When Storm got back to the cottage, she found a note from Hamlin, telling her he’d run to town for groceries. She wandered into the bedroom and tidied up while she thought about the meeting with Barstow and O’Reilly. She had the feeling they thought they could manipulate her, perhaps on the basis of their self-appointed celebrity status. In some ways, they’d struck her as juvenile. Game players, both of them, but of a different sort. One thing she’d hand Barstow was that he’d handled Goober gently, despite the young man’s hostility. He’d seen past the boy’s bravado to his need and disappointment.
Both O’Reilly and Barstow were showing signs of stress. They were in the middle of an enormous operation, complete with prima donna surfer personalities and media scrutiny. Throw in a bit of local antagonism, and it was probably hard for them to sort out the critical issues from the stuff they could let wash over them. On reflection, though the complaint about Buster DeSilva had seemed trivial, it was probably worth following up. She wouldn’t do anything major, but asking Brian if he had an arrest record wouldn’t take much effort.
Her own impression of DeSilva was that he was an eccentric, and possibly even an extremist who believed Hawaiians had been hoodwinked by Western concepts. But he hadn’t struck her as someone who would use violence. He’d seemed genuinely concerned about the ka‛ane and Nahoa’s package. On the other hand, he taught jujitsu, and possibly even incorporated lua into his martial arts instruction. She had no idea how his dojo operated, and perhaps this was something she should look into. In her experience, martial arts philosophies ran the gamut of inner control and “oneness with the universe,” to cinderblock-smashing, bokken-flailing aggression. If he were in the latter group, he might be more of a threat than she’d thought.
Storm walked into the kitchen, where she’d seen a phone book. Buster and Evangeline DeSilva lived on Kawailoa Drive, which was on the way from Laniakea to Haleiwa. She also looked up Warren Yee’s address. After all, he’d invited her over to talk about something he hadn’t seemed willing to go into at the dojo. His address was in Haleiwa, not far from the dojo where he and DeSilva taught.
Storm found Kawailoa Drive without any problem, but once she’d made a left onto it, the road headed back toward the mountains for miles and became more potholed as she went. By the time she got to the DeSilvas’ plain frame home, which was on a large plot of land and surrounded by mature mango, lychee, and avocado trees, she was glad the old VW had a stiff suspension.
The first person to answer her knock on the screen door was a baby in a one-piece blue romper. He’d crawled faster than most people could walk, and then stood up at the aluminum door. Storm figured he’d be running upright in about a month, when the parents, or grandparents, would really have their hands full. He beat on the rattling frame with both fists. The more noise he made, the wider his smile grew, and the louder his verbal greetings became. It was close to “hi,” but he couldn’t quite form the word yet. But he didn’t care.
A slender, longhaired girl in low-rise jeans and a cropped top ambled about two seconds behind the little guy.
“Sorry to bother you,” Storm said. “Your little brother is going to be fast, isn’t he?”
The girl, who appeared to be about fifteen, laughed. “Sparky’s my son. And yes, he’ll be fast. Like his father.”
Teen pregnancies were nothing unusual in the islands, but this girl looked like she should be learning to neck, instead of dealing with parenthood.
Storm kept her smile in place. “What’s his dad do?”
A flicker of sadness passed through the teen’s dark eyes. “He’s a surfer.”
Storm’s stomach twisted. She surmised the two were no longer together. “Well, your son is adorable. Is Buster DeSilva around?”
The girl picked up the baby, who squawked at having his noise curtailed. “My dad’s at the dojo. You know where that is?”
“Yes, thanks. Does he have classes this morning?”
“No, he goes in on Saturdays to tidy up.”
“Thanks, I’ll drive over.” Storm said. “Take care,” she added, and meant it.
When Storm reached Kamehameha Highway, she called Hamlin’s mobile phone.
“Where are you?” he asked.
She told him where she’d been and how she planned to head into Haleiwa. “Have you had breakfast?”
“No, and I’m starving.” He sounded a bit grumpy.
“I’ll meet you at Rosie’s Diner in an hour.”
“An hour?”
“Okay, a half hour. Go ahead and order. I’ll have huevos rancheros. With sour cream and extra guacamole.”
“Working up an appetite?”
