Damned in Paradise

Chang said, “Daniel Lyman and Lui Kaikapu.”

Tahiti nodded. “Those two are pilikia, bad trouble. But Sammy used to go drinking with ’em, chasing women, they was his buddies, but they were supposed to be in Oahu Prison, Lyman for killing a guy in a robbery, and Kaikapu, he was a thief, too. Anyway, when Sammy realized it was them, he knew his haole wahine was in trouble. They was driving by whistling at her, saying things, like, you know, ‘Wanna come for a ride, honey?’ and ‘Do you like bananas and cream, baby?’”

Sure were a lot of bananas ripening that September night.

He was getting his cigarettes, a pack of Camels, out of his front shirt pocket. “Anybody got a match?”

Chang found one for him, then took the opportunity to light up a cigarette himself. Tahiti drew smoke into his lungs in greedy gulps, like a guy on the desert getting his first drink in days. He blew the smoke out in a stream that dissipated in the gentle breeze. He was shaking a little. I let him calm down. Chang, eyes locked on our witness, sucked his smoke like a kid drinking a thick malt through a straw.

“How did Thalia react to this attention?” I asked.

“Like she liked it,” Tahiti said. “She talked right back to them, ‘Sure! Anytime, boys!,’ stuff like that. She was acting like a whore and that wasn’t smart ’cause that’s a street where the chippies strut their stuff, y’know?”

“What did the officer do?”

“Nothing. Sammy thought the way she was acting musta made her officer boyfriend mad or jealous or something, ’cause he turned around and headed back the other way.”

“Did he run smack into Sammy?”

Tahiti shook his head, no. “He didn’t notice Sammy. Sammy musta been just another native on the sidewalk to him. This is along where there’s a saimin shack and all sorts of shops, food and barber and all, and it’s not like nobody was around.”

“What did Sammy do?”

“He followed along and he came up and said, ‘Hey, Bull, come on, leave her alone.’”

“Which one was named Bull? Lyman or Kaikapu?”

Tahiti shrugged. “Any of ’em. There was a third guy in the ragtop that Sammy didn’t know, some Filipino. See, in the Islands, ‘Bull’ is a name like ‘Mac’ or ‘Joe’ or ‘Bud’ or ‘Hey you.’ Get me?”

I nodded.

“I don’t know what Sammy did, but he went up and tried to help her, talk to her, talk his friends out of picking her up. And I think she started getting scared, changing her mind about getting in with these guys, if she ever meant to. Maybe she was just flirting to make her officer mad, that’s what Sammy thought; or maybe she was just drunk. Hell, I don’t know, I wasn’t there….”

“Keep going,” I said, patting his shoulder. “You’re doing fine.”

Hand shaking, he drew in smoke in several gasps, exhaled it like a man breathing his last. “Anyway, Sammy said they shoved him away and grabbed her and pulled her into the car and drove off. And that’s it.”

“That’s all Sammy saw? All Sammy did?”

“Yeah—except when Lyman and Kaikapu busted out, or anyway walked out, of prison on New Year’s Eve, and their two-man crime wave started, Sammy got nervous, real nervous. He never came back to Oahu after that. Like I said, on Maui, he was packing a gun. He’d do his gigs with Joe Crawford’s band, then he’d hole up in a hotel room. He was relieved when Kaikapu got picked up and put back inside, but it was Lyman he was really scared of. When the cops couldn’t catch Lyman…” He gave Chang an apprehensive look. “…no offense, Detective…”

“None taken,” Chang said.

“…Anyway, Sammy finally caught a boat to the mainland, and that’s it.”

The George Ku Trio, back from their break, began playing again, the muffled strains of steel guitar and falsetto harmonies echoing off the water.

“That’s everything I know,” Tahiti said. “I hope I helped you fellas. You don’t have to pay me or anything. I just wanna be a good citizen.”

“Where’s Lyman?” Chang said. His voice was quiet, but you could cut yourself on the edge in it.

“I don’t know. Why would I know?”

“You know where Lyman is,” Chang said. “You said you did.”

“I didn’t say…”

I put my hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed; not hard—friendly, almost affectionate. “Detective Apana is right. You said you wouldn’t tell us where he is, no matter what we did. That means you know where he is.”

“No, no, you fellas misunderstood me…”

“Where is Lyman?” Chang asked again.

“I don’t know, I swear on my mama’s grave, I don’t even know the bastard…”

I drew my hand away from his shoulder. “I can get you money, Tahiti. Maybe as much as five hundred bucks.”

That caught his attention. His dark eyes glittered, but his full feminine lips were quivering.

“Money doesn’t do you any good in the graveyard,” he said.

That sounded like something Chang would say.