I
slipped the revolver in the hip pocket of my shorts and stood up. The room seemed filled with sadness. “We'll be back for you,” said Kimo, kissing his grandmother.
“Be careful,” she said, closing the screen door.
Kimo's cell phone rang again. He looked down at his belt, but made no move to answer it. “Gotta be the chief. I'm going to be in big trouble keeping you around, but this time I figure it's your deal as well as ours.”
We climbed into the Mustang. “How do we do this?”
“That bar? That's just their hangout. But Bumpy's got a commune not far from there, out by the old airport. I figure we just drive on in and take the girl away from them.”
“Come in with guns blazing?”
“Nope. Just take her back.”
“Front door approach.”
“I'll talk her out of them. I'm good at it.”
“You're serious.”
“You've got the gun.”
“Yeah.”
“If I can't talk them out of giving her over to us and coming along peacefully, then you can shoot them.”
We rode along in silence between deep green hills and a pale
blue gray ocean. The air smelled faintly of salt. We stopped once so Kimo could consult his map. I watched a pair of bright red cardinals perched on a tree limb. They cocked their heads at us and then flew away in a flurry of crimson.
“It's over there,” he said, parking the Mustang in a grove of coconut palms. Beyond was a dense tangle of shrubs and vines. Beyond that was the beach.
“We can get up there through the cane field.” Kimo pointed across the road. “Good cover.”
“You lead,” I said. “I'll follow.”
Kimo gave me an appraising look. “You sure you're up for it?”
“I'm fine.” I wished I were fine. But I told him I was. I would be fine, anyway. At least until this thing was done.
“You know you're going to have to go back to California after this is over.”
“Yeah.”
“And I might not have a badge.”
“Yeah.”
“And I can't think of anything else to do.”
“I know.”
Kimo gazed up the hill, across the cane fields, toward the commune. “I hope she's up there.”
He went across the road and I followed. We entered the cane field, walking single file through the narrow rows. The stalks were lush and green, not yet ready for harvesting. The air was thick with the sweet smell of the young plants. We made little noise, and we couldn't be seen except from the air. Even then, I doubted we would be anything but a couple of ripples roiling the leaves as we moved through the cane, two predators, a couple of sharks hunting a lagoon.
We saw the first two members of the commune as we emerged from the cane. Two women working a taro patch looked up as we walked by. They called out to us, but we ignored them.
A group of children played in a sandlot, watched over by an older woman. She gave us a sharp look, but said nothing. She had
a more disapproving look when my eyes met hers than when she saw Kimo. He was local. He was Hawaiian. But I was the outsider, the haole.
“Stop!”
As we reached the main building, two men with lever-action deer rifles carried in the crook of their arm approached us. “You are trespassing,” said the leader. Neither man threatened us with their rifles, but the threat was there.
“Police,” said Kimo.
“You have to have a warrant. Unless you have a warrant, you'll have to leave.”
“I have reason to believe that a felony is being committed on the premises. The law gives me the right to search the place.”
“Not our law, Lieutenant,” said Bumpy Kealoha, coming around the corner of the building. “You two are trespassing. Get out.” I noticed that Bumpy carried a .45 in a holster on his belt.
“Can't do that, Bumpy,” said Kimo.
“Why are you here?”
“I want the girl back,” said Kimo. “Give me the girl and we'll go without causing you any trouble.”
“What girl?”
“Donna Wong.”
Bumpy shrugged. “Ain't got no Pake here, Lieutenant. Aside from your haole sidekick, we're all pure Hawaiians here. This is our land. Here we're sovereign.”
“If we leave without her, the FBI will come in and burn this place to the ground.”
Bumpy smiled. “Turn this into another Waco? I don't think so. I think those guys have been tamed a little bit, you know what I mean?”
“Don't count on it, Bumpy. They'll come in here and level this place. The only thing that'll be left standing is your headstone.”
“I'm through talking to you, Lieutenant. Leave now or my boys will have to make you go.”
Kimo turned and looked at the men behind us. “You up to
shooting a Honolulu police officer in the line of duty?” he asked. “They'll hang you out to dry in one of the mainland prisons for the rest of your lives. You'll never see this island again. You up for that?”
I kept my eyes on the riflemen. They started to show disinterest in the game after Kimo's speech. All the same, I was happy to have Kimo's little pistol in my pocket.
“Why don't you just send her out,” said Kimo. “Whatever happened can't be changed now. But we can make things go easier for you, Bumpy. All we're looking for right now is the two lolos who took Donna. And we want her back safe and sound. You turn them over to us you'll probably skip any charges. You can say you didn't know she had been kidnapped. Whatever, you'll probably be all right.
“But if you don't, then this whole place, every man, woman and child, will be targets. The feebees don't care who they kill, you know what I mean? This is a nice place. It's peaceful. You want them to burn it to the ground?”
Bumpy looked at the ground. Kimo had given him few options. Fight us, fight the State of Hawaii. Kick us out and the FBI comes in. Kimo had caged his argument exactly right, feeding the fears of a separatist like Bumpy. If he feared anything, he feared those who had participated in the Waco disaster. And Ruby Ridge. In both places, children had been killed.
