The Ohana (20 page)

The concept of easy money fascinated George, but he knew he couldn’t be a drug mule. He thought about what role he could play as he drove his soda truck around town.

“Does Chun ever go on trips?” George asked Mark one hot summer day. The two brothers were sitting on low beach chairs guzzling cold beer in the backyard of Mark’s new house in Kaimuki. Their wives were cooking inside. Mark had been part of Chun’s organization for little over a year and George envied him his house and new Chevy. And he knew as far as Mary was concerned, Mark had convinced her he was in the import/export business.

Mark shook his head. “Chun’s the boss. He provides the money and the contacts.”

George stroked his chin. “Know the other runners?”

“Not all,” Mark took a long swallow of his beer.

“You know all the contacts in Hong Kong?”

“Yeah. Why all the questions, George?”

George leaned in towards Mark. “Because we could do it ourselves.”

 Mark put his beer down on the ground. “You make one trip you almost screwed up and you like take over Chun’s action?”

George clenched his jaw. “Look, I know I can’t do what you do, but I have something else going for me.”

“Like what?”

George tapped his head. “Father’s brains.”

“I think maybe you’ve cracked up or something.” Mark lit a cigarette. “Number one, you go after Chun’s action, he’s going after you. You when figure that out?”

George nodded. “I can handle it.”

“How? Chun’s got muscle. Where’s yours? Besides, Chun’s
Pake
. He’s got the Hong Kong connections. You think you can get the
Pake
to go with a
Yobo
rather than a
Pake
who they’ve dealt with a long time?”

George smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

“How you going do that?” Mark’s voice rose as he leaned forward toward George.

“Make them a better deal.”

“A better deal?” Mark shook his head. “Is this a joke?”

George smiled. “Chun’s small potatoes. I’m going to buy more stuff than Chun ever dreamed of buying. I got better ways of smuggling stuff. Pretty soon they’re going to get caught.”

“How’re you going to smuggle stuff in?”

“For one, we could hide the hashish by putting it into the soles of slippers and sandals. We could bring in containers legally.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “How did you figure that?”

“I just did. You know how cheap slippers are in Hong Kong. Every time Chun sends a mule, he pays them $500. We could import hundreds, even thousands of slippers at one time. We could move a fortune in hashish. We could even send it to California.”

“Hashish isn’t our only market,” Mark stroked his chin.

“I got other ideas. When the
Pakes
see how much we can move, they’re going with the money. That much hashish will be cheaper per pound than what Chun gets it for. Nobody will be able to beat our prices.” George leaned back and held the cold beer against his forehead.

“Yeah, but it takes big money,” Mark pointed out. “Where are we going to come up with that kind of money?”

“We’ll go to all the
tanomoshis
we know and offer them twice their money back in less than a year.” George knew there were hundreds of
tanomoshi
investment circles in Hawaii. Since banks in Hawaii wouldn’t lend to immigrants, groups of people pooled their savings and once a year one of the members got the money to spend any way they wanted. The Japanese and most Koreans used the Japanese word
tanomoshi
to describe a system of banking started in feudal times. The Chinese called it
huis
.

“We can start our own
tanomoshi
. Once we make a big score, people will be begging to join. They’ll throw money at us.”

“You really think you can convince them to invest in drugs?”

“They won’t know. We’ll tell them we’re starting a slipper business. Then we convince the
Pakes
in China to back me on the first shipment for a bigger cut. ”

“That’s a big sales job.”

George grinned. “I know. And I got the best salesman right here.”

 “Let’s suppose all that works. Now who is going to sell the stuff here?” Mark asked. “Where’s your organization and protection against Chun? He’s going to want to kill you and anyone who works with you.”

“You know Chun’s dealers?”

“Some of them,” Mark picked up his bottle.

“How does Chun protect them?”

Mark shrugged. “He owns the cops and politicians.”

“Pay offs?”

 “That’s not my end of the business.” Mark picked up his beer again and tapped against the glass. “For instance, I heard about this politician who saw his wife raped in front of him. Chun took care of everything without publicity. Now the politician owes Chun.”

“We can do the same.”

“George, it takes years to make those contacts.”

“So we don’t have the fancy set up Chun has, but lots of his boys will come with me.”

“How do you know?”

“Simple. I plan to offer them more money.”

“How are you going to get them on your side?”

George grinned. “You’re going to talk them into it.”

“You must think I’m some salesman,” Mark said.

“People like you, Mark. You’ll be an excellent recruiter.”

“And leave myself open to Chun?” Mark took another swig of beer.

“I told you, I’ll take care of Chun.” George wrapped his hand around his bottle. It cooled him off and felt good in against the heat of the Hawaiian sun.

“I don’t know.” Mark shook his head.

“What don’t you know?” George pressed.

“I don’t know if this whole idea is good.” Mark put his bottle between his thighs and held it there.

“Why? If you want to get rich, you gotta gamble.”

“I don’t care about rich. Comfortable and safe, that’s the ticket.”

