The Ohana (24 page)

“I can’t. Diana, you ask too much. Turn it around—could you drop this case and others like it for me?”

“Of course not.”

Sean went to her and held her.

Pushing him away, she choked as she spoke. “Please leave, Sean.”

“Di?”

“Please.” she turned from him.

He left. The full moon hung eerily in the inky blue sky, just above the darkened ocean. And he wondered if it was true that during a full moon people went a little crazy.

Sean didn’t see Diana again until he sat across from her in the conference room flanked by Duncan and a senior partner from Sean’s former law firm. She looked tiny behind the massive table.

“The Mendoza matter is nothing but a case of disgruntled parties,” Duncan said. “Because there are so many more heirs, the money no longer seems adequate.”

“I’d say it’s more about the lack of just and fair compensation for use of their lands and the mismanagement of their properties leading to tax lien foreclosures,” Diana said. Her eyes glittered. “Properties which were then picked up for a song by entities controlled by or for the benefit of your incestuous
kamaaina
families.

Duncan was unmoved by the insult. “You know, you could have a brilliant career.”

“Mr. Ritchie, can we get back to business?” Diana sat back in her seat.

Duncan lit a cigar, ignoring the face Diana made. “These islands were in the dark ages when my family arrived. We brought them into modern times.”

“And killed over half the population with syphilis and measles,” Diana spat back.

“We're a nation of castoffs,” Sean said looking first at Diana, then at Duncan. “At least they have a chance to succeed here. Look at how many of the Chinese have prospered.”

Duncan nodded in agreement. “We made a mistake flooding the islands with Orientals. Already they outnumber us. One day they might be in control. Imagine having the children of immigrants deciding the fate of Hawaii. We can’t let that happen.”

“Your attitude is insufferable.” Diana tapped the table with her pen. “And I don’t know what this has to do with Mendoza.”

Duncan shook his finger at her. “Mendoza isn’t important. But your work is.”

“The Mendoza case is my work.” Diana slapped her pen down on the table.

“I’m aware of your political ambitions. Despite the fact you’re a woman, I could help you achieve your dreams.”

“I’m not for sale.” Diana’s eyes narrowed.

“But you’re not beyond doing something that exceeds ethical boundaries” Duncan countered with a smirk.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Diana moved her upper body back ever so slightly.

Duncan leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Why did you come to Hawaii?”

“You know why. I was originally hired to try the Maui Pine case.” Diana’s eyes flitted to Sean then back to Duncan. For a moment Sean thought he saw uncertainty flicker in her eyes.

“Yes, of course. I’ve always wondered who financed you.”

Diana glared at him. “Let’s just say there are actually some
haoles
who despise the system here,
haoles
with a conscience.”

Sean sat back, realization washing over him. Meg said more than once she despised the system in Hawaii.
Could it be possible?

And then he knew. Meg had more money than she could spend in her lifetime and possessed the same reformist passion as Diana. How ironic he loved two women whose views were so similar and so opposite of his.

Sean leaned forward now, his eyes bored into Diana’s. “So it was a
kamaaina
haole
who gave you the money?”

Diana looked away.

Duncan tapped his pen on the table. “Well, then. Why did you stay?”

“Because Hawaii is a challenge.”

Duncan shook his head. “I know about your affair with Harlan Thomas in San Francisco.”

Duncan’s statement took Sean by surprise. He looked at Diana. Her jaw was clenched and her hand fisted around her pen.

“It won’t look good when your affair with a married man on the opposing side of a law suit you were involved in is revealed. You used bedroom information to defeat him in the courtroom. Your image as a crusader of justice will be severely compromised. People will think you’re in the habit of extracting information from married men.”

Diana’s voice trembled. “Things were not the way they seem.”

Sean stared at Diana, but she refused to meet his eyes. He turned away and placed his elbow on the table and put his forehead in his hand. He couldn’t stand to watch her pain.

