The Ohana Part 20

"May I sit down?" he asked.

"Do what you want." Karen put her hands on her hips and remained standing.

George sat in a brocade over-stuffed chair. "Live here alone?"

"Hey man, what is this?" Karen demanded.

"I asked you a question." George ran his hand on the arm of the rich brocade. "Pretty nice set-up you have here. Not bad for an unemployed ex-waitress."

"You ha.s.sling me?"

George lit a cigarette. "Suppose you let me ask the questions?"

"Don't you know who my man is?"

"I'm the one asking the questions, remember?" George took a long drag.

"You stupid or what?" Karen crossed her arms.

"Just answer my questions."

Karen frowned, "I think mo' betta I get my lawyer first."

"Lots of people are interested in how an unemployed lady can own a place like this and run around town in a red Thunderbird."

"That's n.o.body's business!" Karen bellowed, taking a step toward him, her hands now fisted.

"Except the IRS." George blew rings above his head. "You don't file taxes, do you?"

Karen blanched. "How do you know?"

"I know a lot of things," George smiled. "I know about your husband, for instance."

Karen slumped. "I was never married."

George took an old, yellowed picture out of his pocket. "Carmen Souza. Kohala. Her loving husband, Jack."

Karen dropped onto a sofa and put her head in her hands.

"You're good at covering your tracks."

"I was only fifteen when my parents made me marry him."

"You killed him." George took another drag from his cigarette.

"He beat me, kicked me," Karen pulled her shirt below her collarbone and showed him an ugly scar about six inches long. "This is what he did to me." She let the blouse snap back into place. "I got other scars. He liked carving me up. He used me as an ashtray sometimes."

"You killed him."

"You're fishing. You can't prove nothing." She fumbled for a cigarette from an open pack lying on the coffee table. Lighting it, she threw back her head and took long, deep drags.

"You shot him and burned his body in the cane fields."

"They say someone did." Karen fixed her eyes on him. "That was the rumor anyway. The body was badly burned. It was unrecognizable."

George shook his head. "A jury would call it murder."

"Lots of people hated him. I wasn't the only one." Karen sprang up and paced; the cigarette dangled between her fingers.

"You ran."

Karen glared at him. "Maybe he was the one who took off."

"What about your son?" George flicked his ashes into an ashtray with the words 'Las Vegas' and a picture of a pink Flamingo.

Karen stared. A muscle in her cheek jerked. "Leave him out of it."

"He'll eventually find out the truth."

"He thinks my sister is his mother."

George leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Look, I'll be square with you. I have nothing against you." George kept his eyes on her, a.n.a.lyzing every twitch of her muscles. "Your husband probably got what he deserved. I want Carlton Chun."

"Carlton?" Karen's eyes widened.

"I want something on him and I have a feeling you hold the key."

"Never." Karen lowered her lashes and frowned. She ground her cigarette into an ashtray, it broke and she smashed the stub down flat.

"Why not?" A flicker of a smile crossed his face. "He's just a john. Besides, you like broads."

Karen pushed the ashtray away and looked up at him. "Carlton's good to me. Yeah, he's weird, but he's always been straight with me."

"I hear your son is a lawyer." George blew lazy smoke rings now. "You must be very proud of him."

Karen's body sagged. "You wouldn't..."

"Why ruin the kid's life? You got the money to take care of yourself. You don't have to do this." George waved his hand.

"Maybe you don't understand. Carlton picked me up on Hotel Street. With my looks, I didn't do so well. He saved me."

"Why you?" George rested his chin on a fist.

"I may not be a beauty queen, but I got my talents," Karen smirked. "With my specialty, looks ain't the main thing."

George straightened up in his chair. "Tell me."

Karen looked away. For a moment she remained quiet. Then she said, "I guess I got enough to retire."

"So, what is your specialty?" George asked.

"What do you want?" Chun asked George when he came to his office. Carlton was sitting at his desk and George was at the door to his office surrounded by Carlton's muscle. They had already frisked him before opening the door to their boss' office.

"I think we should talk in private." George showed him the manila envelope in his hand.

Chun looked at his bodyguards. One of them nodded and Chun waved them away.

Chun pointed to George's manila envelope. "So, what's in there?"

George took out photographs from the envelope and laid them on Chun's desk. Chun's yellow skin turned gray. His beefy hands tore the pictures into shreds.

His opponent slammed his fist on his desk. "I could have you killed right now. Are you that stupid?"

"I have more copies."

Carlton Chun stood. "Where's the rest of the garbage?"

