Mahu Fire m-3 Page 17

  “So this isn’t about you and me,” I said.

  Mike slapped my back. “When the fireman bent over to pick up his wings, that’s when the policeman’s wings fell off.”

  I wriggled around trying to grab hold of him, and it felt so damn good just to laugh and have fun with him. We finally did get to sleep later that night. Mike drifted off first, his breathing turning into a regular, almost purring sound. I nestled up against him, inhaling the smell of coconut shampoo, and when I looked up again it was already daylight.

  We ran down our days for each other. “I’m hoping Harry dug up some dirt on the Whites and the Church of Adam and Eve,” I said. “He’s a night owl, so he was probably working while we were playing.”

  “Gotta love a computer geek,” Mike said. He was planning to be around his office all day, going over evidence.

  “My dad’s going home today,” I said. “If I can get away from work early enough I’ll go over there.”

  “I’d like to meet your parents sometime, when your dad is better. And your brothers, too. You think they’d like me?”

  I stood up and started to get dressed. “It’s hard to say. No, don’t give me that look, I’m trying to be serious here. If we weren’t gay, and I brought you over as a friend, they’d all love you. I mean, you’re a cool guy. You’re handsome and smart and funny. What’s not to like?”

  “Aw, you’re making me blush.”

  “If I could make you get dressed, that would probably speed things up around here.” He gave me a look, then started picking his clothes up from the floor. “But bringing you home like a boyfriend, that’s tougher. I mean, they know that Gunter is just a friend of mine, but at the party they were all looking at him like, ‘so, what do you guys do together?’ It was a little uncomfortable.”

  “And you’re just friends?”

  “Yes, Mr. Jealous. We’ve fooled in the past, just casually, and Gunter would love to get into my pants again, but so far I’ve resisted.”

  He walked over and put his arms around me, kissing me. “Well, you just keep on resisting.”

  We kissed for a while. Finally I pushed him away. “Come on, I’ve got to get going. Anyway, about meeting my parents and my brothers. If you ever do meet them, I want to be proud of introducing you. I want to be able to tell them how I feel about you. And that might take a while-for both of us.”

  “Will you call me tonight?”

  “You bet.” I kissed him, and then slapped his butt. “Now let’s get going.”

  THE WHITE FAMILY

  I spent the morning doing my own research on the Church of Adam and Eve. They didn’t have any kind of official registration, though they’d pulled permits for each of the big events they’d run, which had taken place at the Pupukea Plantation, the place I’d gone the month before. There wasn’t much else about them, though I read through a few articles in the Advertiser and the Star-Bulletin, and I did some background reading on fundamentalist churches and their opposition to gay marriage.

  Around noon, the desk called and said Harry was there to see me. “Hey, brah, what’s up?” I asked as I brought him back to my desk.

  “I got some material on those people you asked about. I figured I’d better bring it down to you.”

  “What did you find?”

  I sat at my desk, and he sat across from me. He passed a couple of printouts over to me. “Took me a while to dig around, but I finally found them,” he said. The printouts were driver’s licenses from Texas for Sheila Jane White and Jeffrey Steven White. “That’s them, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Yup. They came from Texas?”

  “I looked for a marriage license, and I couldn’t find one. I thought maybe they’d changed their names, so I pulled up their birth certificates.” He passed two more pieces of paper my way.

  They’d been born a year apart, in the same hospital. I was almost ready to move on to the next point when I realized what had gotten Harry excited. “Holy shit,” I said.

  “You see it?”

  “The same parents. So Sheila and Jeff White aren’t married. They’re brother and sister.”

  “Kinky, isn’t it? They represent themselves as husband and wife. Don’t you think that means they’re sleeping together, too?”

  I blew out a big breath. “I think I need to talk to Terri.”

  “I would say that’s a good idea,” he said. “Call her up.”

  I pulled out my cell phone, which had her cell number programmed in. “I need to talk to you. Harry’s here in my office. Can we all meet up?”

  “I’m at the Foundation office. You guys want to have lunch?”

