in the big cities, Beijing, Shanghai. Prostitution’s tolerated there. You have a lot of men who go to the cities to work on construction, leaving their wives and families back home, and they need a little love.”
“So how do they get to the U.S.? Why not just stay in Beijing?”
Frank shrugged. “It’s the old story. The streets of America are paved in gold. Guys like Guo Yeng-Shen convince these kids that they can do better over here. They get fake social security numbers, and they think they’re working toward green cards. But when they’ve exhausted their usefulness they either disappear or get sent back home.”
The talk about illegal aliens reminded me of my conversation with Sergei, and I knew I couldn’t wait any longer to talk to Haoa. After I left Frank, I pulled out my cell phone and called my brother.
“Hey, brah, howzit?” he said.
“I need to talk to you. Can I meet you somewhere?”
“Sounds serious. What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you. Where are you now?”
“Out by the airport.” He gave me the name of a hotel. “I’m giving them a quote for landscaping. You want to meet me in half an hour? I’ll buy you lunch.”
I’d just walked into the hotel’s restaurant when he came in, wearing pressed khakis and a white polo shirt with his landscaping business’s logo embroidered on it. With his sunglasses on his head, he looked like the model of a prosperous island businessman.
He charmed the hostess, as he does with any woman from six to ninety-six, and she giggled as she seated us at a table overlooking the pool. “Look at that grass,” he said, pointing out the window. “Looks like crap, because they’re cutting it too short, and it burns.”
I ordered a burger, and Haoa a chicken Caesar salad. “Tatiana’s got me on a diet,” he grumbled.
I told the waiter to change my order to a chicken Caesar as well. “Couldn’t eat a burger in front of you.”
“You’re a prince among men. So what’s with all the urgency?”
“I was talking to Sergei on Friday night. I’m worried he might be hiring illegal aliens to work on your crews.”
I’ve known my brother all my life, and I can read him pretty well. Unless he’d turned into a masterful liar, this was all news to him. He groaned. “Please do not tell me that my lame-ass brother-in-law is involved in something shady. Tatiana thinks he’s gone totally straight.”
We both laughed. “Well, in a manner of speaking,” Haoa said.
“Was he in trouble in Alaska?”
The food arrived. Haoa looked at his salad and said, “I wish I’d ordered the burger.”
I waited.
“Yeah, Sergei’s a general fuckup. Nothing major, you understand. But every other week he was in some kind of trouble. Getting drunk at a bar. Beating up a guy who made a crack at him. Pissing in the street where a cop could see him. Receiving stolen goods. Possession with intent to distribute.”
“Whoa. And you hired this guy?”
“Tatiana swore up and down that she would keep him in line. Hell, I see the way she runs me and the kids. I figured she could do the same for him.” He shrugged. “Everybody needs a second chance, Kimo. Sergei’s a fun guy, Tatiana loves him, I thought I was doing a good deed.”
“We don’t actually know that he’s doing anything shady.”
Haoa frowned. “A leopard doesn’t change his spots.” He ate some lettuce and then said, “I’ve had my suspicions. We’ve been expanding like crazy the last six months, and it’s hard to hire good help for what I can afford to pay. But Sergei, it’s like he found this pipeline of guys. And they’re good workers, too.”
“Chinese?”
“All kinds. Chinese, Filipino, Indonesian.”
“You ever ask to see their papers?”
He shook his head. “That’s what I have him for.” He looked at me. “What am I gonna do, Kimo? I could lose my business over this. Hell, I could go to jail, couldn’t I? Who’ll take care of Tatiana and the kids?” He put his fork down on the table and it skittered away and fell to the floor. “Jesus, I’m fucked, aren’t I?”
“You’re not fucked yet. I was talking to a guy in Immigration today about something else. He’s a good guy. Let me ask him what you should do. You cooperate, maybe all you get is a fine.”
“Can you do that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Haoa. But you know I’ll do everything I can to protect you. After everything you’ve done for me…”
“Thanks, brah.” He shivered. “Shit, I’ve got to tell Tatiana about this.”
“Who did all your paperwork before you hired Sergei?”
“Had another guy, but he quit. Tatiana was helping me out when she suggested we bring in Sergei.”
“So get Tatiana to go in and look things over,” I said. “Before we go all crazy. Meantime, I’ll talk to my guy, but I won’t use any names yet. See what he says.”
“We’ve got to do this fast.” Haoa pushed the half-eaten salad away from him. “I’ve got no appetite anymore.”
“Poor guy,” I said. “You’ll waste away to nothing in a few days.”
“Get even skinnier on prison food,” he grumbled.
I looked at my watch. “I’ve got to get back to work.” I reached over and clasped his shoulder. “Don’t worry, brah. I’m going to take care of you.”
BURN VICTIM
Ray and I spent the rest of the afternoon wading through information online. I had no idea there were so many different names for male prostitutes-from man-whores to program boys. Men had been selling sex to other men since ancient Greece and Rome, beginning in the United States in the late 1600s.
Men who identified as straight and yet had sex with other men for money were called gay for pay. Hustlers were guys like Jimmy Ah Wong, Frankie, and Lolo, who solicited for sex on the street. Escorts, like Lucas, made contact with clients through personal ads, Web sites, and agencies. According to the research I found, most guys who sold sex supplemented their income in other ways: pornographic actor or model, go-go boy, or by performing in sex shows or on a Web site. That matched what I’d seen on MenSayHi. com. Another common trade was massage therapist, which connected to the businesses Norma Ching and Treasure Chen had been running.
When I got home, I found an e-mail from the law student, who needed to talk to me. Between him and Brian Izumigawa, I couldn’t seem to get rid of past tricks. “Where are you?” the student asked when I called his cell. “I need your help.”
“I’m at my apartment in Waikiki. You want me to meet you up at UH again?”
“No, I’ll come down there. Give me your address.”
“You want to come to my apartment?”
“Please. I have to show you something. In private.”
Reluctantly, I told him where I lived. It didn’t sound like he wanted to hook up, and I didn’t have the energy to argue with him. While I was cleaning up, Gunter called me. “I’m still at work, but I need to talk to you. Can I come over when my shift is done?”
What was up? Why were all these guys desperate to talk to me at my apartment? “Sure, Gunter. I’ll be here.”
About a half hour later, my doorbell rang. I looked out the peephole and recognized the South Asian guy. “Thank you, thank you,” he said, bursting into the apartment. “I didn’t know who else to talk to. I’m in terrible trouble.”
“Slow down,” I said, closing the door behind him. “Come sit down, and tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t,” he said, and he burst into tears.
Awkwardly, I put my arms around his shoulders and hugged him, and he cried against me. “It’s okay. You can tell me anything.”
