by Debra Bokur
Chad turned toward the camera. “This is serious business, folks. A matter—quite literally—of life and death. No pranks or frivolous calls, please. We want our local police force to respect us, and”—he flourished his smile first at Walter, then at the camera—“eventually thank us for our help.”
Walter refolded the paper and began to rise from his chair.
“Wait just a minute, Captain. We still haven’t talked about the details of the investigation.”
Walter sank back into his seat, reluctant.
“So far,” continued Chad, “the police search has been confined to one pineapple field on Lna‘i, but there are still hundreds of acres of fields that are no longer farmed. Will the search be expanded?”
Walter shook his head. “I’m afraid there are aspects of our investigation that I’m not at liberty to discuss at this time.” As Chad made a small sound of protest, Walter continued. “What I can say is that it’s possible there’s a connection between the deaths and the pineapple plantation itself.”
Chad leaned forward, clearly very eager. “You mean the land, of course. As locals, we know the terrifying stories about the demons and bloodthirsty monsters that make their home on Lna‘i.”
“Those are unverified stories. Legends.”
“Are they? Current events would suggest otherwise, don’t you think?”
“The legends you’re referring to took place, if they took place at all, a long, long time ago. And there was a happy ending to those stories: The monsters were conquered and banished from the island.”
“It’s a well-known fact that the Maui Police Department employs a detective who’s also a cultural expert in these matters. Detective Kali Mhoe is also a bona fide kahuna, isn’t she? Has she determined a link between the monster legends and the victims?”
Before Walter could respond, the door linking the studio to an outer hallway was suddenly thrust open. He watched as a large, longhaired tabby cat wearing a wide, fancy collar studded with fake gems sauntered into the room and made a beeline for Chad. In one smooth move, it leapt onto the table and knocked over the goblet of water in front of him, then began pushing its head against Chad’s arm, purring loudly. Unaware of the cat’s approach, Chad jumped as the cat appeared in front of him and knocked over the water. He turned to the girl at the camera, clearly flustered. He didn’t notice Walter lift his phone and take a photo.
“How did Cleopatra get in here?” he hissed. “That door is supposed to be closed.” The cat bumped Chad’s face with the top of its head, then burrowed against his neck, purring rapidly. Gently, he reached up and scooped the cat into his arms, where it instantly went limp and closed its eyes. Unable to help himself, Chad nuzzled the cat, making mock purring noises in return. He suddenly looked up, embarrassed, with the cat cradled in his arms.
Walter grinned. “Friend of yours?”
Arms wrapped around the cat, Chad rocked it slightly, then placed it gently back on the floor. He gestured to his assistant to put the cat into the hallway and to close the door. The cat resisted, holding on to the edge of the doorframe with its front claws, mewing loudly in protest.
“Oh, uh, just the studio cat,” said Chad. “Kind of likes me, I guess.”
“Sure does.” Walter’s voice was innocent. He was fully aware that Chad had lost his dominance over the interview. “Nice coincidence for you that the cat’s name is Cleopatra. And that it lives in the studio attached to your house.”
Chad’s face flushed. He readjusted his headset and moved his chair back into position in front of the microphone. “As we were discussing,” he began.
“I guess I didn’t take you for the sentimental type,” Walter continued, still focusing on the cat.
“I’m not at all sentimental,” said Chad, eyes narrowing.
“Hey, what’s that thing Julius Caesar wrote?” asked Walter. “Something about no one’s so brave that they can’t be disturbed by something unexpected?”
Chad pushed his chair away from the table slightly, and turned to the camera. He forced a smile. “Looks like that’s all we’re going to have time for today, everyone. Remember—stay safe, which means don’t take candy from strangers; and if you think of anything useful, call the Maui Police Department’s hotline.” He looked back at Walter, his trademark blend of sparkle and arrogance having evaporated. “Um, thanks for joining us today, Captain. Tell Detective Mhoe hello for me, won’t you? Perhaps we can have her on the show next time.”
