Big Island Blues

by Terry Ambrose

  “Kid’s pretty smart,” I said. “She’s documenting what she’s done. This has to be her backup plan in case she becomes a victim or things go the wrong way with Ho’okano—Art Swenson, whoever he is.”

  Shaw glanced at Carla. “Babe, Tiny’s?”

  “I think so. It’s popular with musicians, Mr. McKenna, because it’s always open mike night. There’s usually food and when we were talking, Andi said she’d been there before. I’m sure that’s where she’s going.”

  It seemed impossible to me. There was a place with cheap food and free music that the tourists hadn’t discovered? “That makes no sense. All the tourists want to do the local thing. How do you keep this one quiet?”

  The faint smile on Shaw’s face told me what I should have known right away. Puako was a small community, but those who went to Tiny’s were an even smaller and tighter-knit group. “Never mind,” I said. “I get it. Let’s go. No, wait, I want to reply to her. Maybe I can start a dialogue.” I glanced around at the concerned faces. “Anybody have a suggestion as to how to show her I’m friendly without scaring her off?”

  “Tell her that her mom’s worried,” Alexander said.

  “No,” said Shaw. “Tell her to come on home.”

  Carla stared at a corner of the room. Her absent gaze told me she probably had an idea.

  “Carla?” I said. “You’re deep in thought.”

  “When she and I were talking, she kept saying how much family meant to her.” Carla grimaced as she gazed at Shaw. “Sorry, hon, but she felt betrayed by having been lied to for so long. She kept saying, ‘I’m a big girl, I can handle it.’” Carla snapped her fingers. “You know what, I’ll do it. I can reach her.” She rushed out of the room and returned a minute later, phone in hand. She thumb-typed a message. When she finished, her phone made a whooshing sound. “Done.”

  “What did you say?” I asked.

  “I texted her to say that even big girls need a friend. I also said you were on the way. Mr. McKenna, if you fail me, I’ll hunt you down. I really like that girl.”

  I gulped. “Perfect.” Yeah, just goddamn perfect. I had no desire to have this woman coming after me with revenge as her agenda. “Now, before we go, show me your picture of Art Swenson. I want to know who I’m chasing.”

  Hot seat or not, I didn’t trust Shaw Hardy. He’d double-crossed us once already with that tire trick so he could force us into riding out with Cousin Phil. What would he pull next? On the other hand, he knew where Tiny’s was, while Alexander and I didn’t even have a street address. Benni would probably know, but this development would just worry her even more. I glanced at Shaw. “You’re going to be our guide?”

  Shaw had that look on his face that said, “I’m leaving you strangers behind,” but Carla was having none of that. “He’ll take you there,” she said. She fixed him with a cold stare. “Won’t you?”

  He swallowed hard. His smile was forced, but at least it didn’t look wicked. “Sure, babe. I’ll show them where it is.”

  How long would Shaw play nice? At least until we found Andi? What would he do after that? I was about ready to suggest I go with him to Puako when I remembered the ride in the truck. Thirty minutes of being bounced around in that thing would do me in for good. “Great,” I said.

  Alexander headed for the door. “Let’s get goin’ then. We don’t got all night.”

  Those were the last words Alexander said for the next twenty minutes as we drove along Kawaihae Road. Our vehicles were two little ants crawling though the countryside. Without daylight, it was impossible to see anything other than the lights of homes in the hills. Only twice did we face the glare of oncoming headlights as we left upcountry for the coast. When we arrived at the intersection of Kawaihae Road and the highway, Shaw’s vehicle made a left.

  “Puako’s south a few miles,” Alexander said.

  “Hope we’re in time.” Yeah, we were that talkative.

  The Queen K Highway didn’t offer much more in the way of scenery. We passed another car heading north. The car weaved just a bit too much for comfort. I suspected a drunk or overly tired driver was behind the wheel. As the headlights drew nearer, I averted my eyes.

  When the car had passed, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Alexander took a deep breath, then said, “Had me kinda worried.”

  I turned in my seat and looked out the back window. “What if that was Andi?”

  “Girl’s on a mission, brah. She ain’t going back to Waimea.”