  About a half hour later, we all met up at a little plate lunch place a few blocks from police headquarters. We were certainly a motley crew-Terri looked like she’d just stepped out of a corporate boardroom, in a navy suit and matching pumps, I was in my standard work clothes-aloha shirt and khakis-and Harry wore a faded, oversized T-shirt and board shorts.

  “What’s the emergency?” Terri asked, after we’d been seated and ordered our lunches.

  I showed her the drivers’ licenses and the birth certificates, and waited for her to make the connection. “Kimo, this is creepy,” she said.

  “That’s what we thought,” Harry said.

  “But what do you think it means?” I asked.

  Terri sipped her pineapple soda while she thought. Finally she said, “There are laws against incest, aren’t there?”

  “I’d have to check,” I said.

  “But for sure, you can’t marry somebody you’re related to,” Terri said. “Cousins, siblings, that kind of thing.”

  “I see where you’re going,” I said.

  “Where?” Harry asked. “Don’t go all psychic on me.”

  The waitress brought our lunches. A plate lunch is an island tradition, developed to serve to plantation workers who needed to keep up their strength through long days. A main course, usually fish or chicken, two scoops of rice, a scoop of macaroni salad, and some shredded lettuce. We’d all opted for the chicken, making it easy for the waitress to distribute the food.

  “In many states, for years it was illegal for black people and white people to marry each other,” Terri said. “And eventually that changed. Now it’s possible that the laws against gay marriage will change. But I doubt that our society is ever going to change the way we feel about family members getting married.”

  “So the Whites probably resent the fact that gay men might be able to get married, when they’re never going to be able to marry each other, never be able to tell anybody about their relationship,” I said.

  “They left Texas, where people knew them, and came here,” Harry said. “They said they were married, and nobody ever questioned them. After all, they already had the same last name.”

  “Would that motivate them to bomb the Marriage Project party?” I asked Terri.

  She shrugged. “I guess so, if they were nutty enough. I mean, it’s one thing to want to do something that goes against society’s rules-and it’s another entirely to act against other people.”

  “Is this enough evidence to get you a search warrant?” Harry asked me.

  I frowned. “I don’t think so. I mean, yes, it’s creepy, and there’s probably something illegal about their relationship in some way. But it’s hard to make that leap to the bombing.”

  “But if you got a search warrant you’d find the evidence,” Harry said.

  “The law doesn’t work that way. The judges call that a fishing expedition.”

  We ate in silence. Finally, Terri said, “I did some research this morning at the Foundation. We’ve given the church a couple of small grants. About $10,000 in all. They have to give us an accounting to get any more money, but so far they haven’t provided any evidence of what they’ve used the money for.”

  “Bombs,” Harry said.

  “We don’t know that, Harry,” I said.

  “Don’t you care about this?” he asked. “These assholes
could have killed Brandon, or Arleen, or any of us. Don’t you want to stop them?”

  “Yes, I do. But the only way to stop them is through the law. It doesn’t always seem right, but if we start trampling on anybody’s rights we open the door for all kinds of bad stuff.”

  Back at the station, I took the evidence to Lieutenant Sampson, in case I’d been underestimating what I had. But he agreed with me. “I agree with you, it smells bad,” he said. “But there isn’t anything yet that solidly connects these people or this church to the bombing, or any of the other arsons.”

  He was wearing a navy polo shirt, and that reminded me that when I’d seen Kitty last, she’d worn one, too, at the church service on Sunday morning. “How’s Kitty?” I asked.

  He looked surprised. “Kitty? She’s fine. Working hard at school.”

  “Good.” I guessed she hadn’t told him yet about our little investigation, and I knew she still had a couple of days to broach the subject. “Well, I’ll keep looking, then.”

  “Look fast. I want this case solved soon.”

  At the end of my shift, I went over to The Queen’s Medical Center, and caught up with my parents just as they were getting ready to leave. My father was wearing a pair of pressed khaki slacks and an aloha shirt, and he looked a whole lot better than he did in a hospital gown. I’d just said hello when my father’s bedside phone rang. Since my mother was busy helping my father into the bathroom, I answered it.

