For a Song

by Morales, Rodney;

  I burned my index finger trying to grab a piece of eggshell that got into the pan. When I reached for the tap I knocked over the glass of orange juice and spilled a good half of it, which made me want to lick the counter. Other than that I did a commendable job of cooking four eggs, over easy.

  We sat at the dark granite island. Mia’s hair, still a bit wet, was held by an elastic band and twisted into a kind of bun. She wore a pareu. Brenda used to wear pareus. I hadn’t washed off, and I had to put on the same clothes I wore last night. Against Mia’s cleanness I felt disproportionately grubby.

  “Good eggs,” Mia managed to get out as she chased down a scoop of eggs with a huge bite of toast and a swallow of coffee. While she opted for the creamy route, adding a good dose of half and half, I took mine black.

  “I thought you’d be the hard-boiled type,” she added.

  “Only in my work. Mrs. Loo around?”

  A head shake. “She’s up early. And she’s usually long gone by the time I get up.”

  Too bad I missed that. “But you did talk to her last night.”

  “Briefly. Just enough to learn someone was here asking questions—”

  “—about Kay.”

  “And that’s where you come in.”

  I took a few bites and let her dig in too. No sense letting our food get cold.

  “When did you last see her?” I said when her plate was clean.

  “Let’s see…. About three weeks ago.”

  “Did you talk to her any time after that, on the phone?”

  “Yes, we did talk.” She pulled out a cell phone from somewhere beneath her pareu and opened it up. She pressed a button, then scrolled with her finger. “We last talked on May seventh.”

  Two weeks ago. “What did you talk about?”

  “It was an ongoing conversation. Started couple weeks earlier. She asked me if I would accompany her to this gathering. A film-people gathering.”

  “Her mom said she works in film.”

  “Yeah. She produced and starred in a film. It got her very interested in sex trafficking and sweatshops.”

  “Exploitation of women.”

  “You got it.”

  “So this conversation you were having.”

  “She told me that Matt was gonna be in Tahiti at the time of the gathering and she didn’t want to go alone. She was hoping I’d come along.”

  “Was that what her phone call was about?”

  “She called to cancel. Said she wasn’t going.”

  “She say why?”

  Mia grabbed her clear-as-crystal coffee mug and took a long swallow. “Not really. She just said it ain’t happening.” It was obvious from the way she avoided eye contact that Mia wasn’t telling me everything, but I didn’t want to push her just yet.

  “So something happened around then, something that changed her mind about this … gathering.”

  “I have some stuff, papers and shit that should clue you in to what’s going on. Murder and mayhem in Micronesia. Unfortunately, I don’t keep it here.”

  Great. Both alliterative and ominous. “When can you get these papers … and shit?”

  “Well, I have to leave for work soon and today’s crazy. Is tomorrow OK? Or should I—”

  “Tomorrow’s OK.” I reached into my shorts pocket. “Mind if I—”

  “Smoke or take notes?”

  “—take some notes?”

  “That I don’t mind.”

  Should have brought my recorder.

  “How often did Kay stay here, on average? And did Matthew stay over too?”

  “Kay and Matthew used to stay overnight every now and then, but when Matt got his lifeguard gig in Kailua—you know that he’s a lifeguard, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he works a long day and Kay’s routine is to meet him here. That long drive to the North Shore, it gets old, especially when he has to come back in the morning, so it’s been working out well for everyone. Less pressure on me, that’s for sure.”

  “What a tragedy, to have to be here all the time.”

  Mia didn’t look amused.

  “How long have you known Kay?”

  “Seems like forever, but it’s only been a few years. We were involved in some community struggles together.”

  “Community struggles?”

  “Yeah, you know. Save the beach. Save the whale. Save the environment.”

  “You wanted to save everything.”

  “Only the stuff worth saving.”

  “And how’d you come to know Les Biden? Is it Lester? Leslie?”

