel.

  “Did Vishal come back with some clothes?” Ostin asked.

  “Yeah, I put them on the floor outside the door. You’re going to love the shirt.”

  Ostin opened the door, reached out, and grabbed the clothes. Folded on top was a pink cotton T-shirt that read:

  PROUD TO BE A

  FIJIAN

  HOTTIE

  “What the . . .”

  “Pretty awesome, right?” Jack said. “Vishal said it’s the only thing he could find your size.”

  “Great,” Ostin said to himself. He looked at the shorts. At least they looked like something a guy would wear. He pulled on the shorts, put the T-shirt on inside out, then came out. Jack and Vishal both looked up at him.

  “Your T-shirt’s inside out,” Vishal said.

  “It’s the way the cool kids wear it in America,” Ostin said.

  “You’re not in America,” Vishal said.

  “That’s okay,” Ostin replied. “I’m not one of the cool kids either.”

  Jack grinned.

  Vishal suddenly stood. “If you’ll excuse me now, I need to go back to work.”

  “Vishal leads shark dives,” Jack said. “For tourists.”

  “In parts of Fiji, the shark is worshipped as a god,” Vishal said. “Perhaps the one who bit your raft was a great god bringing you to me.”

  “Perhaps,” Ostin said. “Thank you for all your help.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll be back around seven o’clock. I think maybe you both need some rest. I have a big bed in that room. You can sleep. When I come back, we’ll get some dinner. In the morning I can drive you to Suva.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows. “Suva?”

  “Yes. Your hotel.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Ostin said.

  “It’s no problem. It’s only one hundred and eighty-seven kilometers. About a two-hour drive each way,” Vishal said.

  “We’ll just take a bus,” Ostin said.

  Vishal raised his hand to silence their protests. “It’s no problem. I have friends in Suva that I would like to see. It will be a nice day for a drive. In the meantime, help yourself to anything you’d like to eat. There is pineapple pie in the refrigerator.”

  “Thank you,” they both said in unison.

  After Vishal walked out of the house, Jack said, “I can’t believe he’s just leaving us alone in his house. We could totally rip him off.”

  “They’re trusting people,” Ostin said.

  “They’d have to be to fall in with the Elgen.”

  “Maybe Vishal is Elgen.”

  “Stop that already,” Jack said. “That’s just paranoid. When was the last time an Elgen fed you anything besides Rabisk?” He stood. “Anyway, he’s gone and I need sleep before stealing a boat.”

  “Me too,” Ostin said. “Some of that pineapple pie and sleep.”

  They walked into the kitchen and helped themselves to large pieces of pie. After they’d eaten, they went into the bedroom. They both stood there looking at the bed.

  “Never slept in the same bed as a guy,” Ostin said.

  “No big deal,” Jack said, sitting down and taking off his shoes. “In the old days, gold miners used to sleep like six guys to a bed. Probably sounded like a log mill, with all that snoring. You ever share a bed with anyone?”

  “No. Maybe with my parents when I was little.”

  “When I was little, we only had room for three beds. My parents took one, my sister took one, and I shared a bed with my brother. And he wet the bed.”

  “I could have lived the rest of my life not knowing that,” Ostin said.

  “Yeah, now he’s a marine.” Jack looked at him. “You don’t wet the bed, do you?”

  Ostin looked at him. “No.”

  “Good. Because I just got dry clothes.”

  * * *

  They slept soundly for several hours. It was after sundown when Jack woke to the sound of someone entering the house. Instinctively his first thought was of danger. He lay quietly with one eye opened, focused on the door, watching it slowly open.

  Vishal stuck his head inside. “Hello?” He turned on the light. “Wake up, gentlemen. Or you won’t sleep tonight.”

  “What time is it?” Jack asked.

  “What day is it?” Ostin asked.

  Vishal smiled. “It’s the same day it was when you came to my beach. And it’s dinnertime. I will take you out to dinner. Do you like pizza?”

  “We love pizza,” Ostin said, suddenly feeling more awake.

  “I thought so. Americans love their pizza.”

  26

  Kava Kava

  Jack and Ostin followed Vishal out to his car, a white passenger van with the words SHARK REEF DIVERS printed on the side beneath the gaping jaws of a large shark.

  “That picture on your van probably scares away customers,” Ostin said after they climbed in.

  Vishal said, “Only a few. But it makes it more exciting for the ones who really want adventure.”

  “Has anyone ever been attacked by a shark?” Jack asked.

  “One of our clients? No. We hit them with a pole if they get too close.”

  Ostin looked confused. “You hit the clients or the sharks with the pole?”

  Vishal laughed. “Whatever works.”

  Vishal looked both ways, then pulled out of the gravel parking lot into the road. He turned on the radio to a local radio station. He drove the van about three miles to downtown Lautoka, parking near a sign that read: GIUSEPPE’S PIZZA INN.

  The intersection next to the restaurant had been closed off, and one of the streets was crowded with pedestrians.

  “What’s going on there?” Ostin asked.

  Vishal turned to look. “It’s the night market. Would you like to walk through before we eat? It’s only a few blocks.”

