For a Song

by Morales, Rodney;

  Within two minutes Rian and I were in my car, hightailing it toward the Ko‘olaus.

  “Feel like riding out to the Windward side?” I had asked.

  “Sure. You know I don’t get out much. Where we going?” He was doing a drumroll with his index fingers on the rail.

  “Just following a hunch.”

  “Should I bring a gun?” He aimed those index fingers. “Pow pow pow.”

  “I don’t see a need for one.”

  I was surprised that he had one, more surprised that he’d offer.

  I caught a long red at the School/Likelike intersection and picked up a newspaper from a drive-by seller. The headline article was on the

  Superferry. I passed the paper on to Rian.

  “Superferry,” I said. “Sounds like something huge.”

  “Or a gay hero in tights….”

  “Box office gold.”

  “You never know; it could work. I sure miss those ferry rides around the Puget Sound.”

  “You lived up there?” I asked as we continued up Likelike, headed toward the tunnel.

  “Naw. Only visited. It’s beautiful in the summer. Nothing like it. If it weren’t for the damned rainy season, I’d be a permanent resident.”

  “Some of my neighbor island friends aren’t too happy about what they term an impending invasion. Cars coming in large numbers from O‘ahu.”

  “I dunno. You’d think they got other shit more worth worrying about. Well, it’s not for me to decide. Or deride, I guess…. Governor’s fast-tracking it, you know.”

  “The Superferry?”

  “Bloody politricks as usual. Bypassing the EPA. The usual drag-me-down crap. Bugger.”

  “I read something, probably in The Weekly, about some kind of political trade-off involving the military.”

  “Oh, you mean that ol’ tale about using the Superferry to transport Stryker vehicles to Pohakuloa? Frankly, I’m more worried about our cetacean friends. Sonar, you know. What works well in the Puget Sound doesn’t necessarily work well in these waters.”

  We both got quiet as we neared the tunnel. Rian fooled with the radio, stopped changing channels when he heard something he wanted to hear. He sang along.

  “What song is that?” While it sounded familiar, I couldn’t quite place it.

  “‘Don’t Dream It’s Over.’”

  “Nice. Reminds me of Procol Harum—the organ part, I mean.” The song also took me back to the ones I heard during intermission for The Rose and the Sword, those classic rock songs. These songs were beginning to function as backdrop. Orchestrated backdrop.

  “It’s my favorite Kiwi band, Crowded House,” Rian was saying. “Funny, in England they’re compared to the Beatles, yet they’ve scarcely made a noise in the U.S.—let alone at this point of the Polynesian triangle. I’ll burn you a copy if you’re interested. Can’t believe I grew up in the same town as Neil Finn and our paths never crossed.”

  “Who the fuck is Neil Finn?”

  “Nothing to you, you short-sighted, America-centric xenophobe.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere…. I look forward to hearing the CD.”

  We sped through the Wilson Tunnel, and when we exited the tunnel and saw the enchanting mix of rugged terrain, clear skies, and shimmering ocean, all we were good for were sighs and mutterings.

  “Nothing like it,” I finally said, as I drove in the direction of Kaneohe Bay.

  “The most beautiful spot on the planet.”

  “You said that about Puget Sound.”

  “I take it back.”

  I pulled up along the main drive at Valley of the Temples. Flowers, fruit, and flags decorated just about every grave. I got out of the car and ran toward Lino’s gravestone, leaving Rian to his own devices.

  It was there, laid upon the gravestone: a pikake lei. It lay there like a taunt, one that spoke to me and me alone: Figure this one out, Kawika.

  “Fuck!” I wanted to kick at something, but you don’t kick over gravestones or flowers or fruit—or canisters that hold such. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  “What?” Rian said as he caught up to me.

  “I think I almost had her. Damn.” I kicked the air. My hunch may have been right, but I had missed my mark. “This sucks,” I said. “This really sucks. I need to make a call.”

  Rian nodded and began retracing his steps.

  Minerva answered on the first ring. “Any news?”

  “I’m at Lino’s gravesite. There’s another lei here. A fresh pikake lei.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Either she’s here, or somebody’s fucking with us.”

  “If she’s here, why wouldn’t she contact me?”

  “Good question. Wish I had an answer…. Look, I know you don’t wanna hear this, but I think this has a lot to do with her dad.”

  Minerva responded with silence. Which was what I deserved for that remark.

  “You there?” I finally said.

  “Remember,” she started, “remember when I told you that the worst crime he committed was dealing marijuana?”

  “Yes.” All too clear.

  “Well, there was one other crime.”

  “Look, I’m not judging him.” And unless he was a serial rapist, his reputation is not gonna get worse. “Just tell me.”

  “He went to Maui with his buddy Joe Sperry, and they burned down a place.”

  Who gives a shit if they committed arson? “Go on.”

  “They got away with it. Lino told me it was the stupidest thing he had ever done and that’s when he told me that he was done. Pau. Finished. He said that the arson was insurance-related.”

  “Happen to know who he did this for?”

