It is just like life that you think you are solving one problem and three surface. The one you started out on morphs into something that is not a problem. The three that come up seem improbable and insolvable.

I didn’t expect a spirit dog to guide me. I didn’t expect to find myself between two worlds.

Annie may have hired me to help her through a bad situation but her situation is not problematic in this between worlds realm.

But where is the reality here…and does it matter? Will I suddenly pop out? 16 months ago

I offered Makiki some lobster. She sniffed it delicately and that was all. Whatever nurturance she needed, it didn’t come from food she ate, that’s for sure.

The two Brads and Annie were having an avid conversation about the Tiki Bar. Annie wanted some thatch over a sitting area. The Brads were discussing the viability of trying to save a thatch roof in the event of a wave or lava. They were of the same mind that thatch would be abandoned.

“It gets nasty soon enough as it is”, one said.

“I never like thatch on account of rats,” the other said.

“If you use fake thatch at least the mold won’t grow right away in it.”

“Bettah use real, and take it down after the rains quit. You know that house down Keaukaha, gotta talk to Virgil and see what he used there. Been up two three years now, still looking’ good.”

“Two Three dry years, brah. Wait till the rains stop this year. You see da black kine growin’ up there fo’ sure.”

It was sounding like these guys weren’t much into thatch. 17 months ago

I snorted water from my nose as I pumped my arms all the while having my hand held by…Makiki? Dogs do not have hands. She paddled over to me and began licking my face and putting her big paws on me and talking in that dog way that is not barking but sounds like shouting. Doggie enthusiasm.

I felt some water droplets on my skin and the sun was still shining. In the automatic way I do, I turned my back on the sun and looked for the rainbow.

But, there was no rainbow. The sun was covered nearly instantaneously by clouds and the rain began to pelt me. Makiki scrambled out of the pond as did I, and we ran for a tarp someone had already put up at the barbecue. Out over the ocean a flare of lightning sparked on the horizon like a signal from another planet. Thunder rolled over us like a noisy beach ball pummeling our ear drums. Makiki ran around us in circles.

The woman with the Medusa curls held out a swatch of banana leaf with a chunk of lobster in a nest of fruit and seaweed bits sprinkled with macadamia nut bits. I emptied it into my mouth like an oyster from a shell. It was as magical in my mouth as the blue light fish had been in the water.

There was more thunder as if in applause for the food prep. 17 months ago

The outside of my glass was covered with water drops that were getting larger and larger. I caught one on the end of my finger. It grew there too, spreading into a puddle and then coming up over my ankles. I dipped my fingers in the glass and the blue twinkling lights were on them when I pulled my fingers out.

Droplets with shimmery lights fell from my hands into the pond at my feet, and spread out with a sound a little like tinkling ice. It was up to my knees.

Cautiously I opened my arms, drink still in hand. It was time for a swim. A lily pad turned out to be adequate support for my drink. No one at the picnic seemed to be tuned in to my private pond, so I flung my clothes such as they were off to the shore, where they landed nicely on a branch poking up out of the lava. I dove in to the silkiest water, only slightly warmer than the air around me.

My eyes open under the water, I could see as perfectly as if I was wearing goggles. The blue lights were the sides of fishes each about as long as my hand, swimming in schools amongst tall grasses shooting up from the bottom of the pond. A band of seahorses holding onto the grasses with their curly tails waved in the gentle current.

Overhead, the sun streamed in higher in the sky than I had thought. I turned over on my back and floated, arms outstretched, until a hand connected with one of my hands. 17 months ago

Sometimes the best thing to do in any circumstances is simply to accept it. Ask no questions. Walk in like it was water.

The lobsters were out of the pot and cut down the middle. With no claws to break open, the body sections were being cut into mouth sized pieces and tossed into a bowl that had come from who knows where, in which there was a pool of what looked and smelled like lilikoi butter, sans sweetener. The lobster kept being tossed into the bowl, until it mounded up like a little Mauna Loa, nicely peaking over the bowl rim. The bowl was about the size of the one I use for making stuffing. That was a lot of lobster.

