Molokai Reef (22 page)

Ahead,
Makani
lay at anchor.

Kaunakakai
anchorage wasn’t large. The cruising guide suggested anchoring
as far inside, towards shore, as possible. It was important to
remain clear of the tug that maneuvered the barge into and away from
the pier. In selecting his spot, Gybe knew that the water shoaled
not far beyond the boat launch ramp. On the west side of the harbor,
the reef was visible at low tide.

Using
the boat ramp and a light pole on the causeway as reference points,
he eased
Ferrity
towards the place he wanted to anchor.

Approaching
his invisible X, he reversed the engine under gentle throttle until
the boat’s forward motion stopped. He idled the engine, left
it in reverse, and walked forward. On the foredeck, he released the
anchor and let the chain run out until the anchor hit bottom. The
wind and the idling engine pushed
Ferrity
backwards. Gybe
eased out more chain.

The
water was about ten feet deep where Gybe released the anchor. He let
out fifty feet of chain, then set the chain stopper. Back in the
cockpit, he reversed the engine under two-thirds throttle to set, dig
in, the anchor. While the engine backed down, he strode forward, saw
that the chain was tight, that the anchor was not dragging, then
returned and idled the engine. After letting the engine cool under
idle for a few minutes, he pulled the kill switch returning silence
to the boat.

Gybe
was coiling and stowing lines when Mongoose climbed aboard and landed
in the cockpit. The ’goose had never met Andrea, so Gybe
glossed over his recent experience aboard
Lagoonabago
. They
talked about Les for a few minutes.

“
I
learned some things about the victims while you were away.”
Mongoose offered.

“
Yeah,
what?”

“
Drugs.”

“
What
do you mean drugs? Try whole sentences, will you. Buy some goddamn
verbs.”

Because
of a regressive gene inherited from unknown ancestors, perhaps from
Romania or Kazakhstan, Mongoose was immune to insults. He recognized
insults, but his adrenaline system would not nor could not respond.

He
explained that while seeking pharmacological supplies for
Makani
he met a local man named Polunu. Polunu had heard that two haoles, a
man and a woman, were trying to find a buyer for hashish.

Polunu
was amazed at their stupidity. Everyone knew, including the police,
that one family controlled the illegal drug trade on the island. The
clan assigned the tasks of growing, cultivating, and distributing
amongst its members. The
Ohana
as they were called had been
growing pakalolo on the island for five generations.

Tacit
agreement between the community and the police gave the
Ohana
exclusive rights to distribute illegal drugs. In exchange, the
Ohana
agreed to sell only pakalolo, no heroin, ice, or drug du jour. If an
outsider imported one of these other drugs, the
Ohana
worked
with the police to drive them out. With the police and the
Ohana
after their ass, ice dealers didn’t have a chance.

“
Sounds
like a thriving family business. Would they murder to keep out the
competition? I want to talk with the leader of this
Ohana
.”

“
Oh
yeah Gybe, no problemo. Let me get the yellow pages. Should I look
under M for marijuana, P for pakalolo, or D for drugs? While I’m
looking, why don’t you call the Chief of Police and ask him to
set up a meeting?”

“
Wise
ass. Let’s start with your new friend – Pokocabana
wasn’t it?”

41

“
Polunu.”
Mongoose corrected as the two men boarded the ’goose’s
dink and motored towards shore.

Susan’s
car was in the pier parking lot, but there was no sign of Kara.

“
We’ll
take this car.” Gybe hopped in the driver’s position.

The
’goose did a slow walk around the vehicle. “Man, what’s
that smell? You dig this car out of the dump?” The ’goose
circled the ’vair twice before sliding into the shotgun seat.
Bill, who came along for the ride, perched on the seatback above
Mongoose’s left shoulder.

Gybe
pumped the gas and twisted the screwdriver. The fuel ignited in at
least four of the six cylinders in the flat-six engine. A quick
mental calculation revealed that not counting for valve leakage, over
ninety of the theoretical one hundred forty cubic inches were
available for thrust. He drove the car forward, hit the curb, and
bounced back through the blue smoke. The unexpected maneuver sent
Bill tumbling into the starboard foot well. Unsure of the next
direction of travel, Mongoose braced himself between the dashboard
and the seat back.

