The Fire Thief

by Debra Bokur

  Exhausted but still tethered to the tree, the sun decided that the best way to deal with this powerful warrior was to bargain with him. When Mui demanded that the sun move more slowly through the sky each day, the sun agreed, but only if it was freed.

  Satisfied, Mui released the glowing sun and returned home to his grateful mother. Ever since, there had always been enough daylight to gather crops, to fish, and to cook food, and the Hawaiian people had never had to hurry to finish their tasks before darkness enveloped them at the end of each day.

  A job well done, reflected Kali. Having the luxury of light was something the Hawaiians had grown used to, and the flicking of a wall switch to bring the light about worked only if the fire of the sun was harnessed by the solar panels that provided electricity to so many of the islands’ homes. Whoever was stealing those panels was effectively robbing the victims of the sun’s potent flames.

  Perhaps, thought Kali, it was time that she reflected on Mui’s lesson with regard to her own life. Mui had had a lasso, but she had a detective’s badge. She hoped, fervently, that that would be enough.

  CHAPTER 18

  Kali slipped into a seat next to Walter on the hotel’s stone lanai. Around the perimeter, tall bamboo tiki torches flickered in the dark. The sound of rustling palms was part of a larger sound track that included the murmuring of the audience and the clinking of glasses and cutlery. She looked around, curious. Most of the tables were filled, occupied by happy tourists sipping bright tropical drinks.

  “Have you seen this show before?” she asked.

  Walter nodded. “Couple of times. Pretty average.” He nodded to the crowd. “Not that they’ll care. They’re in Hawaii, having a good time.”

  Kali nodded in affirmation of Walter’s review. She’d never been impressed by any of the hotel luau shows she’d seen over the years, and she suspected his “average” review was likely generous. Her view on the whole topic was conflicted: on one hand, it seemed like a good idea to expose others to the culture of the islands, but part of her was put off by the commercial facet of the luau shows, an aspect that somehow felt disingenuous.

  There was the mournful wail of a conch shell being blown like a trumpet, followed by the sound of beating drums. Walter touched her arm, and pointed to the performance area. The show had begun. A group of hula dancers came onstage, swaying to the music. The crowd watched, rapt, as the dancers gracefully lifted their arms and moved their hands fluidly, mimicking the flow of waves and the fall of rain.

  Once they’d finished, the lighting changed. Two men moved into the open space. A slim, dark-haired actor spun nimbly to one side of the stage, dodging the spear of the actor facing him. One of his eyes was framed by a swollen black-and-blue area.

  “That’s him,” said Walter, his voice low. “Polunu Hausuka. Small-time thief extraordinaire.”

  Kali studied Polunu’s figure, frowning. “How come I don’t know him?”

  “We used to get calls on him about once a month, but he’s laid pretty low the past few years. I thought he’d retired, to be honest. He’s getting a little long in the tooth.” He looked at her sideways. “Remember I told you about the guy who fell into the koi pond at the cultural center while trying to run away with some poor tourist’s camera?”

  She grinned. “And then jumped the wall into the street and got run over by a kid on a bicycle?”

  It was his turn to smile. “That’s him. A broken arm, a broken camera, and about thirty stitches, if I remember the details. The kid on the bike was fine.”

  Kali shook her head, then settled back in her seat and sipped from a tall glass of chilled mango tea. For the next half hour, she watched Polunu pretend to be a chieftain from Tonga fighting for the hand of a thick-legged princess in a grass skirt. The humid evening air carried the sour aroma of perspiration, and a brief spasm moved across Kali’s face as it wafted toward her, mingled with the cloying scent of jasmine flowers.

  Finally, the attacking actor stabbed upward, and Polunu feinted, bringing the point of his fake weapon down against the man’s neck in a choreographed kill sequence. The other actor fell, the crowd clapped and cheered, and Polunu stepped forward to claim his bored-looking bridal prize. Collectively, they bowed, and as the drum music reached its crescendo, Polunu slipped away and moved into the dressing room behind the stage.