  “Lino never told me. And it took me a long time to figure this one out, but I finally came to believe that the arson case wasn’t about the owner of the property having it done so he could collect the insurance. That’s what the investigators thought but couldn’t prove. No. It was about having something on Lino, something the powers-that-be could use against him, if ever the need arose.”

  “Then it was about insurance.”

  “Yeah. Just not the kind people thought it was.”

  I played dumb. “The way you’re talking, it seems Lino and Joe were buddies. I’m sure you know Joe was a suspect in his murder.”

  “See how it works? They set it up so they would have something on both Joe and Curtis.”

  “They?”

  “The guys who were running things…. You see, Joe and Lino were like brothers. In fact, I would say that Lino was more of a brother to Joe than Curtis was. Lino and Joe were like kids together, always clowning around. Joe would never do anything to hurt Lino…. Curtis, now that’s another story. He’s hard to read. Joe, he’s just like Lino, just another guy who got caught up in all that stupid syndicate crap. Mostly thanks to his brother….

  “And they made up so much shit about Lino after he died. I just got fed up and withdrew, so I could raise my little girl. I never wanted Caroline to get anywhere near this. Lino paid such a dear price. He just wanted out, but they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, let him go.”

  “Who is they?” As I said this I watched Rian as he walked slowly between the graves and the road where the car was parked.

  “The press! Your people!”

  Clearly, we were talking about different sets of theys. “You knew I used to be a reporter?”

  Some hesitation, then, “Yes. Of course. I’ve always subscribed to both papers. You were one of the few that wrote about what was really going on. Then, I don’t know. I never saw your name in the byline again. Did you quit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “To avoid getting fired.” Rian was inching his way back toward Lino’s gravestone.

  “Sally had mentioned your name. I think she heard the bartender say something about you. I did see your card outside the supermarket. I told you the truth about that. I thought it was serendipitous. I had just heard your name and … I t
hought maybe this guy can find my daughter.”

  “You’re talking about Sally of Sally’s Tavern?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “Don’t you know? She’s my sister-in-law.”

  “How am I supposed to know that?”

  “You’re a detective.”

  That stung. Now I was the fool. “Is she Stanilaus’s sister?”

  “No. He had no sister.”

  “Your brother’s wife?”

  “I don’t have any brothers.”

  We both knew where this was going.

  “Lino’s sister, by any chance?”

  “Yes. Half-sister. Same mother.”

  “You could have told me.”

  “I would’ve if I thought it had anything to do with finding my daughter!”

  Does Sal know? I wondered.

  “I’m sorry,” she continued. “I just … I didn’t think to tell you because I didn’t see any need. Sally has nothing to do—” She stopped abruptly. Then it came out as a whisper. “I just want my daughter found.” I heard what sounded like sobbing and had to give Minerva another minute.

  “Hey,” I finally said.

  “I’m still here.”

  “My best guess, whether you want to hear it or not, is that your daughter is in some deep shit because of the likes of the Sperry boys and the people they work for.”

  “Joe’s not into that stuff anymore. Hasn’t been for ages.” She sniffled. “They beat him up, you know. Almost killed him. That’s why he’s that way.”

  “Who beat him up? Wait, let me guess: ‘the guys who were running things.’ I assume you’re talking about the local syndicate? Or do you mean the union?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “That close, huh?”

  “Frankly, I don’t know what people mean by ‘syndicate.’ I see people with power and I see them get their way. And these guys are incorrigible. But I also see—and I see this way more often—I see working stiffs trying to earn a decent wage, guys who keep getting screwed by their very own bosses. They’re the ones who get laid off. They’re the ones who take the pay cuts. They’re the ones who take the blame and even go to jail for their higher-ups.”

  “You’re being too vague for me. Any specific names?”

  “What does it matter?”

  I was desperately seeking corroboration, wanting to hear the names I’d been hearing over and over again, wanting, against all evidence to the contrary, to blame them in some way for everything’s that gone wrong and to finally wrap up this untidy mess. Those names weren’t being uttered.

  “It’s been three weeks and a day, Kawika, since anyone has seen or heard from my daughter.”

  Three weeks and a day. I felt the weight of that statement.

  I took a breath. “Look, I’ve been working a couple of leads, but they’re … frankly, they’re tenuous. Can you give me something, anything that might help?” A name please.

  “Well, there is Jerry Herblach.”

  The world just got smaller. “Why him?”

  “We have some history with him. We know things about him that he’d prefer we keep quiet about. Caroline may have been crazy enough to threaten him with what she knew.”

  “What did she know?”

  “Oh, it’s a long story…. Has to do with a song.”

  “A song?” Was I supposed to laugh or cry? Or both?

  “Yes. A song.”

  • • •

  After shutting my eyes for a moment to prevent my fingers from digging my eyeballs out, I looked up at Rian, who had taken a Kleenex tissue out of his pocket. He looked like he had heard the last exchange.

  “Look, let’s not do this over the phone,” Minerva said suddenly. “I’m—”

  “What is it?”

  “I just can’t. Not over the phone.”

  “What, then?”

  Minerva said she could meet with me tomorrow morning. The last thing she told me was, “I know you’re doing your best.”

  Well, frankly, dear, my best wasn’t getting us anywhere.

