sputtered. The Blazer backed up and charged again, giant wheels churning away in four-wheel drive. Another crash, the Blazer pushing the Pontiac backward, then a scraping sound as the car broke through the guardrail. It tumbled end over end, eerily silent, and then there was a flash of flame and an explosion deep from the dark valley below.
The Blazer backed up, its rooftop lights a cold, malevolent glare. Lassiter could see two shapes in the front, a huge man behind the wheel, a smaller figure next to him, but he could not make out their faces. Had they seen him? They were looking in his direction.
Lassiter buried his head in the cold gravel, shame sweeping over him. Total helplessness, total humiliation. He had been unprepared. Like Captain Cook who did not know the people or the land. So now, Lassiter lay there, his grief mixed with rage, his guilt overwhelming him. He tried to block it out with a heroic fantasy — Jake Lassiter, the avenger, springs at them, pulls them from the truck, throttles them to death with his bare hands. He pushed the fantasy away. Temporary insanity, a brief moment of wanting to die with Tubby. Then reality. There was nothing he could do, but that only added to the shame. His head stayed buried. The truck pulled slowly away and headed down the mountain, its powerful engine throbbing in the night.
CHAPTER 27
“Jake, is that you? Thank God you’re alive.” It was Lila’s voice, no mistaking it, the call to the Makawao Inn coming fifteen minutes after he hung up with Maui police. “I’m alive,” he said.
“I heard on the radio, an accident on Crater Road, a car over a pali. They only said the car was rented to a tourist from Miami, wouldn’t give the name until next of kin are notified. I was afraid it was you.”
“That so?” His voice was cold. “Jake.”
“It wasn’t an accident.”
“I… I was afraid of that. The road isn’t dangerous if you stay close to the mauka side, toward the mountain. The makai side, toward the sea, has guardrails. So when I heard — “
“Thanks, Lila, but I’ll call Triple A if I need some driving tips.”
She was silent and Lassiter thought he could hear the pounding of surf in the background, but maybe it was just the connection. “Jake, I’m sorry. I know you’re upset. What more can I say?”
“You can explain why you set us up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The message you left here, to meet you at the crater.”
“I left no message, Jake. A couple of boardheads in Paia said you were looking for me. Then I heard the radio, an accident involving someone from Miami, and I knew you’d be in danger here, so I naturally thought it was you. You have to believe me.”
“Have to? Why? Because you’re Li’a, Goddess of Desire — or is it Goddess of Death?”
She took a breath, then asked, “What happened last night?”
“What happened was a Chevy Blazer rigged like a battle cruiser played chicken with us on a cliff.”
Lila spoke in a whisper. “That’s Keaka’s truck.”
“I figured, and that’s what I told the cops.”
“The cops?”
“Yeah. Meanwhile, my friend tossed me out of the car, so I’m here with a scraped knee and he’s burned to a crisp. I walked most of the way down the mountain. Finally a farmer picked me up before dawn. I called the Maui police, talked to a captain who told me he’d put homicide on it and to stay put till he gets here to take a statement.”
“A captain? Who?”
“Hawaiian name. Kale-ha-ha or something.”
“Kalehauwehe.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Lila was quiet and Lassiter tried to decipher the silence. Then, betraying no emotion, Lila asked, “And he knows where you are.”
“Of course he does.” Lassiter was growing impatient. “Like I said, he’s coming up here. Besides, I told him where I was staying the first day I got here.”
She let out a little laugh, but there was no amusement in her voice. “That’s how they knew to leave the message. Mikala must have been surprised to hear from you this morning. Get out of Makawao. Now!”
“Forget it. I’m through taking travel advice from you. Besides, I seem to have lost my car.”
“Jake, listen to me. Mikala Kalehauwehe is Keaka’s cousin. They’re the largest growers of marijuana on Maui. They’re ruthless, and Keaka’s flipping out on his kill-the- haoles crap. When I left him, he was planning to kill the robber who took the bonds.”
“Burglar,” Jake corrected her listlessly. “That’d be Marlin.”
“Jake, wake up. You’re in shock or something from last night. You’re in danger.”
He remembered her note. Do not follow me. It is dangerous.
“Jake, what can I tell you to make you understand? In Miami, before the race, Keaka killed someone, a coke smuggler we were going to do business with, strangled him with his bare hands, do you understand?”
“Yeah, he killed a doper, it happens all the time.” As Lassiter was saying it, a thought crept into his head, a druggie in Miami… strangled. “What smuggler?” he asked.
“I don’t know his name. He wanted to get a few keys into Miami, a small deal really. Brought it from Bogota to Bimini, was going to fill one of Keaka’s old boards with it. They’d re-seal the board, glass it over, and Keaka would bring it into the States by seaplane after the race.”
“Why’d Keaka kill him?”
“Because the Cuban double-crossed him.”
Oh no. “What Cuban?” Lassiter asked.
“The smuggler. Keaka got a call from Mikala, who had set it up. Some guy in the DEA in Miami who used to fly with Mikala in Vietnam warned him the Cuban was a snitch. Keaka was being set up — customs, DEA, everybody would be waiting to rip open the board. So Keaka strangled the snitch and hung him in a swamp by his gold chain.”
Jake Lassiter was coming awake, the fog clearing. “Where are you, Lila? Can you lead me to Keaka?”
“Jake, what are you talking about? Just get out of there. Get a cab if there’s one in that town. Anything… borrow a car, steal one, just get off the mountain. Mikala is probably on his way to Makawao right now. Do you understand? Meet me in Kihei at Paradise Fruit. Ask anybody for directions to the fruit stand. I’ll be there in an hour.”
Maybe it was the wild West character of the town that made him do it, Jake Lassiter thought. Tumbleweed blowing down the street, dust covering the sidewalks, ranchers and farmers tending to business in their quiet way, cowboy hats pulled down, sheepskin collars turned up. In the upcountry town of Makawao, Jacob Lassiter, Esq., attorney-at-law — admitted to practice by the Florida Supreme Court, three federal district courts, plus the United States Supreme Court — became a car thief. Or, more accurately, a pickup truck thief.
There were no taxis in town, but a pickup truck with its engine running — a sooty gray Mitsubishi packed with sweet Kula onions — was parked in front of the Upcountry General Store. While the truck’s owner was buying a fifty-pound bag of fertilizer, Lassiter hightailed it down the mountain past herds of Angus, across the Central Valley, through towering stalks of sugarcane, and into the south shore town of Kihei.
Paradise Fruit sits across the street from the Pacific Ocean on Kihei Road, an unsightly stretch of condos and strip shopping centers built by Californians who strive to make Maui look like Burbank. Lila Summers wasn’t there. Lassiter ordered a banana smoothie, a rich drink made with sweet stubby bananas, fresh pineapple, and orange juice.
The smoothie finished and still no Lila.
Maybe being set up again, he thought. Maybe Keaka would come crashing through the plywood walls of the
