Red Rain

by Toby Neal

  “I want to check out your ribs.”

  I’d been afraid he was going to say that. Frankly, I worried about what we’d find when we took off the crude bandage.

  “No point. We have no way to clean it or do anything about it, and right now it’s at least covered. I’ll deal with it when we’ve got some way to treat it.”

  Falconer gave me a long look, then nodded. “You rest. But tie him up before you do.”

  MacDonald was already lying on the ground on his back, snoring in the humid, deepening twilight. I tied the vine attached to his wrists to one of the pilings and lay down, bunching the smelly shirt that had wrapped the pig into a crude pillow and stuffing it under my head.

  I fell asleep like falling down a well, and was thankful for the oblivion.

  “I’m coming with you to interview Tony the teen hood.” Pono caught up with Lei as they left Omura’s office.

  “What about our other cases?”

  “Nothing too critical happening. We have that tourist floater that’s probably accidental, and the two overdoses. Kinda in between big ones right now. Got to admit, I never expected your cold case to get so hot.”

  “Me neither. I need to call down to the jail and get him moved to an interview room, and follow up with Dr. Gregory about the age of the skull. It could turn out to be unrelated to the pot farm.”

  “That would be good to rule out.”

  Back at their cubicle, Pono booted up his e-mail while Lei worked the phone. She called Detective Shepherd and invited him and his partner to sit in so they didn’t duplicate efforts. “I just want to ask Tony about this one thing—the skull,” Lei told him.

  “Glad you called. We were going to pull him this afternoon,” Shepherd said. “We’ve been trying to track Noah No-name this morning. We had some supposed sightings on the tip line, but nothing’s panning out. Can you push your interview back to then? Because I have some Hana PD officers going out to pick up the female foster parent, Selina Tahua. I’m hoping she’s willing to snitch on Noah in return for reduced charges.”

  “That sounds good. I’ll wait to hear from you. In the meantime, I can go visit the other foster boys, see if anything new emerges,” Lei said.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I get anything on Selina Tahua.”

  “Excellent. Speaking of, my partner had an idea.” Lei told him about looking up the TMK map of the property where the pot farm was located. “That place was so well-established. There must be some connection between the landowner and Noah. He couldn’t squat for long in that valley without permission.”

  “Good lead,” Shepherd said. “I hear your partner, Pono, has a great CI network, too.”

  “Yeah, and he’s put the word out.” Lei turned to smile at her partner, the phone wedged between her chin and shoulder. “He’ll call you if one of his people gets something.”

  Pono’s dark eyes gleamed like polished kukui nuts as he nodded.

  “Appreciate it.” Shepherd hung up.

  Lei called Elizabeth Black next. She got the location of the boys’ crisis home and permission for a visit. “They keep asking for you, so I’m glad you called,” Elizabeth said.

  “Have they talked any more about the fake foster parents?”

  “We did a bare-bones intake interview, but my priority was getting them moved and settled. The foster family at the transition home says they’re doing okay, except for Dexter. He’s hardly talking, won’t get out of bed. I have a psychologist going out later on today.”

  “Okay. Thanks. And, by the way, you were right to tell me no about taking the boys home. I’ve got my hands full with my son and with Stevens gone. But it makes me think we might try foster parenting someday.” Lei hadn’t realized that was what she was concluding until the words came out of her mouth.

  “I think you’d be wonderful at that. But you are also a workaholic. The two may not be compatible,” Elizabeth said. “Still, seasons change in people’s lives. Makes me smile to think about you as a foster mom.”

  “Makes me smile, too.” Lei ended the call thoughtfully. If she and Stevens never had their own child, perhaps this was a way they could expand their family. The idea comforted her, warm as sliding her feet through sun-warmed sand.

  “I thought we were going to interview that Tony kid.” Pono glanced up from his monitor.

  “Later. I’m visiting the foster boys while Shepherd follows up with Selina Tahua, the fake foster parent.” Lei stood. “Want to come?”

  “Nah. I’ll work on our other cases. Call me when it’s time to go to the jail.”

  “Coward. You’re afraid you’ll end up bringing one of those boys home.”