Duncan raised his hand. “I’m sure you have a plausible, if untrue, explanation. But no matter how you paint it, it isn’t pretty a pretty picture. Harlan's dead now, but his widow was eager to provide us with letters.”

Sean realized Duncan was actually enjoying himself.

“I suggest you drop the Mendoza case.” Duncan stuck his thumbs in his belt. “You can tell me in a week what you want to do.”

Diana rose from her chair.

Sean saw her eyes glistening. He shook his head to let her know he had nothing to do with what just happened, but she kept her head down as she shoved her papers into her briefcase and walked out the door.

Honolulu: 1961-1962

George Han should have trusted his gut instead of his head. A dark shadow fell over his spirit the minute Tupa Sufaloid walked into his office. But he brushed it aside like a pesky mosquito because Tupa came with an irresistible package. He brought his gang, the fearsome Samoan Sons, an angry group of older teens and tough young men from Mayor Wright housing who offered force in exchange for organization.

“I keep dem guys in order. You just tell us what to do boss.” Tupa dwarfed the chair he sat in across from George’s desk. He was as big as he was tall—a mountain of solid muscle. A jagged scar slashed the right side of his face from his eye to his chin. He looked like a carved Tiki with his lantern jaw, broad nose, and long eyes. George was blinded by the fact Tupa—who gave himself his first name as many Samoans had only one name—was an ex-football star from Farrington High School who won the Interscholastic League of Hawaii’s player of the year award.

“I used to watch your games,” George said. “I thought for sure you were headed to the pros.”

“Yeah except the cops when gang up on me and beat me so bad the doc when say I can never play again.” Tupa touched his scar. “That’s why I when form the Samoan Sons. Cause they always pick on us guys. But now they scared us.” He smiled but his eyes remained flat and emotionless.

Tupa and his Samoan Sons worked for George a year before trouble started. It was an introduction to what would be a new and violent era.

“Mits” Kawasaki was a boxing promoter who ran a successful travel agency and owned the biggest nursery in Waimanalo. George met Mits through Mark. Born with a disfiguring harelip, Mits had a self-conscious stutter from all the teasing he endured as a child. Mark once saved him from a group of cruel young boys at the age of eight and he never forgot it. He became the Han brother’s shadow.

Mits ran junkets to Las Vegas for George. When it came to collecting the markers the gamblers ran up at the casinos, no one was better at it. Every time Mits needed to collect a debt, he dredged up all the anger that had smoldered in him as a helpless child. He was finally getting even.

From the beginning, Mits and Tupa couldn’t hide the fact they hated each other.

“He’s an animal,” Mits said to George in his office one sunny afternoon a year after Tupa joined their syndicate. “No different from the bullies we knew in school only he’s bigger and more dangerous.”

“He’s under control,” George replied.

Mits curled his harelip. “Being a Farrington grad, I know Tupa was arrested for beating up Japanese kids half his size in high school just for fun.”

“Then the cops beat his professional football career out of him.”

“Yeah, but the Samoans hate us Orientals. And since most of the cops are Hawaiian, he hates them too. We gotta keep an eye on him.” Mits stood. “Hey, I better go pick up the big marker in Kaneohe.”

“A hundred G’s. You think you’ll have problems?” George fiddled with his ornate silver letter opener. “Nah, Harry’s good for it. His restaurant brings in the dough. He’s a good guy.” He pointed at a picture hanging on the wall. It was Tupa and his gang. “Don’t trust that guy. I’m telling you. I got a bad feeling.”

George waved goodbye casually, trying to pretend everything would be okay. But he was worried; Mits had a sixth sense about things.

The Vegas people respected Mits because he always came through on every marker. But, soon after Mits went to collect the hundred grand marker his body was found in the trunk of a parked car three miles from his nursery. The Hawaiians gambling in Vegas knew about Mits before it hit the papers because the casinos immediately cut off all their credit and demanded all outstanding markers be called in immediately.