“
Airbag,
dammit, airbag!” Squawked the red macaw as he used his beak
and claws to scale Mongoose’s leg and reclaim his perch on the
seat.

Driving
up the causeway, Gybe asked, “Where do we find your buddy
Polunu?”

Mongoose
directed Gybe to an area of old fishponds near Kawela, about five
miles east of Kaunakakai town. As the car entered the rutted drive,
Gybe pointed to a Hawaiian beach shack through some kiawe trees to
the east. “That it?”

Gybe
and Mongoose exited the car. The ’goose turned to Bill, still
sitting on the car seat, “Perch,” he commanded.

The
tropical climate of Hawai‘i permitted people to live on the
beach year-round. A roof was the only real requirement. A cheap
blue or silver plastic tarp, sold by the thousands at local hardware
stores, would last up to a year, even under the tropical sun. As
they walked towards the shelter, Gybe inventoried the surroundings.

A
path led along the beach, just above the high tide line. A circle of
lava rocks formed a crude fire pit. Hard-earned possessions
including two faded plastic chairs, a three-legged table, a rusted
out bucket, and a cushionless sofa decorated the sand under the blue
tarp. Ropes tied between the corners of the tarp and nearby tree
trunks held up the twenty-foot square blue plastic. A lodge pole in
the center shaped the cover in an attempt to drain rainwater. Strewn
around the camp were dozens of gadgets, appliances, and plastic
widgets no longer recognizable on the shelves of Home Depot or
Wal-Mart. Someone once told Gybe that to the homeless, every
possession was valuable.

A pit
bull and a rottweiler strained at their chains, anchored to the lodge
pole. If police were smarter, instead of chasing drug dealers with
undercover agents and snitches, they would locate the people who
owned pit bulls and rottweilers. Find one, find the other. Dog
traps not wiretaps.

“
Aloha,
anyone home.” Mongoose called. “Hello. Polunu, my
friend, it’s me Mongoose.”

The
dogs snarled and strained against the chains. Just then, Bill
swooped down from behind and locked his zygodactylous toes (two fore,
two aft) around the pit bull’s leather collar. “Yee hah.
Yee hah,” chattered the scarlet macaw.

Mongoose
had left Bill in the ’vair and instructed him to stay. Either
Bill disobeyed or he couldn’t stand the stench in the car.

The
pit bill barked, snapped, twisted, jerked, and bucked. On the other
chain, the over stimulated rottweiler brain locked up and the
screen-saver came on. He lay down as far away from the pit bull as
his chain would allow.

“
Git
da fugin brd off ma dag.”

Gybe
assumed the large man waddling out of the woods waving his arms was
Polunu. He was about five foot ten and his bathroom scales, if he’d
had a bathroom to keep them in, hadn’t registered under three
hundred pounds this decade. Strapped to each foot was an old,
wheelless skateboard. Ropes fastened through the boards held the
slippers to his massive feet. The sandshoes kept him afloat in the
soft sand.

“
Eight
secs. Eight secs.” Bill unclenched his toes and with three
wing flutters landed on Mongoose’s shoulder. Because the bird
used both feet on the dog collar, rodeo judges would refuse to
qualify the ride in bull riding events.

“
Wha
ya wnt?”

“
Polunu.
This is my friend Gybe.”

The
testosterone-saturated synapses of the pit bull did not register
Bill’s departure. The brainsick dog twisted, circled, and
wrapped the chain tighter and tighter around the lodge pole.

Mongoose
acted as interpreter for the pidjin-speaking Polunu. Like ebonics
speakers in Oakland, pidjin speakers were proud of their illiteracy.

Polunu
repeated what he had told Mongoose earlier. Two haoles had tried to
sell hashish. The two brothers who ran the
Ohana
pakalolo
distribution had heard of the deal. Like everyone on the island,
Polunu knew the brothers Makaha and Nahoa by reputation but he could
not set up a meeting.