“Yeah? Then why did you go with Chun in the first place?” George was genuinely curious. Mark was the risk taker in the family. He was the one who fearlessly fought in
tae kwon do
matches. It was George who typically didn’t want to get hurt … unless he was drunk … and outside a USO building …

“I only wanted a start. But what you want to do is too big and risky,” Mark turned to him. “If I say no, are you still doing this?”

“Yes,” George said without hesitation.

“Then I guess I gotta join you. Mother and Father always said families got to stick together.”

 “You won’t regret it, Mark, I guarantee you.”

“I’m already regretting it.”

George smiled.

George admired Carlton Chun. He was a genius who shrewdly invested the fortune he made off the opium and heroin trade into real estate. His money was laundered through pool halls, pinball machines, and boxing promotions. He had a big, toothy grin, drove a white Cadillac, and dressed in three-piece white suits with polka dot ties. He was short and fat with a face like a walrus topped with curly, black hair. He had a wife and four children. He bought respectability by giving away large sums of money to charity.

Beautiful women and brutish men pandered to him. He was a powerful man who had the right connections and the ability to get to the rest. He handed out cars like cigars. Legislators, judges, and cops went to Las Vegas on his dime.

It was rumored his fortune approached five million dollars.

Chun didn’t gamble, drink, or do drugs. The only thing he did in excess was eat. George believed everyone had a dark side. Someone like Chun must have something in his past or present he would do anything to prevent others from knowing. Finding the secret meant owning the man.

It took him months of tireless sleuthing, but when he found what he was looking for, he was delighted by the utter perversity of it.

Chun had had a fifteen-year relationship with an ex-prostitute named Karen Rodriguez. He bought her a house in Pacific Heights where they had their trysts. Although Chun was surrounded by aides and bodyguards wherever he went, he went to her place alone. Every week. Four times a week. Alone. Unlike the flashy women hanging around Chun, Karen was a husky, masculine-looking woman never seen in public with him.

When he was sure of his information, George went to see Karen. He knocked on the door and Karen opened the inside door.

 Staring through the screen with one hand on her hip, Karen asked, “Yeah?”

George flashed a phony police badge before quickly palming it, “just a few questions lady.”

“Beat it,” she said and started to close the door.

George quickly opened the screen door and jammed his hand against the front door to keep her from closing it. “I think you better let me in. You don’t want to obstruct justice. Do you?”

She glowered but backed up anyway. “Since you’re already half in, I don’t suppose there’s any sense in my stopping you.”

George took off his shoes and walked in. The luxurious interior surprised him. Outside, the house was nondescript with white walls and a pitch and gravel roof. Inside, the carpets were soft and thick, the furnishings an opulent mix of Victorian wing-backed chairs, black lacquered tables and chests inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Teak paneled walls were hung with paintings, ornate gilt mirrors, and crystal and gold sconces. An elaborate crystal chandelier hung over the Chinese red dining room set. It looked like a high-class bordello.

“May I sit down?” he asked.

 “Do what you want.” Karen put her hands on her hips and remained standing.

George sat in a brocade over-stuffed chair. “Live here alone?”

“Hey man, what is this?” Karen demanded.

“I asked you a question.” George ran his hand on the arm of the rich brocade. “Pretty nice set-up you have here. Not bad for an unemployed ex-waitress.”

“You hassling me?”

George lit a cigarette. “Suppose you let me ask the questions?”

“Don’t you know who my man is?”

“I’m the one asking the questions, remember?” George took a long drag.

“You stupid or what?” Karen crossed her arms.

“Just answer my questions.”

Karen frowned, “I think mo’ betta I get my lawyer first.”

“Lots of people are interested in how an unemployed lady can own a place like this and run around town in a red Thunderbird.”

“That’s nobody’s business!” Karen bellowed, taking a step toward him, her hands now fisted.

“Except the IRS.” George blew rings above his head. “You don’t file taxes, do you?”

Karen blanched. “How do you know?”

 “I know a lot of things,” George smiled. “I know about your husband, for instance.”

Karen slumped. “I was never married.”

George took an old, yellowed picture out of his pocket. “Carmen Souza. Kohala. Her loving husband, Jack.”

Karen dropped onto a sofa and put her head in her hands.

“You’re good at covering your tracks.”

“I was only fifteen when my parents made me marry him.”

“You killed him.” George took another drag from his cigarette.

 “He beat me, kicked me,” Karen pulled her shirt below her collarbone and showed him an ugly scar about six inches long. “This is what he did to me.” She let the blouse snap back into place. “I got other scars. He liked carving me up. He used me as an ashtray sometimes.”

“You killed him.”

 “You’re fishing. You can’t prove nothing.” She fumbled for a cigarette from an open pack lying on the coffee table. Lighting it, she threw back her head and took long, deep drags.

“You shot him and burned his body in the cane fields.”

“They say someone did.” Karen fixed her eyes on him. “That was the rumor anyway. The body was badly burned. It was unrecognizable.”

George shook his head. “A jury would call it murder.”

“Lots of people hated him. I wasn’t the only one.” Karen sprang up and paced; the cigarette dangled between her fingers.

“You ran.”