  “That would be great,” Jack said.

  “Good,” Vishal said. “I think you’ll find it interesting.”

  They walked past the restaurant to the end of the block, then crossed the street, joining the colorful, pressing throng of humanity wandering through the market. Music blared loudly into the warm, moist air, and the road was lined with scores of brightly colored tent awnings illuminated with strings of electric lights.

  The street merchants sold a wide range of merchandise, from phone cases and cords to T-shirts and brightly colored bolts of fabric.

  Ostin found a T-shirt he would have bought if he had any money. It read:

  I’m FIJIAN

  . . . but I won’t eat you.

  Probably.

  While the majority of the crowd were Fijian natives, there were foreign tourists as well—mostly Asian but some Americans and Europeans. The entire market smelled of food: candied nuts, barbecued meats, fried food bubbling in large metal fryers, and sweets and pastries too numerous to count. There were large tables filled with fruits: pineapples, coconuts, green bananas, and some that even Ostin
couldn’t identify. There were all kinds of teas and fruit juices, and some people drank through straws from hairy coconuts.

  “Moki, Thomas,” Vishal said, standing in front of a small food stand. “Come try this.” He handed Ostin a plastic bowl with a fork. Ostin took a bite, then handed the bowl to Jack.

  “That’s good,” Ostin said. “What is it?”

  “It is called kokoda. It’s sometimes called Fijian ceviche. My friend here makes it.”

  Jack tried it as well. “I like it.” He turned to Ostin. “I thought you didn’t like raw fish.”

  “Only when it’s still swimming,” Ostin said. “Or still breathing.”

  “The acid in the lemon cooks the fish,” Vishal said. “If you would like to continue on, I would like to talk to my friend for a minute.”

  “Sure,” Jack said. “We’ll stay on this street.”

  Vishal walked behind the booth’s back wall as Ostin and Jack walked on.

  “How are we going to get to Tuvalu?” Jack asked.

  “I’m still thinking about it,” Ostin said.

  “You better think fast. We leave for Suva in the morning.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  Jack looked at him. “Do you think they’ve reached Tuvalu yet?”

  “No. It’s only been a day.”

  “Maybe we should steal a plane,” Jack said.

  “Then we’d have to kidnap a pilot, too,” Ostin said.

  They walked a little farther on, until Ostin stopped next to a display of carved wooden forks. “Hey, look. Iculanibokola.”

  “Ikoo-what?”

  “Cannibal forks.”

  “Yes,” Vishal said, suddenly walking up to them. “They are a reminder of Fiji’s past. These islands were once known for cannibalism.” He lifted one of the forks. “Have you ever wondered what human flesh tastes like?”

  There was something different about Vishal’s voice, an edge to it, and a chill rose up Ostin’s spine. “Not once,” Ostin said. “Not something I want to know.”

  “Regardless, I am told that it tastes mostly like pork but is indistinguishable from veal. In the ancient Fiji days there was no refrigeration, so the victim had to be kept alive as long as they could be, to keep the meat fresh.”

  “Excuse me while I throw up,” Ostin said.

  Vishal laughed. “Please, not here.” Then he walked to the next booth.

  As Ostin turned back he suddenly froze. “Jack . . . I mean, Moki . . .”

  Jack set down the fork he was holding and looked up. “Yeah?”

  About thirty feet in front of them were two men in Elgen guard uniforms.

  “Be calm,” Ostin said, looking very uncalm. “Just act like tourists.”

  “They don’t look like they’re looking for anyone.”

  “See the patch on their shoulders? Chinese characters with the skull and dragon. Same as the guards at the Taiwan Starxource plant.”

  Jack stole another glance at them. “The Lung Li?”

  “No. The regular guards. Don’t stare at them.”

  Vishal suddenly turned back. His gaze darted back and forth between Ostin and Jack. Then he said, “Is it the men in uniform that concern you? Don’t worry, they are not soldiers. They are just security guards for the Elgen Corporation.”

  “Oh,” Ostin said. “What kind of corporation is that?”

  “They build electric power plants.”

  “Never heard of them,” Ostin said.

  “Curiously, it’s an American corporation, but I don’t think they are in America. Too much politics. But lately there are many Elgen guards in Fiji,” he said, his voice lowering. “Many. Over the last few days I’ve seen more than ever before. There must be some kind of gathering.”

  “Must be a Starxource plant convention,” Ostin said.

  Vishal looked at him peculiarly. “Perhaps.” He lifted one of the cannibal forks, then said, “Are you ready to eat?”

  “Yes,” Ostin said, ignoring his reference to the fork. He couldn’t figure out why Vishal was behaving so differently. His instincts told him to run.

  “Follow me,” Vishal said. As they retraced their steps to the main boulevard, Vishal said to Ostin, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “You seem upset.”

  “I’m just tired.”

  “. . . And hungry,” Jack said. “He gets cranky when he’s hungry.”

  “ ‘Hangry,’ we call it,” Vishal said.

  “That’s what we call it too,” Jack replied.