  “It’s Les. I met him several years ago. In San Francisco.” She swallowed some coffee, then added, “I was trying to get acting gigs. You know how it goes. I did a couple of commercials, acted in a couple plays, auditioned here and there. Most of the time I worked jobs that had nothing to do with acting, except that I got to pretend I liked working these jobs…. Long story short, I moved to L.A. Same thing, except that I missed the Bay Area, so I went back. This time I got a gig with a theater troupe. And then I auditioned for a film. Les was the director.” She sipped more coffee. “It was one of those stalker flicks that make for a great opening weekend at the box office. Before the bad reviews come in. I had a bit part in that movie. I get killed off in the opening minutes. Since then I’ve done some work as an extra in movies and TV shows. Sometimes I get to utter a line or two—”

  “Before you get killed.”

  “Yep … and in some cases, revived. I do a great zombie, you know.” She held her arms out and made what I guess was a zombie nonexpression. “Les keeps promising me something better, and sometimes I think he actually means it.”

  She must have seen something in my not-so-poker face, for immediately after she added, “He has no interest in sleeping with me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking, ‘This coffee’s good.’”

  “Mrs. Loo grinds it fresh every morning.”

  “Is there a Mr. Loo?”

  “Good question.” She smiled at the thought. “I never thought to ask…. When did Kay’s mom hire you?”

  “Yesterday.” I picked up my cup and took a swallow.

  She took another sip, got up and grabbed the coffee pot, and warmed up both our cups. As she added the half and half to her mug, turning the coffee from dark to light, she said, “You looking for Matthew also?”

  “I could be.”

  “Find him, and you’ll find her. That’s my best guess.”

  “You think they’re together?”

  “I would say that’s pretty likely. Not that they’re inseparable….”

  “You said he was going to be in Tahiti.”

  A slight pause, then, “According to Kay, yeah.”

  “Do you know him well? Matthew?”

  She looked into her coffee cup, then at me. “I don’t know him the way I know Kay, but we’ve hung out.”

  I sensed there was more to this. I wrote Matthew? on my notepad. If Mia hadn’t been watching me I would have added Mia? and I would have drawn a line that linked those two names and next to the line a bigger question mark.

  “Before I say anything more,” Mia said abruptly, “are we, ah, as people in your kind of business say, copasetic? What I mean is, can you use my help?”

  “Copasetic?”

  Head tilt. “I’d like to help you find her.”

  “Don’t know if I can keep up with you.”

  She frowned and backed up. Folded her arms. “I tell you what. You let me help you find Kay, and I’ll get you in the best shape of your life.”

  Hmph. “And why on earth would I want to do that?”

  “So you can catch the bad guys without running out of breath. When you brought Marvin over last night, you were wheezing, practically gasping for air.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “Yes, you fucking were.”

  “Seriously?”

  An emphatic “Yes!”

 
“What’s wrong with that?”

  Her eyebrows went up.

  “Just kidding, Mia. Mia what, by the way?”

  “Hwang, Mia Hwang.” She said it the way Sean Connery and all his successors say Bond, James Bond.

  “And your name, Mr. Private Eye? Private Dick? Whatever you guys call yourselves?”

  “The name’s Dave, Dave Apana. Friends call me Kawika. Come to think of it, so do my enemies.”

  “Enemies?”

  “Comes with the job.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to meet you.” She held out a hand and I grasped it. No rings, though there was an untanned, three-millimeter-wide band of skin on her right ring finger.

  “Mia. I like that. Good name for a triathlete.”

  “So whadaya think? About us partnering up?” She put her elbows on the table, interlocked her fingers, and rested her chin on that foundation.

  “Well, if by partnering up you mean sharing information … so we can construct a behavioral fingerprint … in order to track down your missing friend—”

  “‘Behavioral fingerprint’?”

  “Habits, the things that don’t change. Is she a runner, like you? Does she like to dance, hang out in bars….”

  “Yeah, I could help with that. Of course I could help with that.”

  Before I could think of all the possible pitfalls, before I could remind myself that this was no poker game, I found myself uttering that ignominious word again:

  “Deal.”