Next came the opakapaka. Seared and being deboned in front of my face. Laid out on banana leaves, slices of mango and papaya all along side of it, a pile of macadamia nuts on the side.

And beside it, a pile of breadfruit salad on another banana leaf, mingled with greens of various sorts, including green papaya, green onion, green cilantro… someone had been squeezing limes too.

Annie walked over to me with a tray of tiki mugs with orchids teetering on the rims.

“what have we here?” I asked, and she smiled like a PanAm hostess and invited me to sip and guess. Right away it was clear there was a base of green coconut water in there, and some island rum and lilikoi. Foamy pineapple. And floating in there, thin slices of starfruit, almost two dimensional in their flimsiness yet still keeping their shape. And something that flickered… it was almost ominous, a blue light shimmering in the glass. 17 months ago

Where was I now, between worlds or in that other place altogether? What allowed Makiki to wander as if there was no border between them? Or was the presence of Makiki a sign to me that I was not “home” in my usual world?

When I had stepped through the doors at Waimea for my acupuncture session, that had seemed to be stepping back into the world as I had known it previously.

Were the two worlds now swirling together, becoming mixed on a more permanent basis? In order to accept what was now my world, and not feel crazy, I needed to be able to describe the paradigm shift. I needed to have it make sense to me. It was easy to start with a sense of the visitation of the ancestors, the private tsunami. The startling sense of re-meeting Hope in a slightly altered form, a form she had taken upon joining the ancestors, or a form she had assumed to meet up with me – this is where it began to be too woo woo for my somewhat scientific mind. But if I was going to reject bits and pieces of my experience for reasons then what was I to make of this present? I was almost upon the feast at the beach, clearly attended by people as impossibly real as Hope had been. In fact, she was more plausible than what was in front of my face. 18 months ago

Rolando asked that question. I did not want to enter a dialogue about what had gone awry between us to turn the tenderness of love into sour milk. It felt better to let the process of decay finish itself off, to let whatever had become of what we had nurtured go to dust.

Even the sky is jealous sometimes I suggested. I could hear the song playing whether in my head or as from an iTune playing on someone else’s cell phone.

“Will you be joining us for lobster?” I wondered.

“I brought opakapaka” he said, and I noticed the bag of ice he was carrying.

As we approached the fire pit, the two Brads and Annie were setting up a table with tapa cloth on top, and folding bamboo stools all around. I went to gather some more fruit, my eyes drawn to the ocean now shaded somewhere along the spectrum of sapphire and lapis lazuli, silver wave tops beckoning. Then out just a short ways, a whale lifted out, body arching above the waves, water pouring off its dorsal fin in a cascade before it dropped back into the ocean, flukes behind as it dove down. Mysticeti. I love its name and its ways. Kohola in Hawaiian. 18 months ago

I felt my soul shrinking. Makiki ran ahead and bounced up in front of my ex-husband. This dog seemed to like everyone.

He waved to me, and as we approached each other I saw he was holding out a pikake lei. The fragrance of the lei surrounded us like the steam from a volcanic vent. He put the lei around me and touched foreheads in the ha, a greeting between friends.

As I brought my hands forward they were holding a maile lei, and I placed it on him. Without intent or thought we were being brought together in a ceremony of ho’oponopono.

Then he coughed. It was like he was choking. He leaned away and walked to the edge of the lava pillow on which we were standing. He coughed and spit, and something that looked like a Jackson’s chameleon spewed out onto the black ground, shook its horn and plodded off towards the greenery.

“It seems the bad thoughts I carried around for you were not all that malevolent,” he smiled, and gagged again. It wasn’t over.

I told myself it was the sight of him barfing up reptiles that upset my stomach, but then I was spitting out cockroaches. Big, nasty cockroaches. “I am so sorry,” I said in all honesty, tears making little rivulets down my face. I did feel sorry. Feeling sorry for myself for carrying bad feelings in my gut for years, sorry for him for the reptiles, sorry for all I had done and he had done to bring misery to one another in the wake of our love. How does love decay and turn into something opposite?