“Yeah, aren’t you?” Storm hung up. She was sorry to keep him waiting, but she’d have to make it up to him later.
Storm pulled up in front of Warren Yee’s house. A rusting pickup and a van, even more beat up than Sunny’s, sat in the carport. The pickup looked familiar, and she thought she’d seen it in the dojo’s parking lot.
Warren answered the door. “Hey, I thought you’d be getting ready to go to the surf contest.”
“I am, but there’s still time. You have a few minutes?”
“Come on in.” He held the door open for her and led her into the kitchen. Another young man sat at the table, drinking a long-neck.
“This is my roommate, Justin. Justin, this is Storm.”
Justin jumped up from where he’d been reading the paper and almost knocked over his beer. “Hey.” He extended his hand and shook hers enthusiastically. “Want a beer? I went out for dawn patrol and worked up a thirst.”
“No, thanks.”
“How about some orange juice?” Warren didn’t wait for an answer. He handed her a glass.
“Thanks. I wondered if you’d mind if I asked you a few more questions.” She glanced at Justin.
“No problem. Justin knew Ken Matsumoto, too. We all worked out together.” Warren gestured to the table. “Have a seat.”
Storm sat down across from Justin. This was better than she’d hoped; she’d have two points of view. “The other day, you said Ken was a generous guy. Did you mean with his money?”
“You said Ken was generous?” Justin looked in surprise at Warren.
Warren shrugged. “He was if it got him somewhere.”
“Like if it got him exclusive use of a break.” Justin’s voice was derisive. He met Storm’s surprised glance. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m as sorry as the next guy that Ken bought the farm, but I did think he was headed for a pounding.”
“Did someone threaten him?” Storm asked.
“About a dozen someones,” Justin said.
“I didn’t want to talk about it at work,” Warren explained. “We try to keep only positive energy in the dojo. No anger or resentment. It’s counterproductive to developing our mental focus and our search for self-knowledge.” He swirled his orange juice and sighed. “I’m trying to be less negative in my life.”
Justin wasn’t. He rolled his eyes, stretched his legs out, and leaned back in his chair. “Ken was an asshole. He paid these guys, the Blue Shorts, to keep certain breaks clear. Especially if the conditions were good.”
“Did Buster know this?” Storm asked.
Warren looked down at his feet. “Yeah, I think so. He looked disappointed one day, and wouldn’t talk about what was bothering him.” He looked at Storm. “That’s how he deals with problems, though. He considers all aspects before he’ll talk about the solution.”
“Buster wasn’t the only one who was upset,” Justin said. “Half the surfing population was pissed. Goober tried to get him blacklisted from contests.” He looked at Warren. “You saved Ken from getting thrashed, remember?”
“Maybe. I don’t know what that group would have done.”
“Who?” Storm asked.
“Bunch of local guys. Even Gabe Watson had had enough, and he’s part of the Blue Shorts.”
“Yeah, Gabe keeps a careful eye on public opinion,” Justin added.
“So Ken wasn’t such a popular guy,” Storm said. “What about Nahoa?”
“Oh, he was great,” Justin said. “Everyone’s devastated at what happened.”
“Wait a sec.” Warren looked at his roommate. “Nahoa wasn’t any saint, you know.”
Justin took a swallow from his beer. “Hey, that’s water over the dam.”
Warren paused, then seemed to reach a decision. “Not for everyone. Sometimes a bad decision is something you live with forever.”
“Come on, she was sneaking him in her bedroom window,” Justin said.
“But she was fifteen.”
Storm felt her hands go cold. She had a very bad feeling about this. “What happened?”
Warren examined the surface of his orange juice. “Well, Nahoa messed around.”
“I see.” Storm nodded, not sure she wanted to hear the rest. “How long ago was this?”
“At least a year and a half,” Justin said, as if it were over and done with.
Right, Storm thought. And the kid is not quite a year old. “Buster’s daughter?” It wasn’t really a question.
“Yeah, her name’s Evie.”
“Shit.” Storm dropped into a chair at the table.
“Yeah,” said Warren. “But Nahoa had a good heart.”
“He really did,” added Justin.
Storm gulped down her orange juice without asking about the state of DeSilva’s heart.