Chapter Twelve

Mrs. Harmon used the meal as an excuse to unpack her good china and polish her good silverware. She made a real ceremony out of taking all of the Styrofoam popcorn and tissue paper they'd been shipped in and throwing them into the trash can. Danny told her it was bad for the "virement" to throw all that "foamy stuff" away. Mrs. Harmon told him to "shush."

Susan smiled as Sarah introduced PJ. She caught Raymond's eyes and gave him an "I told you so" smile.

During the salad, something suddenly occurred to Raymond that he hadn't thought of before. "PJ, you're Samoan, right?"

"One hundred percent."

"Then why don't you talk like the Bloods?"

PJ smiled, a smile that almost made Raymond feel uncomfortable because it said PJ knew something Raymond didn't. "I grew up in California," PJ told him. "I've never even been to Samoa."

"But you speak the language."

"We spoke it at home. My mom and dad wanted us to have that much."

"Comes in handy over here."

"You know it."

Danny jumped down and circled around to PJ. He leaned over and picked up the Samoan's arm, comparing it with his own, side by side.

"How come you're from California and you got brown skin? Jeffrey Engles is from California, but his skin is pink like mine."

PJ rubbed Danny's hair. "I stay out in the sun a lot."

"Yours turned more browner, too," Danny told Sarah.

She beamed, proud of her tan. "Thanks."

He took a step back and looked at Sarah and PJ sitting there together. He smiled.

"Are you two in love?"

Sarah smiled and giggled, and PJ would have blushed if he could have. Susan squeezed Raymond's hand under the table.

"Are you going to get married and have babies?" Danny asked.

"We don't want to rush into things," PJ told him. "Not until next week, at least."

"If he can still stand her, then," Mrs. Harmon added. Sarah kicked her mother under the table.

The phone rang, and Danny scampered to get it. Raymond scooted his chair in to let his brother get by. The table sat, quiet, waiting patiently to see who it was and who it was for. Danny said hello, nodded twice, said "uh-huh," then screamed "RAYMOND!" Raymond got up and took the phone from his brother. "It's a girl," Danny added in a stage whisper.

Nonchalantly, Raymond put the receiver to his ear and said hello.

"Hi, Raymond."

It was Larissa. Raymond crossed his arms and leaned up against the bar. "Mmm-hmm?"

"Uh … Raymond, could I ask you a big favor?"

"You can try." He mouthed "It's Larissa" to Susan, who rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Could … could you come and give me a ride home?" Her hesitation wasn't nervousness, but drunkenness. He could hear noises behind her: loud rap music, yelling, street sounds.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the school. We were just hanging around and then some guys brought some more beer and I guess I had too much. I really think I need to leave. They're starting to sound dangerous, you know? I don't want my parents to know I'm drunk."

"Hang on."

He held the mouthpiece to his chest and turned to the family. "She's at the high school. She's drunk and wants me to come pick her up. Think I ought to get her?"

"Let her rot," Susan suggested.

"Who is she with?" Mrs. Harmon asked.

Raymond lifted the receiver. "Who are you with?"

"Me and Jessica and Staci, and a bunch of the guys."

"What guys?" He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

"Um, the Bloods." She sounded apologetic, or embarrassed.

He muffled the phone again and addressed his audience. "The Bloods," he announced.

PJ pushed his plate away. "She's stupid."

"What a wench," Susan said. "A fool and her panties soon are parted."

Mrs. Harmon had on her "poor little puppy" face. "Raymond, maybe you'd better go get her before she gets in trouble."

Raymond nodded and looked at Susan, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders in a "Why not?" gesture. He patted his pockets to make sure he had his keys and wallet. "We'll be there in a little while," he said into the phone. "Stand out by the road."

Susan gathered up her jacket, and they were gone.

* * *

Larissa was sitting out at the bus stop, like he'd told her. She sat with her ankles crossed and her hands on the pocketbook in her lap. Raymond drove past her, pulled a U-turn and stopped on the gravel in front of the bus stop. He watched her stumble to her feet and amble determinedly over to the car, her lips moving in her concentration. She leaned on the passenger-side window sill, and Susan grimaced at the eighty-proof reek.

"Saul doesn't want me to go." She was trying not to sound drunk, very careful with her consonants.