As if he heard my question, he said “We humans do not adapt well to the process of moving on. Your otherness, my otherness, they needed room to expand and as we did that, we made rips in the sacred fabric we had woven between us. I blamed you and you blamed me. Is this what happened? I think it is.”

I don’t believe I had ever heard Rolando be so conciliatory, and I instantly banished that thought and replaced it with admiration for his perception, and smiled in agreement, feeling suddenly shy and no longer as if my soul was in decay. 18 months ago

As I ran in the direction of the three walking across the sun beaten black lava shimmering heat from the sunlight caused their forms to wave about like candle flames. Suddenly there was a long deep and fairly wide crack in front of me. Increasing my stride I leapt across and skidded slightly on black sandy bits of lava peppering the surface on the other side.

Makiki jumped across with me. As we drew closer, it became apparent that it was just one person not three. As I was questioning how I had mistaken one person for three specific people, I recognized the person I was sprinting toward. I was running to meet up with my ex-husband as quickly as my feet and legs would carry me.

I slowed down, but continued in his direction. Makiki gave me a look and I returned it with a look of my own, meant to convey the full thought that I held her responsible in part for a trick that was causing me to rendezvous with one of my least favorite people. What if I simply turned back for lobster on the beach? 18 months ago

This particular image comes unbidden at times. When I am embarking on a course that seems fraught with the possibility of failure, it often appears to me. It is The Fool from the Rider-Waite Tarot deck.

When you pass this image through a parental filter, often you will hear cautionary words, and disapproval. At least I do.

When I think back over my life, over thousands of decisions large and small, instances where this image invaded my thoughts include leaving the police force to start up my private investigator business and buying the hot tub for my condo lanai.

Let me describe the image for a moment – better yet, I will show it to you and comment upon it. The most evident aspect of the card is that the Fool seems about to step over a precipice. We assume it is going to be bad. The expression on the Fool’s face is one of delirious delight at the scent of the flower in his hand. The yipping dog below has torn at his garment in an effort to get him to pay attention.

But the Fool is on a unique journey that appears perilous only because the perceiver fears the step into the unknown. There is a clue in the pentacles on the Fool’s clothing that material issues will not be a factor. The Fool is an adult with the spirit of a child.

When the Fool image appears to me, I take it to be a sign that this is a stepping stone in the deeper journey, the mystic one, and every moment would best be absorbed with all the senses.

So I ran to meet the crowd from the bar. 18 months ago

As yet they were too far away to recognize. I wanted one of them to be Hope.

It felt like this was a dream state and as such, in the way of lucid dreaming, it should go any way I ordered it to go.

That thought didn’t carry any freight at all. The three approaching were the ones I had left behind at the bar – my client and old friend Annie, and Walter and Brad of the interchangeable identities. One of them was supposed to be Annie’s nemesis and the other her trusted business associate.

I thought about the two lobsters and the heavenly aromas coming from the pot on the fire.

If you were ever in third grade and your best friend suddenly became the best friend of your least favorite person, and you remember that feeling, then you know the feeling I was nurturing as I watched the trio approach.

There is a value in childishness and in childish thoughts, an uncensored version of what and who we are. If we are to be true to our selves, might as well let the child make a decision now and then. But maybe that childish voice goes along with making decisions based on impressions.

I could feel an epiphany tickling the corners of my brain. Maybe I didn’t have to make any decisions. Maybe I was not in charge. 18 months ago

She shook her hair out and medusa like curls sprung from her head like so many eels. She wore anklets of twisted ti leaves. The remainder of her attire was a thoroughly drenched sarong she removed, wrung out, then tied back around herself, and a puka shell necklace with a sunrise shell pendant.

“Have you seen Faith?” That was the first thing I said to her.

She wrapped her arms around me in a wet embrace and smoothed the back of her hand across my brow. “All in good time,” she whispered, resting her forehead against mine.

Then she called loudly across to our chef. “Keaka! Eia au, Eia O’e!”