  “Exactly right. Tiare’s banned me from going to the Humane Society, too—we already have five former fighting cocks and three dogs.”

  “Glad I’m not the only one.” Lei squeezed Pono’s bulky shoulder affectionately.

  Out at the truck Pono had loaned her, Lei checked the satellite phone. No news on Stevens. She turned on the vehicle with a sigh and programmed her GPS to the boys’ foster home address.

  The house was a modest concrete block ranch in Kahului’s warren of residential streets. An avocado tree shaded a yard dry as the California foothills. A mailbox painted in a black-and-white cow pattern proclaimed the address, and Lei pulled up and parked behind a couple of bikes lying in the driveway behind a minivan.

  Lei approached through the garage, where a pile of rubber slippers beside the mat proclaimed the main entrance to the house. She knocked.

  A short, round Filipina woman appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Delicious smells wafted through the door—chicken, pineapple, and spices. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I’m Sergeant Texeira.” Lei held up her badge. “I came to see the boys who arrived last night?”

  “Aunty!” Danny’s smiling face nudged under the woman’s elbow, bringing an answering grin to Lei’s face. “You came!”

  “Welcome to our home,” the woman said, opening the screen door to Lei. “Philomena Butaga. Elizabeth speaks highly of you. I see you were expected. Danny, go tell the other boys they have a visitor.”

  The boy trotted off. Butaga extended a dimpled hand to Lei, and she shook the woman’s hand. “Thanks. I think highly of Elizabeth, too. Are the boys doing all right?”

  “As well as can be expected. My husband and I keep our home available for those first tough days after kids are removed. We have low expectations. I just try to get them cooking, eating, and sleeping. Our goal is to stabilize them, let them know there are kind people and plenty in the world.”

  Danny and Kekoa returned. Lei could tell they wanted to hug her, but they hung back. She opened her arms. “I sure missed you guys.” They came then and pressed against her, their arms crossing over one another’s. “Where’s Dexter?” Lei asked over their heads.

  “He’s in bed. He’s not talking.” Kekoa’s voice came out muffled as his lean brown face pressed against her sternum. Lei remembered how good it had felt to finally hug someone, her Aunty Rosario, after she’d been rescued by Child Protective Services from the house where her mother had died. That the boys had attached to her so intensely was a weighty gift.

  “Let’s go see him.”

  “Yeah, and when you boys get back, I could sure use some help with this adobo.” Butaga stirred a pot on the stove.

  Danny towed Lei down a dimly lit, linoleum-tiled hall. The boys were between ten and thirteen years old, but their behavior was that of younger children—a product of their enslavement and trauma.

  Dexter was lying on the bottom mattress of a pair of bunk beds, his back turned to the room. A TV, DVD player, and game system dominated one side of the small room, and nests of blankets on the floor showed what the boys had been doing before Lei’s arrival.

  “Didn’t I tell you straight?” Lei pointed at the game system. “Soft beds, lots of food, and all the video games you could want.”

  Dexter heard her voice and rolled over. His dark
eyes, meeting hers, were expressionless. She dropped to her knees beside his bunk and stroked his rough black hair off his forehead. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

  He shook his head.

  “It’s normal not to feel okay after what happened. After what Uncle did to you.” It was important to acknowledge what the boys had been through without dramatizing it. “I smell Aunty Philomena cooking adobo.” Lei sniffed theatrically. “I know the smell of good adobo anywhere. She told me she needs help. Can you boys go help her? I want to talk to Dexter for a minute.”

  “Okay. But when we get back, you have to play video games with us,” Danny said.

  “Deal.”

  The other two boys left, and Lei sat beside Dexter’s bunk. “My friend Elizabeth said she was sending someone to talk to you. I know you may not want to, but you should tell them what happened. It helps.”

  Dexter’s brown eyes were blank as old pennies. Lei drew a breath, let it out. “I know a little what you are going through. I was rescued and went to a crisis home, like this one, when I was younger than you.”

  His gaze flicked over her, lingering on the badge clipped on her belt and her sidearm in its shoulder holster. She read disbelief in that look.