Mits’s right-hand man Naka shifted in his seat as he told George. “Mits when pick up a marker from Harry Okazaki. Harry when lose a hundred grand, but it’s not the first time Harry when lose big.” Naka pulled his earlobe.

“Did he get the money?” George stroked his forehead. He felt a migraine coming on.

“Yeah, Harry said he picked it up at the restaurant about five, before the place opened up for the night. Mits called me from a pay phone a little after to say he was going leave.” Naka shook his head. “I no can believe this happened.”

George looked up at the ceiling. “Any witnesses?”

“Harry said a couple of people saw Mits. Busboys, cooks, waitresses, you know, some of the workers.” Naka rubbed his hands on his pants. “They saw Mits go into Harry’s office and they saw him leave with a big brown paper bag.”

George put the tips of his fingers together, still looking up at the ceiling. “Has anyone talked to any of them?”

“They all said the same thing. Mits came in, went into Harry’s office for just a few minutes, and left with a bag. We don’t think anyone’s lying.”

George looked at Naka. “Was the bag of money found?”

“No. Our man in Homicide, Dang, says there was no money, no bag. Even Mits’ money was gone from his wallet.” Naka shrugged. “We when figure someone knew about the pickup and killed him for the money.”

“No.” George shook his head. “Sounds like a set up.”

“That would be crazy!” Naka slapped his thigh. “Killing Mits brings you and Vegas down on them.”

George’s eyes stayed on Naka’s. “Who’s crazy enough to take us all on?”

Naka stared back. “Tupa.”

George looked out the window. He should have paid more attention to what Tupa was doing.

The beach house in Laie sat unobtrusively in a grove of trees at the edge of the ocean. The densely treed lot hid the cottage and dirt driveway from the street. Two cars were parked behind the trees—a Chevy and an Oldsmobile, both slightly dirty from the dusty roads. Outside the front and back doors stood three burly looking men, two part-Hawaiians and one Korean. They crossed their arms and stared ahead. One of them smoked a cigarette. Their eyes were alert and watchful. Inside the Chevy, two men were quietly talking. One of them was George Han. The other was John Apana, chief of police, City & County of Honolulu.

“Let me say I’m like you, I don’t think it’s smart for us to be seen together, but no can help,” George apologized.

Johnny Apana shook his head. “This thing feels real bad.”

“What happened to the good old days?” George complained. “We were civilized. We sat down, talked, negotiated. Sometimes we needed insurance but we always discussed things. Now it’s bang, bang. Too many hotheads trying to make a reputation. I tell you, Apana, I don’t like this any more than you. We kept order. Now, the Vegas guys are mad, and everything’s going to hell because some Samoan wants to own the world.”

Apana crossed his arms and looked toward the sea. “What we going do? My nephew told me one of his dealers and the bugga’s girlfriend were killed by Afuvai. They cut up the bodies and burned them. Afuvai is mean, but he takes his marching orders from Tupa. They’ve gone nuts. Waianae is my nephew’s territory. Everybody knows that. It’s a matter of respect.”

“Tupa wanted to do something so nuts no one would think he lacked the balls or the muscle. If he were really crazy, he would've killed your nephew. Instead he chose an insignificant dealer just to send the message. Join me, or else. In a way, it’s working.” George closed his eyes for a second. “Everybody’s scared. There’s too much blood flowing. No one knows who’s next. They’re all waiting for me to do something. If not, they’ll go cut their own deal with Tupa.”

Apana frowned. “I don’t like the guy. He hates us Hawaiians, especially the ones in uniform. He’s dangerous.”

“Maybe you and I should retire. Smoking
pakalolo
is changing everything. Tupa wants control of
pakalolo
, cocaine, and all the other drugs because it’s worth millions of dollars a year. Telling you, this thing is huge. It’s not just opium dens anymore. College kids and high school kids are doing drugs.” George shook his head. “You think it’s time to retire to your ranch in Kamuela?”