“I’ll be sure to ask her,” said Walter. “And thanks for your help with the investigation. This has been a lot of fun.”
* * *
The ocean breeze lifted the faded curtains at the kitchen window, making its way across the room and stirring the papers on the table. Kali grinned, then closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair. Then her phone buzzed. She answered, and Walter’s voice came through the speaker.
“Turns out the high-and-mighty Chad Caesar was conquered by a fifteen-pound cat,” he said.
“Yeah, I saw that,” she laughed. “Somehow, it makes me like him a little bit. Just a tiny bit, but you know. More than before.”
“It’s wearing a collar that looks like jewelry.”
“Did you get a picture?”
“You bet I did.”
“Good job! As thanks, I won’t bitch too much while we’re on rooster patrol tonight.”
“I’ll make sure you remember you said that.”
After Walter hung up, Kali opened her laptop again, scanning the podcast site still on display. She dragged the time bar back a few seconds, then watched again as the cat leapt into Chad’s lap and began to purr loudly as it snuggled into his neck. She watched it three more times, then got up, laughing, to make herself something to eat.
CHAPTER 20
The pathway led between a barn with peeling paint and a dilapidated, wood-framed house. It was dark, an inky blackness that seemed to move on its own in the slight evening breeze. What was left of the waning moon was obscured behind a thick layer of heavy clouds that had settled, bloated with rain, just above the surface of the world.
Gun drawn, Kali slipped quietly along a path of uneven brick pavers that had been laid out in a ragged, narrow line in the sandy ground between the buildings. At the end of the path on her left, a thin shaft of light reflected on a row of bushes, emanating from a cracked doorway in the house. She stood frozen, listening. From inside the barn to her right, there were muffled shouts and cries.
She moved to the end of the path. There was a field spread out below the barn, sloping downward between a row of grassy hillocks barely outlined in the night. Faint glints of moonlight on metal showed that the field was filled with vehicles.
She turned, waiting as Walter slipped along the path just behind her. As she halted in the shadows at the corner of the house, he caught up, speaking quietly. He reached up and fingered the earpiece he was wearing.
“Vice says hold back a minute,” he whispered. “They’ll signal when to go.”
Kali nodded. She could see other figures now, moving against the side of the barn among the darker areas created by the undergrowth and shadows. She could tell from their thickened silhouettes that the moving figures were wearing bulletproof vests and helmets.
“This body armor is making me nervous,” she whispered back, tugging at the straps holding her vest in place. “Did someone forget to tell us something?”
“Just hang tight. We let them go in first.” He adjusted his own padded vest and nodded toward a smaller door directly across from them, located on the side of the barn. “Keep your eye on this exit.”
They watched as the vice squad moved into position in the front, outside of the barn’s huge main double doors, spreading out in a wide fan. There was an imperceptible movement from the figure closest to the doors, then a silent rush as the doors were pulled open and the team streamed inside. Sounds of people shouting and animals screeching could be heard clearly now. Seconds later, the side door across from Kali
and Walter was flung open, and three people came running out, heading away from the car park into the darkness on the far side of the house.
Kali and Walter leapt forward, pointing their guns.
“Freeze!” yelled Walter. “Police!”
“Hands on your heads NOW!” shouted Kali. In the light of the open door, she could see that there were two men and one woman. One of the men looked familiar.
“Hey there, Angelo!” called Walter.
Angelo and the other man came to a halt, but the woman pivoted on her heel and turned in the opposite direction. She was large and heavy, and was carrying something in the crook of her arm that made her look larger.
Kali trained her gun on the woman and moved to intercept her, impressed that the woman was so nimble. “Stop where you are, ma’am!” she yelled. “Drop whatever you’re holding! DROP IT NOW!”
Instead of dropping it, the woman took a half step forward and flung her arms at Kali, hurling into the air the large, angry rooster she had been holding. As the woman turned and fled, the bird splayed its taloned feet, its flapping wings spread wide. It screeched as it was released, an ungodly shriek that filled the night. Instinctively, Kali raised one arm to protect her face. The rooster’s spurs ripped through the sleeve of her shirt and through the skin on the back of her arm.
