John lowered his voice to a hiss. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it, Teddy? They made you look like idiots, and now you want to get back at them.”
Fukida glared at him, opened his mouth to shout some more, changed his mind, and settled back, shaking his head. After a second he sat up straight again, snorted, and angrily flung his cap into a corner. “I don’t understand you, Lau. You walk in here uninvited, you rake up all kinds of dirty laundry, you tell me we got this wrong and that wrong, you raise a million questions...and then when I tell you, well, maybe there’s something to it and we ought to reopen, you climb all over me. What do you want? Do you want us to investigate? Or do you want us to drop it?”
John had calmed down while Fukida spoke. He looked about as miserable as his open, cheerful face would permit. “Yes,” he said. “And yes.”
A beat passed before Fukida spoke. “What is that, zen? I don’t get it.”
Gideon did. It was what had been bothering John all day; the conflict between human being and lawman. By coming to Fukida, he felt, understandably enough, as if he were betraying his friends. But as a cop himself, he couldn’t bring himself to pretend that all the equivocations, misrepresentations, omissions, and generally dubious behavior on the part of this family he’d known so long had never occurred.
“I have an idea,” Gideon said. “For all we know, we’re blowing things up way out of proportion. Basically, we’re operating without facts. Maybe they didn’t do anything illegal. Maybe we’re seeing things all wrong. I know it looks bad, but maybe there’s a simple explanation for everything that we haven’t thought of.”
John’s and Fukida’s faces showed that they believed this about as much as he did, but that they were willing to listen.
“So what I suggest, before you go barreling in in any kind of official way, Sergeant, is that you let us poke around a little more. Discreetly, of course.”
“Like how?”
“Well, like the two of us—John and I—going back and having a chat with Axel. Informally. We were going to do that anyway, before we decided to come back here. Bring up some of these same questions and see what he has to say.”
Fukida was shaking his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for civilians—”
“Who you calling a civilian?” John demanded. “And who dug up this stuff for you in the first place? Where would you be if not for us? Exactly where you were ten years ago—fat and happy and way out on a limb you didn’t even know you were on.”
“That’s the truth,” Fukida grumbled. “Happy, that’s for sure. Okay, I won’t do anything for a couple days. Go talk to Axel. Don’t shake things up, though. Be discreet, you know?”
John put a hand to his heart. “Discretion is my middle name.”
“THIS is good,” John said as they headed to the truck. “I
trust Axel. He’ll level with us.”
“I hope so.”
John climbed in and buckled the seat belt. “Especially if we nudge him a little,” he said under his breath.
THIRTEEN
THEold man didn’t look up as John and Gideon climbed the steps of the front porch. He was moving slowly along on his knees, his mouth full of nails, hammering down the warped ends of the porch floorboards.
“Hey, Willie,” John said. “I see they got you doing handyman jobs now, huh?”
“Got me doing everything,” the old man muttered through the nails, still not looking up. “What else is new? You name it, I do it.”
Then something about John’s voice got his attention. He looked up, tipped back his curling, sweat-stained, flower-garlanded hat, spat the nails into his hand, and grinned. His good-natured face was as weathered, and almost as dark as the unpainted wood of the porch.
“What do you know, it’s Johnny Lau, the kid that could never get enough to eat. You done growing yet?”
“I sure hope so,” John said. “It’s not easy finding shoes this big. How’s it going, boss?”
“Not bad. Fine.” He got to his feet, wincing a little as his knees straightened. A short, stubby man in old jeans and ancient, scuffed work boots. “You know, I saw you out here on the porch yesterday. Thought it was you. So how come you didn’t say hello?”
“Well, you know,” John said.
“Yeah, right. I’m Willie Akau,” he said to Gideon. “Foreman here. I’m the guy that taught Johnny everything he knows. All the important stuff, anyway.”
“Truer than you think,” John said. “Willie, we’re looking for Axel. Is he inside?”
“Naw, he’s out at Paddock Number Four with the rest of ’em.”
“They branding?”
“Branding, castrating, inoculating, the whole bit. Springtime, you know? Tell you what, I’m about done here and I want to see how they’re doing anyway. Lemme get one of them Japanese quarter horses, and we’ll go out and have a look.”
“Japanese quarter horses?” a puzzled John echoed. “What’re they?”
Willie grinned at him. “Things have changed since you worked here, brudda. A Japanese quarter horse—that’s what we call a Honda ATV.”
“ATV? What, you paniolos don’t ride horses anymore?”