He held a hand high in the air, and she ran barefoot across the sand and rock and they stood together with foreheads touching, exchanging ha and sharing secrets. A wind blew up and drew a wreath of smoke from the fire around their ankles, that wound its way up their forms before it lifted away overhead, lofty smoke ring keeping its form as it moved out over the water, then settled into the ocean out beyond the reef. 18 months ago

He removed the lobsters from the pot with some tongs that I instantly envied. They were heavy duty with a nice balance and some length for use with a pit fire. He brought out a knife with a toothy blade and carved up the breadfruit, then dropped the pieces into the lobster water.

The same knife lifted the top off a green coconut that he balanced in a nest of lava stones. He deftly removed the skin and seeds from the green papaya and cut the fruit into short strings. After draining the breadfruit he tossed chopped ginger and some leaves into the pot and poured in the coconut milk with the green papaya.

A heavenly aroma curled about like a genie rising out of the pot. “Curry leaves,” he said, and picked up the lobsters and sliced them down the middle.

Hawaiian lobsters have no big claws, but their body meat is tender and sweet.

It was right then that Makiki jumped up and went running down to the ocean where a woman was emerging from the water like a tired mermaid lifting herself onto the rocks. The way out there looked treacherous and painful, with waves slapping hard enough against the rocks to make splashes fountaining into the air. 18 months ago

Makiki trotted out in front. At the car she stopped and endearingly turned only her head in our direction, tail wagging as she waited to be let in, showing an eagerness she hadn’t exhibited as to my old four wheel drive.

As if in days gone by, our driver opened the passenger door and closed it softly behind me as I settled in. Once in the car he said the first words he had spoken since offering me a ride. “Let’s go!” Seat belts of a semi rigid nature lifted and fastened themselves over us and the car purred to life in the most feline way, not with a noise as much as a light vibration.

I asked where we were going and he said that is what we all want to know. “Those who speak with authority on the subject are seldom correct,” he added.

So it was going to be a philosophical journey. “For now let’s head down the Red Road. Is that OK?” he asked. “It seemed like you needed to clear your head.”

We continued on in silence just as we had walked to the car. When I tried opening conversation he shook his head and said “not now, not yet.” I wondered if there was any purpose to our drive, and he reiterated that it seemed I needed to clear my head.

And yes as we drove along the ocean, under trees and past misty vistas where the waves shot high as they crashed against the black lava, the stupor that had descended at the bar began to dissipate.

When I asked why he had stopped for us, he told me it was on account of the dog. In response, Makiki licked his ear, and he patted her head. “I come to this place for its changelessness,” he began. “As new as this land is, all people can do to it is cut some trails and roads, and put up random simple houses our Pele may eat for lunch any day. The land a hundred years ago looked this way, and a hundred years from now the shape may have changed, but it will be in feeling just as it is today. The fresh winds blow through, the storms tear away the old vegetation, and the song of the ocean is pure.”

There was a turn out and he stopped. The doors opened themselves, and we all spilled out under some palms, where an ironwood had deposited a thick carpet of its soft pine-needle like brown minuscule branches. There was a faint hint of limu in the air. A very large spiny Hawaiian lobster crawled onto a wet rock in front of us. Makiki bounded over and warily sniffed at its antennae.

“Dinner seems to be offering itself to us,” my nameless escort remarked. “See that breadfruit hanging down over there? You want to get that?”

He came back from the car with a cauldron and a three gallon container of water. When I went for the breadfruit, I also found some edible ginger and turmeric, a couple of ripe papayas plus I picked a fat green papaya just in case. The driver now chef had put together a fire pit of lava rock and already had flames going in wood pieces he had gathered. I have no idea where the grill came from he set over the fire, nor how we had been blessed with not just one but two lobsters. 18 months ago

The day was not all that hot that I should be feeling like lying down. I watched as Makiki brought the car to its knees, four tail pipes and everything. The red car made a U turn instead of roaring out of sight and pulled to the side of the road. Had it been roaring? It should have been. I couldn’t remember.

