Time to Leave Maui
We watched an outrageous sunset from the deck in Kula and my roommate Flower asked, “Are you hungry?”
“You bet. What are we having?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Uh oh, that meant something to do with tofu. If it tasted anything like her other tofu-based meals (and there were a lot of them), there’d be no surprise. Unless it had flavor. Since tofu has no inherent flavor, Flower experimented with seasonings to create a faux-chicken vindaloo, or a Thanksgiving turkey, or spaghetti and meat balls. There were no bounds to her attempts to make tofu tasty. And yet, it always came out bland and tasteless.
Saying, “Don’t peek,” she put our plates on the table. “What do you think, Mikey?”
I was supposed to close my eyes, take a bite, and guess what exotic meal she’d made.
“Um, wow, that is really something.” In Flower’s defense, her tofu wasn’t bad. On the other hand, it wasn’t what you’d call good. It was, well, neutral.
“Isn’t it?”
“Almost like the real thing.”
“You really think so?”
“No one could tell the difference,” I said, unable to guess what it might be.
Though skilled at exotic dancing, tantric yoga, and holistic health, Flower wasn’t much in the kitchen. Usually I teased her, but with Flower still distraught about Ray (a flash flood had swept my partner and our life savings into the sea the week before), I gave her a break on the tofu.
“I wasn’t sure you liked lasagne.”
Lasagne? I humored Flower, “Who wouldn’t?”
“You’d be surprised.”
I wondered if Flower understood what surprise really meant.
“If you like the lasagne, just wait’ll you try the chocolate cake.”
“A reward for getting through the tofu surprise?”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Oops. . .did I think that out loud?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry. Hey, wait a second. You never make chocolate cake.”
“Of course not. It tastes too good to be healthy.”
“Lemme guess. . .the cake is made from tofu.”
I took her sigh for a yes and passed on the yummy-sounding desert. I helped her clean up, rolled an after-dinner doobie, and put on the evening news. Not much going on. A Syndicate hitman turned snitch led authorities into the cane fields near Pearl City. They showed a backhoe digging fifteen-feet down to collect three bodies.
According to Channel 5’s ReActionNews at 5 reporter Lani Luna, the victims had been shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, and burned.
“That’s seems excessive,” said Flower.
“I know. Who buries people fifteen-feet deep?”
After the lead stories, the scene shifted to Maui’s Kahului Airport where ReactionNews at 5 reporter Junior Watanabe interviewed Moses Lei, the odious head of Maui Vice. My eyes damn near popped out when Moses pointed at a helicopter.
“Dis is our new toy. Wit dis bugga, I’ll wipe out pakalolo on Maui.” Moses paused for a self-indulgent chuckle. “Da buggas growin’ da kine, dey gonna hate me.”
“We already do.”
“He can’t hear you shout through the TV,” said Flower.
“I’d shout at that monster in person, if he wouldn’t arrest me.”
Moses was saying, “After finding evidence of a massive pakalolo plantation on the North Shore, I realized ground patrols aren’t repressive enough; stronger action is necessary.”
“No it’s not.”
“There’s an interesting story behind your helicopter, isn’t there, Moses?” asked Junior.
“Dat’s right, brah. Da kine choppah was an anonymous donation.”
Anonymous, my ass. There was a CIA logo painted on the door. I suspected I knew the anonymous donor. I pictured a ramrod-straight madman in an Uncle Sam outfit. He was my dad and he was doffing his top hat at me.
“Many people think growing pakalolo is a victimless crime, Moses. That it has health benefits, and unlike alcohol and other drugs, it does not lead to crime.”
“Tell him, Junior.”
“Den how come we put potheads in jail?”
“That’s what I’m wondering. Their only crime is enjoying marijuana. It’s a Catch-22 situation. What do you say to that?”
“I say, who cares, brah? It’s against da law, dat’s all that matters.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Calm down, Mikey.”
Junior turned to his right and put the microphone in front of a guy with giant teeth, a mustache from ear-to-ear (half of it coming askew), and a creepy leer on his face. This time my eyes did pop out.
“Isn’t that the guy who has it in for you?” asked Flower.
“It sure is.”
“What’s he doing on Maui?”
“We’re about to find out.”
“With us this evening,” said Junior, “is the infamous free-lance investigative reporter Gerardo.”
“That guy’s a big phony, Flower. His real name is Gerry Rivers from the Bronx.”
A smarmy voice said, “Hello, Junior, it’s great to be here.”
“Thanks, Gerardo. Tell us, what brings an award-losing journalist like you to Maui?”
“Señor Bueno, that’s what.”
“For those who haven’t read your five-part series in the Cuzco Sol, tell us who Señor Bueno is.”
“He’s an international master criminal who terrorized South America until I exposed him.”
“And you think he’s now on Maui?”
“According to evidence we found in Mr. Sloth’s briefcase, he could be.”
“Who is Mr. Sloth?”
“A mysterious figure, Junior, with a hundred thousand dollars in his briefcase. I have no doubt the money was destined for leftist revolutionaries.”
“Un-fucking-believable.”
“Shh, Mikey, I want to hear this.”
“How does the money connect to Señor Bueno?”
“Along with the cash, Peruvian authorities found paperwork for a Maui property called Happy Valley. On it was Señor Bueno’s signature.” Gerardo waved a piece of paper. “I have a copy right here. No doubt Happy Valley is the base for his terrorist organization.”
I smacked my head.
Junior said, “I’ve read your astonishing articles, Gerardo. They’re quite entertaining, and if they’re to be believed, Señor Bueno has committed hundreds of crimes ranging from shooting opium into his eyeballs, to deviate sex with a lingerie-clad llama, to mass murder, grave-robbing, and necrophilia.”
“And those are just the ones we know about.”
Junior shuddered. “Any advice for Maui residents?”
“Until Moses and I track down this monster, stay close to your deceased loved ones.”
“Words to the wise,” said Junior. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”
“Just this: Look out, Señor Bueno, I’m back on your trail.”
Maybe it was time to leave Maui. . .
If you aren’t already a Senor Bueno fan, get started with a free copy of Breaking Good.
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