  “It’s true. My mom was on drugs, and she had a bad boyfriend. He—did things to me.” Dexter blinked once, long and slow. “Yeah. It was bad. And then he left my mom, and she was so upset that she blamed me. Beat me up with a hanger and put me in the garage with no food. Then she went in the living room, shot herself up with heroin, and died.”

  Dexter slowly sat up.

  “How did you get out?” His voice was scratchy from disuse.

  “I was in there two days. I called for help and banged on the door, but no one came. I ate cat food. Went in the litter box.”

  Dexter wrinkled his nose. “Gross. We had an outhouse at least.”

  Lei nodded. “Finally I got so hungry that I broke a window over the sink and crawled out. When I went inside the house, I found my mom’s body.” Lei’s words stuck in her throat, and she cleared it. Tell your tale, Dr. Wilson had said. Tell it enough times, and it stops hurting. Tell it when it will help you or someone else.

  “Was it scary?” Dexter frowned. “I’ve never seen a body.”

  “It was scary. And very sad.” Lei couldn’t suppress the flash of memory: her mother, Maylene Matsumoto Texeira, slumped against the coffee table, lips blue and foamy, legs sprawled, already beginning to smell. She felt her lips tremble.

  He nodded. “My mom does drugs, too. That’s why I got taken away to foster.”

  “Drugs hurt a lot of people. I’m sorry your mom is in that scene.” Lei swallowed, pushed on. “So after I found Mom, I called my aunty in California for help. She was too far away to come because I was on Oahu, so I had to go with the cops when they came to the house. They brought me to a place like this. I stayed with a nice haole family until my aunty came and got me and she became my foster mom. The family were good people. They cleaned me up, bought me new clothes, fed me lots of food. But I kept waiting for something bad to happen.”

  Dexter nodded. “Uncle could come find me. He’ll know I didn’t throw the grenade like I was supposed to.”

  “We’re going to catch Uncle Noah, Dexter. And when we do…” Lei drew a quick, hard breath. “I wouldn’t want to be him. You know that man who hurt me when I was a kid?”

  Dexter nodded, eyes wide.

  “He went to jail, for a very long time. And when he got out, someone shot him.”

  “Whoa,” he whispered.

  “Yeah. So don’t worry about Uncle anymore. We’re going to get him and put him away where he can’t hurt anybody.” She stood. “I think Aunty Philomena might need more help with that adobo. What do you think?”

  Dexter got out of bed. His ribs were visible through the thin tank shirt as he stood up. “I’m still hungry. I hope she doesn’t get mad that I’m eating so much.”

  “I think you’ve come to the right place for eating plenny kine. And it’s a long way from cat food.”

  Dexter smiled. It was quick and almost gone before she saw it, but it was real. The boy followed her down the hall, back to the kitchen, where the other boys were chopping vegetables.

  “Got another helper here,” Lei said.

  The boys helped with the huge pan of chicken, vegetable, and pineapple adobo Philomena was making. Lei looked on, sipping a Coke the bustling woman handed her. Finally, when the rice was cooking in the meal’s final phase, Lei went back to the bedroom with the boys for a few rounds of Halo.

  Her phone rang in the pocket of her pants. She paused her character, which was immediately and gleefully annihilated by the boys. “Texeira here.”

  “We have intel from Selina Tahua. Got a location of a hideout in Kaupo.” Shepherd’s voice was tense with excitement as he named a remote, tiny settlement south of Hana. “You and Pono come on the raid. We need two more.”

  “On it.” Lei jumped to her feet. She handed Dexter, who’d been passively watching, her controller. “Keep my character in the game, will you? I have to go catch some real-life bad guys.”

  “Uncle Noah?” Dexter asked, voice wobbling.

  “I hope so.” She waved goodbye to the boys and hurried through the house.

  Butaga waylaid her in the kitchen. “You’re a magician. Dexter’s eating and talking!”

  “He was worried to eat too much.”

  “Oh, so sad he would think so. I told him he could eat all he wanted. Speaking of, I made you some adobo fo’ take home. Here, take this.” Butaga thrust a Tupperware container into Lei’s hands.

