Molokai Reef (26 page)

They
drifted across the street to an old man watching them from his lanai.
A lifetime of work under a tropical sun had etched deep wrinkles in
his face. His chair rocked as he watched the strangers approach.

He
told them that he lived with his daughter, her husband, and three
grandkids. The others worked or went to school while he stayed home
most days. He was always home to meet the children.

He
didn’t want to say anymore to the strangers. Gybe sat
silently. Kara cooed and flirted until the old man gave in. As a
neighbor, he had met Jean soon after she moved in. He had seen Ray
many times but only learned his name from the news of his death.

Confirming
the gardener’s story, he had seen Ray and Jean together every
Saturday morning. Occasionally, they would return to the house
during the week, usually around lunchtime. He had never seen the
man’s car parked late at night. In fact, he had never seen the
man’s car. The two, Ray and Jean, arrived always together in
Jean’s pink Jeep.

He
remembered because he thought that Jean had found herself a man. “A
pretty girl like Jean ought to be married.”

Remembering
the lesbian angle with Jean’s boss, although he never used that
word with the old man, Gybe asked if Jean had other frequent
visitors.

The
old man sat silent for a minute or two as he searched the fading
memory banks of his eighty-seven-year-old brain. “Some
mornin’s I saw a silver car drive away. The windows were
tinted so I couldn’t see who was inside.”

“
What
kind of car? New? Old?”

“
Oh,
it was a new 'un. Foreign job. Probably one a 'em damn Jap cars.”

Sensing
the beginning of a long, nostalgic replay of World War Two, Gybe
stood and thanked the old veteran.

As he
and Kara neared the car, they heard mumblings about MacArthur,
Truman, sneaky bastards, and racial epithets not found in today’s
politically correct, sanitized, and colorless language. Today only
minorities could openly display bigotry, hatred, and ignorance. The
rest of society, often minorities themselves, could hurl racial
epithets only while safely cocooned inside a steel, plastic, and
glass shell with four-wheel drive. Inside the automobile, one was
anonymous, protected, and unaccountable.

“
If
Ray and Jean drove around town in an open Jeep, it seems unlikely
they were having a clandestine affair. Everyone knows everything
that happens in this town.” Gybe mused. “On the other
hand, they are not even supposed to know each other, according to
Jean’s boss and Ray’s boss.”

“
Somebody
lied.”

The
unspoken ‘why’ hung like a cartoon bubble as Kara
unclutched the ’vair and jerked down the street.

On
the main street, Gybe directed her to stop beside a pay phone. He
punched in numbers until he heard a ringing sound. When the GeNesRus
receptionist answered, he set up an appointment with Dr. Miller.
They would meet tomorrow morning.

49

He
was falling – arms and legs spread wide. Far above, the moon
receded into the darkness. He wanted to flip over and watch the
approaching earth. He felt cold, sharp steel under his chin and woke
up.

“
What
da fuck?” Nahoa stared up at Gybe. “You’re dead
man. You are dead.” His biceps tensed.

An
idle threat. At each movement, Mongoose tightened the ropes leading
from each wrist and ankle to the nearest bed corner. Nahoa lie
spread-eagled on his bed atop his jungle-motif sheets. His voice was
his sole weapon and it was loud.

“
Let’s
just say that you are closer to dead than I.” Gybe replied.
Ticking the skin on Nahoa’s neck, a small trickle of blood
oozed downward. “Let’s talk.”

“
Tell
me about your meeting with Ray and Jean.”

“
Don’t
know ’em”

The
machete nicked the soft webbing between Nahoa’s earlobe and
jaw. “They were the ones who were murdered the other day.
Remember? Some tourists found their bodies on the ocean floor west
of Kaunakakai.”

“
Do
you know who I am? Let me up now and I may let you live. My brother
will be here in a few minutes.”

Gybe
lifted the machete and separated the earlobe from the jaw. Like any
head wound, blood flowed freely. “I think you’re
confused about the situation. Let me explain.” The machete
sliced through the waistband of Nahoa’s boxer shorts. Gybe
flipped the shorts away leaving the spread-eagled man defenseless and
naked. “There are two rules meathead. First rule, I ask the
questions. Second rule, you answer. The machete referees.
Understand?” Gybe rested the blade under the man’s left
nipple.

“
Tell
me about the victims.”

“
Coupla
dumb haoles. Thought they could sell drugs on
my
island.”

“
And
– keep talking until I tell you to stop.”

Nahoa
told them how he had heard from his distributors that the two haoles
had a bunch of hashish. They were looking for a dealer who could
distribute it for them. Ray and Jean didn’t know how to sell
drugs. They wanted a quick sale to one dealer for the entire amount.

Makaha,
Nahoa’s brother heard about the deal from a cousin. The
brothers picked up the two – Jean and Ray – then took
them to the old coconut grove west of town.

Gybe
waited for a moment then pressed the blade hard against Nahoa’s
chest.

Speaking
quickly, Nahoa said that the couple claimed to have forty pounds of a
THC laced product. THC, tetrahydrocannabinol, was the active
ingredient in marijuana products.

“
Forty
pounds? Isn’t that a lot of pot?” Gybe interrupted.

“
No
shit. We only distribute on this island. That’s way more than
anything my brother and I wanted to deal.”

The
brothers told the haoles that they weren’t interested. They
warned them not to sell it on Moloka‘i. The brothers owned
this island’s drug trade. If they tried selling it on this
island there would be serious problems.

“
So
what did they do with the product?”

“
Don’t
know. We roughed them up a little to make sure they understood our
position, then left them in the park.”

“
When
was this?”

“
Last
week, maybe a coupla days before they were murdered.”

“
When
did you see them last?”

“
The
coconut grove. Saw them there first and last. Only time I met
them.”