  When they got to the restaurant, there were several large groups of people outside waiting to get in.

  “Looks like there’s a long wait,” Jack said.

  Vishal opened the door. “Not for us.”

  As they walked in past the groups, a man standing at a host table looked up. “Vee,” he said. “So good to see you.”

  “And you, Kena. As usual, you are busy tonight.”

  “Always busy with the night market,” he said. “But never too busy for you, my friend.” He looked at Ostin and Jack. “And your friends.”

  “American,” Vishal said. “California.”

  “California,” he replied. “Good pizza. Come with me.” He grabbed three menus and stepped into the crowded restaurant. The three of them followed the man to a table. Kena sat them, then signaled for a server. “Lice will be right with you.”

  “Thanks,” Vishal said.

  After he walked away, Ostin said, “Our server’s name is Lice?”

  Vishal looked at him. “Yes. Is something wrong with that?”

  “No,” Ostin said. “Nothing.”

  “This place is packed,” Jack said.

  “Yes, they have good pizza. Look at the menu. Bacon Cheddar Ham, Taco Pizza, Buffalo Chicken.”

  “Look,” Ostin said. “They call this one ‘PizzaMax.’ I love PizzaMax.”

  “What’s PizzaMax?” Vishal asked.

  “It’s a pizza place in Meridian, Idaho,” Jack said.

  Vishal looked confused. “In Uh-Idaho, California?”

  “Yes,” Ostin said, glaring at Jack. “In California.”

  Jack breathed out in exasperation. They ordered a Meaty Max pizza and a Bacon Cheddar. It seemed like months since they’d had bacon, which in Jack’s previous life had been one of his staples. His best friend, Wade, used to experiment with bacon creations, until one day he brought Jack a bacon ice cream shake, which just about ruined Jack’s love for bacon and ice cream.

  In addition to the pizza, Jack and Ostin ordered cheese bread and two large sodas. It was a lot of food even for them, but they were hungry and not sure when they would eat again.

  Forty minutes later, after they had downed both pizzas, Vishal said, “I have something else for you to try.”

  “I don’t think I could eat another bite,” Ostin said.

  “You won’t have to,” Vishal said. “It’s a drink.”

  “Really, you don’t need to.”

  “I insist,” Vishal said. He got up and left the table.

  “I’m so full,” Ostin said. “I don’t think I can put anything else down.”

  “Well, you better,” Jack said. “It would be rude not to. Especially since he’s getting it just for us.”

  A moment later Vishal returned carrying a bowl and a glass of coconut milk. He set them down on the table in front of them. Inside the bowl was a thick black liquid.

  “This is something very special,” Vishal said. “It’s a Fijian specialty.” He pushed the bowl toward Ostin. “You try it first.”

  Ostin’s stomach groaned, just looking at it.

  “Please,” Vishal said.

  Ostin glanced up at Jack, who narrowed his eyes at him.

  “All right. I’ll try anything once.” He put the bowl to his lip, grimaced, and began to drink. He immediately stopped, his face contorting in pain. He had to force himself not to spit out what was in his mouth. When he had gotten it down, he said, “What is this?”
>
  Vishal grinned darkly. “What do you think it is?”

  “It tastes like goat phlegm.”

  “You’ve tasted goat phlegm?” Vishal asked.

  “No,” Ostin said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin.

  “Then how do you know what it tastes like?”

  “I was making a point.”

  “Here,” Vishal said, handing Ostin the glass of coconut milk. “Drink some of this. It will take away the bitterness.”

  “Thanks,” Ostin said. He took a drink, then said, “ ‘Bitter’ is kind. More like ‘intensely gross.’ ”

  “You’re being rude,” Jack said.

  “You try it,” Ostin said. “See if you like it.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Whoa, my lips are going numb.”

  Vishal smiled. “That means it’s good.”

  Jack lifted the bowl. “My brother in the marines had to eat raw birds once. This is nothing.” Jack tilted back the bowl. He drank more than Ostin but also gagged, setting the still full cup in front of him. “What is that?”

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No, I didn’t think you would. Non-islanders aren’t used to Kava Kava.”

  Ostin looked at him. “Wait. This is Kava Kava?”

  “You’ve heard of it?” Jack asked, then said, “What am I saying? Of course you’ve heard of it.”

  “ ‘Kava’ means ‘intoxicating pepper,’ ” Ostin said. “It’s a powerful tea. It can even cause hallucinations. It’s banned in some countries.” Ostin lifted the bowl again and, plugging his nose, took another drink. Then he sat back in his chair. He suddenly felt more relaxed than he had in months. “That feels good.” He sounded funny saying it, as his lips felt like they were the size of loaves of bread.

  “Yes,” Vishal said. “It’s very relaxing. Have more.”

  Jack took another small drink and gagged again. “Still tastes like dirt.”

  “Even the natives who were raised with it don’t like the taste,” Vishal said. “But it feels so good. A small price to pay for a second on the lips.”

  Ostin took another sip. A moment later he said, “I swear my chair is vibrating. Is it just me, or is the room getting bigger?”