Neil Plakcy - Mahu Fire

But there was no time for rehashing old family rivalries. “All right,” I said. “Let’s table this discussion for later. Nobody’s choosing between anybody right now. And besides, Liliha and I kissed and made up before she left.”

My brothers were glaring at each other as my father came to the back door and called out, “Come take a look at the maps of the park and the ridge.”

We went inside, where he had spread a faded topographical map on Uncle Chin’s dining room table. I saw Sampson glance over at Uncle Chin’s coffin, at the incense and platters of food, but I guess he knew enough of Hawai’i not to be surprised.

The four of us clustered around the table with my father, who leaned heavily on the table. His hospitalization, and the death of Uncle Chin, wore heavily on his big frame, and though he was clearly healing, I felt very protective of him. I wanted to make him go home, lie down and rest, but there was too much to do and we needed whatever help he could provide.

“See how the Wa’ahila trail continues up the ridge?” he said. “There are some old homestead cabins up there, just outside the park boundary. No one lives up there full time, but people still use the cabins.”

“So somebody set one of those cabins on fire,” Sampson said.

“Looks like it. The good news for you is that there’s only one road in or out of the area. It leads down into the park.”

“My partner from Waikiki, Akoni Hapa’ele, and another guy from Organized Crime have already gone up there to coordinate a blockade and any evacuation.”

My father continued. “The bad news is that the road snakes back and forth up the hill. So if your suspects are on foot, they won’t bother using it. There are at least two trails that lead down the mountain, but go in different directions.”

Akoni came walking into the kitchen then. “We’ve got a bunch of black and whites, and a SWAT team at the park entrance, ready to head in.” He’d hitched a ride over with some campers who were leaving. “Tony’s over there, but he needs to know what to do.”

“Lui, Haoa and I can each take a team into the park,” I said. “We know the trails and the road better than anyone, from all the time we’ve spent hiking and camping in the park and up on the ridge as kids.”

Sampson looked grim. “I don’t like to involve civilians, but we’re in a crisis situation here,” he said. “Let’s head out.”

We went out front, and I saw the elderly gamblers were still there. Their duty was to protect Uncle Chin’s corpse, and nothing short of flames licking at their heels was going to drag them away.

Behind us, my parents, Aunt Mei-Mei and Genevieve Pang clustered around the front door. My father leaned against the door frame, and my mother stood close to him, fiercely protective, clearly torn between her responsibilities to him, to her sons, and to her lifelong best friend.

Lui, Haoa and Sampson took Haoa’s panel truck again, and Akoni climbed in with me for the ride down the hill and around to the park entrance. For a couple of minutes it was like we were partners again. There was so much that I wanted to tell him and no time.

By the time we reached the park entrance, the smell of smoke was overwhelming. The narrow neighborhood roads were crowded with black and whites and undercover cars parked in driveways and on grassy verges, as every available unit had been called to the ridge to help search for the fugitives. We could barely snake through in my truck.

The two-lane entry to the park was lined with tall Norfolk pine trees, with wild roosters and hens wandering around below them. We parked next to a stone wall by the wooden park gate.

I assembled the cops and my brothers into a semi-circle. “We all know what we have to do.” I pointed at my brothers. “You guys remember, you’re tour guides, not cops. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Haoa knelt down to finger some leaves, then held them up to us. “This mountain is dry as a bone. If you see a small fire, you can try to stamp it out, but anything bigger you’ve got to get the hell away.”

I thought of Mike Riccardi then, and hoped he would be all right. I didn’t like the idea of him running into forest fires, but then again, he probably didn’t like my going after bad guys with guns either.

I took Akoni, Lidia Portuondo, and Gary Saunders, a uniform I’d known in Waikiki, on my team. I punched Saunders in the face after he called me a faggot once, but at least I knew him, his strengths and weaknesses. He was a big, strong guy, too, which might help us if we ran into somebody up on the ridge who needed to be restrained.

Haoa took Tony Lee, Frank Sit, Steve Hart and another uniform, and Lui got Alvy Greenberg and three uniforms.

I was just ready to pull out when Mike Riccardi arrived, loping up the hill from where he’d parked his truck. I was so damn glad to see him-but at the same time, I knew that his presence meant he was about to go into that fire.

Lui’s team and Haoa’s team went up the mountain in separate directions, so it wasn’t long before I lost sight and sound of my brothers. I worried about them, but I knew they both were smart and strong and knew the park well. I turned my attention back to Mike, who was explaining the fire department’s plans to Lieutenant Sampson

“Air-1’s in for repairs, so we’ve got Air-2 on the way,” he said. I knew that those were the names of the Honolulu Fire Department’s two helicopters. “Air-2 has the Bambi Bucket.”

“You’re trying to rescue deer?” Sampson asked.

Mike laughed and shook his head. “The Bambi Bucket is a lightweight collapsible container, for water drops on brush fires,” he said. “We’ll scoop up water from the ocean and ferry it over here. The bucket can pull out of places as shallow as a foot deep. Though this wind might be trouble.”

For the first time, I paid attention to the wind around us as something more than a carrier of smoke. “I’d say we’ve got gusts of up to 30 miles an hour,” Mike said. “Might make it tough to get the bucket in. But we’ll see.”

We looked up to the mountain, and saw rust-red and white clouds of smoke as well as lines of orange flames moving over the hills and into the park’s gulches.

Mike’s radio crackled and he listened for a minute. “Roger that.” To us, he said, “The state’s sending the DNR chopper too.” That was good; the park, as protected land, came under the auspices of the state’s Department of Natural Resources.

“The chief’s worried about the houses in St. Louis Heights,” Mike continued. “We’ve got front end loaders coming up to build fire breaks where we can, but it’s tough to get access to a lot of the park. And even if we build them, the wind may just jump the breaks.”

I thought of my parents’ house, which backed on the park, as well as Uncle Chin’s house, where his body still rested, watched over by my parents, the gamblers in the front courtyard, Aunt Mei-Mei and Genevieve Pang. “Will there be evacuations?” I asked.

“Not sure yet. We’ll see how the fire breaks go. We’re also going to be hosing down the back yards, trying to create a water curtain.”

Meanwhile, engines from the Five, Twenty-Two and Thirty-Three companies were pulling up, disgorging fire fighters in yellow suits, their company number on their yellow helmets. Many were already wearing masks, with oxygen tanks on their backs.

The Battalion Chief got out of his car, and Mike leaned over to whisper to me, “You know what CHAOS stands for?”

I shook my head.

“The Chief Has Arrived On Scene,” he said, and laughing, left to confer with him. It was time to take my team up the mountain, leaving Lieutenant Sampson at the command post.