  I thought about how right Alexander was as I watched his face. He kept his eyes focused ahead, all the time keeping a short distance behind Shaw’s taillights. The road beneath our own headlamps was the only distraction for miles, the only sound in the otherwise silent cabin. Eventually, dots of lights appeared in the distance.

  “Puako?” I asked.

  Alexander gestured to our right, the direction of the ocean. “Makai side is condos and homes. Not much else.”

  The closer we got, the more Puako made the little town of Waimea seem like the big city. Puako Beach Road was just a two lane country road. The first real signs of civilization were the occasional mailbox and driveway.

  We slowed as we passed the Hoku Loa Church on our right, which seemed to glow with the moon’s light reflecting off the white walls. A short distance later, Shaw’s brake lights became two red beacons. He turned into a driveway on the left side of the road, but there was nothing to indicate this was a commercial establishment until our headlights passed over a small hand-painted sign in front of a large outbuilding next to a house.

  “Tiny’s place?” I asked.

  Alexander’s face was grim in the red and green glimmer of the dashboard. “This don’t look too good, McKenna. You bettah be on you best behavior.”

  I snickered. “I’m always on my best behavior.” Ahead, Shaw parked his truck behind one of three other pickups along the side of the dirt driveway. I glanced at Alexander. “What kind of car does Andi drive?”

  “I got no idea. I never asked, but I don’t think it gonna be one of these.”

  “Kind of hard to imagine a young girl driving a rusted-out pickup. Maybe there’s more parking.”

  Alexander snorted as he glanced sideways at me and shook his head. He rolled down his window when Shaw crossed through the headlight beams, his blue jeans reflecting the brilliant white light. “We’re here,” he said. “They don’t take real kindly to strangers, so you two stick with me and do as I say.”

  “I don’t see Andi’s car,” I said. “Where’s the rest of the parking?”

  Shaw raised his eyebrows. “I told you the place was small. Andi’s not here, but maybe Tiny can tell us where she went. Park behind me.”

  Alexander tucked the car in behind Shaw’s truck, which effectively blocked Shaw in. That was fine by me. It meant there was no way he’d be leaving without our permission or knowledge.

  “Stick close,” he called over his shoulder as he walked toward what appeared to have once been an oversized garage or workshop.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Drums, guitar, and bass, accented by a raspy female singer’s voice grew louder with each step as Alexander and I hurried to catch up with Shaw, our footsteps crunching on the dirt driveway. Even before we entered, a sax joined in and the traditional jazz number finished with a grand finale. I had to admit, they weren’t half bad. Shaw sauntered to a side door that had a hand-painted “Invitation Only” sign hanging to one side. He went in without even slowing down. We rushed to catch up and found Shaw waiting for us on the inside.

  “It’s insulated” He indicated I should close the door with a tilt of his head.

  Overhead spotlights lit up the stage, but left the surrounding tables in darkness. A few other spotlights scattered around the room created circles of light on the sawdust floor. When my eyes had adjusted to the bands of light cutting through the darkness, I made out the vague shapes of a dozen or so bodies in the audience in addition to the four musicians playin
g on stage. None of the patrons acknowledged us, but a few did glance our way. Shaw and the sumo wrestler behind the bar exchanged shaka signs.

  The bartender, who had a shaved head and hands about the size of a football, wore a scowl as we approached. He looked directly at Shaw. “You coming out of hiding so you can bring in riffraff, brah?”

  “These are two friends of mine.” Shaw pointed at us. “This is Alexander; he’s Andi’s uncle. The runt is McKenna, fancies himself as some sort of big-time people finder. They’re helping me catch up to my daughter.”

  I thought about Andi’s message. She needed help, and we were too late. It also sounded as though these two had seen each other recently. If Shaw had been in hiding for twenty years, how could that be?

  “You never said you had a daughter.” Tiny’s eyes were round with surprise, then his brow furrowed. “You mean Andi? I didn’t know you were her dad. She said you might be looking for her, but didn’t say why.”

  “She was here?” I blurted.