  When I clicked my cell phone shut, Rian motioned for me to come over. He pointed to some indentations in the grass. “Some dude who’s really heavy was here. Three hundred pounds, easy. Ground’s soft from the morning rain. The tracks go all the way to the road. Looks like size 16s.”

  I looked at the indentations on the grass. Once you noticed them they were quite obvious. I looked for my own tracks. It was like I weighed next to nothing.

  “Sperry?” I said to myself, but louder than necessary.

  “What’s ‘Sperry’?”

  “Oh, just some guy. A huge guy.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Very.”

  “One of those syndicate wharf rats?”

  “A very large rat.”

  He looked at the gravestone. Pronounced the Italian phrase beautifully. Then said, “Life, love, music—that’s nice. Heard this Lino Johnson character was an incredible musician. Kind of a precursor to that Jake fella.”

  “You know about him?” Of course he would.

  “No more than anyone who reads the paper. Heard all the rumors. About him being involved with all kinds of shit.”

  “What kind of shit?”

  “Extortion, mainly. Hitting on clubs, stores. I’ve also heard rumors that Josiah Kamana—that senator—he really runs things. But then I’ve also heard similar shit about Dan Inouye. You’re a PI. You must hear all the gossip.”

  I’d heard all that and more during my reporter days. This made me wonder, what did Rian do prior to his … retirement?

  “You follow evidence, don’tcha?” he said.

  “Evidence, hunches. Straws in the wind.”

  “Found several toothpicks, in a little pile.”

  “Probably from an orange.”

  “Possibly. But I wrapped them and put ’em in my wallet, just in case you wanna do a DNA test.”

  I looked up at the Ko‘olaus. In the darkening sky they were shrouded in mist. Mystifying.

  I thanked Rian for his help. I wished I knew who left the lei, whether it was Kay or someone quite large, or that toothpick-chewing snitch. But to go to great lengths to have some tiny piece of evidence tested? Not today. It was too far from Gerard’s house, or any crime scene that I knew of, to be deemed test-worthy.

  Suddenly I was exhausted, as if the ten days of probing had finally caught up with me. And my exhaustion was exacerbated by exasperation. Both Mia and Minerva had been holding out on me. Why why why why why?

  34

  It wasn’t an entirely wasted trip. The presence of the lei made me hopeful about Caroline. Kay. She might still be alive. If she is, she could still be in danger. Whatever elements were involved in the murder of her father may still be at work and may have had something to do with Gerard’s murder. But why? To send a message to Kay to stop being Kay?

  Rian asked me to drop him off at Ala Moana Shopping Center. Said he was running out of books to read and was going to spend the evening at Barnes & Noble, then walk back to the harbor. After dropping him off I hastily turned into the beach park. I parked, sat bathed in twilight, ruminating over what had just transpired.

  The Tinian incident alone had put Kamana and his cohorts under scrutiny. If they went crazy and began killing people just to cover something up, where would they stop? Wouldn’t they know that every such move exposed them even more? How do they think?

  And what’s this shit about Herblach and a song?

  My vibrating phone jolted me out of that thought. It was Mia.

  “I’m freaking out, Kawika.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Home.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Someone’s been following me. It’s a different car. A Ford.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  “Did you read about the guy who got killed? Gerard Plotkin?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did read about it.”
<
br />   “He was a friend of Kay’s.”

  “I’m coming right over.”

  She gave me her apartment number and I jammed on over to her place.

  “Gerard Plotkin?” I said when she disengaged the deadbolt, unhooked the chain, and opened the door. “He’s a friend of Kay’s?”

  “Yes. He cast her in a couple of plays and they got to be pretty close.”

  “How close?”

  “Well, they traveled to Thailand together. And I just learned he was found dead! He was murdered!”

  She put her head into my chest. She was shaking. I embraced her and whispered, “Yes, it was in the papers.”

  “It’s getting too crazy,” she whispered back. I released her.

  She led me into her apartment. I followed her to her sofa. Neither of us sat down.

  “Was it just those two? This Thailand thing?”

  “No. Matt was with them. This was a part of some clean-up program. After the tsunami.”

  “OK, let’s not get too off track here. You think you were being followed?”

  “Couple hours ago, I went to Foodland, the one at Market City. This car was behind me the whole time. When I got near my apartment I was thinking, I don’t want this person to know where I live, so I parked further down the street, near the strip mall. The car went right by me. I decided to leave my car there and walk up.”

  “Could you tell what kind of car it was?”

  “I think so. When it started to get dark, first I thought I should see if I could move my car. I decided to go down there on my bike, figuring if I wore my helmet and shades, I wouldn’t be recognized. I rode down Monsarrat. I’m positive I saw the same car parked near the Unitarian church. About an hour ago, I tried again. This time I walked down the street, wearing my shades and a baseball cap. There it was. Same car. A guy was sitting in it. I don’t think he saw me. I couldn’t make out what he looked like, but I did see a Ford emblem.”

  “Sedan? Minivan? Color?”

  “Let me show you what it looked like.”

  Mia walked over to a desk; on it sat a laptop. She pressed the space bar and it came out of sleep mode. Within a minute I was looking at photos of Crown Victoria sedans.