  7

  NORTH SHORE WILLIE’S

  Like most kids who grow up on Oahu’s North Shore, I rode the waves. Practically lived on the beach. I gave all that up, however, after a life-altering incident at the Banzai Pipeline. It wasn’t the coral below that did me in; it was a guy running over me, hitting me with his board, cutting my head open. That same guy rescued me, though he got pounded in more ways than one afterwards. The unwritten law was, when someone takes the wave in front of you, you back off. Absolutely no hot-dogging. I survived. He survived. But while I was able to get back in the water after the wound healed, transitioning from the rigors and dangers of big wave riding to small wave body boarding, Willie Kahaimoku had lost all desire, lost that spirit that had driven him to be one of the best upcoming surfers on the North Shore. I don’t know if that was good or bad. He joined the military, became quite adept with all kinds of weaponry. He also developed quite an affinity for cannabis. When he returned from his two-year stint he began to grow his own. He learned all he could about soil conditions, lighting, fertilizing, you name it, and this knowledge went toward other types of plants as well. He now ran an orchid-growing operation in Waimānalo. Since his plant nursery was not so far off the beaten track, before heading to town I thought I’d pay him a visit.

  I took Kumuhau all the way to Waikupanaha, a lush yet desolate road. When the trees weren’t obscuring the view, you could gaze up at the Ko‘olaus. Up close and personal, they were a profound presence. I passed groups of cyclists, no doubt training for some event. They all wore shades, helmets, and bright jerseys. Visible, yet incognito. I wondered if Mia ever biked this stretch of road.

  The muggy weather that had been forecast on last night’s news was beginning to kick in as I pulled up at North Shore Willie’s—The Land Of Orchids. As I stepped out of my Corolla, I could feel the rise in humidity. Better for orchids than for people.

  “Eh, Kawika,” he shouted when he saw me. “Long time, brah.” He put down the orchid pot he was carrying, lifted his L.A. Dodgers baseball cap, and used his t-shirt sleeve to swipe his sweaty forehead. He wiped his hands on his cut-off jeans, and held his hand out for a palm-on-palm shake, followed by a chest-to-chest embrace.

  “Yeah, the stitches finally came out.”

  Willie rubbed the back of my head. “Still get the lump, braddah.”

  The accident had created a bond between victim and so-called assailant. I still felt some guilt. He was destined for the pro surfing tour—I would have fallen plenty short of that—but the accident sent our lives on trajectories neither of us would have considered other wise. I wondered if he wrestled with regret.

  “Say, brah….” I pulled out the pikake buds from my shirt pocket.

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “Brah, if dass what you smoking nowadays, I got da numbah of da rehab place you need to get into.”

  “I’m tryna figure out when these buds were fresh.”

  “Shit, braddah, you come visit me fo’ da first time in, like, ages, and instead of us having a drink and a smoke, you wanna ask me about dry flowahs?” He wiped his brow again. “Fricken hot today.”

  “I’m on a case, Willie.”

  “Yeah, and aftahwards we should drink a case. Some ice cold beer, brah. In fact, you should just stay ovah, brah. Spend da night. Relax. Lana and da boys goin’ be home ’bout seven. Stay, braddah. Honolulu gon’ drive you nuts.”

  “Yeah … but it pays the bills.”

  “Shit, you live on dis side, you no have bills.”

  “OK, you win…. Now how’s about dese buds?”

  “I get some really good buds, in da back, if you know what I mean.”

  Yes, I do know what you mean. This guy grew some legendary shit. I hadn’t toked the stuff in ages, and I wasn’t planning to anytime soon. “C’mon, Willie.” I placed the pikake buds in his hand.

  “OK. OK. Let me put on my forensic plantology hat.” Willie turned his cap around and held one of the buds up high, perhaps to acknowledge that bright sunlight was the best forensic tool in the universe. “What day today?” He seemed to be enjoying playing CSI.

  “Tuesday, May twenty-second.”

  “Where you got dis from? One hot date?”

  “I got it from Valley of the Temples.”

  “From one grave?”

  “Yeah.”