The driver got out and gave Makiki a short rub behind the ears before heading our way.

This should be interesting. First friend I’d seen Makiki make. How does a spirit dog decide who to befriend? This friend was wearing a big oyster shell with a shiny dark pearl growing off it, on an intricately tied coconut string strand, kind of unusual for a male. His shorts looked like tapa cloth. He smiled and there was a jewel in his left front tooth, a diamond maybe or a very light sapphire. His teeth were white as the full moon and his face gentle as a cloud in the afternoon sky.

He leaned in and said he’d like it if I went for a ride with him. Everyone seemed preoccupied at the bar, and not at all interested in Makiki’s friend.

I decided I’d like to go for a ride. 18 months ago

She was trying to help someone with an identity theft issue and had traced the thief to my island. Naturally she turned to me, aghast that no one in a position of law enforcement power was willing to do anything. I listened to her story, and had her re-tell me certain parts of it.

I tried to explain how it is here, how non-punitive. As the story kept unfolding, it seemed to me that the issues were not about the thief – he had no idea who her friend was. And she had not lost money, only the time she had spent involving her friends in uncovering the fraud and unmasking the offender. All this because her bank wouldn’t bother to chase after him either. Because the bank wasn’t out the money either – they were insured.

Beside me at the bar, on the other side from the swapped name guys, someone was talking about his work in safety and loss prevention on construction sites. He was saying that all the fatalities he had known of could have been prevented.

Annie picked up my empty drink glass and carried it back around the bar.

Everything about the afternoon was feeling slippery like leaves decaying on concrete after the rain. Maybe the alcohol level in the Eclipse had been over my limit. I was feeling useless and overheated, but when I began to stand up to do something about it, Makiki jumped up and put her feet in my lap. There was nothing to be done but sit at the bar and order another drink.

I asked for soda. Annie handed me a tiki mug with a lot of ice and soda. I put the straw in my mouth just as Makiki jumped away from my lap and took off toward the street, chasing after a squat red car with a glass roof and four exhaust pipes. 18 months ago

“getting ready to go somewhere?” I asked.

When she looked bewildered I gave the feet another light tap. She looked down at her feet and laughed. “Campy addition to my barwear. Sometimes I get an urge to not fit in. Wonder what that’s about.”

I instantly thought of certain things I love, certain girlie things like shimmery tutus dusted with glitter, cream colored Mercedes Benz convertible sports cars with cinnamon colored piping – unislandy stuff that is an uncertain and vague fit with my life style. Ninety percent of the time here is exactly where I want to be, and then there is Mardi Gras in New Orleans or a walk in the fog along Lyon Street in San Francisco followed by an Irish coffee, hands in fingerless gloves. But I rarely think of those things when sitting in a bamboo bar on a black sand beach. 19 months ago

I elected to say nothing for the moment. The original Brad had some money in his wallet- a random mix of paper co-mingled as if already at the party. I laid a couple of twenties on the bartop and said “looks like it’s Mai Tai time.”

Mentally I whistled for the spirit dog who then appeared and settled down at my feet. A hand lettered red and black sign on the other side of the bar caught my eye and I ordered a Maori Eclipse. It turned out to be very much like a Manahattan with lots of muddled fruit, mainly tangerine segments and cherries in a delectable bourbon concoction with vermouth and bitters, served in a mug shaped like a stone head with a big green orchid floating on top.

Annie came around the bar to sit down with us, bringing her own drink in a skull shaped mug with glittery red cut crystal eyes. My eyes were drawn to her shoes- red sequined pumps looking like if she bumped the heels together we might all find ourselves back in Kansas. The guys didn’t seem to notice. 19 months ago

The picture matched the guy who said he was Brad.

“So Walter buddy,” I addressed the original Walter. “You wouldn’t happen to have your wallet on you, would you?”

Walter fished it out and passed it across to me. I extracted a driver’s license, an Imiloa membership card, a National Park pass, two Visa cards, and his AIA card. Architect’s Association.

Brad’s wallet yielded a Visa card, an American Express, two gasoline cards, and some grocery store cards with no names printed on them.