  Kali and Walter were already on their feet, moving between the tables toward the door to the dressing room. Backstage, Polunu had just tossed a light spear made from coconut wood onto a table holding the various debris of the performance—headgear, cheap ceremonial robes, and the stiff bikini tops made from coconut shells that were worn by the dancers at the beginning of each show.

  They stepped back, out of the way of the actors. Walter leaned against the doorframe. Polunu appeared to be unaware that he was being watched. Finally, he looked up, and his eyes darted briefly across Walter’s face and then away. He looked at Kali. There was a slight dilation of his eyes as he realized who they were. While Kali blended more easily into a crowd, Walter didn’t have to be in uniform to be spotted as a cop, even if he was a block away.

  “Nice evening,” Walter said, smiling.

  “Nice enough,” agreed Polunu, his voice carefully neutral.

  “Haven’t I seen you around here lately? Your face looks familiar. Or maybe it’s your eye.”

  Polunu shrugged, clearly not interested in engaging in conversation.

  “I’m pretty sure,” Walter insisted.

  Polunu looked steadfastly down at the floor and fished his shoes from beneath a counter that held snacks and a cooler filled with juices and bottled sodas.

  “Could be, I guess,” he said.

  Walter pretended to study the other man’s face in earnest. Kali looked at Walter.

  “Walter . . .”

  “I’ve seen you somewhere,” Walter said, ignoring her. “I’d swear to it.”

  “Good for you,” said Polunu, slipping his feet into a pair of worn tennis shoes. “Maybe I’m just lucky to have one of those faces.” He reached into the glass-doored cooler, selected a small bottle of papaya juice, and placed it on top.

  Walter’s hand slipped in front of Polunu and lifted the juice off the cooler. He turned it with feigned curiosity, then read aloud from the label. “Water. Papaya. Plus sugar, of course. And whatever garbage they put in here to fill the bottle. Odd, though. Doesn’t say anything about bestowing superpowers on people who drink it.”

  Polunu looked at Walter in amazement. “Do you mind? There’s more in the cooler if you want it, but this one’s mine.” He paused as Walter’s words registered more fully. “Superpowers? What are you talking about?”

  “Well, you know. Like being invisible or seeing through steel,” said Walter, his voice serious. “Or running really fast and fighting off middle-aged lady tourists.”

  Polunu’s eyes narrowed. He turned to Kali. “You like working with a bully?”

  “It’s worse than that,” she said. “I’m related to him.”

  Walter nodded. “Under the right law-abiding circumstances, I’m actually a pretty nice guy,” he said.

  “True dat,” Kali affirmed. “He’s buying me breakfast in the morning.”

  Polunu crossed his arms over his chest, the gesture both defensive and protective. “I remember you, too, come to think of it. Captain Something.” He looked pointedly at Walter’s waistline. “Captain Cookies?”

  “Hilarious,” said Walter. “Afraid we’re here in an official capacity. To offer you some friendly advice, of course.” He turned to Kali. “Isn’t that right?”

  “That’s right. Stealing is naughty. Bad for the island image. Leave the tourists alone.”

  Polunu spat on the ground. “Tourists. What do I care about them? They can all sink into the sea and take this backward island with them.”

  Kali raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you local?”

  “For the moment,” he said. “But I’m out of here as soon as possible.”

&n
bsp; “Big plans?” Walter’s voice was innocent, but Kali could see that he was interested in what Polunu had to say.

  “Damn right I have big plans. Las Vegas. Civilization.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” said Kali.

  “You’ll see. Going to buy myself a pair of handmade snakeskin boots and dance the night away at the biggest casino in town. Then I’ll get the respect I deserve.”

  He snatched the bottle from Walter’s hand and turned toward the back door, through with talking. Walter sauntered after him, followed by Kali. They watched as Polunu climbed behind the wheel of a beat-up delivery van and pulled quickly out of the parking area and out onto the road.