"Get in the car." Raymond revved the engine once, just checking.

"But he—"

"Get in the car. I did not drive all the way out here just to have you tell me your Neanderthal boyfriend doesn't want you to go."

As if summoned by being mentioned, Saul swaggered out from behind a dirty red pickup, holding a brown bottle by the neck. His shirt was untucked and dirty. He spat. "Larry, try come back. How many times I need tell you?" Then he squinted and ambled a few steps closer. "Eh, haole boy, what you like?" At the word haole, several more Bloods appeared.

Susan reached behind and opened the passenger door, then rolled her window up most of the way. Calmly and softly, through his teeth, Raymond ordered Larissa, "Get into the car." She finally obeyed and Susan reached behind to lock the door, just as Saul leaned down to the glass and called Larissa some things even Susan wouldn't have.

Raymond revved the engine, popped the clutch and peeled out, peppering Saul with gravel, leaving him in eddies of dust and exhaust fumes.

* * *

It didn't take long for the truck to catch up with them. Its domestic 351 V-eight outpowered Raymond's little Japanese four-banger. Pulling up behind Raymond's Nissan by the edge of Wailele town, Saul began honking his horn and flashing his lights from bright to dim. Raymond could see the pickup in the rear view mirror, weaving back and forth between the yellow and white lines.

Larissa leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder. "Raymond, maybe you'd better just let me off right here."

"Don't tempt him," Susan snapped. Sniffling, Larissa sat back and began to chew at the skin around her fingernails.

Coming into the outskirts of Kalohe, the truck pulled into the left lane and crawled forward. Raymond glanced over and saw the rest of the Bloods standing in the bed of the pickup, holding onto the pipe rack for their lives. He met the gaze of Saul in the cab, who flipped him off and starting inching his truck over toward the right. Another car popped into view, about half a mile ahead, bearing down. The truck moved further over, so that Raymond had to drive on the shoulder. Barely even braking, Raymond slung the car around the corner, overcorrecting and fishtailing up to an intersection. He took a left and barreled down between the rows of plantation houses. A sign flashed by: "Speed Limit 25." Raymond glanced at the needle on the speedometer, shaking at the line between the 35 and 45. Then he looked up and noticed, in passing, that he'd just run a stop sign.

The Bloods caught up to him at the next street. Raymond hit the corner and saw the truck out of his peripheral vision, full-face, rushing straight toward him. He heard a squeal of wheels as he clenched his teeth and floored the gas pedal. The truck slid in behind the Nissan and Raymond swerved back and forth from lane to lane to keep the Bloods from passing him again. Saul pulled the truck onto the grass as they approached the intersection that led up to NSC. Raymond barreled straight through the four-way stop, cutting off some guy in an Karmann Ghia—but Saul didn't see the stop sign or the intersection until too late. He swerved to the right of the sign, jumped three feet of sidewalk and skidded to a stop, sideways, against the concrete meridian. The Sentra was already halfway down the block; Raymond couldn't tell (and didn't care) whether anybody was hurt.

Hoping to confuse the Bloods, Raymond headed back toward school instead of toward Larissa's. He pulled up tight behind a tour bus, but in a moment the Bloods' truck appeared from behind and closed in, tailgating. Raymond turned his mirror to one side so he wouldn't be blinded by the flashing brights of the pickup. Tucked in behind the bus, he spared a second from the road to glance at Susan. His eyes ran from her face—pallid, staring straight ahead—to her hand resting on the emergency brake. He wished she hadn't come, yet he was glad she was with him. From the back seat came a metallic click as Larissa finally decided to buckle her seat belt.

They passed the town shopping center, and Raymond didn't bother to notice the movie announced on the theater marquee. He raised his hand to swipe his hair out of his eyes, then realized he didn't have any bangs to swipe. Panic rose like bile, and he blocked it out, concentrating on the tail lights of the bus in front of him, waiting to act.

The bus began to decelerate, signaling for a turn, and Raymond downshifted and sprinted around it, narrowly missing a Cadillac that materialized from around the corner. He heard the shifting pitch of its blaring horn as he pulled in front of the bus and jammed into a higher gear, straightening his rear view mirror as he sped up. Another car pinned Saul behind the bus for just a moment more. Stupid Samoans, Raymond thought as he shifted into fifth.