I would have passed the entire batch across to the original Walter, except there was a small problem. The AIA card was issued to Walter Imhoff. The signature on the National Park pass matched the signature on the driver’s license, and that was Brad Davies. The photo of Brad Davies was of the original Walter.

This couldn’t be a coincidence.I was pissed off for a couple of reasons, the topmost being it had looked for a moment like a slam dunk identity theft against the original Brad Davies, but identity swap is another animal altogether. 19 months ago

“Uh, guys, uh, sorry, but I don’t have my wallet with me.”

Walter was now in the moment in the Ram Dass sense of the phrase, fully joined with the spirit of the time and place. “Why would you need your wallet to treat us in your own bar?”

I meantime had my hip handily shoved against his side, a pocket side, where his shorts had deep side pockets, and unless his happy-man parts were somewhere along the outside of his thigh, there was a wallet type bulge up against my leg.

“You know what, Brad, unless it’s empty & useless, your wallet is right here, isn’t it?”

“Ante up, big boy.” Annie had her hand out. “House special this afternoon is the Zombie. We’re also pouring Kalapana rum and coconut water with housemade lilikoi calamansi syrup.”

“You got a name for that Annie?” Walter asked. Brad’s head turned so fast toward Walter he put me in mind of the Exorcist.

“Why don’t you try it and then name it yourself?” She said.

“Hey Brad, are you having a change of heart? Maybe you’re more of a kava drinker? Hey, if your fave is a mai tai, I bet one of those could be rustled up for you.”

He leaned away from me to get at his wallet, and as it came out of his pocket, I neatly swiped it and opened it up. “I’ll take charge of this for the time being.”

Rather than pulling bills out, I extracted the driver’s license. What a surprise, the name on there wasn’t Brad, or Bradford, or Bradly. 19 months ago

That is, he was cackling in a way. Something forced and not particularly expressive of humor.

Walter had fallen in step on his other side. Together we were guiding him to the one open bar stool. Annie was behind the bar, of course. She looked inviting as a mermaid on an atoll, plumeria in her dark hair, dressed in a sarong the colors of orchids. Speaking of orchids, a tray of them sat out on the bartop, each awaiting a turn atop a drink.

I caught her eye and touched the side of my nose in the classic gesture some may associate with Santa Claus and others with the Sting. It was show time.

“Hey, we came with the boss. He’s paying. Isn’t that right Brad?”

“I never said that.”

“Ha ha, you funny. You know you want to show off your place. Hey, this is really nice. This is your place, right? The one you were telling us about?”

Brad made to demur, ducked down his head like a criminal being caught on camera, and it took a little extra force to hold him on the barstool. Just subtle force, my hip pressed against him so he’d not be able to cut and run without pushing me aside.

“Brad was just explaining to us that you came to him for help getting this place off the ground. Isn’t that right, Brad?”

“I never said that.” He looked like he was sitting on a tack.

“Oh, sorry I misunderstood. You did say this was a joint venture. Yours and, ummm, hers?” I gestured toward the bartender. “There’s not another tiki bar in Kalapana is there Brad?”

“Hello Brad,” Annie said. “Drinks for your friends?” 19 months ago

It was an invitation rather than a command. Brad was being coy. Where was the enthusiasm?

“Will you be mixing drinks?”

Of course not. Would he be finding the most excellent bartender then? Perhaps. So when might the place open for business? No telling. Kalapana is really small. It doesn’t exactly have a downtown. We were coming up on the center of the social life in town, and Annie’s bar would be coming in sight really soon.

“Not much competition here. Any trouble getting a liquor license?”

Brad was showing signs of needing to end the conversation, so I grabbed his arm and fairly pulled him in the direction of Annie’s bar. “I think I know the place you are talking about. It’s this bamboo bar coming right up, isn’t it.” He was trying to hang back but I was having none of it. “Oh come on Brad, don’t be a party pooper. You know you want to show off your place. Oh look, it’s open! Drinks on the house, buddy?” 19 months ago

In getting someone to show their hand or reveal their less truthful nature, direct questions seldom lead anywhere useful. I was having one small thought. Brad liked to have his fingers in the pie, and that being the case, he mostly likely had a stake in the local marijuana business. And anything else going on. I wondered what he would tell me…

So I asked. “So Brad, what do you do around here beside ride waves?”

