Change of Scene
A private plane off the coast of Maui.
Captain Flash, a wild gleam in his glazed eye—he just had the one—whooped with joy. Then he shouted, “Look at us, Mikey boy, fleeing Kona just ahead of the law. How cool is that?”
Flying with my demented pilot only inches above a coral reef, I held two trembling thumbs up. Then I lied. “Only totally.”
Captain Flash turned around to pet RockyDog. “Isn’t this a rush?”
“Ruff,” agreed the Rock, tail wagging like crazy.
Oh, it was a rush, all right. . .or was it just paranoia? My adrenaline tends to spike when I’m about to die and I can never tell the difference. With the Kona Vice Squad bearing down and no time to pack, I was traveling light, just the bare essentials: my German shepherd Rocky, a satchel full of cash, and another full of Kona Gold. The Allman Brothers were on KPOI-FM: Midnight Rider. Greg was singing how he wasn’t gonna let them catch him, no—seemed appropriate. Though freaked out, I found myself smiling. I admit, it was a weak smile, not my best. Not even close. I like to stay upbeat, but it had been a tough week. I’d lost my coffee farm, a fortune in weed, and my partner Lucky. And now it looked like my pilot pal might kill me as well. That’d bum even the most positive-minded pot grower out.
“I can’t believe peaceful Kona declared war on pakalolo. That place was a grower’s paradise.”
I groaned. “Tell me about it. I’m lucky to get out of there in time.”
“I’ve been watching it on the news.”
“So has the rest of the country. Which is a lot better than seeing it up close.”
“Well, it’s big news when a greenhouse full of pot blows up a police chopper.”
The news got even bigger when the Channel 5 ReActionNewsChopper went down. The Man, the National Guard, and the media over-reacted to the incident and turned the coffee farms of Kona into a war zone. At least the ones with pakalolo growing on them. So, most of them. Da buggas did the same thing in the rainforests, pulling thousands of pot plants. A bunch of them mine.
After a week of that, they went after the growers. Kona Vice had picked up my neighbor Greasy Joe earlier that morning. Knowing I might be next, I pictured massive narcs buzzed on Primo beer, reds, and violent tendencies rolling obesely down my driveway.
Bent on revenge, they’d crack their monster knuckles and grunt scary greetings. “Howzit, brah.”
I pictured your hero groaning an honest reply. “Not so great. Hey, you guys lost? Please say yes.”
“No.”
“That’s too bad. In that case, you got a warrant?”
Though huge in every other way, Hawaii’s cops weren’t big on paperwork.
“Warrant?” After a suitable chortle, they’d shake their fists. “We get da kine warrants right here, brah.”
Opposed to jail, and intolerant of pain, I quit daydreaming, called Flash and Ray on Maui, and started packing.
Five minutes later, I said, “Hop in the truck, Rocky, we’re outta here.”
We took a back route through a maze of coffee roads to the highway. Seeing no one on our tail, I made a brief stop at the cemetery to pay my respects to my partner. Lucky had died suddenly, and there’d been a lot left unsaid. So I took a moment to yell at him. My rant fell on deaf ears, as usual.
After venting a bit, I said, “Rest in peace, old buddy,” then called my furry companion. “Let’s go, boy, we’re moving to Maui.”
“Wuff.”
“Hey, where’d you dig up that bone?”
As we drove off, I noticed a mob of people in dark suits heading our way, shaking their fists, and screaming something. What was their problem? Ignoring the enraged mourners, we left Captain Cook and raced down King Kamehameha Highway at twenty miles an hour, as usual, stuck in a parade led by a 1945 military Jeep and its ancient Filipino driver. I pushed in a Stones tape, lit an escape-from-Kona joint, and tried to relax.
Next stop: a Young Brothers barge down at Kawaihai. No way I was leaving my new four-wheel-drive Ford Getaway at the farm. That would’ve meant hitchhiking to the airport. With the luck I’d been having lately? The Man would offer me a ride—and not to where I wanted to go.
Down at the docks, I said, “Put this truck on the next barge for Maui,” jumped in a taxi, and left everything else on my coffee farm behind with Gulicia, the world’s worst cook and the main reason for Lucky’s premature demise. Also, the downed Channel 5 ReActionNewsChopper. Thus my weak smile and the reason I’d yelled at Lucky’s corpse. It’s a long story.
Rocky, sticking his head between Captain Flash and me to get a better view of the reefs, got excited. An avid surfer and diver, he wanted to get in that water. Me? An avid surfer, diver, and pot grower, I wanted a fresh start on Maui. For some crazy reason, I found myself singing a line from Fred Neil’s classic Everybody’s Talkin’. I’d gotten to the part about skipping over the ocean like a stone when it hit me—stones didn’t float. Neither did crashed Cessnas.
That led to a question. “Bouncing off the water is safe, right, Flash?”
He was either practicing touch-and-goes or else losing control. No way to tell with Captain Flash.
“Not without pontoons. Why?”
“Whaddaya mean, why?”
“Ruff…” said Rocky. Then for emphasis, added, “Ruff, ruff, ruff!”
Flash reached over and gave Rocky some love. “You’re a good boy, aren’t ya, Rocky? What do ya think he’s saying?”
I threw my voice, had Rocky shout, “Jesus Christ, Flash, look out for that fishing boat.”
Pulling up at the last second, Captain Flash howled like a lunatic. “Wooo-wee, that was close. Thanks for the heads up, RockyBoy. You see their faces, Mikey?”
“Closely.”
“Bet we made ‘em shit their pants, huh?”
“Not just them.”
“Heh heh, good one.”
“Who’s joking?”
“Blame it on your weed, man. Between that, the bottle of tequila, and the missing eye, my depth perception is all messed up. Don’t ya love flying?”
“Oh yeah, it’s the greatest.”
Note to self: Never fly again.
“Ever done a barrel roll?” he asked, turning us upside down.
I saw my short life pass before my eyes. Maybe I should say something. “I bet the uptight authorities frown on this.”
“Hell, yeah,” said Captain Flash, a pirate at heart. “One reason I do it.”
Flash was one of Maui’s legion of smugglers, but worked as fish-spotter between scams to keep his skills sharp.
Approving my outlaw ways, he punched me in the arm. “Like you say, when it’s illegal and life-threatening, it’s always more fun.”
“Huh?”
“Exactly. Hey, what’s that smell?
As my ace pilot lined us up for a landing in Kahului, Rocky started barking again.
“What’s he saying this time?”
“He’s wondering if the wheels are in the wrong place.”
Captain Flash smacked his head. “Oops, heh heh, I forgot to finish that roll. Good thing Rocky came along.”
Thanks to precision panicking, he made a perfect landing. The guy was great at take-offs and landings. It was the part in between that always bothered me. Getting out, I kissed the ground, then made a note: Do not offer Captain Flash any weed before the next flight. With the clear perspective near-death provided, I thought about things from a philosophical point of view. And they weren’t so bad. All right, they sucked. I’d lost almost everything I’d worked for. Not to mention my partner. But I had my freedom, my life, my dog, and a bunch of cash. Also, some excellent stash. Thinking positive, that was the smart move.
Not feeling smart, I yelled, “Shit.”
My pilot buddy chuckled, then gave me a pep talk. “Don’t worry, Mikey. Working with Ray, you’ll bounce right back.”
I smiled, because I knew I would. I always did. Barely twenty-four, this would be far from the first time. And Maui would be my trampoline.