“
What
happened to the drugs?”

“
Don’t
know. They ain’t been on the street. My guys would tell me.”

Remembering
the silver Mercedes SL55 AMG, a car with a six-figure price tag,
parked in the driveway, Gybe asked if Nahoa had met Jean before the
hashish offer. Had he been to her house?

The
old man across the street from Jean’s house had said the
unknown visitor drove a silver Jap car, but could he tell a Japanese
model from a German model? Gybe doubted it.

Nahoa
denied that he had ever met Jean before. He would never go to her
house. Didn’t even know where it was. “Dem haole
bitches don’t know their place. Me, I’ll take Polynesian
pussy any day.”

Gybe
left the man tied to the bed and motioned Mongoose into the other
room.

“
Think
he’s telling the truth, ‘goose?”

“
Maybe,
maybe not. He was belligerent enough at the beginning but he got a
little too cooperative at the end. We should see if his brother
corroborates the story.”

“
Agreed.
What do we do with Nahoa?”

“
Not
to worry, I’ve got just the thing.”

Back
in the bedroom, Gybe used the machete to lift Nahoa’s chin
towards the ceiling. Gybe felt Nahoa twitch, but knew that with his
head tilted back he couldn’t see what Mongoose was doing.

A
latex glove snapped off Mongoose’s hand. “Done.”

The
machete sliced through the ropes holding Nahoa’s hands,
decapitated a lion imprinted on the bed linen, and hacked a deep
divot from the mattress.

With
his feet still tied, Nahoa sat up and looked at his privates. “What
the fuck is that, you faggots?”

A
smooth metal ring fit tightly around the base of his penis and down
under and behind his testicles. The ring looked solid – he
couldn’t see a lock. Nahoa looked closer and discovered a
marble sized node welded at the base of the ring.

Mongoose
held up a black plastic control similar to the electronic key fob
used on newer automobiles. When he pressed the green button on the
device, Nahoa jerked from the electric shock. “That’s
the green button. I use it for demonstration and testing mostly.”

The
man’s eyes were wide as he stared at the control. There was a
red button. “And the red button?”

With
a bit too much enthusiasm, the ‘goose said. “The red
button detonates a small charge of gunpowder, powder I removed from a
twelve gauge shotgun shell.”

The
man tried to move away from his jewels. A trick never perfected by
the late great Houdini.

“
Get
it off. Get if off.”

“
It’s
my insurance policy. Don’t want to see those gorillas from the
other night.” Gybe said. “The ‘goose tells me
that if you try to cut it off – the ring that is – it
detonates.”

Gybe
and Mongoose walked from the room. Nahoa sat staring at his balls.
From the other room, just loud enough to be heard by Nahoa, Mongoose
said, “I’d stay away from garage door openers, if I were
you.”

They
left Nahoa and walked outside.

“
That
thing safe?”

“
Probably,”
Mongoose assured Gybe. “It’s my Mod IV.”

“
And
the earlier models?”

“
The
first was a prototype. A very old microwave set it off. Neighbor’s
cordless phone detonated the second model. As for the Mod III, I
never determinted what triggered it.”

“
Let’s
find the brother before they compare notes.”

They
found the brother, or rather his car, parked behind the hardware
store two blocks from the main street. As Makaha walked out of the
store, Mongoose shoved a shopping cart into his belly. Gybe lined up
a two by four with the back of his head and sank the putt.

When
Makaha came to, the world was upside down. A rope led from his feet
over the branch of a banyan tree. He was eye level with Gybe’s
belt.

“
Mornin’
Makaha.” Gybe broke the ice.

As a
gesture of fair play, they had left his hands untied. Makaha lunged
for Gybe, but without purchase, he only managed to sway under the
tree limb.

“
We
just talked to your brother. He told us about your meeting with the
two murder victims. The meeting about the hashish. We’d like
to hear your version of the story.”

Makaha
was reluctant to talk until Mongoose had dropped the eleventh
cockroach down the pant legs of the man’s shorts. They say
cockroaches are cleaner than cats and some cultures eat them on
special occasions, but then there were people like Makaha – he
could step on a roach, but he didn’t want them crawling around
in his shorts.

As
they say in the movies, he sang like a chipmunk. His story was
similar to his brother’s.

“
Where
were you on Monday night, the night of the murders?”

“
Around.
My brother and me were around.”

“
Around
where. Anyone see you between seven and midnight?”

Mongoose
found a gecko on the banyan tree and added it to the wild animal park
roaming Makaha’s shorts.

“
We
were with a coupla girls. Swimin’ out at the old Ali‘i
fishpond. I forget their names. Let me down.”

“
Where
are the drugs now?”

The
‘goose added the rest of the bucket of roaches, survivors of
the recent Roach Hill Downs.

“
I
don’t know. Let me down. I don’t know, I swear.”

“
Mongoose,
tell him about his brother’s new jewelry.”

The
machete swung, a quicker thinking man might have rolled with the
fall.

When
they left, Gybe was confident that the writhing, pant-less Makaha,
even after he found the last cockroach, would not bother them again.

Gybe
and the ‘goose drove away. “You know, I forgot to ask
them about my dinghy – did they sink it?”

“
We
can go back, if you want?”

“
Naw,
give me that control. I’ll ask Nahoa the next time I see him.”

50

Gybe
wanted to speak with Jean’s boss, lover, or whatever alone. He
pulled the ’vair into a visitor slot and rolled the wheels up
to the curb. A counterclockwise twist of the screwdriver broke the
engine’s electrical circuit, an age-old technique for shutting
down a gasoline engine. When the ’vair’s engine failed
to stop, Gybe popped the clutch and the car lurched over the curb
pinning a bicycle against a kukui tree.