Bumpy looked up. We were still there, on his property, in his face. We would not go away. I saw his face when he reached the decision. All the iron drained out of him.
“I'll take you,” he said softly, “but you've got to promise me no bloodshed.”
Kimo said, “That's why we're here. Caine and I don't want bloodshed. We just want Donna.”
Bumpy sighed. “Follow me. And remember your promise.”
“I'd feel better if you hung up your pistol and sent your boys with the deer rifles back to wherever they came from,” said Kimo.
Bumpy took off his gunbelt and handed it to one of the riflemen.
“I'll be back,” he said. He turned and walked toward a small house on the far edge of the clearing. Kimo followed. I took one look back toward the riflemen and went after them.
Taro patches surrounded the little frame house. Two women worked the muddy patches, wading up to their knees in black water. Bumpy ordered them back to the main house. They left without a word.
It bothered me that no one questioned his authority.
“You there on the porch,” said Kimo. “Come down here.”
A man moved in shadows. As he passed the window, sunlight glinted off of the barrel of a long gun.
“Put the gun down,” said Bumpy. “Things are under control.”
The man on the porch stood in shadow watching us. He didn't threaten us with his weapon, but he didn't move either.
“Put the gun down,” said Kimo, his voice carrying the weight of authority. It also carried something else, something I did not recognize until the man stepped forward into the sunlight and I recognized the face of his son.
James came off the porch and leaned the shotgun against the wall. “It's okay,” he said. “I cannot shoot my father.”
“You are coming with me,” said Kimo.
“Yes sir.”
“Stand over there until this is done.”
“Yes sir.” James walked slowly to where his father had pointed and waited. I was surprised at his docile attitude.
“Who's in there?”
“Ricky and Donna. Fred and Barney, too.”
“Who?”
“Fred and Barney. That's their real names, and they look like the Flintstones. One's big, the other short. They're brothers.”
“They dangerous?”
James shrugged. He knew his father. Dangerous was a relative thing.
“You there when they took her?”
“Yes sir.”
Kimo nodded. “You're in big trouble. You know that?”
“Yes sir.”
“You're going to be all right, son. We'll take care of you.”
“I know.”
“Ricky's armed?”
“Might have a pistol. I doubt it, though. He doesn't like firearms. He says he's better without them.”
“What about the Flintstones?”
“Shotguns,” said James. “They also have a M-16 and a lot of ammo.”
Kimo glanced at me. The little pistol hadn't seemed very effective in the first place. If they wanted to make it into an OK Corral I'd be heavily outgunned. “I'll take the shotgun,” I said.
“Okay, James. Where in that house is Donna? Exactly?”
“He locked her in the bathroom. It's in the back of the house. Near the back door.”
“Which window?”
“That one.” James pointed to a small window that a mouse might have trouble getting through.
“Caine, you want to take the back door?”
“Sure.”
“James, you and Bumpy go back with the children and stay with them.”
“Dad? What are you going to do?”
“I'm going to talk to Ricky. If he talks nice and hands Donna over to us, he'll be okay. Now go where I told you, and Bumpy, call the police station and tell them we've got three felony suspects in here and we're getting them to surrender right now.”
Bumpy blinked.
“Go,” said Kimo.
They went. He watched them for a moment, then turned to me. “You feel okay?”
“Never better.”
Kimo trudged to the front door and pounded on it while I slipped around to the back and waited for the door to open.
“Open up, Ricky Lee!” shouted Kimo on the other end of the small structure. “I know you're in there. Open up!”
The lock snapped with an audible click and the knob twisted. I backed away from the hinge side, waiting, the shotgun held low, pointed toward the grass.
The door opened a crack.
A young Polynesian man put his head out.
I held the shotgun like they taught me, one hand on the foregrip, one hand near the trigger. I could use it for shooting or for clobbering, either way would work. It made no difference to me now, as long as we got Donna safely out of here.
The door opened wider.
“Hey!” I whispered.
I kicked the door with all of my strength, catching the kid as he turned to look in my direction. The door bounced off his skull and rebounded back at me. I dodged the door, reached around, and pulled him by the hair out into the sunshine.
He lay silent, his hands at his sides. I rolled him over and checked him for weapons. He was clean.
“Hey you!”
A huge man charged from the back door. “You killed my brother!” It was like facing the charge of an Indian elephant.
I stepped aside and butt stroked him in the kidney. He roared and turned on me, swinging one huge fist as he turned. Fred Flintstone was light on his feet for a big man.
I ducked the swing and hit him again with the butt of the shotgun, striking him behind the ear.
He went down.
I reversed the shotgun again and put the barrel in his face, pressing the cold steel against the bridge of his nose.
“Don't. Move.”
He rolled his eyes, bright with pain, but he didn't move.
“I'm going to back away,” I said. “You stay like that you'll live. Hear me?”
Fred Flintstone said nothing, but his eyes communicated his acceptance. He had no wish to die here on this beautiful day.