  Willie began to feel the gravity of my request. “An’ you trying fo’ figgah out when somebody wen’ place da lei?”

  “Approximately.”

  “A phenomenological premise if dere evah was one. Shit, even Sherlock Holmes would find dis daunting…. My bes’ guess is … hmmm …” He took a whiff. “Gotta be about a week. Maybe six, seven days. Bes’ I can do, braddah.”

  “You sure now?”

  “Depends on da flowah shop.” Willie twirled the buds between his thumb, index, and middle fingers. “Pikake. Also known as Jasminum sambac, meali putih … sampaguita—’ass what Filipinos call ’em. You know dat pikake is da Hawaiian word fo’ peacock?”

  Now it was Etymology 101. I had to be patient with Willie.

  “Must be a princess connection?”

  “You got it, braddah. Princess Ka‘iulani was fond of da flowah … and peacocks. Go figgah….”

  “You mentioned flower shops.”

  “Oh yeah. What I was goin’ say is dat sometimes dey freeze da flowah. Fo’ make ’om last. Problem is, when dey do dat, da buggah dry up mo’ fast. Dis is definitely five o’ six days.”

  “Hmm.”

  “‘Hmm’ as in what?”

  “As in ‘hmmm.’”

  “I know what you stay tinking. You stay tinking May Day is lei day. Dass da day ev’rybody put flowahs. Excepting fo’ Memorial Day, of course, but we not dere yet. I tell you now, no way could be May Day. Wouldn’t look li’ dis.” He sniffed the buds again. “Still got dat smell.”

  “So about a week then?”

  “You know that mo’ leis get sold on May Day than on any adda day in the year?”

  “Who woulda thought?”

  “‘Who woulda tot?’ Are you mocking me, braddah?”

  “Sorry.” I put a hand up. Put on a more serious smirk.

  “An’ this year,” Willie continued, “hahd fo’ score pikake. Dass ’cause some a da crop got lost during da heavy rains. All in da timing. Prices shoot up.”

  “What do you do, times you lose money?”

  “I do what I always do. Bite da bullet. Tighten da belt. Ride da fricken tide….”

  I saw the ne
xt line coming. North Shore Willie’s standard sage advice:

  “Gotta go wit da flow, braddah.”

  “So about a week then.”

  “Less dan a week.” Handed me the pikake buds. “Six days, max.”

  “That really helps, brah.”

  “So what about—” He pressed his thumb and index finger together, put them against his lips and made a sucking sound.

  Paper beats stone, stone beats scissors, and camaraderie trumps everything. I said nothing. I simply followed North Shore Willie into his lair, a garage filled with tools, lumber, and, if you knew where to look, the most potent of stashes.

  I drove pass Rabbit Island, around Makapu‘u, and made the turn toward the Ka ‘Iwi coast. The marijuana-induced buzz had put me in the perfect mood to appreciate the starkly beautiful surroundings but in a poor state of mind to do justice to my new case. I guiltily remembered Minerva’s refrain: “Are you good?”

  I dug into my shirt pocket. Felt the two huge joints Willie had insisted I take with me. Help you chill out, he had said.

  Are you good? she had asked.

  I’m working at it.

  8

  Back at the boat and finally less buzzed, I stashed the joints and pored through the list of names Minerva had given me. I banged out some phone numbers. After a couple of no-answers and voicemail reroutings, I reached Carla, a friend of Kay’s since high school. She said she hadn’t seen Kay in over a year and suggested a few other people, then began reciting the very same names on Minerva’s list.

  Since Carla had mentioned him specifically, and because he wasn’t on Minerva’s list, I tried phoning Karl Lemon, a guy Kay had been involved with a few years back. He was now working for some downtown law firm. I took a chance on calling him at his office.

  “She’s missing? Damn. Well, I haven’t seen her in, like, years.”

  “Can you think of anything that might help me find her? Any hangout or tendency or—”

  “I wish I could, man. I don’t know. She’s like any other chick, you know. You find her wherever you find them. So she’s missing, huh?”