The
brothers modeled their pakalolo distribution network after
multi-level-marketing programs developed to sell cosmetics. Polunu
was a recent recruit and worked at the bottom tier. He was trying to
enlist new distributors for his district but everyone he knew was
already in the pyramid.

Gybe
pointed to a new black moped with oversize tires sitting under a tree
behind Polunu. “Where did you get the shiny moped?”

The
’goose translated, “Says he got it for meeting his sales
goals three months in a row. In the lower tier, the distributors get
black. Higher sales achievers silver or gold mopeds.”

As
Gybe and Mongoose walked away from the shelter, Bill flew a low pass
over the panting, short-chained pit bull. The dog lunged, Bill fled,
the pole fell, Polunu cursed, the rottweiler’s skull cracked.

42

Nearing
the Hotel Moloka‘i, Gybe downshifted to brake using the engine.
When that failed, he applied the foot brake and turned left into the
hotel parking area. The valet waved him on and pointed to the far
parking lot.

“
Detroit
gets no respect,” mumbled the ’goose. “Remember
the Chevy Vega? Could the Japanese or the Koreans have designed,
built, and sold a car made entirely of plastic and rust?”

Gybe
angled the ’vair into an uphill slot, rotated the screwdriver
counterclockwise, dropped the stick into third gear, and popped the
clutch. Following one backfire and a death rattle, the engine sat
silent. Back near the valet, two guests from Brooklyn dove behind
the front desk.

“
Keali‘i,
how are you? You know Mongoose?”

“
Everyone
knows the ’goose, Gybe.”

She
lowered a basket of the holiday green chips, a bowl of salsa, and
took their drink orders.

When
she returned with the two Kona ales, Gybe again complimented her on
the chips.

“
We’re
about out, so enjoy.”

“
Order
some more. Everyone loves them.”

“
Can’t.
We got these from Dr. Jean. She brought them by two days before her
murder. Jean said they were experimental. A new breed of corn they
had created.”

“
You
mean one of the bio-engineered varieties from GeNesRus?” Gybe
asked.

“
Yeah,
I guess. She didn’t say. We were slow after lunch today, so
the manager asked me to call GeNesRus and order some more. Everyone
wants the chips, but when I called, no one knew what I was talking
about. Odd, huh?”

Gybe
told Keali‘i how he and Kara had been unsuccessful in getting
information from the seed companies. It was the nature of their
business to keep the research secret.

Keali‘i
left Mongoose and Gybe to enjoy the beers. Gybe suggested they
should talk with the two brothers – Makaha and Nahoa – as
soon as possible.

The
next Roach Hill Downs was scheduled for 11:00 p.m. tonight. “They
were at the last race.” Mongoose had known who they were
before their visit to Polunu. If drugs were involved, the ’goose
knew.

Kara
insisted on going to the races with Gybe. Mongoose had predicted
large crowds, so they left the ’vair parked on the pier. The
races were held under the canoe hale, or canoe house, just to the
west of where the causeway joined the island. The hale lay makai of
the home site of Kamehameha V, last of the Kamehameha dynasty. Well
into adulthood, he had a fondness for his sister, which withstood the
ire of the kahunas. He left no heirs.

They
walked the half-mile long causeway and into the hale. Several
hundred islanders crowded around the vendors - beer for the adults,
shave ice for the youngsters. Deep-fried cockroach-shaped Spam
morsels skewered on toothpicks, poi-dogs, and squid-on-a-stick were
the most popular snack foods. Gybe returned from the beer truck and
offered Kara a sixteen-ounce plastic cup of Bud.

He
counted four race rings spray-painted on the sand floor, one in each
quadrant of the building. Nailed to one of the pillars, a sheet of
plywood served as a scoreboard.

Young
girls, maybe 4-H’ers, flitted about the livestock pens. Some
buffed the cockroach backs while others groomed their legs and
antennae. Kara’s paddler friend from the other night stepped
to the center of the hale, raised a conch shell, and signaled first
call. Breeders carried their entrants to the pre-assigned tracks.