The Ohana Part 25

"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."

"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 pet.i.te 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 tyc.o.o.n 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.

At first trying to find new ways to import drugs into Hawaii was challenging. The thrill of power seduced him. In his own world, he was feared and respected. Importing has.h.i.+sh in the soles of slippers had been outrageously successful. Ironically, he now owned one of the most successful retail outlets specializing in the sale of footwear. It made money in and of itself.

However, George's most profitable idea came watching the fireworks display at Ala Moana Beach Park one New Year's Eve. Marveling at the thousands of dollars being blown up-it came to him like a flash from a Roman candle. He would bring in heroin from the Golden Triangle in China stuffed between layers of cardboard in boxes of Chinese fireworks. Excited, he flew to China the following month and set up the deal with the Tong gangs. After that he flew home and set up another deal with the customs officers.

He had more than enough money. He had to find a way to quit.

In the end, it was a branch of government George and his cronies couldn't touch that solved his problem, the IRS. They had kept wiretaps on George for years. He hired a top gun lawyer, but expected to lose. He authorized his attorney to make a deal for a country club prison, and a light sentence. In return, the government would save the small fortune it would cost trying the case.

George went to Lompoc in California and served two years. He hated having a record and envied Chun because he got out with his reputation and fortune intact. George would now be an ex-felon. He would never have the country club existence and acceptance Chun enjoyed. But when he got out, he would have his money, his legitimate businesses, and his life. He couldn't complain too much.

Maybe when he got out, he and Sarah could start again.

PART THREE.

THE THIRD GENERATION.

The Peace Generation 1962-1979.

Chapter Thirty-six.

Honolulu: Los Angeles: Europe: 1962-1966 Jackie Han's problem was she was so beautiful she didn't have to rely on her brains, her wit, or her personality. She spent most of her time dreaming of escaping the ordinariness of her mundane, middle cla.s.s existence in the town of Kaimuki.

While growing up, Jackie devoured Photoplay and announced to her mother and younger sister Susan, "I'm going to jet first cla.s.s to Europe, safari in Africa, and live in New York or Beverly Hills in mansions filled with servants. I don't ever want to do housework again."

When her mother described the life her grandmother left in j.a.pan, Jackie was shocked.

"Why would she leave a life like that to marry a poor man?" Jackie asked.

Her mother smiled. "Because she fell in love."

"I wouldn't have done it." Jackie shook her head. "No way."

One month after graduating from Kalani High School, Jackie left for Los Angeles to follow her dreams. But reality set in when she was told over and over again that she wasn't tall enough. At five foot four, she was too short to make it as a model, even with her exotic looks.

Jackie's hard earned money made while working summers began running out. She answered cattle calls for extras where beautiful girls were a dime a dozen and everyone wanted to be a star. It looked like she would either have to return home or find some other kind of work. Desperate, she took a job as an office temp and vowed to continue trying-out for anything in modeling or show business.

After a few months, her agent called and told her he might have something for her. She practically ran to his office.

"I got a call from a magazine. They want someone exotic with a great face and body. You fit the bill," he said.

Jackie almost bounced out of her chair in excitement. "What magazine?" So far the extent of her modeling was working a few trade and car shows. Handing out brochures and talking about a product didn't really seem like modeling to her, but it helped pay the rent.

"Foxy Lady."

Jackie swallowed. "Isn't it a skin magazine?"

"Yeah, but it's a cla.s.sy one. You'll have a chance to become Foxy Lady of the Year and bring in big bucks and get lots of work," he a.s.sured her.

"But, I'd have to pose nude."

Her agent leaned back in his chair. "So? Marilyn Monroe did it."

"Wasn't she broke?"

Her agent clasped his hands together on the desk, leaned forward and raised his brow. "Well?"

Jackie shook her head. "I'm not broke yet."

He shrugged. "It's a great gig."

Jackie chewed on her knuckle. "My mother will die."

"Tell her it's art."

"Let me think about it."

"Yeah, you think about it real hard. But let me fill in some blanks for you. You get $3,000 and a chance to be Foxy Lady of the Year. It pays $25,000, a car, a promotional tour around the world, and more press and pictures than you can imagine. It will change your life. It's your chance to crack the big time." Her agent put his hands behind his head, a gleam in his eye. "Isn't it what you want? Sometimes the only way to get there is to do things you're not crazy about. Take it from me; it's worth anything and everything you have to do to get there."

Mary suspected something was wrong when she hadn't heard from Jackie for two weeks. Every time she called, no one answered. Jackie finally called and dropped a bomb just before Mary was about to fly to California to make sure her eldest was all right.

Mary couldn't believe what she was hearing. Jackie was in the December issue of Foxy Lady. She was appearing naked. Jackie wanted to tell her before someone else did.