“I don’t know, George.” Apana took out his cigarettes and offered one to George. They both lit up. A moment of silence passed between them.

“Maybe we can’t go quietly, know what I mean?” Apana hung the cigarette out the window and turned to George. “It’s not like the old days. Maybe Tupa won’t let us go, even if we want to. I hear he’s paranoid.”

“Maybe you’re right,” George nodded. “Anyway, if he heard us talk like this, he'd take advantage, come down on us with everything he’s got. He’s
pupule
.”

Apana frowned. “You got a plan, George? You can’t let him run loose like this. But as chief of police, I no like the streets to run with blood. The press already screaming. We gotta do something, everything’s out of hand.”

“We gotta kill Tupa.” George flicked his ashes out the window. “Without Tupa it’s a syndicate without a brain. Afuvai and the rest can’t think for themselves. We get Tupa, we get rid of our problem.”

“Gorillas like Afuvai surround him twenty-four hours a day. He’s impossible to get to,” Apana took a drag from his cigarette. “If we fail, he’s crazy enough to go after our families. You know I can’t be involved in what you’re talking about. It’s too risky.”

“What about arresting him for something?”

“Arrest him for what? We have nothing to arrest him for.”

“You’re right.” George nodded. “Like I said, maybe it’s time for us to say aloha.”

Apana sighed deeply. “Yeah, George, that ranch is looking better and better. I’ll be okay, but I worry about my nephew and the rest of my family who going have to deal with Tupa.” Apana rapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “George, you got enough money. You should retire, be like Carlton Chun. We did a lot together. We’re civilized. I’d help you any way I can, but I can’t leave myself exposed. If you dig up something, I’ll have the DA file charges and issue an arrest warrant for Afuvai or Tupa.”

George nodded. He knew Johnny was on the up and up. The problem was he still didn’t know what to do.

George Han felt depressed and exhausted most of the time. He had the life he’d dreamed of— money beyond measure, a beautiful home and children. And he had Sarah, of course. There-in lay the rub. In the beginning, she’d loved him very much, but he’d married her for all the wrong reasons. Now, too late, he realized his allowing work to consume his time had made the marriage a casualty. For Sarah, he felt sad. For himself, too. Now, more than ever, he wanted their marriage to be something they could both be happy with.

Sarah, however, wanted nothing more than to live within the status quo. And what a status he had bought for her. She dipped her hands willingly into his pockets, but when he needed her to hear of his misery, it was nothing doing.

“Its mid-life crisis; get over it,” Sarah said one morning as she stepped into her latest designer dress.

“We should take a trip together, try to get to know each other again,” he suggested.

They were in their bedroom. George sat in the rattan pretzel arm chair his wife had wanted so desperately just a week earlier. The one he had given her the money for without question.

“You know I hate airplanes.”

“We can take a boat.”

Sarah shrugged. “If you want to travel, take your girlfriend.”

“You’re my wife. I want us to be a family again.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little too late? Anyway, I’m late for my ladies luncheon.” She stood at the rattan dresser, peering at herself in the matching mirror, then slipped an oversized diamond ring onto her finger followed by clipping sapphire earrings onto petite lobes. “Ask one of the kids to go,” she said when she was done.

“They won’t want to go.”

Sarah picked up her clutch purse and walked purposefully to the door. She turned gracefully, raised her chin and asked, “And whose fault is that?”

  Later in the day, he ran into Carlton Chun eating lunch at a popular Chinese restaurant. Carlton was a tycoon now. And a respectable entrepreneur who pretended he didn’t know George. His vast real estate empire included valuable commercial property in Waikiki and downtown Honolulu. He was the founder of a legitimate bank. At the table next to him was the bank’s president along with a judge and a politician.

George wished he had Carlton’s Chinese
joss
. His business was more dangerous than ever and he was getting too old for this kind of aggravation. He yearned for respectability and legitimacy. But he was too high profile. George was becoming obsessed with retirement.