  “Mahalo!” Lei gave the woman a quick hug. “The boys are in good hands here. I hope my visit helped.” And she flew down the steps toward her truck, adobo dish in one hand and phone in the other as she called Pono with the change of plans.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I woke to the throbbing of my ribs in the silver light of dawn. The river gleamed nearby, ripples revealing its ever-shifting power beneath the glossy surface, like the muscles of a snake beneath its skin.

  I was shaky, my eyes dry and hot as expended brass. Anxiety clenched my gut. The wound was definitely infected. We had to get help today. I sat up carefully, but couldn’t stifle a moan. The whites of Falconer’s eyes gleamed in the dim morning as he turned his gaze to me.

  “You didn’t wake me up for a watch,” I accused.

  “You needed the rest more than I did.”

  I had no response to this. He handed me a shucked ear of corn.

  “Keep your strength up.”

  I was only able to eat a couple of bites. “You take the rest.” He ate it without speaking. I scanned the river, hoping for some sign of other humans. A whimper from MacDonald indicated that the man was waking up, but when I looked at his face, he didn’t appear to recognize me.

  Mist swirled off the river’s surface, and as if conjured from wishful thinking, I heard the putt-putt of an outboard. A long wooden pirogue appeared with a man at the back, steering a small outboard. A second man near the front wielded a paddle.

  Falconer stood. “We should keep the weapons out of sight for now. Don’t want them to think we’re hostile.”

  “Agreed.” I laid the M16 down, tossing the shirt over it, but kept the pistol in my waistband. Falconer kept his similarly placed.

  The pirogue came directly to the dock. Falconer approached the men, his hands open and raised halfway in a universal gesture of nonthreatening entreaty.

  “We need help.” His Spanish was slow and careful. “We are American. We have injured men and need to get to a hospital.”

  A spate of excited Spanish patois met this. The first man in the canoe jumped out onto the dock and tied the hand-hewn craft to one of the wooden pilings. The men were brown and stocky, wearing worn pants and mud-spattered shirts. I’d begun to think everything was mud-colored in this country.

  Falconer tried to slow down the patter of speech, but when the men reached back into th
e canoe for machetes and a pile of burlap bags, Falconer shook his head and pointed to us.

  More Spanish. More gesturing. Falconer wasn’t winning whatever argument was going on.

  I breathed shallowly. Tremors racked me. I looked over at MacDonald. He was awake, but stared vacantly at the sky, where sun-brushed clouds heralded a day that was doubtless going to be hotter than a carpet steamer.

  But at least it wasn’t currently raining.

  We were a fine pair, MacDonald and I. Poor Falconer.

  Falconer returned. He was carrying a sack and a machete. “They came to harvest the corn that’s ripe this morning. They can’t take the time to run us back before they pick the corn. They told me I can harvest with them to pay for the ride across the river.”

  “I should help.” I moved, pulling my legs in under me to stand, but pain rendered me breathless. He shook his head impatiently.

  “No. I’ll go help them. I need you to keep an eye on MacDonald—we can’t leave him. I gotta go. The sooner we harvest the corn, the sooner we’ll be out of here.”

  I dropped back. The three men, Falconer towering behind the smaller, native men, disappeared into the field.

  Dark memories came and went as I fell into a doze. Knowing I was delirious didn’t help.

  I relived the moment when I found my mother passed out in Kahului. Her blond hair protruded from a sleeping bag next to a dumpster. I’d thought she was dead, but she was only drunk and dehydrated. That had been her rock bottom and, eventually, the beginning of a new life.

  And here I was, sick with infection and out of my head, on a riverbank in Honduras, my ruined feet encased in rotting wet leather, body failing. The tiny part of my mind that was still conscious hoped like hell this was my bottom.

  Another memory. My brother, Jared. Stronger than me this time, leading the way, pulling my shirt and crawling just ahead of me as I choked on smoke and dragged our beloved dog by her collar, barely escaping the burning house.

  Sitting beside Lei in the hospital bed after she’d lost the baby. She turned to me, freckles like flecks of dried blood on her pale skin, her hand in mine clammy. Her eyes begged, and I shut mine because I couldn’t bear it.