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“Good. You?”

Sid took a step back and shook his head.

“Bad. Everything's goin' fo' shit.” Sid could see from her expression that it was news to Hannah. “Don' dis boy talk to you den?”

Joseph tried to explain. “It's not that big a deal.”

“Why you say dat den? We just sit around wid our thumbs up our butts, it'll be da end.”

“The end of what?”

“Da end fo' da business.”

Joseph tried to explain. “Don't be so dramatic, Uncle. It's just some competition.”

Sid glowered at him. “He want fo' dis to happen. He forget about his
ohana.
He want fo' to go cook in some fancy place on the mainland.”

Joseph's jaw dropped. “How do you know about that?”

“I know lots den.”

Hannah looked at Joseph. “Did you get an offer from someone?”

Joseph flushed, embarrassed. “In New York City.”

“When were you going to tell me about it?”

“I just got an offer. I haven't decided anything.”

Sid looked at Hannah and Joseph and shook his head.

“You two shoulda been married long ago.”

“You came by to tell us that?”

“I'm gonna talk to Jack Lucey. Tell him wot fo' he can do.” Sid turned and started for the door.

Joseph looked at Hannah. “I gotta go with him. I don't want him killing anyone.”

Hannah nodded. “I'll be at my place.”

...

Yuki had watched the well-toned Hawaiian warrior stand in his grass skirt and blow the conch shell to signal sunset and the ceremonial lighting of the tiki torches at the hotel. She had sat alone and sipped pineapple juice as the fire dancers came out and performed some flaming baton twirling while drummers pounded out a beat and hula dancers, with eye makeup like streetwalkers, chanted and shook their asses for the tourists. It was not the island experience she was looking for.

Yuki had asked the concierge at the hotel to recommend a place where the locals went for dinner. He'd looked at her like she was nuts and recommended Duke's Canoe Club, Sam Choy's, Benihana, and a couple of other places that reeked of the tourist trade. Frustrated, Yuki hit the streets, figuring she'd find something if she just started walking away from the beach.

She passed several department stores and fancy boutiques selling Hawaiian clothes. She walked past kiosks offering leis, stalls selling oysters with real pearls inside, and a woman in a bikini advertising a stage show starring Charo, the original coochi-coochi girl.

All along the way she saw people, her people, populating the background, forming a vast canvas underneath the Caucasian tourists that popped to the foreground like fluorescent daisies on a black velvet painting.

It didn't take long for her to walk into what looked like a convention of hookers on Kuhio Avenue. There were dozens if not hundreds of them. Yuki stared at a muscular black woman wearing micromini hot pants and a loose diaphanous halter top. The woman turned to Yuki.

“Don't be shy. I do girls. I do it all, sugar.”

Yuki could only blush and stammer. “No, thank you.”

She saw another hooker, a buxom Caucasian girl, wearing a silver catsuit with cutout circles up and down the side. It was the closest thing to a space suit she had ever seen on a human being. Yuki couldn't help herself.

“Excuse me, but, what are you wearing?”

The woman looked at Yuki and then said, “Money.”

A black SUV drove by and slowed as it passed Yuki. The car pulled over to the curb, stopped, and a large Hawaiian
man, wearing baggy cargo shorts and a tank top, climbed out and approached her.

“I can help you make a lot more money.”

“Excuse me?”

“You shouldn't be out here. This isn't your scene. You can't compete with these girls.”

He swept his arms dramatically to indicate the other women on the street. Yuki looked around. It was true; she couldn't compete, if the competition was to see who had the biggest tits and gave the best blow jobs.

“I'm not—”

“Of course you're not. Anybody can see that.”

Yuki nodded, unsure whether she should feel insulted or not, and began to walk.

“Wait. I'm not finished.”

“I am.”

The man fell into step beside her. Yuki couldn't help but notice the Polynesian tribal bands tattooed on his biceps.

“I said you could make a lot of money.”

“I heard you. I'm not interested. I'm not a. . . prostitute.”

“I know.”

That sounded condescending to Yuki. “Really. I'm not.”

“A thousand dollars a night. Only one trick. How's that sound?”