“What the—!” she cried out, trying to recover her sight line. She knocked the enormous bird aside and sprinted down the path past the spot where Walter was holding the two men at gunpoint. She ran down the slope toward the parking area, stumbling in the darkness on uneven footing. As she passed the first row of cars, she saw movement above her. She turned just as the large woman launched herself from the bed of a pickup truck, tackling Kali and bringing her to the ground, knocking the gun from her hand.
The woman was spitting and snarling, her weight holding Kali pinned on the soft ground. Again Kali was struck with her agility, and twisted beneath her. As the woman leaned forward, lips drawn back, teeth exposed, Kali contracted as far as she was able and slammed her head upwards just in time, headbutting the woman as hard as she could from her position.
It was enough. The woman’s trajectory was interrupted, giving Kali the time and momentum necessary to twist out from beneath her. She scrambled on her knees to where her gun could be seen lying by the truck’s rear tires. She grabbed it and turned, holding it with both hands, and pointed it at the woman again.
“Right now, lady, I really want to shoot you, so I suggest you DO NOT MOVE AT ALL,” she warned her. Over the woman’s shoulder, she could see Walter jogging toward her, followed by another officer holding a wide-angle flashlight.
Walter slowed his pace as he drew close. He was grinning. “I see you’ve met Bitty Benga,” he said.
“Bastard!” shouted the woman.
Ignoring her, Walter nodded to the officer holding the flashlight. “Give me a little light over here, if you will. I want Detective Mhoe to have a good view as the cuffs go on.”
As Walter fastened the handcuffs around Bitty’s wrists, Kali holstered her gun. She rolled back the torn, bloody sleeve of her shirt and surveyed the cuts on her arms. There were two gouges, both bleeding. She winced as she examined them.
“I hope you bleed to death!” snarled Bitty.
“You should be worried about your pet rooster,” said Kali. “I might make a soup out of him. I’ll bring you some. It will help break up the monotony of prison food.”
Bitty was enraged, her face twisted with fury. She lowered her head and rushed one more time at Kali, but was stopped short by Walter, who grabbed her joined arms behind her back and jerked her to a halt.
“Enough of that,” he said, sternly.
“That was Elvis Feathers, my champion rooster!” yelled Bitty. There was real distress in her voice. “Don’t you dare hurt him!”
Walter nodded to the officer beside him. “She’s all yours,” he said, watching as the officer led Bitty away.
Kali looked from the woman’s retreating back to Walter, incredulous. She glanced again at the cuts on her arms, wiping at the congealed blood.
“Me hurt him? Is she nuts?”
“You have mud in your hair,” said Walter.
“That crazy bitch tried to bite me, you know.”
Walter looked at the cuts on her arm. “Then you got off easy. I’ll take the rooster claws any day. And you might want to put something on those scratches.”
“Yeah,” she said. “So we get bulletproof vests, but nothing to protect us from birds.”
“Well, you should have let the bird hit you in your middle. Bad judgment on your part, seems like.”
She glared at him. “Funny. So who was the guy with Angelo?”
“Bitty’s brother Johnny. They weren’t too happy to see me.”
She rubbed at the blood on her arm as they walked back toward the barn. The place was brightly lit now, and the doors stood propped open. A large group of people milled about just inside, surrounded by uniformed police and members of the vice squad. As she and Walter neared the opening, Kali could see the interior space. There was a large open area on the lower level, surrounded on three sides by an upper balcony that rimmed the hayloft.
They made their way inside, pausing at the edge of the dirt floor space, where a shallow, circular pit had been dug roughly in the ground in the middle of the opening. Someone had located the main light switch, and the illuminated scene was depressing. There were loose feathers everywhere, and the noise from a long row of caged birds in the back of the space created a chaotic atmosphere.
