“Great,” I muttered. I assumed that many of those in the crowd were people who’d been recruited at the homeless shelter earlier that day. For some reason that bothered me more than anything. I believe in democracy. People who have a problem with something are entitled to stand up and voice their opinions. But paying somebody to support your cause is just lame.
A man I recognized as Wilson Shira, the Vice Mayor of Honolulu, stepped forward from the group. He was a short, angry Nisei, or first-generation Japanese-American, and his political capital was built on ethnic strife. I guessed he was taking the “vice” in his title seriously. “I assume you have a permit for this demonstration, sir,” I said.
“Absolutely.” He pulled a piece of paper from his the pocket of his suit jacket and showed it to me. The city of Honolulu had granted him a permit for a peaceful demonstration at our address, for nine p.m. that evening. It was just a few minutes past nine then.
“I’m Sandra Guarino. I’m the Executive Director of the Hawai’i Marriage Project. We’re having a private fund- raising event here this evening, and I’d like to ask you to reschedule your protest.”
“We know about your fund-raiser,” Shira said. He was about Cathy’s height, with the same stocky build. I wondered which one of them would win a wrestling match. “That’s why we’re here. We want to know who supports you and we want them to know we know who they are.”
“Our membership roster is open to the public,” Sandra said. “We’re a not-for-profit corporation. I’ll be happy to show you our membership list.”
Shira looked at his crew. They all nodded encouragingly. “Good.”
“In exchange, you agree to leave us alone this evening,” Sandra said.
Again Shira looked at the crowd to read their sentiment. Besides the homeless, the people behind Shira looked like regular working folks, with families and jobs. I knew they didn’t want to be out too late on a Wednesday night. There seemed to be grudging approval of the plan, so Shira followed Sandra back into the building. Gunter stepped up next to me, Harry and my brothers right behind me. “We’ll stay here with you until they leave,” Gunter said.
Partly because I wanted to, and partly just to spite the crowd, I took Gunter’s hand and squeezed. We stood there in front of them, holding hands. Gunter’s was warm in mine and it felt good. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but it probably wasn’t more than ten or fifteen minutes, nobody saying much. Then, suddenly, the crowd in front of us was lit with a great light.
A second later a huge boom rocked the building behind us, knocking me to my knees. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. A blast of hot air burst out from behind us. Gunter fell to the ground, my brothers and Harry tumbling too. I remember looking at the palm of my hand, seeing where a piece of gravel in the street had scratched it. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my cell phone.
I looked behind me. Haoa looked the least dazed. “Call 911.” I threw him the phone, and followed it with my wallet, with the badge flapped open on the end. “Tell them there’s already a detective on the scene. Give them my number.”
Then I ran toward the entrance of the building.
I looked around behind me. Gunter and Harry were getting up. Lui already had his own cell phone out, probably calling his station with the exclusive. I pushed open the front door, going after Sandra and Wilson Shira. The front wall of the bathroom was gone, leaving shreds of sheetrock and twisted metal studs, and tongues of flame licked the surrounding area. There was gritty smoke in the air, like a dozen guys had been puffing on stinky cigars. Water was pooled on the floor in the corner and seemed to be spreading.
I met Robert coming in from the lanai. “All our data!” he said. “I have to get our files out!”
“Get out of here!”
He pushed past me and hurried to his desk. I shook my head and ran for the stairs. Sandra and Shira had to be up there. Fortunately the staircase was on the opposite side of the building from the bathroom, so all I had to contend with was some smoke rising around me.
As I climbed I heard Brandon crying. “God, let Brandon be all right,” I said to myself. Arleen had left him in a bassinet on Sandra’s desk, but when I rounded the comer from the staircase the room was totally unrecognizable. There was a huge hole in the floor and I could look down directly into a pit of flames that I thought was the bathroom.
Brandon was lying on the floor in a nest of papers and files. Sandra was unconscious, lying half on her desk, her legs hanging dangerously close to the fiery abyss. I couldn’t see Wilson Shira anywhere in the room.
Harry was right behind me, rushing toward Brandon. “Be careful!” I shouted, above the noise of the flames. It was much hotter in there, even though I could look up through the roof to the sky. The heat rose up from the first floor in waves, and the wallpaper was starting to blister. The back window was gone, just shards of glass stuck in the frame.
As Harry ran to get the baby, I picked my way over to Sandra. I had to go very slowly because I wasn’t sure how strong the floor was, and I didn’t want to get too close to any of the furniture in case it was hot. By the time I reached her, Harry had picked up Brandon and gone back down the stairs.
Sandra still had a pulse. I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her, and then I undid the bow tie Gunter had so carefully tied for me, leaving its ends hanging around my neck, and ripped open my shirt collar. It was so hot up there I was sweating like crazy, and I was worried my hands would be too slick to hold on to Sandra.
I heard a distant siren but knew I couldn’t stay in that building a minute longer than I had to. I managed to get Sandra over my shoulder in the fireman’s carry and struggled back across the room, picking my way carefully again. By the time I made it to the top of the stairs, though, the fire had spread considerably.
Flames crackled around the narrow staircase as I slowly moved down, trying to balance Sandra’s weight over my shoulder, praying that the fire would come no closer, that it wouldn’t collapse the treads and risers under me. It was hard to breathe without getting a lung full of smoke, and the air burned on its way down my throat.
By the time I made it to the first floor, I was ready to collapse with exhaustion. The air was a little fresher down there as the updraft forced the fire and smoke out through the roof. I paused at the foot of the stairs, leaning back against a wall, and saw Gunter dragging Robert out the back door. They both seemed to be on fire, like I was watching some kind of horror movie.
The staircase began to collapse behind me, and I knew I had to get out. I took big, heaving, running steps toward the street, chased by a wall of flame rushing toward my back. The last thing I remember is getting to the front door where Haoa waited for me, feeling that utter sense of relief that I imagine only little brothers feel, when you know a big brother is there to take over for you.
COLORED PINWHEELS
I woke up flat on my back on the street, an oxygen mask on my face and an EMT leaning over me taking my blood pressure. Somebody was pounding a jackhammer inside my head, while the shrimp I’d so gleefully dipped in cocktail sauce and swallowed only a short while earlier seemed to be rising up in revolt inside my stomach. I pulled the mask off and immediately started a coughing jag that seemed to loosen everything inside my lungs and throat.
“Don’t worry,” the EMT said, as he tried to put the oxygen mask back on me. “You swallowed a lot of smoke in there, but we’re going to get you to the hospital and by tomorrow you’ll be just fine.”
I struggled to sit up and pinwheels of colored light went off behind my eyelids. My legs and arms felt so heavy I thought they might be pinned to the pavement. “My family,” I finally croaked out. “What happened to my parents and my brothers?”
“Hey, big fella, you just lie down there.” He tried to ease me back down flat, but I wouldn’t let him. “Tell me your name.”
I told him, and he pulled out his radio and made a call. “They’ve got an Al Kanapa’aka at Queens. Smoke inhalation. They’re admitting him for observation. Any other names?”
We went through the list. I kept coughing, every time I tried to get a name out, but the EMT was remarkably patient. My brothers and their wives hadn’t been hurt. Sandra Guarino was the worst, with a concussion, burns, maybe some internal injuries. Robert and Gunter had both been admitted for observation, with burns and smoke
