Moses Lei and Maui Vice
In today’s excerpt from my recently released Maui Wowee, Moses Lei and Maui Vice (great name for a bad blues group) visit Happy Valley. A decidedly uncool event. Especially when you’ve got 2,000 almost-ready-to-harvest marijuana plants hidden in the rainforest.
Here’s Moses during an interview, demonstrating what he’ll do when he finds Senor Bueno.
I told Rocky, “What a nightmare crop.”
He nodded.
“It’s been one goddamn thing after another.”
Another nod.
“Oh well, one more nightmare. After that, we’ll cruise straight to harvest. Nothing can go wrong now.”
Rocky didn’t comment, but a little voice asked, “Or could it?”
I considered the question and said, “Shut the hell up.”
When I got home fifteen minutes later, I saw Flower and Ray on the lanai. They weren’t smiling.
“You guys have a fight?”
“No,” said Ray. “Grab a beer and have a seat.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ll get to that.” Ray loved telling stories, but at his own pace. When I got back, he started. “Flower and I were having lunch out here when Deputy sounded the alarm.”
Flower added, “He used his Cujo voice, so we knew it wasn’t you.”
“That set off the rest of the pack,” said Ray. “When they kept barking, I knew we had a problem.”
I gave that some thought. It didn’t take long. With a dozen attack pets going apeshit, you’d have to be nuts to enter that gate. With no utilities, we had no meters to read. With a locked EMI gate blocking anyone without a key, only their workers could reach our gate, let alone enter it. We were secure from anyone—anyone without bolt-cutters, a strong reason, and enormous huevos. Also, weapons. That narrowed the field.
“Don’t tell me Moses Lei and Maui Vice was here.”
“They sure were.”
“I told you not to tell me that. What happened?”
Flower shook her head. “G.I. Joe here grabbed his rifle and started up the driveway. Could’ve gotten shot.”
“Take it easy, Flower,” said Ray, “I didn’t know it was them.”
“Well, I did.”
Ray shrugged. “You’ve got women’s intuition; I’ve got testosterone.” Unlike me, Ray was not a pacifist. “I figured a few shots would put the fear of God in whoever it was.”
I said, “Bullets, too.”
“I was thinking, you know, start with warning shots, see how it went.”
A quarter-mile of sweeping curves and lush foliage separated him from his quarry. And vice versa. This was the moment he’d trained us for. I was so glad I missed it. As Ray rushed uphill to confront the fools who’d trespassed, it occurred to him that no ordinary ripoffs would keep coming. Anyone sane would have left the moment Deputy Dog, hidden near the gate, went off. Deputy may have been invisible, but he wasn’t inaudible. And with the other dogs joining in, only the stone deaf, the well-armed, or the utterly fearless would keep coming.
And yet, instead of fearful shrieks receding in the distance, Ray heard angry grunting and incoherent challenges in deep bass voices—and they were getting closer.
“I figured drunken pig hunters or the Vice Squad.”
I stated the obvious. “Pig hunters have dogs of their own.”
“Exactly, and all I heard was our pack. That, and threats to shoot the dogs. Goddamn narcs have the shittiest attitudes.”
“Well, that’s why they’re narcs. Goes with the job.”
“I blame you.”
“What?”
“Because of pacifists like you they’re frustrated. Then they wanna take it out on people like me.”
“So, John Wayne, what did you do?”
“I did the sensible thing.”
“Put your hands up?”
Ray gave me a scornful look. “I put my rifle on full automatic.”
“You wiped out the vice squad?”
“Not exactly.”
“You missed? I thought you were a marksman.”
“I am, but I’m also a hero, which is why I faked pacifism.”
“Huh?”
Flower translated. “The hero tossed his rifle in the bushes.”
I gave Ray a look. “I’m not calling you a hypocrite, Ray, but you’d rather frustrate Maui Vice than take a fusillade of bullets?”
“I saved that honor for you.”
“You’re so thoughtful. So, no gunplay, and since you’re here, I’m gonna assume no arrests.”
“Not yet.”
“Aw, shit, let’s hear the rest.”
Ray got into full-storytelling mode, taking both roles.
First he was himself, saying, “You guys take a wrong turn?”
Then he was Moses, all fat and sweaty, grunting, “You wish, hippie.”
“You got that right.”
“Wat’s wit dese dogs, brah?”
“I train them for protection.”
“Are dey dangerous?”
“Like land sharks crossed with Komodo dragons.”
“How ‘bout restraining da buggas while we take a walk?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I don’t like your attitude.”
“That makes two of us.”
Moses scratched his head. “You don’t like your attitude?”
“You’re not too bright, are you?”
“Don’t have to be. We get da kine guns.”
“I see that, but do you have da kine warrant?”
“Who needs a warrant?”
“You do. This property is posted private.”
“So?”
“So, you’re trespassing. That’s against the law.”
“What are you, a lawyer?”
“Yes, I am, a vindictive one, and I love filing law suits.”
“You win dis time, but dis ain’t ovah, brah.”
Story over, Moses stomped off the lanai. Ray came back and said, “I left out a lot of grunting and violent threats, but that’s the gist of it.”
“Unbelievable. I split for three hours and look what happened.”
“What are you saying? You’d have shot them?”
“You think I’ve been training just for fun?”
Ray didn’t buy it. “In that case, it’s too bad you weren’t here.”
Oh no, it wasn’t. Though glad I missed the encounter, I was not pleased. With the story or our investment in rainforest real estate.
“Well, it’s been fun.”
“Hang on, Mikey, we’ve got a little time.”
“Really? How long does it take to get a warrant?”
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