  “Oh, Kimo!” The woman on the other end of the line was crying.

  I listened to her for a minute, then said, “All right, I’m going to come right over. You stay there, don’t do anything, don’t call anyone else, all right?”

  “Thank you, Kimo. You good boy.”

  I hung up the phone. When my mother closed the door on my father, I beckoned her over. “Aunt Mei-Mei just called. Uncle Chin is dead, and Jimmy Ah Wong has disappeared. I’ve got to go over there.”

  My mother nodded. “I was worried this would happen. I’ll take your father home.”

  She looked at me. “I don’t want to tell him yet. He’s still not well, and a shock like this could set him back. You come over tonight. I’ll call your brothers, too.”

  My father didn’t want to ride in a wheelchair down to the car, even though it was clear he wasn’t up to walking-but I pointed out he didn’t have any choice in the matter. I guess I know where my stubbornness comes from. I pushed the chair downstairs, and waited with him while my mother ransomed her car from the parking garage.

  “You know about the old Polynesians and the mahu?” my father asked.

  I moved around in front of him and sat on a bollard. “Yeah?”

  “When a family had only sons, they would raise the youngest as a girl. Dress him as a girl, have him help the mother with chores. The mahu never married, and always stayed with the family to take care of them.”

  “I’ve read about it,” I said.

  He reached out and took my hand. “You’re a good boy, Kimo. But your mother and me, we don’t want you to think you have to be that old-style mahu, give up your life to take care of us.”

  I smiled at him. “You have three sons, Dad. We’re all going to be around to help you and Mom with whatever you need. And don’t worry, I won’t have to give up my life to do it.”

  I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Then my mother pulled up in her Lexus, and we loaded my dad into the front seat. “Will you be okay with him at home?” I asked my mother.

  “He can walk a little,” my mother said. “And I have a walker he can use.”

  “I’m right here,” my father said.

  “Yes, Dad, I know. You be good to Mom, okay? This hasn’t been easy for her.”

  He snorted. “For me, a big luau.”

  “Yeah, and who cleans up every time we have a luau? Mom, right?”

  I closed the passenger door and watched them drive off. Then I got my truck and followed them to St. Louis Heights, where Uncle Chin’s house was not far from theirs. My father and Uncle Chin had been best friends since their days at the University of Hawai’i, when they were young men, before they married and became fathers and successful businessmen. A few weeks after I started at the police academy, I asked my father when he knew that Uncle Chin was a criminal.

  “Chin is a very smart man,” my father said. He had asked me to take a walk with him, out in the woods of the Wa’ahila Ridge Park, which abuts our property. “You have to understand, back then the Pake kept to themselves, stayed in Chinatown. There was a lot of prejudice against them. But Chin knew he needed to learn about the haole world, and he started taking classes at the university, which is where I met him. I think even then he was mixed up in the tongs, probably since China.”

  “And it didn’t bother you?”

  My father smiled at me. “When you were a boy, everything was always black or white with you. Very strong opinions, even when your brothers disagreed with you, and they were so much older and bigger. I never felt that way.” We wandered down a narrow mossy trail between tall trees, the light shading from clear white to dark green all around us. “I never was like that. I always knew there are many shades of gray in the world.”

  “Did you ever break the law with him?”

  “Ah, now you’re starting to sound like a police officer,” my father said. “You have to understand what it was like for me, being mixed race back then. It was hard to know where you fit in. I’d go places with my father, who was full-blooded Hawaiian, and people could look at me and know there was haole in me, and of course I didn’t speak the language as well as he did. So they would look at me funny, like I didn’t quite belong.”

  We came to Ruth Place, and started to walk uphill, toward the stone wall and the gate. “Then other times I would go with my mother into the stores on Fort Street, and they’d see her come in, this proper haole lady-you probably don’t remember your grandmother very well but she was always beautifully dressed, she wouldn’t go out of the house unless she looked like she was ready to pay a social call on somebody-and the clerks would look up, very nice and polite, and then my brothers or sisters or I would come in behind her, sometimes a couple of us, and their attitudes would change dramatically.”