“Oh, it’s that obvious I’m a waterman.” he chuckled. “I’m a businessman, an entrepreneur as it were.”

“Tell me more.”

“I’d tell but I’d have to… ha ha nevermind. I invest in businesses, help with start up money, sometimes find talent.”

Slowly and delicately, like untangling pasta as you add the goodies, I drew out his story. He admitted to being involved in the marijuana business. He claimed a piece of the salt action. He pointed out a couple of houses under construction and said he’d provided capital and labor.

“Maybe you ought to think about helping someone fund a tiki bar.”

“Funny you should mention that,” he said. “There happens to be someone in Kalapana who has asked for my assistance. It might prove to be a profitable joint venture.”

Asked, now, really… Now the question was, would he risk showing off the establishment. I was watching Walter for signs of astonishment or anything, and he was unreadable. Such a poker face! 19 months ago

I felt in fact almost on stage, having to do improv. A theatrical turn.

“Well, Walter, you know I am doing that fluff piece as well. The one on the Tiki Drink revival. It is rather disappointing how there are no real tiki bars on this island.”

Walter picked up on the cue. “Of course, we were going to visit a couple of places in case you want to revise your opinion.”

I turned to Surfer Brad. “And I am guessing you are not one who indulges in umbrella drinks?”

“Well, I like a good Mai Tai. Who doesn’t?”

There followed a short discussion of where you might go to enjoy a good Mai Tai on the island, short by virtue of the fact that until we hit on the Kalapana Bamboo Bar there wasn’t much to talk about. Maybe Luke’s Place in Hawi. Certainly not Don the Beachcomber in Kona, a perfect waste of a great name and amazing beachfront space, tikis and all. Or the new place in Kona tucked into a strip mall where all the drinks came as slushes.

I was tired of the wait – no one was going to mention the Kalapana bar without prompting. 19 months ago

“Is Brad one of the people you thought I should interview for my story?”

The idea of being interviewed by an investigative reporter appeared to have a paralytic effect on the surfer. He stopped all movement and seemed to be scenting the air, as if wondering which direction to bound off in.

“Oh, I don’t think he knows anything about what you are looking into.” This had the opposite effect. As if I was pulling on a string, Brad began moving toward me. Since he wasn’t being fingered, although he clearly thought he should be, for something nefarious, he was totally willing to come forward with all manner of disinformation.

But how to turn this into something of value? My first and most immediate goal was to set up a meeting on his home turf. The idea of inviting myself that close to his bedroom was repellent. How odd that feelings of attraction could change 180 degrees so suddenly, based on so little.

Makiki sniffed at Brad, paying close attention to his heels, then came and nudged me slightly. 19 months ago

Nor am I a reporter, in the sense of being employed as one. I work strictly for myself, and that’s the way I like it.

I truly had to stop myself from moving all the frustration of having my hands tied to a degree as to Molo right over to Brad and acting accordingly. Plus, Molo had some loose cogs and at heart was trying to live pono, even if he had a wacky way of acting it out. Brad on the other hand was a deliberate misfit, a man who wanted to cause as much trouble as he could before the door slammed him in the butt.

My sudden top wish was to be one who smacked that door behind him.

It gave me a weird little frisson that I had even momentarily found him so attractive. OK, I will try to get to the core, the honest true core. The man was really fine to behold. However, that smell thing I mentioned earlier – that was not working for me. As I moved closer to him, there was an odd scent in the air, almost creosote. It was as if he had come up from a cave connected to the bowels of the earth and the smell there had clung to him in a sooty sort of way. The closer I moved to him the more I wanted to back away.