George gestured for him to sit back in his seat. "You must really think I'm stupid. Let's just say I left instructions that if anything were to happen to me, six drops will automatically be made to various hand-picked people. I don't think you want that."

Saliva flew out of Chun's mouth as he cursed. "What do you want?"

"I want you to leave me and my people alone," George replied.

"What are you talking about?" Chun's face was turned purple with rage.

George looked at his fingernails. "Let's just say I'm going into business for myself."

"You?" Chun snorted contemptuously. "You couldn't even do a mule job right."

"Of course not." George looked him in the eye. "I'm not the mule type."

"Yeah, so what type do you think you are, Yobo?"

George smiled. "The boss type."

Chun laughed. "That's a good one. I didn't know you were a comedian."

"So I've got your word?"

Chun shook his head. "You really are crazy."

George pushed the torn photographs toward his opponent. "Well?" His eyes never left Chun's face.

Chun leaned forward on his desk, palms flat down. "What do you plan to do?"

"None of your business," George answered.

Chun pounded his desk with a fist. "There needs to be rules, an agreement between us."

"I make the rules, Chun."

"You come out of nowhere, show me a few pictures and think you can grab my whole operation? Is that what you want, Yobo? Who do you think you're dealing with?"

Now it was George's turn to lean over Chun's desk. "I know what you did to your partner, Hung Wo Dang. Back then you called yourself Daniel Wong. You got a new ident.i.ty-so did Hung Wo. You ever wondered what happened to him after you ratted on him so you could take over his operation after he got deported back to China? Hung Wo went back to Shanghai, but he hasn't forgotten you. Neither has his son. Funny things happen through the years, Carlton. Hung Wo became a big man in the Tong Gangs. After China fell to Mao, he found his way back to Hong Kong. Only, they don't call him Hung Wo anymore. Hung Wo is the Big Dragon."

Chun looked like he was going to faint. "You're bluffing."

"I never bluff," George picked up a few pieces of the photographs and twirled them around with his finger. "You have no cards left to play. Quit while you have enough money to buy respectability. You're out of the drug trade."

Chun swept the remaining pieces of the photographs off his desk with his hand.

George smiled. "Pleasure doing business with you"

A few weeks later, George read in the Honolulu Star Bulletin about a fire in Pacific Heights. The only occupant in the home at the time of the fire was Karen Rodriguez. Her body was burned beyond recognition.

George sighed. He had warned her to leave the islands. Then, along with the newspaper, he put aside the momentary twinge of guilt he felt. If he worried about all the Karen Rodriguezes of the world he would never be able to build his empire.

And that was exactly what he intended to do.

Chapter Twenty-eight.

Han Chaul Roong felt his life slipping away. Death was a mystery to him. He hoped the end would come quickly and mercifully. He thought about the strange experience aboard the ship that brought him to Hawaii. He realized he had been given the gift of life and his path was to learn how to live without the center of his universe. Now he was dying. He wondered if there was anything beyond physical life. Fear of the unknown was as real to him as the pain from the cancer eating away at his body. He wanted the pain to end, but he was afraid.

He dreamed of dancing on Mount Jirisan. How young and hopeful he had been. Everything was possible then. Now he lived a world away from Mount Jirisan and was destined to die in a hospital bed without achieving his dreams. How sad to die in ignominy, his arms punctured with tubes and his frail body shrunken to the bone.

Preachers and priests visited the cancer ward where Chaul Roong had been admitted after he grew too ill to be taken care of at home. One day, a slight haole with gla.s.ses and thinning hair came to see him as he lay gasping for breath, his lungs on fire. The preacher held Chaul Roong's hand, bowed his head, and prayed. Suddenly, warmth flooded his body like hot liquid, relieving him of pain.

"What you did?" Han gasped, trying to lift his head.

"I asked the Lord, the Great Healer, to ease your pain through the blood of Jesus Christ," the preacher took his hand.

"Jesus?" Han asked, "the baby at Christmas?"

The man smiled. "He's the Son of G.o.d."

Han shook his head. "Can you tell me what you talking about?"

For the next hour, the preacher talked to Han, telling him although he was unable to reverse the mistakes of his past, he could be set free from its bite. He prayed with the preacher and a great peace washed over Han. He now understood what to expect. Fear left him. The pain came and went, but now he was able to tolerate it better. He was going to a better place.

The preacher came almost every day to help him focus on the positive by concentrating on the gifts G.o.d had given him in life rather than the disappointments. He talked to him and read the Bible. The lyrical prose and encouraging words calmed his restive soul.