  Shaw waved me to silence, then repeated my question. Tiny, his middle fingers down, waggled a beyond-pudgy thumb and pinky finger at me. “No worries, long as you ain’t bringing in tourists.” He reached down behind the bar and pulled out a baseball bat, hefted it as though it was a plastic toy, and winked. “Can’t have the place going downhill, yah?”

  My pulse quickened at the sight of the classic Louisville Slugger Tiny held in the beam of the overhead spot. The bat was signed by none other than the my childhood hero, Duke Snider. I wasn’t sure about Tiny’s comment because, judging by the looks of things, this place couldn’t go much further downhill. Be that as it may, with one of my baseball hero’s bats resting behind the counter and a clientele that was strictly local, I’d give Tiny’s a thumbs up—especially if he had the bartender’s knack and had gotten information from Andi.

  If Andi was already gone, we needed to find out her next destination. I would have pressed the point, but Alexander clamped a firm hand on my shoulder. He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Let Shaw handle this. These two are bruddahs.”

  It took me a moment to realize what Alexander was saying. They couldn’t possibly be brothers in the physical sense. I examined Tiny’s forearm. The tattoo was hard to make out in the dim light, but it was familiar. “Doesn’t your Cousin Phil have a tattoo just like that?” I asked in a voice so low only Alexander could hear.

  Alexander tapped his forearm. “Shaw has one, too. Phil told me.”

  One thing I’d noticed about Shaw was that he seemed highly attached to long-sleeved shirts. I’d assumed he did that because he’d adjusted to the constant heat and humidity and found them more comfortable, but maybe there was another reason. These old farts were in a gang?

  “You two done?” Shaw glared at me.

  “I was just admiring Tiny’s tattoo.” I pointed at the image of a skull clenching a knife between its teeth.

  Tiny glanced at his arm, then pointed at the design. “We were in the same unit. There’s only a few others left.” He nodded at Shaw. “Show the man yours.”

  Shaw unbuttoned his cuff, then pulled up the sleeve. Never once did his eyes leave mine. “Happy now?” He glanced at Alexander. “And, yeah, your cousin was one of us.”

  A smile appeared on Tiny’s face. “Let me buy you a beer, Andi’s uncle. You’re almost family. You, too.” Tiny winked at me and started to pour two beers from a keg.

  Despite the rickety tables and chairs, the musty floor, and the way the air hung heavy with the smell of booze and bodies, Tiny’s had a character I kind of liked. In one corner, a table overflowed with food. It looked to be something akin to a bring-a-dish party. Also, it appeared that Tiny only served beer, so if you wanted anything else you had to bring your own. We’d passed two tables on the way in containing half-empty bottles of hard liquor. Now, that I could see better in the combination of dark and light, the only glasses I saw in the place were old Mason jars.

  “Uh, I don’t want to offend you, but I can’t drink beer. I’ve got Celiac.”

  Tiny pursed his lips, then looked at Shaw. “What about you?”

  “I don’t think we can stay, Tiny. I need to find Andi.”

  The music ended and on stage the band gathered their instruments. I eyed the singer, a blonde with long, straight hair, a nose ring, and a tattoo on her right shoulder. Why hadn’t Andi just stayed here and waited for us? Carla had texted her. Hadn’t she not gotten the message about help being on the way?

  I caught Shaw staring at a table where three normally dressed men sat with a fourth who wore dark glasses and the loudest aloha shirt I’d ever seen. He barely seemed to notice when the three men stood and left him to go on stage. They were joined by an old Hawaiian with long, scraggly hair and a young girl from the audience. They grabbed their instruments and distributed themselves on the makeshift stage.

  “Those two are in Andi’s band,” said Shaw. “You want to talk to the haole with coke-bottle glasses and the earring. That’s Haiku. The one they left at the table is Deke Paya. He’s a drunk and a coward.”

  One of the musicians who had been playing when we came in approached and placed a dollar on the bar. Without a word, Tiny slid one of the beers he’d poured into the man’s waiting hand.

  Tiny wiped the bar surface with a white towel. The perfect finish gleamed with reflected light. I ran my fingers across it. Smooth as glass. Very expensive. Next thing you know, he’d replace the sawdust floor with tile and serve Perrier in crystal glasses.

  “Alexander?” Tiny held up the other beer he’d poured.