  “I’m not getting the point.”

  “The point is that Chin accepted me for who I was, just Al. And I accepted him, too. I was closer to him than I ever was to my brothers. So, anything he did, well, it was all right, because he was all right.” We came to a table and bench and he sat down. “I know I avoided your question, but I did for a reason. Do you really want to know the answer?”

  I looked at him. I was twenty-four years old, and I had just given up my hopes of being a champion surfer to go to the Police Academy. I was scared, and angry that I hadn’t been able to succeed, and I was wrestling with the knowledge that I was sexually attracted to men, though I didn’t want to be. I felt like I’d been knocked off my board, swamped by a huge wave that I couldn’t get around, and I still needed some things to hang onto. One of those things, I realized then, was the belief that my father was a good and honorable man who could have passed those traits to me. I said, “You get a nice view from up here, don’t you? You can see the whole city.”

  My dad looked at me and smiled and said, “Yes, you can, can’t you?”

  I pulled into Uncle Chin’s driveway. Aunt Mei-Mei came to the door, crying. It was the kind of thing I’d done hundreds of times before, walked into a house where someone was dead, family members crying around me, and I’d always been able to shut my own feelings off and do my job.

  What if Jimmy Ah Wong had been responsible? I’d delivered him to Uncle Chin and Aunt Mei-Mei, asked them to take him in and look after him. How could I live with myself if I had been the instrument that caused Uncle Chin’s death?

  The only answers I would find were inside.

  PILLS ON THE FLOOR

  Uncle Chin was slumped in his easy chair, out on the lanai where he had spent so many of the last years, sur
rounded by orchids and African violets with their delicate flowers, bright red anthuriums and the lush succulence of jades and aloes. His head was down, his chin resting against his lavender silk robe. Small yellow birds in cages twittered nervously as I prowled around. Since their cages were uncovered, I knew that Uncle Chin had been sitting out there with them, not ready to go to bed yet.

  The table next to his chair had been knocked over. Without touching anything, I squatted down to look at the items that had fallen: his glasses, and a Charles Dickens book in hardcover he had been reading. In his old age Uncle Chin had taken up nineteenth-century English literature in a big way, working through Jane Austen, George Eliot, Thackeray and Dickens. I also found a small prescription bottle of nitroglycerin tablets on the floor, the cap a foot away, a couple of tablets spilled out of the mouth of the bottle.

  I took a tissue from a box on the other side of the room and used it to pick up the bottle. “Did Uncle Chin take these for his heart?” I asked Aunt Mei-Mei. I could see where the tears had streaked her makeup, and there were uncharacteristic strands of black hair hanging loose from her bun.

  She nodded. “Sometimes he have to put one under tongue, when his heart go fast.”

  I could envision the scene all too well. Uncle Chin feeling his heart race, reaching out for the bottle of pills, and knocking over the table. But where was Jimmy? He was supposed to be with the old man in case of just this sort of trouble. He should have been there to jump down, pick up the spilled bottle, and hand Uncle Chin a tablet. If he had, then Uncle Chin might have still been alive.

  “It looks like he reached for a pill but he didn’t get one,” I said gently to Aunt Mei-Mei. “He probably had a very severe attack, maybe the pills might not even have helped.” I had a thought. “Maybe he even took one, but it just didn’t work.” I pulled a stool up next to Aunt Mei-Mei, who had dried her eyes. “I have to call the medical examiner now. Whenever someone dies without a doctor present, it’s the law.”

  She sat in the chair next to her husband, and I went back to the lanai to make the call. Then I walked down the hall to the room where Jimmy had been staying. He had made his bed that morning, not quite as expertly as Aunt Mei-Mei might have. I had brought him there with almost nothing, just the clothes on his back, a Walkman, and the money I’d given him. But he had left nothing behind, either. I stood there in the doorway of the room for a while, thinking about Jimmy and wondering where he was.