“You're out of your mind. Nobody would pay that for me.”

“They would if you specialized.”

Yuki didn't want to hear about whips, chains, leather, rubber, gizmos, gadgets, dildos, butt plugs, or any other specialization. She kept walking.

“Cut your hair. Wear boy's clothes. You'd be surprised how many people want to be with a girl who looks like a boy.”

Yuki turned and looked at the man. He was a pimp, a really large Hawaiian pimp. By all rights she should be terrified. But she wasn't. There was something about him that was more comforting than scary. He was being sincere. Honest and heartfelt and genuine. Yuki had never heard of a sincere pimp. But here he was, and he really believed what he was saying. He really thought she could be a sex object, that people would actually pay money to have sex with her. This idea was so alien and random that Yuki didn't know what to think of it. Was it exciting? Scary? Ridiculous?

Yuki's lips began to tremble; she thought she might burst into tears.

“Please leave me alone. I'm just trying to find a place to eat.”

The pimp looked at her for a beat, deciding.

“Two blocks that way; turn left. You'll see a little place kitty-corner. They make good noodles.”

“Thank you.”

The pimp watched her go, shaking his head sadly at the lost business opportunity. “You could make a lot of money.”

...

The muffled beat of technomusic pounded against the walls of the bathroom. Occasionally someone would throw open the door, and the full force of the sound would shake the stalls. But Francis wasn't paying much attention to the music; he was busy sucking cock. A handsome Australian's cock, at that. Uncut. Chad would be jealous.

Francis knew he should've slid a condom over the guy's dick before he put it in his mouth, but wedged into the stall of the bathroom, kissing and stroking each other, the crystal meth and Viagra propelling him forward, urging him to just rip off his clothes and start fucking—well, he just didn't care. He couldn't be bothered. In fact, he wouldn't mind catching some minor venereal disease, a little gift for Chad when he got home. That would show him.

The Australian had a big cock, much bigger than Chad's. Francis could feel it getting bigger, stiffer, as he sucked and stroked it, letting it drive deep into his mouth. Francis cupped the Australian's balls with one hand, the base of his cock with the other. He felt the balls tighten and rise, and then a surprisingly large amount of come began shooting down Francis's throat in hot little pulses.

Francis swallowed.

It wasn't difficult for Joseph and his uncle to find Jack. The concierge at the hotel was more than happy to tell them where the cranky old haole with the walker went. The concierge had loaded the walker into the trunk of the cab and everything. And had the gimpy old bastard given him a tip? Fuck, no.

So Joseph and Sid were on their way to La Femme Nu.

Joseph didn't like strip clubs. They weren't his scene. He liked to say that the ritual objectification of women was a soulless and sad pursuit that offended his sense of aesthetics. But really, the one time he'd been, he'd just found the whole thing depressing. The leering men, the prancing women with their shiny oiled skin, superinflated tits, and absurd costumes—they were almost cartoons, manga-stylized yet alive, simulating intimacy or, perhaps more accurately, simulating a fantasy version of simulated intimacy.

Joseph wasn't sure whose fantasy it was. Not his. The uptight nurse or librarian or schoolteacher, checking pulses or wearing big black glasses and holding a book, suddenly letting her hair down, unleashing her massive boobs, and banging her crotch against a large metal pole while men
cheered and stuck money in her underwear—what planet did that come from?

Sid and Joseph passed through the neon portal of La Femme Nu. They found Jack scrunched up against the stage, his face staring up at the bulging rubber-wrapped vulva of a young Korean woman with gigantic pylon-shaped silicone-injected breasts. Jack had an astonished look on his face. Apparently he was experiencing something profound and life-altering, a real eureka moment. He turned to a Caucasian guy sitting next to him.

“Did you know Chinese chicks had such big tits? I can't fuckin' believe it!” Then, turning to the platform: “Come here, Tiger Lily!”

She swiveled her vacuum-packed ass over toward him, bobbin' it up and down to the beat as Jack lurched and wobbled to his feet. He stuffed a couple of bucks in her rubber panties, pulling the waistband out like a rubber band and then letting it go. Hearing the satisfying smack of rubber hitting flesh, he gave a feral howl.

