Part 25 (1/2)
”He's under control,” George replied.
Mits curled his harelip. ”Being a Farrington grad, I know Tupa was arrested for beating up j.a.panese 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 s.h.i.+fted 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 un.o.btrusively 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 h.e.l.l 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 b.a.l.l.s 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 pa.s.sed 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.”