Karen glared at him. “Maybe he was the one who took off.”

“What about your son?” George flicked his ashes into an ashtray with the words ‘Las Vegas’ and a picture of a pink Flamingo.

 Karen stared. A muscle in her cheek jerked. “Leave him out of it.”

“He’ll eventually find out the truth.”

“He thinks my sister is his mother.”

George leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Look, I’ll be square with you. I have nothing against you.” George kept his eyes on her, analyzing every twitch of her muscles. “Your husband probably got what he deserved. I want Carlton Chun.”

“Carlton?” Karen’s eyes widened.

“I want something on him and I have a feeling you hold the key.”

“Never.” Karen lowered her lashes and frowned. She ground her cigarette into an ashtray, it broke and she smashed the stub down flat.

“Why not?” A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “He’s just a john. Besides, you like broads.”

Karen pushed the ashtray away and looked up at him. “Carlton’s good to me. Yeah, he’s weird, but he’s always been straight with me.”

“I hear your son is a lawyer.” George blew lazy smoke rings now. “You must be very proud of him.”

Karen’s body sagged. “You wouldn’t…”

“Why ruin the kid’s life? You got the money to take care of yourself. You don’t have to do this.” George waved his hand.

“Maybe you don’t understand. Carlton picked me up on Hotel Street. With my looks, I didn’t do so well. He saved me.”

“Why you?” George rested his chin on a fist.

“I may not be a beauty queen, but I got my talents,” Karen smirked. “With my specialty, looks ain’t the main thing.”

George straightened up in his chair. “Tell me.”

Karen looked away. For a moment she remained quiet. Then she said, “I guess I got enough to retire.”

 “So, what is your specialty?” George asked.

“What do you want?” Chun asked George when he came to his office. Carlton was sitting at his desk and George was at the door to his office surrounded by Carlton’s muscle. They had already frisked him before opening the door to their boss’ office.

“I think we should talk in private.” George showed him the manila envelope in his hand.

Chun looked at his bodyguards. One of them nodded and Chun waved them away.

Chun pointed to George’s manila envelope. “So, what’s in there?”

George took out photographs from the envelope and laid them on Chun’s desk. Chun’s yellow skin turned gray. His beefy hands tore the pictures into shreds.

His opponent slammed his fist on his desk. “I could have you killed right now. Are you that stupid?”

“I have more copies.”

Carlton Chun stood. “Where’s the rest of the garbage?”

George gestured for him to sit back in his seat. “You must really think I’m stupid. Let’s just say I left instructions that if anything were to happen to me, six drops will automatically be made to various hand-picked people. I don’t think you want that.”

Saliva flew out of Chun’s mouth as he cursed. “What do you want?”

“I want you to leave me and my people alone,” George replied.

“What are you talking about?” Chun’s face was turned purple with rage.

George looked at his fingernails. “Let’s just say I’m going into business for myself.”

“You?” Chun snorted contemptuously. “You couldn’t even do a mule job right.”

“Of course not.” George looked him in the eye. “I’m not the mule type.”

“Yeah, so what type do you think you are,
Yobo
?”

George smiled. “The boss type.”

Chun laughed. “That’s a good one. I didn’t know you were a comedian.”

“So I’ve got your word?”

Chun shook his head. “You really are crazy.”

George pushed the torn photographs toward his opponent. “Well?” His eyes never left Chun’s face.

 Chun leaned forward on his desk, palms flat down. “What do you plan to do?”

“None of your business,” George answered.

Chun pounded his desk with a fist. “There needs to be rules, an agreement between us.”

“I make the rules, Chun.”

“You come out of nowhere, show me a few pictures and think you can grab my whole operation? Is that what you want,
Yobo
? Who do you think you’re dealing with?”

Now it was George’s turn to lean over Chun’s desk. “I know what you did to your partner, Hung Wo Dang. Back then you called yourself Daniel Wong. You got a new identity-so did Hung Wo. You ever wondered what happened to him after you ratted on him so you could take over his operation after he got deported back to China? Hung Wo went back to Shanghai, but he hasn’t forgotten you. Neither has his son. Funny things happen through the years, Carlton. Hung Wo became a big man in the Tong Gangs. After China fell to Mao, he found his way back to Hong Kong. Only, they don’t call him Hung Wo anymore. Hung Wo is the Big Dragon.”

Chun looked like he was going to faint. “You’re bluffing.”

“I never bluff,” George picked up a few pieces of the photographs and twirled them around with his finger. “You have no cards left to play. Quit while you have enough money to buy respectability. You’re out of the drug trade.”

Chun swept the remaining pieces of the photographs off his desk with his hand.

George smiled. “Pleasure doing business with you”

A few weeks later, George read in the Honolulu Star Bulletin about a fire in Pacific Heights. The only occupant in the home at the time of the fire was Karen Rodriguez. Her body was burned beyond recognition.

George sighed. He had warned her to leave the islands. Then, along with the newspaper, he put aside the momentary twinge of guilt he felt. If he worried about all the Karen Rodriguezes of the world he would never be able to build his empire.

And that was exactly what he intended to do.