“You ever been to one of these?” Walter asked.
She shrugged. “Sure. Growing up, you know? Not everyone thinks it’s a bad thing.”
“Yeah. A lot of people are quick to point out that roosters naturally fight one another anyway, and who are we to tell them they’re misbehaving?”
Kali frowned. “This is orchestrated violence, though. Fights to the death, not little scuffles over who gets to jump the pretty hen.”
“You’re right about the footwear,” said Walter. He walked over to the cages. Clipped to the outside of one of the mesh containers was a pair of fighting spurs made of razor blades. “Like these,” he said. “Pretty gruesome. Just as sick as people who get their kicks out of watching animals shred one another to death. Very messed up.” He turned to her and grinned. “Watching them in a farmyard, though. Can’t say I don’t enjoy a bit of testosterone-driven courting.”
“You’re such a romantic,” she said.
He ignored the sarcasm. “Regardless, it’s against the law, and so is the gambling that goes along with it.” He looked over toward the group of people who had been assembled for questioning. “Looks like at least three underage kids in the spectator group, too, from what I can see. Maybe nine, ten years old. And we took a pistol off of Johnny Benga. So, we’ve got gambling, firearms, minors, and animal cruelty just for starters. Bitty kept her office here in the barn, in the back, so there are probably gambling records, too. We know that’s Angelo’s specialty.”
They stood, looking around the barn with curiosity. A vice squad officer was leading a small group of handcuffed individuals toward the entrance. One of them was an older man with a straggly beard and muscular arms emphasized by his shirt’s rolled-up sleeves. As the group began to pass the spot where Kali and Walter stood watching, the bearded man halted, peering closely at Walter’s face.
“Hey! It’s you, the cop from the podcast today,” he said. “Big star, right?”
The officer walking behind him gave the bearded man a small push. Walter shook his head at Kali, ignoring the comment.
“Wait!” the older man said to the vice officer. “Slow down a minute. I gotta tell that big cop something.” He twisted backward, speaking louder, directing his words toward Walter. “I got some juice for you, brah. About those plantation killings you was talking about, you know? I was gonna call you tomorrow, and here you are!”
“Here I am,” said Walter. He sign
aled to the vice officer to stop, then spoke to the man in handcuffs. “You’ve got one minute. Go.”
“What’s the reward, man?”
“Less than one minute. I’m already losing patience.”
“Just saying, you know? Information like that, there should be a reward.”
“You’ll feel good. Plus your karma will improve. Thirty seconds.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll take some good karma.” He looked over at Kali for a second before elaborating. “That anchor? You should talk to the Eden’s River people.”
Kali walked closer. “Eden’s River?”
“Church group, kind of a well-being place. Eden’s River. At first, seemed like mostly a bunch of women and organic food. I checked it out, you know? Being a single guy and all.”
“Do you know the location of this church?” asked Kali.
“It was on Lna‘i. Not in a building, like with a pointy steeple showing the highway to heaven. More like a free-love farm.”
Kali and Walter exchanged glances. “Do you think it was a commune?”
“Yeah! That’s the word. Grew all their own food and dressed funny and everybody slept with everybody else.”
“Did you know the person who was in charge?”
“Guy named Abraham was the dude. Creepy as shit.” He grinned. “Turned out the women were spooky, too. Not as much honi honi as I expected, so I got out of there.”
Walter stepped closer. “Where, exactly, on Lna‘i?”
“On a farm down near Kaunol, the old royal fishing grounds. You know it?”
“Do you know where Abraham and his followers are these days?”
The man shrugged. “Heard some stories they moved here, to Maui, but I never saw any of them around. I don’t know where, like an address or anything.”
“What’s your name?”
“Alan Lee.”
“You have anything else to share, Mr. Lee?” Walter asked.
“Yeah, a few thoughts on roosters. Birds love to fight more than they love to eat. I love to watch them fight. It’s a win-win. It’s our Hawaiian right, man!”