Then he took it back. He imagined Sarah and PJ, at home, having pie and ice cream and watching television—thinking about maybe getting married and having babies, like Danny had said. He imagined them later that night, kissing on the couch. Or whatever. Not stupid Samoans, Raymond told himself, stupid Bloods. Stupid Saul. He wished he knew each of their names, so he could curse individually. Susan would approve of that.

The Cadillac had bought him some time, but not much. The Bloods were right behind him as he crossed the bridge leading out of Kalohe town. Luckily there was a little traffic, enough to keep the Bloods on his tail, to keep him the pursued instead of the pursuer. He wondered what the Bloods would do once they got in front of him. That thought almost made him smile.

"Raymond?" Larissa's voice implored from the back seat. "You just keep going back and forth."

"Yeah?"

"We can't just run back and forth like this forever."

"Shut up," Susan ordered.

"Raymond, this has to end somewhere. It's got to have an end."

What made him angry was that she was right. Susan knew it too. Through a break in the traffic, he jumped across the other lane and swung onto a dirt road that led to a private ranch. After the rumble of a cattle guard, the blacktop disintegrated and left him floundering on dirt and gravel. He'd never driven the road before, and instantly regretted the move. The Bloods made the turn, too, and pulled up right behind them. Raymond thought he could hear them laughing, but that was impossible.

The Bloods chased them down the road, until suddenly the road widened into a parking lot, and the truck roared past them. In one motion, Raymond cranked his wheel and stood on the brake, sending the little Nissan spinning in a near-perfect 180-degree arc. He rammed the stick to first and punched the gas, spraying gravel behind him as his tires frantically scrambled for traction. They caught, and he was gone in a cloud of dust.

"You're right, Larissa," he said, dodging ruts. "It has got to end, doesn't it?"

Larissa answered, but he didn't hear what she said. He jumped the cattle guard and drove a quarter mile down the road toward Kalohe. Then he pulled over to the side. As he rolled to a stop in a paved bus lay-by, ignoring protests from both girls now, he watched for the Bloods in his rear view mirror. The huge truck flew out of the dirt road and descended on the tiny Nissan. Saul skidded to a stop right behind and cut the engine. Bloods piled out of the truck. The two headlights kept burning straight forward, like the eyes on a bird of prey. Raymond put the stick in neutral and let out the clutch, gunned the engine once to make sure it was still running, and sat there, the motor humming underneath him. "Doors locked?" he asked, checking. Shadows moved outside. Somebody began to pound on the roof. They were trying the doors, the trunk. Dark fingers clawed at the windows. Raymond alternately stared straight forward and glanced at his mirrors. He waited for the two in the cab to come out.

"It's very simple, Susan," Raymond explained. "We wait until they're all out of the truck, then take off. We'll have a head start, get lost in Kalohe, and just lie low. See?"

Susan nodded, trying not to hear the pounding and shouting outside.

Larissa was sobbing. Raymond glanced at Susan again and met her eyes. There was a tear in each eye, but no noise—not even her humming. He smiled at her, then glanced in the rear view mirror. Then he smiled again. Slowly, he depressed the clutch pedal, moved the stick into first and eased the gas down. The pitch of the motor rose higher and higher as it free-wheeled under the hood. The pounding grew louder with the engine. Larissa screamed and tried to move into the other corner, but couldn't get her seat belt off. When Raymond had the gas pedal floored, he yanked his foot off the clutch and the wheels tore into the blacktop.

As the car lurched forward, the Blood in front of the car looked up in terror—the Nissan's headlights flashed in his eyes. Running over him felt like speeding over a pothole. Susan covered her face with her hands. Raymond winced, but kept the accelerator floored, swerved around a telephone pole and swung onto the road, praying for traffic. His wheels screamed as he fish-tailed into the lane. Just before he rounded the first turn, he looked back and still saw the blazing eyes of the truck staring, unblinking, at the huddle of Bloods in front of them.

He turned into the first street in Kalohe, but Larissa pounded on his seat. "Take me home! Take me home!"

Susan twisted around in her seat belt. "Look, Larissa, you got us into this and you're not getting out until we get out."

