Free Hot Lava by Rob Rosen

know.”
    I sat in between them and told him, “No, it’s not. Promptly forget about it.”
    And then Will changed the subject. “So,” he said. “Who’s up for a trip to the North Shore tomorrow? I’d like to see these boss waves everyone talks about.”
    We all raised our hands. But then Koni slowly lowered his, and his chair stopped rocking. “I guess count me out. My back-scratching twenty-four hours will be up by then.”
    I looked at Brandon and grinned. “It’s been extended. We’ll need a guide.”
    “Just so happens,” Koni said, returning to his grinning and rocking, “I know this island like the back of my hand.”
    “So now, one more question,” Brandon thought to ask. “Anybody have a car?”
    For a change, I actually had an answer to that one. “Will a limo do?” I asked, already dialing the number on my cell. It looked like that card Liko gave me was going to come in handy. Luckily, Liko was wide open, and our hunky limo driver was only too happy to drive us anywhere we wanted to go. We arranged for him to pick us up the next morning bright and early at ten. (For Brandon, that was about as bright and early as he could muster.) Then we sat there and again watched the happy masses go by.
    “Strange,” I said. “There are as many Japanese tourists as there are Americans.”
    “Yep,” Koni responded. “They account for something like thirty percent of the tourist trade around here. And all those ABC Stores you see everywhere, they all take Japanese yen. And all the restaurants have their menus in English and Japanese. Heck, they get married here at this very hotel practically all day long.”
    I hesitated, but then added, “And the Japanese men appreciate the Hawaiian girls and boys for, um, other less wholesome activities, as well?”
    He paused. “Yes, which they pay for in yen, too.”
    “Which you don’t take,” I added.
    “I’m not the fucking bank of Tokyo,” he replied, almost in a whisper.
    “Sorry,” I said. “Not my business.”
    He sighed. “Nah. It’s okay, Cute Dude. You’ve been dying to ask me about this shit all day.”
    I laughed and asked, “How could you tell?”
    And he also laughed. “Because you never brought it up, which is a sure sign that you were thinking about it.” Smart kid. Smarter than us by a long shot.
    “And the reason you don’t use a pimp, like your friend Buck does?” Brandon asked. “It’s not only because you get to keep all the money, is it?”
    He turned to us and smiled. “Partly. But mainly it’s so I can pick and choose who I... who I, um, do . Buck has to take whatever Jed gives him. Like it or not. And mostly it’s not.”
    “And he can’t quit if he wants to, can he?” Brandon added.
    The smile dropped for the briefest of seconds. “No, he can’t. Remember what I said: this is a small island. Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. Maybe that’s what happened to Lenny. Maybe he tried to quit smuggling. Who knows?”
    “So no pimp means you can quit whenever you want to, right?” I asked.
    He turned his head to stare at the street, gleaming as it was in the silvery bright moonlight. “Look at all these tourists,” he said, by way of an answer. “Funny how they see the same things I see. The same sunsets. The same hotel lobbies. The same crappy gift stores. Except those things make them happy. Me? They just remind me of what I don’t have. And all I do have is the freedom to do something different someday. If I lose that, what’s left?”
    I stifled a tear. Even Brandon had to look away for a second. “Hey, kid,” he said.
    “What is it, Brandon?”
    “You’ve got one more thing,” my friend said.
    “Yeah? What’s that?”
    Brandon reached out and put his hand over Koni’s. “You’ve got us, kid.”
    Koni smiled, though it now looked somewhat forced. “Yeah, Brandon. But for you, this is a vacation. Two weeks, and then back to reality. For me, this is my reality. Fifty-two weeks a year.”
    For that we