  “I’m driving, brah. Another time?”

  Tiny downed the beer in a single pull. “Can’t let a beer go to waste.” He shook his head and held out a fist. When he and Alexander exchanged fist bumps, Tiny said, “You come back, anytime. As for you . . .” He turned to me. I fully expected to be ridiculed for refusing a beer. “I’ve got you covered, too. A few of my clients can’t have gluten. No worries.”

  Clients? As in alcoholics who were gluten intolerant? “Here?” I snorted.

  Shaw and Tiny burst into laughter. “No,” said Shaw. “Tiny’s a real estate broker by day. He only does this to keep the music alive around here.”

  “You,” I said, almost incredulous. “You’re an agent?”

  Tiny thumped himself on the chest with his hand. “I’m the broker. I run one of the top companies here on the Kona Coast. Tomorrow, I have a conference call with HGTV. They’re thinking of doing a show on island and I’ve got a TV-ready agent who can work with them. This,” he extended his hands wide, “is just a hobby. My first love is music.” He paused to smile. “But dis don’t pay no bills, brah.” Serious again, he reached into his back pocket, extracted a little business-card case, and handed me an embossed card.

  I looked around. Damn right about that. No self-respecting tourist would dare set foot in this place. I doubted if Tiny’s had ever been cash positive. The only people here were either on stage, waiting to go on, or somehow related to one of the musicians. It was probably the closest some of these locals would get to a real stage. “It’s a regular American Idol training ground.”

  All three stared at me, then Tiny said, “Andi was here for a short time. She was talking to Deke and Haiku for a few minutes, then she took off.” He glanced across the room and caught the eye of the man who Shaw had identified as Deke. Now alone with only a nearly empty bottle of vodka and a demeanor the exact opposite of his glow-in-the-dark shirt, he reminded me of an old log rotting in the forest. Dead. Hollow.

  Deke acknowledged Shaw with a single head bob, but seemed uninterested in Alexander or me. He looked like he was half in the bag already. How far in the bag he’d be by the end of the night, I couldn’t guess. If he finished that bottle, however, he probably wouldn’t be able to find his way out the door.

  On stage, Haiku was the exact opposite of Deke. He appeared to be sober and straight as they come in his tan slacks, gray polo shirt, and those glasses that said, “I see
everything, but with great difficulty.” I’m surprised his eyes didn’t burn out in the direct sun. I definitely wanted to talk to him while I had the chance.

  Tiny cocked his head in Deke’s direction. “He started drinking again. Not too long ago, either. Last few days, he’s been hitting it hard.”

  “Talking about me, Tiny?” Deke bellowed. He slurred his words and his tone was that of a loud drunk as he stood, wavering, next to the table.

  “Shaw wants to connect up with Andi” said Tiny. “She was talking to you before, right?”

  “Long time, Shaw,” said Deke as he extended a fist for Shaw to bump.

  Apparently Shaw wasn’t a fist-bump-greeter because he grabbed Deke’s hand. A stare-down contest began. I wondered if the winner of this human tug-of-war would walk off with a body part or just his pride. Ten seconds later, the two seemed satisfied.

  It was Shaw who spoke first. “You’re still as strong as ever.”

  “And you’re still an asshole. Guess that makes us even. Now what?”

  “You know.” Shaw jabbed a finger at Deke’s chair.

  Deke muttered under his breath as he sat. Shaw, Alexander, and I followed. What the hell did Shaw have in store for us now?

  My phone picked that exact moment to bleep. I stepped away from the table and answered on the third ring. “Hey, Benni. I’m surprised you’re calling me direct.” Until now, everything had gone through Alexander. And now I had to wonder if I should tell her everything or hold out longer.

  “I—I’m sorry. I just—I just thought maybe Snoopy was getting overloaded with the stress. You seem like you can handle it better. I shouldn’t have called you. It’s inappropriate. I’ll call Alexander.”

  “No!” I wanted to kick myself. What an idiot, I thought, she calls and you reprimand her. “I’m the one who’s sorry.” My heart thumped in my chest as I prayed she wouldn’t hang up. “I think you’re right. Alexander’s pretty stressed.” I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I’m glad you called. Really.”