  CHAPTER 19

  The first thing Kali saw as she and a very wet Hilo trudged up the porch steps out of the downpour was that someone had pinned a note to her front door. She hesitated before taking it down. Chances were it was from someone at the shelter, who didn’t want to leave a phone message, warning her that Makena was back out on the streets. If that was the case, she didn’t have the energy tonight to deal with it.

  When Makena had first shown up on Maui a year ago, Kali had mixed feelings. On one hand, Makena was a direct link to Mike and a whole world that had vanished in a brutal stream of gunfire. On the other hand, she was a dedicated meth addict who’d long since crossed the threshold from confused kid to full-blown trouble. She had been arrested for petty theft on three separate occasions and had been picked up multiple times at the local resorts for prostitution.

  She’d come to Kali for money, appealing to her on the basis that Kali had nearly become her stepmother. Kali had tried. She paid for counseling, took Makena to the clinic to be checked for every possible needle and sexually transmitted disease, bought her some decent clothes, and helped her get a job as a receptionist at a local gallery. As thanks, Makena chose not to show up for her counseling, quit her job the same day that the gallery’s on-hand cash disappeared, and sold most of the clothes purchased by Kali to a used clothing store.

  Kali was well aware of the crowd Makena ran with, because two of its members were under ongoing surveillance by the Maui police for suspected crystal-meth production. Makena seemed bent on self-destruction, and Kali had been alive long enough to know that you couldn’t force someone to accept help. They had to want it.

  She sighed and looked down at the note, expecting the worst. Instead, there was a moment of intense relief. The note was from Elvar, asking for her help in locating some materials he needed to construct a handle for the new weapon he was working on.

  Kali felt a sense of pleasure at the prospect of getting up into the high country to stretch her legs. And she could count on Elvar to be pleasant company. She’d guided him up the mountain paths once before when he was searching for a particular plant, needing a sample in order to produce an accurate carving on a knife handle for a competition. He’d asked her to tell him some of Hawaii’s history, and they’d spent hours discussing the similarities and vast differences between the legends from Kali’s store of knowledge and from his own Icelandic lore.

  She went inside and picked up her phone to call him back. Elvar answered within a few rings, which suggested that he’d already stopped work for the day.

  “Hi, neighbor,” he said. “Feel like going for a nice long walk?”

  Kali looked doubtfully outside the window. It was long since dark, and the rain hadn’t slacked off in the least.

  “Now—” she began, but he interrupted, laughing.

  “Not at this exact moment.”

  “Sure. What are you looking for?”

  “I got a commission today for a knife, but the buyer wants a handle made from sandalwood, with a carving of an awapuhi flower. You’ll know where the healthiest plants are growing, of course.”

  “Probably at the botanical gardens,” she said.

  There was silence on the other end of the line, and she mentally kicked herself.

  His voice sounded serious when he said, “Ahh. Afraid to go off into the wilderness alone with me?”

  “Of course not, I just meant . . .”

  “It’s okay if you’re busy. I don’t mind hiking alone. I’ve been going into the uplands or down to the shore along the park beach a couple of times a week and think I can find my way.”

  “No, really, I’d like to go. I wasn’t trying to put you off. It’s just that gardens might be easier if you’re in a hurry.”

  Elvar laughed. “You know me, Kali. No captive, domesticated plants allowed in my work. I need them wild, in their natural habitat, free and happy.”

  Kali closed her eyes, hoping she hadn’t offended him. “I only meant . . .”

  “Great! Is there any chance you’d have some time tomorrow morning? We could go at daybreak and catch the sunrise. Maybe we can locate a good piece of sandalwood from a branch, too . . . something that came down during the last storm.”

  There was more silence. This time, hopeful.

  “Sounds like a plan,” she said. Finally, a sunrise. “See you in the morning. And if Birta happens to have left any muffins lying around . . .”

  “Deal.”

  Kali put down the phone and began to tidy up the kitchen table and its jumble of papers. She was already looking forward to the morning excursion. Elvar never complained that the paths were too steep or too rocky or too muddy. He wasn’t fussy or demanding and seemed to be sincerely interested in her island stories. He was, in fact, pretty good company.