It would be perfect. He'd just pull in somewhere, turn everything off and duck down, and the Bloods would go zooming by. Raymond slowed down, looking for possible hiding places. His eyes scanned from left to right, as he looked for houses with lots of cars in front of them, where a dirty white Nissan could go unnoticed. He'd found a place, with rusted heaps in the street and in the yard, and was about to pull in when the red pickup careened around the corner and bulleted toward them. Raymond glanced once at the parking space, then sped up as best he could. Saul, or whoever was driving, pulled in close and kissed Raymond's bumper once before the haole yanked a corner, drove a block and entered the roundabout by the elementary school with the red truck close behind.

Just to throw them, Raymond rounded the circle twice. Suddenly, the whole centripetal force unit in physics class became reality. They shot out of orbit and onto the highway, going left.

The poor little car whined as Raymond pressed it further, faster. Right before the bridge, the truck rammed them again, this time harder. They were honking their horn again, and the big headlights were blinking on and off. The truck's bumper locked on and pressed down, making the wheels groan under the weight. Raymond swerved to shake free and shifted into fifth.

He flipped his lights to high beam as they passed the place where he'd run the Blood down. Whizzing by, he caught a glimpse of two boys, bending over a third, who lay where he'd fallen. He looked up, over at the mountains, and saw the purple flash of his mother's windmills—those fucking windmills. Sweat was soaking his back and he just then became aware of it—he could feel the beads dribbling down the inside of his arm. He fought off the cold prickles.

The needle arced past sixty, toward seventy, and the little engine began to complain. Raymond hoped he wouldn't get picked up. Then, mentally, he slapped himself in the face. Where were the speed traps and the regular patrols? Where were Honolulu's finest? As he urged the car on, he longed for the blessed sight of a man in black with a radar gun. Raymond thought of another plan just then, one what would work—one that wouldn't kill anyone.

In the other lane, a Chevette backed a line of cars behind it, preventing any rational attempt at a pass. The Bloods butted them again, locked down, and accelerated—pushing the Nissan before him like dust before a broom. Raymond steered straight ahead, not daring to risk being pushed sideways, with cars to one side and telephone poles to the other. Just out of Wailele, he slowed down as best as he could, trying to stop the Sentra and the pickup together. They drove into Wailele, passed the churches, and Raymond stopped his car dead in the road. Nobody got out of the truck. Raymond had to wait for two cars to pass before he could make the left turn he wanted, and the Bloods' truck eased up close, blared its horn, then knocked the Nissan with its bumper, pushing them forward a few feet. Raymond didn't care, he just switched on his blinker and made his turn …

… Off the highway and into the police station.

The pickup drove right on by, like Raymond had hoped it would. He'd anticipated maybe having to dash into the station to plead with the officers for amnesty, but the Bloods let them get away without even that. Calmly and slowly, Raymond pulled in next to a blue and white squad car.

Not saying anything to the girls, he got out, walked behind the car on shaky legs and unlocked Larissa's door. He opened it.

"Get out," he told her.

She looked up at him like he'd kicked her. "What?"

"I said get out. I'm telling you to get out."

"But—"

"Call your parents. Tell them to come get you." He pushed the button on her safety belt, and it zipped back into its socket.

"But I don't—"

"Wait." He leaned across Susan and opened the ash tray, fishing out a quarter. Larissa accepted it but didn't say anything. "You've got me into enough trouble for one lifetime. Take the quarter, call your mommy and daddy, and get the hell out of my life."

He climbed back into the driver's seat, buckled his belt, and waited. Larissa sat there for a moment, called him a few names, then slammed the door and stomped over to the phone booths. She didn't use the quarter; she just leaned up against the building, glaring.

Raymond turned the key and backed up. As they idled at the highway, Susan leaned out her window. "'Bye! See ya!"

"You don't have to twist the knife."

She smiled. "I don't have to do anything."

He drove across the highway, down a muddy Wailele back road. She put her hand over his on the stick and didn't say anything.

* * *

Raymond turned off the engine in the parking lot of the Wailele Municipal Golf course, half a mile behind the Union '76 service station. The lights picked out a sign a hundred feet down the dirt road: "Danger—Keep Out Flying Golfballs." Raymond made sure the doors were locked and eased his seat back a notch.

"Any particular reason we're here?" Susan asked him.