But I had work to do. 19 months ago

and my knees took the rest. And the palms of my hands had some scrape marks. I scrambled to my feet and dusted off knees and hands, keeping an eye on the rat killer. The alleged rat killer. He looked concerned, and it had to be fake if that had been him with the rifle taking a shot at me, one would think.

I looked away from him at the bouncy ten year old who’d led me to him, and said “You’re sure?”

As I spoke, a dark black Chevy Camaro with a blue light on top pulled up. Directly behind it there was an orange Ford Mustang also sporting the blue light. And then a black Suburban with a blue light.

The good looking rat guy started to walk away. “Hey there!” I called, and ran to catch up with him. “Not leaving the party yet, are you?” I hadn’t gotten a really good look at him, at least not enough to fully register his features. 2 years ago

some days are magnificent, and they still take the froth right off your cappuccino.

I headed for the cafe, my new little friend running off in front. Before I knew what had happened, I was flat on my face. Paying too little attention to the path, I had stumbled over a chunk of lava about the size of a poodle.

A better than average looking man, surfer kind of look, emerged from the cafe and almost trotted up to assist me. Behind him came the little guy who was leading me to the creep who’d iced the rats and left them in the bar.

“This is him! this is him!” the little voice squeaked. 2 years ago

The he who was talking was not Walter, but a rather impossibly good looking surfer kind of guy who had materialized on the black sand like a phantom. Now ordinarily I don’t react one way or another to the way anyone looks, but as humans we are hardwired to react sometimes. Maybe it was his pheromones. My skin wanted to rub up against his like a cat making nice.

Walter surreptitiously pinched my arm, saying “Brad Davies. I thought you’d gone back to the mainland. What brings you this way again?”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” the amazing looking and perhaps amazing smelling Brad Davies had turned an epic smile on me, and I was feeling like the first rays of morning sunshine were warming my skin. I began to move toward him like a flower turns to the light, and Walter rather insistently tugged at my arm.

“This is my friend Mary. Investigative reporter. How long are you back here?” My antennae shot up like my favorite Martian’s. Brad, of course. Here was Annie’s Brad, the guy I was destined to do combat with if I was going to protect my client.

“Oh this is my home. Don’t know where you got the idea I lived on the mainland.” He was watching me with predatory eyes. Eyes easily mistaken for longing, but the longing in there was the look in the eyes of a cat about to pounce on a rat. I’ve learned a little about being a rat, and I drew myself to my full haughty stature and softly and distinctly murmured “meow”. This was not the meow of the cat wanting to rub against him either, but he smirked at me like I was speaking his language. 19 months ago

That’s what I said.

Walter laughed.

This being Hawaii, time for a little talk story. Not a commercial break. Just a time out for a moment to honor Eddie. Eddie and Iz are two Hawaiians. They were contemporaries, and I have no idea if they ever met. They shared a magnificent love for Hawaii and Hawaiian Ways. The Hawaiian Life. Ke ola. They lived aloha in the truest sense of the word. Story of Iz to come later, Eddie today.

Eddie was a lifeguard on the North Shore of Oahu in the late 1960’s and 70’s. Waves there can be enormous in winter. Eddie was quite the waterman, and no one drowned ever with him out there. He would go into any water to rescue someone. He was also a world champion surfer. And a Hawaiian. He stood between people who would act out on their racist alarms and those who reacted to them, and made peace happen. He was a modest man who when people asked what he did, claimed to be a golfer.

Eddie crewed onto the Hokule’a for a voyage from Hawaii to Fiji, following the course of the ancient Polynesians. A great storm blew up and the Hokule’a began to take on water. Eddie took off on his surfboard to try to reach Lanai and bring help. He was never seen again.

The phrase “Eddie would go” comes from the invitational surf competition held in his honor in the winter, at Waimea Bay. The first time it was held, the waves were so high there was discussion of canceling the event. But Mark Foo, another surfer who later drowned in a surf accident at Maverick’s in California, said “Eddie would go” so the competition was on. It doesn’t go every year, as the surf must reach 30 feet on the face of the wave. It went in 2009.

So, if Eddie would go, would Walter go? 19 months ago