“Oh, my God! You got the sweetest ass I've ever seen!”

Sid and Joseph watched Jack reel around, arms wheeling in the air as he fought for balance, and collapse back into his chair.

“You're so fuckin' hot, baby!”

Joseph couldn't help but notice that Jack was—well, highly aroused. He nudged his uncle.

“Uncle, look.”

You couldn't miss it. Neither could the stripper. She bent down close, staring right at the apex of Jack's triangulated crotch.

“You want a private dance? I can make you happy.”

“Oh, yeah, baby.”

“Ten minutes, okay? I'll come for you. Maybe you come for me?”

Jack's eyes rolled in his head. “Oh, yeah!”

The woman turned and began abusing the pole with her ass. Jack watched in awe.

Sid leaned in to Joseph and shouted in his ear, “Lemme handle dis.”

Before Joseph could argue, Sid had bulled his way past him and was taking the seat next to Jack. Jack continued to proclaim his new discovery.

“Oh, my God. No wonder there's ten billion of 'em! Look at the Chinese chick! Oh, my God! Look at those Chinese hooters! Who knew about this? Who?”

“She's Korean.”

Jack turned and looked at Sid. “Korean? You sure?”

“Fo' sure.”

Jack nodded, processing the new information, rethinking his trip to Hong Kong. “Is all Korean pussy like that?”

“I don' know.”

Jack poured half a beer into his mouth and shook his head. “Here's to Pyongyang poontang!”

Sid had heard enough. He picked Jack up by the collar and lifted him out of his chair. Jack sputtered a little tough-guy talk, but Sid had him moving toward a room in the back. Joseph intercepted the bouncer.

“It's cool. Our friend needs to puke.”

The bouncer nodded and went back to grinding his teeth and watching the crowd, waiting for someone to slip up so he could vent some of his cocaine-fueled tension.

Joseph hurriedly followed Sid, hoping his uncle wouldn't do anything he'd regret.

He found them in a semiquiet spot in back. Sid had squashed Jack into a vinyl banquette and was looming over him. Jack wasn't intimidated; he was bouncing off the seat, yelling at Sid, spit flying out of his mouth.

“I know who you are! You don't fucking scare me.”

Sid, surprisingly, remained cool. “I'm not tryin' fo' to scare you. I'm tellin' you wot it is.”

“Fuck you!”

Sid nodded, like a good parent waiting for a teenager to stop raging. “I'm only gonna say dis one time den.”

“And I'm gonna say this until you go away. Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Sid just crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Jack. He didn't say anything.

“If you don't mind, I'm going back to the Korean chick. I got some unfinished business.”

Jack tried to stand, but without his walker he wasn't going anywhere. He flopped around, struggling and thrashing for a few minutes, and then gave up and glared.

“What? What the fuck do you want?”

“You gonna listen?”

Jack nodded. Sid leaned in.

“Here's the deal. You got the job. Good fo' you. You brought some trucks over. Good fo' you. The union is gonna drive your trucks, they gonna take real good care of 'em. They're gonna make you look good.”

Jack nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“When the job's over, you leave da trucks where dey are and you go back to Las Vegas.”

“In your fucking dreams, King Kamehameha.”

“You don't want no problems den. You understand dat?”

Jack's face flushed red.

“I understand. Now you wanna know what I think?”

“Sure.”

“You want a war, you got one.”

“You don't wanna go there. Not with us.”

Jack took that in.

“Oh really?”

Sid nodded.

“Dis is our island.”

Jack pulled himself up, struggling to maintain his balance, and leaned as close as he could to Sid. Then he started yelling.

“Yeah, well listen to me, Honolulu tough guy, I'm from Las-fuckin'-Vegas. Do you know what I'm sayin' here? Do you have any idea what that means?”

Jack couldn't hold himself up. He crashed back into the banquette.

“Go blow your fuckin' conch shell or pick coconuts or whatever the fuck it is you people do. But don't tell me how to run my fuckin' business, because you are out of your league.”

Joseph was sure that last outburst would put Sid over the edge, but Sid just shook his head.