"I suddenly had a vision of us driving back to Kalohe, passing the Bloodmobile, and doing all of this a second time."

"Oh."

Raymond let out a shuddering sigh and looked out through the windows.

The golf course sat right on the coast, bordered on one side by a grooved road and a row of ironwood trees, and on the other side by a mile stretch of sand trap and the world's largest water hazard. Three bare bulbs threw security lighting from under the eaves of the splintering shack. Another light shone through the dirty glass of a phone booth, next to the office building's front stairs.

Susan stared at her hands. "I wonder if I'll have scars." She'd balled her fists so tightly, her fingernails had dug into her flesh, drawing little semicircles of blood. She licked her right palm. "Think there's another quarter in the ashtray?"

"Probably."

"You're mother's going to be worried."

He nodded, and picked out two dimes and a nickel. His fingers were still trembling. "Lock the doors," he told her.

"Don't worry about me."

He shrugged, not smiling. His eyes were dead and glossy. "Just do it."

"Okay." She unlocked and locked the door a couple of times, to prove that she meant it.

"Thanks."

He wished she wouldn't look at him like that, like suddenly she was his mother or something. He felt her eyes on him as he half-jogged to the booth. The door slid open with a clunk. He picked up the receiver and dropped in the coins. Though his heart and breathing had calmed down, his fingers still shook as he punched the silver buttons. The phone rang three times before Danny answered.

"Hello? Harmon's residence."

Raymond smiled, his first genuine smile of the hour. "Hey, big Dan. What's going on?"

"You missed dessert."

"Save me some. Can you put Mommy on?"

There was a clunk, and then he heard his mother's voice. "Raymond, where are you? Are you all right?"

"We're okay, Mom."

"Did you find that girl?"

Raymond wondered if Larissa had actually called her parents, or if she'd just called another friend. He decided he didn't care. "She's okay."

"Where are you?"

"Parked somewhere, waiting. I just wanted you to know I was all right."

"I was sure you'd driven off a cliff or something. Thanks for calling."

"Actually, it was Susan's idea."

"I knew I liked that girl."

"Anyway," he said. Maybe he should tell his mother that he loved her.

"You'll be home soon?"

"As soon as I can."

"Soon," she corrected him.

"I'll tell you all about it when I get home."

"Soon."

"Right." He tapped his fingernails on the dirty glass. "Is PJ still there?"

"Yes he is. Do you want me to get him?"

"No." He could hear the television in the background. "Just wondering. Good-bye, Mother."

"Come home soon."

Susan had moved from the front bucket seat to the back bench, where Larissa had been sitting. She unlocked the door and scooted over, patting that part of the bench with her right hand. "Bucket seats are such a pain," she explained.

He dropped next to her and stared straight ahead, his hands around the neck of the seat in front of him, like he was trying to strangle the headrest. She put one hand on the back of his head and began working through his hair, but he shrugged her off.

"Don't."

She sat back. He couldn't see her expression, and didn't want to. He concentrated on the hollow noises outside, the sound of the wind rushing around and against the car, groaning in the ironwoods as if in pain. Raymond lifted a finger and locked his door.

Susan leaned her face into his line of sight, forcing him to see her. "You know, it wasn't my fault."

He nodded. "I know that."

"It wasn't your fault, either."

He turned away so she wouldn't see the tears. They didn't pour down at first; they just sat there on his lower lids, making his eyes twinkle. She embraced him and he let her, sitting there with his hands around the seat in front of him. When the tears overflowed, dripping into her hair, he brought his arms down and locked them around her, not caring that her hair tickled his nose. He grimaced and sniffed to get rid of the urge to rub it. She was crying then, too.

Five minutes passed, during which Raymond shed seven tears. He actually counted them. After the seventh one fell, he felt a release inside. Perhaps his fear, maybe his anger. When he put his hand on the head rest in front of him, his arm was steady.

Susan looked up at him, then craned her head and rubbed her fingers under her eyes.

"There's no mascara streaks," Raymond told her, "just in case you wondered."

"Thanks."

"You weren't wearing any. Remember?"

"Oh. That's right."

"Think Larissa is home by now?"

Susan thought a second. "Probably."

Raymond drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. No shudder. "Then let's go talk to the police."

© Copyright 2002 by David S. Baker