  The sound of her phone’s text alert interrupted her thoughts. The message was from Jamie Tagert, the boy she’d interviewed at the high school. She read it, frowning. Something I didn’t tell u. Kekipi said he saw a ghost. Told me to keep it secret. Sorry.

  She replied immediately. Call me now, please.

  The phone rang a moment later.

  “It’s all I know, I swear. He told me he saw something on the hill path, back in the trees. He said it was a ghost, and that he was telling me because we were really tight and he could trust me. He said he was going to go back there to see if he could find it. I laughed at him, and he got angry and wouldn’t say anything else.”

  “Did he describe it to you?”

  “No.”

  She could hear the distress in his voice.

  “When did this happen, Jamie?”

  “Two days before the cops found him in the water.”

  “Can you think of—”

  “I told you. That’s seriously all he said. He didn’t tell me what it looked like or if it was doing anything.”

  She heard him catch his breath.

  “He was really mad at me for making fun of him, so he wouldn’t talk about it. I feel sick about it now. I don’t know if it means anything or not.”

  “It’s okay, Jamie. Thank you for getting in touch. This is very helpful.”

  She hung up, staring at the ceiling. Ghosts. Someone else had seen a ghost.

  CHAPTER 20

  The morning mist still clung to the ground as Kali and Elvar made their way up the twisting paths leading toward Mount Haleakal’s crater. This was one of Kali’s favorite walks and, in her opinion, the ideal time of day to be making it. There were no sounds other than the rustling of small creatures in the brush and the first notes of birdsong. This was what it must have been like, she thought, before the islands were populated with people, when there was nothing to distract from the natural beauty of the planet.

  It didn’t take long for Kali to locate the plant that Elvar was after. She knew from past excursions with him that he would insist on leaving it intact and unharmed. She also knew that he would quickly become completely immersed in his sketches and would forget that she was anywhere nearby.

  They had located a healthy clump of awapuhi, more commonly known as bitter ginger. She watched as Elvar pulled out a notebook, pencils, and a large magnifying glass from his knapsack, then settled down cross-legged on the ground in front of it. For the next half hour, he made rough sketches, all while c
hecking the intricate vein patterns in the leaves and examining the flowers closely beneath his magnifying glass. It was what made him so much in demand for his beautiful knives, Kali thought, this obsessive attention to detail.

  She relaxed on a nearby pile of boulders, their edges worn smooth by thousands of years of exposure to rain and wind. She hadn’t realized she was drifting off to sleep until Elvar gently shook her shoulder and abruptly brought her back to full wakefulness.

  “Hey, you. I found a piece of sandalwood and have all the sketches I need.”

  She sat upright, grazing her arm against the surface of the stone. She winced, and Elvar frowned.

  “Sorry. I tried not to startle you.”

  She pulled herself to her feet, stretching. “No problem. Just a scrape.”

  “You’ll need to rub some aloe on that,” he said, smiling.

  Kali laughed. “You’re a good student.”

  They walked a few minutes along the mountain path in companionable silence. It was Elvar who finally broke the silence, his voice thoughtful.

  “It’s funny how some plants sort of become commonly accepted, isn’t it? Aloe’s a good example, and I’ve noticed you can find it everywhere. It’s like our Icelandic moss, which we use as a tea or an infusion. When Birta and I were still living back in Iceland, even her husband, who was a no-nonsense kind of doctor, used to recommend it for everything from an upset tummy to skin irritations.”

  Kali tried to hide her surprise. In the years she’d been neighbors with Elvar and Birta, she’d never heard either of them make more than a passing reference to their personal lives before Maui. She’d certainly never heard any mention of an ex-husband for Birta. She had a hard time imagining her as anyone’s wife, and a silly image came to mind unbidden, of Birta standing at a stove, stirring a pot of soup, dressed in a frilly apron, looking out a window over a snow-covered landscape.

  “Fascinating,” she said hesitantly. She didn’t know whether to comment any further or not, or whether the dozens of questions that were flooding her mind would offend Elvar.