Neil Plakcy - Mahu Vice

I nodded. “I’d see other guys naked and I’d start to think about touching them, doing things with them. I knew it wasn’t what I was supposed to feel, though, so I compensated by dating girls.” I shrugged. “I was lucky, because the girls liked me, and I never…you know…had trouble.”

I sipped some wine, and he waited. “And then there was this case, a couple of years ago. A bust that went bad, and my adrenaline was running like crazy, and I suddenly thought, ‘Is this the way I want to live? If I died today, would I feel like I’d lived the life I was supposed to?’”

He smiled. “We all have to come to that decision. For me, I was in medical school.” He told me a long story about a homophobic professor, and how that experience had spurred him to come out. He poured the last of the wine, and we finished it up over dessert. He said, “I’d like to see you again, Kimo, but my schedule gets crazy starting Monday. I’m going to nights, and I’m supervising a new crop of residents, so I won’t be able to get away for dinner.”

“That’s a bummer,” I said. “Tomorrow’s my last night shift, and then I have two days off before I switch to days.”

I licked my lips, and looked at him with raised eyebrows. In my past experience, this was the point when we figured out whose place to head to. But I hadn’t gotten much of a sex vibe from him and so I wasn’t sure what would happen next. I stuck my leg out and made contact with his.

“I don’t have sex on the first date,” Phil said, answering my unasked question. “I’ve found in the past that it doesn’t lead to second dates. And I’d like a second date with you.”

“I’d like one with you, too,” I said, smiling, and meant it.

“I’ve got your number,” he said, standing up. “I’ll call when I have a day off.”

“That would be great.” We walked out to the parking lot together. In the distance, a street performer was imitating Keali’i Reichel in a reedy tenor. Maybe I wasn’t going to sleep with Dr. Phil, but I certainly was going to kiss him; if he couldn’t kiss, then there wasn’t much point in a second date. In the shadow of my truck, I leaned down a bit and kissed his lips lightly.

He kissed back, and it was pretty good. Fireworks didn’t go off and my heart didn’t race, but it felt nice to chase a little romance. Then he backed off and said, “See you soon-hopefully not in a professional capacity.”

I slept in on Sunday morning, then spent a couple of hours in the surf off Diamond Head. I started my shift at eleven that night, and almost immediately my cell phone rang. When I saw it was Lui’s number I got scared.

My father had been in declining health, getting a new heart valve and taking a host of pills, and I was always worried that the next news about him would be bad.

“What’s up, brah?” I asked. “Mom and Dad okay?”

“They’re all right, but shook up. You know Dad’s favorite center, the one on Waialae Avenue? It’s on fire. He and Mom are freaking out.”

I knew my dad had a sentimental attachment to that center, even though he didn’t own it anymore. “I was just there yesterday.”

“Mom and Dad are heading over, and so am I. Can you get up there, too?”

“See you there.” I told my new partner, Ray Donne, where I was going, and drove my truck up to St. Louis Heights.

By the time I arrived, the flames had been doused everywhere except the acupuncture clinic at the far end from Tico’s salon. A single fire engine remained on Waialae Avenue, and bright arc lights illuminated the scene. The long, one-story building was now just a skeleton, and the air was filled with the acrid smell of burnt light bulbs, drywall, electrical wiring, and plastic.

My parents stood at one side, supported by Lui’s wife Liliha. All of them looked like they’d dressed hurriedly, my father in sweatpants and a UH T-shirt, my mother in a housecoat. Even Liliha, who never appears in public without perfect makeup and elegant clothing, looked rumpled and tired. I went over and hugged them all. Since my teen years, I’ve always been a little taller than my father, though he’s shrinking as he gets older, and his normally sturdy body felt frailer in my arms.

“Terrible thing,” he said, shaking his head. My mother grasped his hand and squeezed. Though he has a blustery temper, she’s always been the strong one in their relationship. She’s only about five seven, but she has a take charge attitude. Perhaps it comes from her childhood as a daughter of a Japanese father and a Hawaiian mother, living in near poverty on the windward coast. Or maybe they just feed off each other, the big, strong builder and the petite housewife, who made an exceptional team raising three sons.

Lui came over and said, “We heard that there’s a victim inside. Ralph wants a sound bite from someone in Homicide. Come talk to him, okay?”

“It’s not my case. There’s probably somebody coming up from downtown right now.”

Lui looked at his watch. “If I can get this wrapped up in the next few minutes, we get something at the end of the eleven o’clock news. There’s a chance somebody who’s watching will have some information. Don’t you want to make sure they know where to call?”

My oldest brother is a master manipulator. I couldn’t argue with that, so I followed him to where Ralph Kim was setting up a live shot. He was a trim, dark-haired Korean guy in his early forties, and we had a history; he was one of the newsmen who’d dogged my coming out, and I didn’t trust him, but as the ranking police representative on the scene I’d have to talk to him.

The lights went on and we were rolling, the shot framed by a couple of restless palm trees behind us. Ralph spoke first to an assistant fire chief, and then turned to me. “Also on the scene is Honolulu homicide detective Kimo Kanapa’aka,” he said. “We understand that there was a fatality here. One of the tenants?”

“The victim has not been identified yet. But anyone with information about this fire, or about the victim, should call Crime Stoppers, 955-8300, or dial star-crime on your cell phone.”

When we were finished, I walked over to the far corner of the site, where Lui and Haoa were standing in front of what had been Puerto Peinado. The air was filled with bitter smoke, the arc lights from the fire engines casting eerie shadows. They were talking to someone, and it wasn’t until I was there that I realized it was Mike Riccardi. I caught a mouthful of smoke and started to choke.

As I fought for breath, my heart raced, and I felt an emptiness at the pit of my stomach. I’d always known I could run into Mike somewhere; it’s a small island, after all. But seeing my parents so upset, and then having to be on TV with Ralph Kim, had raised my stress levels, and Mike made them go off the charts.

The first time we met, after another fire, I’d been floored by his looks. He was handsome, with thick, dark hair, and a black mustache over full, sensual lips. He looked like the same guy I’d fallen in love with and spent six months dating and sleeping with, except around his eyes. They had always been dancing and full of fun, with a bit of an epicanthic fold over them, courtesy of his Korean mother, but in the glare of the arc lights, they looked tired and somber.

“Kimo,” he said, sticking out his hand. “You look good.”

I shook his. “You too, Mike.” The electricity of his touch raced through my body, and I wondered if he felt it, too. I struggled to stay professional when all I wanted to do was touch him, hold him-and maybe beat the crap out of him for betraying me. I cleared my throat. “My brother said there’s a body inside?”

He nodded. “In the back of the salon.”

I looked over at Tico, in sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt. He was hugging Tatiana and crying, resting his head on her full, blonde hair. I was about to go over to them when my cell phone rang, and I saw from the display that it was Ray. “Hey, we caught a case,” he said.